The Birds Are Moving Through, and They Won’t Wait for You to Notice

I stepped outside at first light this morning and heard a red-tailed hawk screaming somewhere over the east pasture. Not the lazy, circling call you hear in summer when they’re just announcing themselves. This was different — urgent, directional, the sound of a bird with somewhere to be.

Late April into early May is when the sky becomes a highway. Raptors that wintered down in the prairies and river bottoms are pushing north now, and if you know where to look, you can watch them go. Red-tails, red-shouldered hawks, broad-winged hawks moving in kettles so high they look like pepper flakes against the clouds. Cooper’s hawks threading through the timber. The occasional osprey following the waterways.

Here’s something most people don’t realize: the Ozarks sit right in the middle of one of North America’s major flyways. We’re not a destination for most of these birds. We’re a rest stop. They refuel here, riding the thermals that rise off our ridges, and then they’re gone. You get maybe two weeks to witness it, and then the window closes until fall.

The old-timers around here used to say you could set your calendar by the hawks. When the broad-wings came through in big numbers, you had about three weeks until last frost. I can’t verify that with any science, but I can tell you it’s held true more often than not on this land.

A Lesson That Costs Nothing

If you’ve got kids at home, this is one of those lessons that costs nothing and teaches everything. Find a high spot — a ridge, a clearing, even a second-story window with a view of open sky. Bring a notebook. Sit still for thirty minutes, which is harder than it sounds. Count the raptors you see. Note the time. Note the direction they’re flying. Do it again tomorrow.

What you’re doing is real science. Hawk watches across the country use exactly this method to track population trends and migration timing. Your backyard data, if you keep it honestly, becomes part of a story that stretches back decades.

For the little ones, start simpler. Red-tailed hawks are the easiest — look for that brick-colored tail catching the light when they bank. Buteos like red-tails have broad, rounded wings and soar in wide circles. Accipiters like Cooper’s hawks have shorter wings and longer tails, and they flap-flap-glide through the trees. Once a child learns to see that difference, they’ll spot it forever.

A Shared Sky

We’ve been running informal hawk counts here at the preserve for three springs now. Nothing official, just a notebook on the porch and a pair of binoculars that anyone can pick up. Guests who stay at the farmhouse sometimes add their sightings. It’s become one of my favorite things — flipping back through pages and seeing a stranger’s handwriting next to mine, both of us watching the same sky.

If you’re not able to visit, take your own count this week. Find your high spot. Bring your coffee. Look up.

The birds are moving whether we notice or not. But there’s something that shifts in you when you do notice — when you realize you’re standing in the middle of a migration that’s been happening since long before anyone kept records, and it’s still happening, right now, right over your head.

That’s the kind of thing worth passing down.