Sandhills

This popped up on my FaceBook feed today. It brought back so many memories, I had to share it!

The moment you know your day is about to go sideways in Florida is when you spot a sandhill crane standing somewhere it absolutely should NOT be.

Not near a marsh.

Not in a field.

Right in the middle of the Publix parking lot like it personally manages the property.

In Florida, this isn’t just a bird.

This is a six-foot-tall prehistoric traffic supervisor fueled entirely by swamp energy, entitlement, and the belief that YOUR car is the problem.

You slow down hoping it’ll move.

It doesn’t.

You tap the horn gently.

The crane slowly turns its head like you just violated state law.

You inch the car forward.

It takes ONE slow step closer to your bumper like: “Interesting decision, buddy.”

Suddenly being late to work feels way safer than escalating the situation.

The crane just stands there. Silent. Unbothered. Built like a retired velociraptor with HOA authority.

Like it personally approved the layout of this parking lot and your Honda Accord failed inspection.

And then it happens…

The warning sequence.

Wings spread wide. Neck extended. That weird prehistoric screech echoes across the parking lot while somebody loading groceries quietly backs into their car and locks the doors.

That’s when you realize: this is no longer traffic.

This is negotiation.

Tourists think Florida wildlife means alligators.

Florida residents know better.

Alligators usually mind their business.

A sandhill crane will stare directly into your soul for 14 straight minutes while blocking the only exit lane near the garden center.

They don’t attack like normal animals.

They supervise.

Slowly. Confidently. Like tiny airport security agents enforcing parking lot law.

And somehow there’s ALWAYS another one nearby.

Just standing there watching.

Like backup officers waiting for the signal.

Meanwhile one retired guy in flip-flops casually walks past saying: “Yeah don’t mess with ‘em this time of year.”

SIR WHAT DO YOU MEAN “THIS TIME OF YEAR”???

So eventually you do what every Floridian learns to do:

You stop the car. You avoid eye contact. You let the sandhill crane complete whatever mysterious government operation it’s conducting in front of the shopping carts.

Because in Florida…

the bird doesn’t move for you.

You move for the bird

All of this is basically true! The Sandhills were a common sight when I lived in Babcock Ranch. Sandhill cranes mate for life, and we would see a few different family units; mom, dad and one or two youngsters. It was very common to run across the cranes while walking the dogs in the mornings. They were often foraging in the grassy open areas sprinkled around Babcock, and would simply lift their heads and stare at me, and my two large dogs (at that time an Aussie and a Border Collie), and go on feeding. Being within 10 feet of them didn't even phase them!

What the Facebook story doesn't address is the sounds of the Sandhills. We would hear this echoing off the little lake we lived on, and it would always make me smile!

Although Sandhill Cranes are found in central Florida, we no longer live in their habitat area; wetlands, waterways and open grasslands. I may run across them in my travels, one never knows!