Driving back to Wisconsin last week, I saw a group of seven whooping cranes in a marshy field along the interstate. Whooping cranes in the wild are extremely rare, so I felt gifted by this experience.

I have loved cranes ever since moving to Wisconsin and first noticing the gangly, odd-looking birds in fields. The state is home to large numbers of sandhill cranes, the far more common cousin of the whooping crane. For several years, my commute from Baraboo to Dodgeville took me along the Wisconsin River, prime crane habitat. My day always felt blessed if I saw a crane while driving to work.

The return of the sandhill cranes each March is my most eagerly anticipated sign of spring. Their primitive trumpeting announces their arrival and serves as an invitation to go hiking at Riverland Conservancy to see them flying overhead, foraging in meadows, and doing their mating dance.

Cranes have taught me a lot. They were the first wild animal I formed a strong connection with. I’ve learned to stand my ground and assert my boundaries from watching cranes in the wild. I’ve also learned about camouflage from cranes, who paint their feathers with mud in the spring to better blend in to the muddy fields.

I admire the cranes’ commitment to their partners, and how they form a bond through unison calls. A painting of a pair of cranes hangs in my bedroom as a reminder of the healthy, loving partnership I seek.

I’ve also learned to laugh more and not take myself so seriously from the cranes. One need only to observe a sandhill crane landing in a field to realize Spirit has a sense of humor. While graceful at all other times, cranes resemble a failed engineering experiment when landing.

My life is richer because of cranes, their beauty and their wisdom.