Each fall — always before Thanksgiving — Diane Johnson looks to the sky above her home, waiting for the moment when her birds return. “You look up, and they’re here,” she says. “And you remember how magnificent they really are.”
Twenty-six years ago, though, those same magnificent birds had Johnson and her husband, Al, worried their dream of building their forever home on the Texas Gulf Coast’s Lamar Peninsula, a weather-worn stretch of marsh, coastal plain, and live oak woodlands might be slipping away. It was the winter of 1999, and Al, a home builder, and Diane, a stay-at-home mom, had just scraped together practically every last dollar to buy 828 acres on the Lamar Peninsula, about 20 minutes northeast of downtown Rockport.
There was one thing they hadn’t bargained for, however: a resident pair of whooping cranes strutting across their newly acquired lawn. One of just 15 crane species on Earth — 10 of them threatened with extinction — North America’s whooping cranes were so imperiled that the entire population then hovered around 180 birds. The couple was awestruck by the roughly 5-foot-tall birds, with their ivory plumage and crimson-capped crowns, but they couldn’t help worrying that the federal government might stop them from building a house in the middle of an endangered species’ turf.
In those first uneasy days, as they watched the cranes forage through the marsh grass, the Johnsons realized that their dream home sat squarely inside a much larger story — one that stretched far beyond their property line, into the vast migration corridors and fragile ecosystems the birds depended on…