Lord of the Feathered Tribe

"Beyond… someone else's land; a terra incognita, holding the suppressed fascination we all have for places just beyond where we know, or are supposed to be."
-Helen Macdonald, H is for Hawk

Many photographs of CB, the name my friend calls a sandhill crane she has befriended, depict his regal stature. Crossed bill, crooked beak, that is what Elise calls him,  I prefer to call him Lord of the Feathered Tribe, the name cranes were called in China in centuries past.
In my friend's photos he or she-we do not know the gender of this crane- is often standing in the broken straw colored fields planted by the nature center for the cranes each year.  A field of gold-that's what it looks like in one of the photos and that seems like a fitting habitat for this  royal bird.  A bright crimson mask of fine feathers covers the part of his face between his yellow- orange eyes. His body is so many grey hues like incoming storm clouds.  

Elise has photographed him in the nature reserves of Albuquerque each year when he returns in the fall/winter season for six consecutive years.  This past season he did not show up in his usual places; we wonder about him and hope he has made a family.  In 2013 I had the opportunity to "meet" him when I happened upon Elise standing next to a field with her camera where he was near to the fence.  She told me of his unusual beak, an abnormal crossed beak, that is clearly a disability, making it difficult to eat.  Somehow though he persevered and grew into adulthood, grew into a magnificent bird. In fact, he is more than a symbol of overcoming adversity.

I made a portrait painting of him in the last few months for a show with a theme of the middle Rio Grande valley. He seemed to enter my studio space as I painted his form, especially when I worked on his face, I felt he was with me while the brush was in my hand.

Yet, he remains wild, preternatural to us-just beyond where we know, what we can know. While I completed the painting, Elise drove north to Colorado to see the cranes as they move north again in the early spring, mid-March.  She witnessed 20,000 cranes coming together after the long winter rest.  Maybe her CB was there with the others dancing their ancient rituals, plumed tribes mating for life and migrating north again as they have for millions of years. What do we know about these elegant creatures, about their shared wisdom?

I know this one singular crane has touched me in a way that is something individual, non-ordinary, specific in the cycle of life. And yet, I realize he or she is a part of a collective spirit of cranes. Do they know about the changing landscape, the places over which they travel?  Do they know the details of things from flying along the Rocky Mountains for instance? Do they notice how the winds change the rock formations, the fields and streams they may stop by on their journeys north and south?  Do they communicate with one another what to expect ahead?  This one, this uncommon one, Lord of the Feathered Tribe, holds my imagination and keeps me questioning all that is beyond our human understanding, because he comes from an exclusive tribe for initiates of a certain feathered kind.  His kind is ancient and pulls at me to try and grasp just how long this planet of changing patterns has been in place.