To Every Season...

I grew up on Pete Seeger. I'm pretty sure my folks have most of his albums on vinyl, and I'm pretty sure I rushed the stage at a concert in Modesto (when I was 4 or 5) and yelled, "Play Abiyoyo, Pete!" - at least that's the family legend! Today, when I heard sandhill cranes overhead as I was checking the ewes for new lambs, the lyrics of Pete's song, Turn, Turn, Turn! (adapted from the book of Ecclesiastes) echoed in my brain. I may have even whistled the tune.

I've known David and Barbara Gallino since shortly after I went to work for the California Cattlemen's Association in 1992. When I first met them, the Gallinos ranched between Grass Valley and Auburn. They wintered their cattle in the foothills; they summered on the Tahoe National Forest above Camptonville. We hit it off from the first time we met.

At some point, when I started running sheep commercially in the early 2000's, David and I started a friendly competition to see who heard the sandhill cranes flying south in the fall and north again in February - whoever heard them first would call the other. For me, it was a measure of whether I was spending enough time outside.

When we started this tradition, we saw each other frequently. But lives change - David and Barbara sold their cows and transferred their grazing permit 5 or 6 years ago. I gave up on trying to run sheep full time and went to work for UC Cooperative Extension. Our paths still cross now and then, but not like they used to. David and Barbara still live on the ranch; I still run sheep.

This morning, as I was checking our lambing ewes and building fence, I heard sandhill cranes overhead for the first time in 2021. I dropped the roll of fencing I was carrying, and called David and Barbara. "You've heard 'em, haven't you?!" Barbara said when she picked up the phone, not even saying hello (they must have caller ID!). "David said this morning it was time for them to be going over!"

When David got on the phone, he said, "In late February, you're always a little down - the hay pile low, the mud's deep, and the grass isn't doing much. Then the sandhill cranes go over, and you realize, 'we're gonna make it another year.'"

These days, I only talk to David and Barbara when we hear the cranes, for the most part. But every September - when the cranes move south - we talk; we talk again in February. And every September, I know it's time to turn the rams in with the ewes when I hear the cranes. And I know we'll be lambing when the cranes start their migration to the north.

In 2021, as we're coping with a pandemic, the sound of the cranes today was reassuring. In all of the uncertainty of modern life, I take comfort in the fact that there are still things that come with each season. And I enjoy catching up with my friends, David and Barbara! I'm humming Turn, Turn, Turn! as I post this essay.