This happens to be the last weekend for the Wildlife Safari, about halfway between Omaha and Lincoln, just south of the Platte, east of Interstate 80 across from the extremely popular Mahoney State Park and Strategic Air and Space Museum, once at Offutt Air Force Base in Bellevue. I went a few weeks ago because every autumn I like to see and hear the huge elks bugling in rut, an unforgettable sound like that of the sandhill cranes also in residence--or, for that matter, wolf howls, though I have never heard the wolf pack there make any sounds.
This amounts to a small, hilly, drive-through reserve with all native animals, including a circular enclosure by the visitors center with the larger predatory birds, a pair of well-worn bald eagles and a trio of red-tailed hawks, plus some small animals, the center with various common snakes in terrariums among the souvenirs. I've always been a kind of amateur birder, not the sort to keep notebooks and lists or sit for hours waiting for a rarity but still on the lookout, and I've had some very unusual experiences for later telling.
On this fine day, after the initial elk and deer pasture, on the wetlands pond swam a small flock of American white pelicans, one of the oldest of the world's birds and the subject of Dad's favorite limerick. (I think it was the only one he could remember, and, as a hunter who'd seen plenty of them, he was always tickled to recite it.) "A wonderful bird is the pelican,/His mouth can hold more than his belly can,/He can hold in his beak,/Enough food for a week!/I'm damned if I know how the hell he can!" According to a pelican website, that famous limerick dates from 1910, written by a Southern newspaper editor, Dixon Lanier Merritt. It refers to the elasticized bottom pouch of the huge beak, the longest in the bird world, that stretches to fill with fish and other food.
By the end of the black bear area are these two caged birds, which, I presume, means that they're capable of flying off but were probably harmed somehow and taken in for preservation. The first is a little barn owl with its curious face, probably the kind that I heard out my bedroom window growing up. Owls have been revered since ancient times for their wisdom: Athena, the namesake goddess of Athens, Minerva in Rome, is the goddess of wisdom who sprang from the forehead of her father, Zeus (talk about a miraculous conception!); and her symbol was the owl, as found on the first Athenian coins. One such coin is at Joslyn Art Museum. When I was a boy, one of my top favorite games involved a magnetic owl placed in a holder and turned, which then spun to the answer to a question card as if by psychic energy.
Nearby is a small, swift American kestrel, the "most common North American falcon." Falcons have real presence in Omaha, firstly, because the famous Czech Sokol means "falcon," their civic-minded social group renowned for gymnastic training and for having community halls in all our Nebraskan "Bohemian" towns, the largest Sokol Hall here in Omaha. (My great grandparents Kaftan, anglicized to Koftan, came from Czechoslovakia.) Secondly, Woodmen of the World has peregrine falcon nesting boxes on its roof with four cameras transmitting to screens in the lobbies, and we get yearly reports in the newspaper on their families. The birds were brought in to help stem the pigeon population and fascinated us downtown workers lucky enough to glimpse their speedy grace. (Judge Murphy kept watch for them when I worked for him.)
Our state bird may be the melodious western meadow lark, but this bird below is now our most famous, and we even put it on our license plate a few years back (though people didn't like the color scheme, so it didn't last, alas). According to the State Game and Parks Commission, fossils have established this bird in Nebraska for over nine million years, its famous migratory resting area on the Platte a twice-yearly pilgrimage for birders from all over the world. This is our sandhill crane with another haunting bird cry and an extraordinary courtship dance that I'll have to describe another day. That red cap is actually skin. Wildlife Safari has a flock of forty or fifty, no longer able to fly because of broken wings. Cranes are sacred worldwide and a common subject in Oriental art.
Below in the midst of the ubiquitous Canada geese are two of our largest waterfowl, the trumpeter swan, demonstrating how the ugly duckling becomes a creature of beauty, stately on water or land. The call is rightly likened to a French taxi horn. Like the sandhill crane and the Canada goose, this bird mates for life, only choosing another partner if the other is killed, especially during mating season. The Canada geese are the ones we hear most passing overhead in V-shaped formations, day or night, the kind of goose Dad usually shot. They've become one of our newest pests, settling in especially on urban golf courses they use as toilets. Usually considered one of the largest geese, they are clearly dwarfed by the swans. Again, the birds at Wildlife Safari are damaged but seem fairly accustomed to the autos of camera-toting tourists passing through.
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