Don’t miss the greatest pandemic friendly show in the Golden Corral parking lot
In the empty parking lot of the east-side Golden Corral, a show is about to begin.
The lot is overgrown, with grass shooting up through the cracks, and adults lounge in lawn chairs watching their kids spread out on blankets. Others sit solo in the hatchback of their car near Kellogg and Greenwich.
A pair of lovers drive up, get out of their car, and throw their arms around each other as they enjoy each other’s presence.
Men stand in the uniform of a summer bird watcher; cargo shorts, T-shirts, and binoculars strapped around their chests. They’ll be the ushers of tonight’s show.
The orchestra begins warming up with a synchronized chorus of Kansas’ summer insect songs. As they reach the crescendo, the anticipation is palpable.
“What’s that?” a woman asks.
A dark shape swoops over the heads of the audience. The ushers quickly answer, in impressive speed and accuracy, the name of the bird.
But the grackle wasn’t the bird they were waiting on.
The lead usher, Kevin Groeneweg, is Wichita’s premier expert on purple martins, the birds everyone has gathered here to see. Alone, these birds are a sight, especially the males who are an iridescent dark purple, but together, these colonial birds dance every night before roosting, and it is a sight to behold.
Purple martins have been a constant companion for humans for thousands of years and are one of the few birds that primarily depend on humans to nest, preferring artificial cavities. Before colonization, Native Americans across North America would hang up empty gourds for them to nest in.
Each year these birds return to Wichita and put on a show that runs from late July to late August and sometimes into September. And just as certain that they will return, people will show up to watch. The show, which Wichitans will only have a week or so left to watch, begins each night around 8. It’s over by 9.
”They’re out feeding all around and then they come into this roost site,” Groeneweg said. “There’s safety in numbers and so the bigger the number, the safer they are, so that’s what motivates them to form these roosts.”
No other bird species garner the same attention, according to Bob Gress, the former director for the Great Plains Nature Center. Some, like the bald eagle, egrets, and even Canada geese, would gather a crowd when they first arrived in the state, but no other birds could capture and keep the imagination of the masses like these purple martins.
The sun sinks, lights fading on the stage. More people slowly trickle into the lot. Per COVID-19 restrictions, most are keeping their distance.
Last week the show had 15,000 purple martin performers. But now? Who knows. With these performers’ constant movement, it’s tough to count for anyone other than a seasoned birder.
“Peak numbers occur probably on the first weekend of August,” Groeneweg said. “Typically there’s 20,000-30,000. I’ve seen it as high as 50,000. Although I tend to underestimate large blocks and so I’m thinking my numbers tend to be conservative. Usually by mid-August things are starting the wane.”
The birds are migrating south, so their numbers shift weekly.
There were 23 people Tuesday night in the lot, most not birders, but that’s a low turnout, according to Groeneweg.
“Because the roost wasn’t located until kind of late, the crowds here are not as big,” Groeneweg said. “Word got out kind of late. In previous years, like last year, when they were at the Waterfront, it was a huge crowd.”
The opening act begins with a sea of 15,000 to 20,000 grackles and starlings. Where grackles, with their lanky bodies, purple heads, and brown chests, are found, the boisterous and iridescent starlings are not far behind.
As they begin flying in flocks, swooping and flourishing, it’s a mesmerizing sight.
From stage left, the antagonist arrives. A lone Swainson’s hawk, at least 10 times larger than the largest starling, swoops through the flock, looking for its next meal. He’s out of luck, as the starlings and grackles easily evade him with their graceful and speedy flying.
Finally, the stars come out a few at a time, giving the audience just a taste and assuring them they are, in fact, in the right spot.
Now, they come all at once, in giant flocks, with their signature flutter and float flying style. Together, in a chorus of purple martins, starlings and grackles, they chirp and spin in circles above their roosts.
The sound of running water rushes over us, as they flap overhead, wings beating heavily against their sides. The audience’s faces are upturned in rapture. Some snap pictures.
“A sight to see,” someone whispers.
”There are not that many species that put on a spectacle,” Gress said. “This is one of those spectacles.”
Then, as quickly as it started, it’s over. And, without warning, the birds begin dropping out of the sky, diving into the trees.
After a few moments, the sky is empty, and the sky above the tree line is empty. The show is over, and it’s time for people to go home. One by one, they pack up their kids, their chairs, get in their cars, and leave.
They sing us out as we drive away, a promise that there will be another show tomorrow, and we are welcome to come back and admire them again.
This story was originally published August 20, 2020 at 2:10 PM.
