This has been a year for the record books. Migratory birds numbering more than even the hoariest can remember. We count it fortunate that our work is under the skies.
This season won’t last but it has been a sight to behold to be sure. Too easy and a far shortfall to say there are millions. A couple of times I’ve been completely awe struck, dumbfounded with eyes cast towards the heavens. Reminding to keep our mouths closed.
Our little slice blessed by the Good Mother. And this route is celebrated throughout the Good Life and throughout America.
Well, not quite all of America. I’ve indicated that the Twin Rivers Homestead is chock full of interesting characters. A mom and daughter walked up to the fence last night. We talked of the winged wonders. Mom used a term I’ve heard three times in the last week. Sky Pigs.
See, one person’s beauty can be another’s burden. A lot of it is what you are used to. What you’ve seen, what you expect. Here along the Platte and Elkhorn these birds are a spiritual awakening, certain and final harbinger of spring.
What mom told me next shook me a little. Her son used to live in Nebraska. He’s a pilot. Got his wings spraying the corn and bean fields of Madison County. He’s plying his craft differently these days and my imagination has a hard time grasping. Son still flies, still lays down passes, spraying lethal gasses. In Alaska. The Tundra.
What pray tell could he possibly be ridding? Snow geese. So numerous as to be doing real damage to our environment. One person’s beauty, another’s curse.
Sky Pigs.
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