Journey of Swans

The wings that bring me to the Eastern Shore from the Alaskan tundra are metal, they are not feathers. It is not my body carrying me the 4,000 miles back but an aerodynamic feature larger than a whale. Yet, I am with the swans. We are both returning to from the massive tundra land found throughout Alaska. We have both been summering there and are returning to the Eastern Shore to find our winter nest of safety. We had to go away for a bit, but we are ready to return now, if the quiet waters of the bay will receive us.

Both the swans and I are migratory. We need to be to survive, to live, to feel whole. We cannot stay in once place. For them it is security, for me it is emotional. Summers and winters are not to be spent in the same place. We leave the safety of our homes, forested waterways, and clusters of family and friends, to head out west. We head to where the sun rarely sets, where nothing is in your line of vision for hundreds of miles. We will lay our heads on soft pillows of mossy ground that will never completely thaw. This will be our hide out for the summer, hiding out together in our summer home.

I was amazed to find my feathered friends with me once again in a new land. I had to search, but I found them not out there where we fly among mountains and are free. But here, on the Nanticoke. On a chilly but pleasant night, hiding in the safety of the trees by the still water. Looking out at the night sky turning our heads down to our chests to keep us warm on the February night. They are sheltered by their wings, I am sheltered by a sleeping bag.

How did we find ourselves here? Why did we fly out west and then return to waters of the Eastern Shore of Maryland? Why are we creatures that cannot stay put?

The Tundra Swans spread out across the Alaskan tundra in order to have space to breed and begin to rear their young. As the Alaskan winter starts to move in and the days become short and bitter, the swans start for the graceful descent on a warmer place. Though the Eastern Shore experiences winter, the days are longer and warmer than what these white beauties would find out in the wilds of Alaska’s winter. They flock around us in the air and at rest are tucked away in an alcove of the river. We had to search down an old forest road, keeping an ear out to hear their sounds. Breathing in the same fresh, crisp air they breath, This Thursday night, the  Eastern Shore provides a 50-something degree weather that is clear. We are searching for them, they are resting and chatting somewhere along the coastline.

As the health of the Chesapeake Bay and the surrounding area declines, the Tundra swans are having trouble living out their winters. Decreased water health means less food for the swans to find. Less forests near the water means less natural filtration systems for runoff. The changes in climate mean rougher seasons for breeding and migrating birds. The Tundra Swan does not face the dangers that some animals face. But their relative, the Trumpeter Swan, has begun to lose the ability to complete the migration circuit. What if these swans sitting in front of me are next? What if they forget how to get from the Alaska tundra to the Chesapeake Bay? I know first hand, it is a long, exhausting journey with plenty of room to make mistakes if you lack direction.

The thought that human action might be leading to these beautiful birds being taken away like so many before them and so many potentially after them The Tundra Swan is obviously adaptable to different environments. Living in places so different as the tundra and the bay’s watershed they have survived and thrived for centuries. But even the adaptable species are not safe from the complications of global warming, human growth, and city development. It would be such a shame if in a few years we walked down this dirt road and I could not find my friends. It would be such a shame to think that birds that could survive in two very different places could not adapt fast enough for the rapidly changing environment of this planet.

Standing on the water looking out at the swans resting, conversing, trying to stay safe and warm, I feel in me that these creatures are more than just birds for decoration and sight seeing. They have thoughts and feelings; all of the squawking is sharing information and stories of the day. It sounds very much like a campsite full of trail crewmembers after a day hiking the tundra, or the university commons at dinnertime. Everyone wants their thoughts to be heard, their story to be told. Everyone is excited and energetic. These swans were eating at the commons with us, they were just like us. When I walk up on the swans, hearing their squawks and honks, I feel like I just walked into the commons for dinner—see swans and humans are not all that different. I can just sit there imagining the swans talking about their history class, the paper they were writing all day, or the tons of reading left to do. I know they are swapping hunting secrets and reports of different feeding areas. It is nice to imagine them with almost a human face.

Having connections looking at the swans, knowing the similarity of our stories, our migratory nature and our excitement to share our stories, I instantly know my role in their lives. Swans do not need protection anymore. The tundra swan is safe from hunting; in fact some think that we can take up hunting them again with sustainable numbers. But they are still a threatened species. Our everyday actions are altering their environment and their migratory journey. I realize it is my role to take everything we have in common, our journeys, our desires, our energy, and use it to help them.

I know that in a few months, both the swans and I will get ready to head out, we will separate again. I will be taken away by wing that are not my own, they will get a graceful running start and sore up with me. We will scatter and seek safety in a far away land of sunshine and beauty. Then when the time is right, we will congregate here again, finding comfort among each other, among our neighbors. Keeping warm in the bay waters, huddled together as the wind lightly rustles the pine needles in the forest that surrounds us.