Susan J. Tweit is a scientist who evolved into an award-winning writer and radio commentator. She is the author of five books for adults, including Barren, Wild, & Worthless: Living in the Chihuahuan Desert, personal stories about the history and natural history of Southern New Mexico, The Great Southwest Nature Factbook, a browser's guide to nature in the Southwest, from A to Z, and Seasons in the Desert: A Naturalist's Notebook, from Chronicle books. She has also written two children's books, Meet the Wild Southwest: Land of Hoodoos & Gila Monsters (Alaska Northwest Books) and City Foxes, a picture book which was named one of the Outstanding Science Books for Children for 1998.
Her "Wild Lives" radio commentaries are heard three times weekly on KRWG-FM, Southern New Mexico public radio, and her columns run in the Las Cruces Sun News. Susan's essays and stories have appeared in Harrowsmith Country Life, New Mexico, Sierra, Cricket, Bloomsbury Review, and other magazines. She is the co-founder of Las Cruces' wildly popular - and fun - Border Book Festival. She is currently living in Colorado with her husband, Richard Cabe, and dog, Perdida Imelda.
Susan is a popular public speaker and leader of workshops. Her stories of our natural and human history have captivated a wide variety of audiences, including school classes, workshops, banquets, and professional meetings. As Bloomsbury Review put it, she brings the precision of a scientist and the passion of a poet, and is able to refocus readers' vision and ignite their imaginations.
Susan has a new web site! She invites you to come visit. Her books are available there, at local bookstores, or on-line through http://BarnesandNoble.com and http://Amazon.com (search by author for Susan Tweit).
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We took the back road to Columbus, a two lane highway that follows an abandoned railway line along the international border, through miles and miles of wild, wonderfully lonely desert. We saw golden eagles, coyotes, and desert cottontails, and when we finally reached my correspondent's house just east of Columbus, sandhill cranes.
From several miles away, we spotted great swirls of cranes in the air over the fields. As we neared his house, we could see hundreds of the gray, long-necked and long-legged birds picking their way through the straw-colored stubble. When we stopped and rolled down the car windows, the wind brought us the purring murmur of thousands of sandhill voices. Cranes probed the soil for insects and seeds with spearlike beaks, cranes jumped and bowed on long, graceful legs, cranes preened iron-gray feathers, cranes took to the air on wide wings as we drove slowly along the fields. After an hour of careful counting we estimated that we'd seen at least 4,000 sandhill cranes. What an unexpected surprise!
As we drove away, our host mentioned that farmers were starting to plow the milo stubble under in the fall instead of letting it stand through the winter. No stubble means no cranes. He pointed to the neatly-plowed fields across the road, bare of stubble, bare also of cranes.
For hundreds of years, farmers throughout the Southwest welcomed the cranes' arrival each year. They saw the crowds of tall birds as a gift, a winter blessing.
Indeed, they are. A flock of feeding cranes cleans the soil of overwintering insect pests; their droppings add nutrients to the soil, fertilizing the fields. Nowadays, cranes also bring tourists - and money. Each winter, tens of thousands of visitors travel to the Bosque del Apache to see the cranes there.
Most importantly though, these tall birds bring less tangible benefits: they add beauty and wild grace to our agricultural landscapes. Who among us is not moved by the sight of thousands of cranes stalking with long-necked grace, leaping upwards in ballet-like dance, or stretching enormous wings into regal flight?
Surely our world still includes a place for the gift of wintering cranes.