The Red Knot Red Poem

As I often do, I found myself lost in thought one rainy night looking through photos from my time in Controller Bay, Alaska. The photos sparked a distant memory for any 20-year-old. A memory of a time I can barely even recall today, except for those few core memories that stick with someone for a lifetime. Growing up a huge Wisconsin Badger fan, it was no question that I wanted to write my fifth-grade color poem on the color red. Red is not my favorite color, but there is nothing comparable to a jam-packed, jumping Camp Randall Stadium, a maple leaf in fall about to shed a water drop to the grouse trail, or anything else that contains the powerful pigment. This red, though, isn’t representative of my childhood in the badger state. It’s a red that was more distant than the memory of my fifth-grade years. A red I didn’t even know existed, but glad I was able to find it.

 

It’s the red of a Red Knot

 

While trying to recall the original red poem crafted by a younger and less red-educated version of myself, I came up with “The Red Knot Red Poem.” A new red I can add to my red repertoire:

 

Whistling red wings rolling through the fog

Seldom allowing the survey crew to catch a glimpse of their red beauty

But when the sea of red in the sky walks the flats

It is worth noting in the Bering camp log

Controller Bay knot surveys are no cup of tea

But could perhaps save a species on the verge of collapse