Welcome to the season of zugunruhe

The Alaska Range with Sandhill Cranes. Fall 2023. Photo by David W. Shaw

I don’t remember when I first heard the German word zugunruhe. Although zugunruhe means the unrest of animals during migration, I always associate it with autumn. In Fairbanks, autumn comes in fast. The August rains go from hints of the tropics, to laced with the bite of winter. Everywhere are the signs of zugunruhe. Mixed foraging flocks of migratory birds occupy the branches of the spruces and swarm over the forest floor. Humans also turn into mixed foraging flocks: a desperation of berry collecting, garden harvesting, fishing, and for some, hunting. A weather clock looms in your head, counting down the days to the autumnal equinox, to the first frost, to the first snow. When the birds begin to depart, the alarm begins to chime. Great flocks of Sandhill Cranes gather into whirling clouds of calling birds, poised to flee during breaks in weather. And later in the season, the Trumpeter and Tundra Swans take to the skies. I have very vivid memories of walking beneath a full moon in October, listening to the whistling communication of migrating swans.

A Gyrfalcon and the colors of the Alaska tundra in autumn. Fall 2023. Photos by David W. Shaw.

In southern Colorado, the transitions between seasons are gentler, the signs subtle. Before the full impact of our changing leaves there are warning patches of yellow and red. My first year back here I was confused when my annuals stopped flourishing when we hadn’t had a frost yet. I was used to snow, or frost bring my growing season to an end in Fairbanks. In Salida, the plants live out their full life cycle with a natural senescence. But zugunruhe is here as well. Migrants out of Alaska begin to find their way south through our mountains. Flocks of Sandhill Cranes and raptors use our valleys as their highways.

Aspens in Colorado. Fall 2022.

I could always relate to the zugunruhe of birds in the autumn, in Alaska. It gets under your skin, a pinch of anxiety knowing how long the dark season lasts. For years the solution was to plan travel over the winter. We would escape to the lower 48, South America, Africa, Europe. I haven’t left the country since before covid. The complications of traveling during a pandemic kept my zugunruhe in check, as did writing two books set in distant lands. Even if I couldn’t physically travel, I spend most of my days in those other places. Living back in Colorado also still feels new, we are surrounded by places to explore.

Yet I would argue that for some of us zugunruhe is more than physiological response to changing seasons, it’s a soul deep need. A change of scene for us is about more than a different geographical location. It’s a hunger for the sustenance that comes from being somewhere unfamiliar. Rather than feeling daunted by a place where I don’t speak the language, know the customs, or look like anyone around me; I am more grounded. My brain is awake. My compassion and curiosity boundless. I also acknowledge that it is a privilege. I didn’t begin traveling until quite late in life because I couldn’t afford it, but after my first international trip I realized that it was a necessity for me. I scrimped and saved to pay for those escapes. I wish that I could gift those experiences to everyone. I found that in a way, I can.

During those many years when I couldn’t afford to fly to new places, I could still check out a book from the library. If someone reads and loves a book set somewhere other than where they live, will they be more open to a different culture? I hope so. I hope that it shifts readers toward curiosity rather than fear of the unknown. A lofty or impossible goal? Maybe, but I’ll keep trying.

My wish for you during the season of zugunruhe is that whether you are in the southern or northern hemisphere, you stop to observe the changes. Are the birds congregating in your yard? The squirrels busy caching their winter supplies? Are there new sprouts coming up? Or seed heads on the plants? I’ve decided that it’s good to feel the zugunruhe, it reminds us that we are still alive, and that we are on the precipice of a new season in which to experience the world.