When is the last time you observed someone looking up? Not looking out at a distant ridge but up, straight up into a sky laced with popcorn clouds. Or high up into a shady tree-top canopy. When is the last time you diverted attention from that tiny handheld screen and looked away and up towards something more intriguing than TikTok?
On my historic town block between the spring and autumnal equinox, 80-year-old blue spruce anchoring my front yard become safe havens of wonder. Now, a local attraction, the ancient trees and their seasonal guests inspire a daily ritual of upward gazing.
As kids bike to Midway Elementary and straw-hatted couples and young moms stroll to the market for morning coffee, I watch a spectacle unfold from my front porch. As these youngsters and seniors stop to look up, I share their sense of awe.
What captures our attention in the early morning rays of soft sun are statuesque forms of dark-winged, red-headed turkey vultures perched on tree limbs. Cathartes aura, or “ breezy cleaner,” are some of the largest birds in North America. Impressed by their size and humble dignity, we watch as several blackish feathers swirl and drift down our way.
Every morning around dawn the birds transition from their nighttime roosts in my trees to the high reaches of a sun drenched pine across the street. Fifteen birds perched on sturdy boughs like holiday tree ornaments. Their expansive wings, spanning 6.5 feet, reach for warmth before the vultures lift-off, one by one, in search of carrion.
Native to North America, turkey vultures ride thermal air currents, effortlessly soaring without flapping their wings. Weighing between 2 and 5 pounds they gracefully descend to earth in circular patterns from heights up to 20,000 feet.
In fading summer light we gather outside most evenings, waiting for our turkey vultures to return from a day of scavenging. We smile as they swoop in exactly at cocktail hour. “Incoming!” we cheer. I am mesmerized by their air born waltz.
Drenched in wonder and fully present in the moment, I feel content and grateful. Then in quick succession the communal flock makes soft landings on selected pine boughs. Binoculars in hand, we spy a vulture’s naked, small red head as a supple perch bounces with the gentle weight of flesh and feathers.
Turkey vultures don’t offer sweet bird song, endless chatter or piercing screeches. They are mostly silent except when threatened, one of the many reasons I admire their peaceful presence.
Cherokee folk tales are known to refer to turkey vultures as peace eagles because they do not kill to live. Unlike raptors, turkey vultures only eat dead and decaying animals. They have keen eye sight but locate meals using their acute sense of smell. Their haunts include urban and rural settings near potential food sources like roadways and empty farm fields.
As the autumnal equinox on Sept. 22, we are aware Western turkey vultures will join a long distance avian migration to over winter in southern latitudes like Mexico and Central and South America before returning next spring to my pines and nest in rock caverns or on hard ground.
Depending on the distance, their migratory flights can take several months and cover 100 miles per day. Warm updrafts propel these soaring groups of birds called kettles at 30 miles per hour. These avian travelers don’t feed along the way and only drink so they must find nightly roosts for rest.
Importantly, migrating birds including turkey vultures, are protected by the Migratory Bird Treaty Act (MBTA). According to the Audubon Society, “It is a law that protects birds from people” and has saved millions and perhaps billions of birds.
Migrating birds face man-made risks like night-lighted buildings, live power lines, oil pits and communication towers, so the MBTA plays a critical role in wildlife conservation.
Audubon’s Bird Migration Explorer, launched in 2022, is a digital guide mapping the annual journeys of 450 species and the conservation challenges heroic birds encounter along the way.
Before they leave for the season I’ll look up with appreciation into a sky dotted with turkey vultures. I wonder how these wild birds see us as they glide over our human-impacted world. Do they notice our humanity?
Our attempts to understand and protect the wild often falls short. Unless of course, we remember to look up where inspiration and reverence for the natural world awaits human kind.
Leslie Miller is the co-editor of “Reimagining A Place for the Wild” and a former, long-time resident of Park City who now lives in Midway.