On a breezy warm spring morning, three American white pelicans—Carl, Bev, and Frank—bobbed along the glassy surface of Evergreen Lake in McLean County, Illinois. They had stopped for a layover during their annual migration, and as usual, boredom was setting in. "I’m telling you," Carl said, flapping a wing dramatically, "I caught a fish this big yesterday." "That wasn’t a fish," Bev scoffed. "It was a soggy flip-flop. And you nearly choked on it." Frank, the self-appointed philosopher of the group, dipped his bill into the water and sighed. "Isn’t it curious," he mused, "how humans throw their shoes into lakes? What if those flip-flops are part of a secret migration ritual?" Bev rolled her eyes. "You’d think less if you fished more." Carl, not one to be outdone, straightened his neck. "Alright, enough chit-chat. Let’s settle this with a good old-fashioned Paddle-Off. First one across the lake wins braggin...

   The vast expanse of the sky shimmered with the soft glow of dawn as the great white pelicans set their course northward. Their long, broad wings stretched wide, catching the spring thermals that carried them effortlessly over rivers, fields, and wetlands. With each beat of their powerful wings, they followed an ancient route, one that had guided their ancestors for generations. As they soared over the Mississippi River, the waters below teemed with fish, a promise of the abundance that lay ahead. Their destination was Emiquon, a vast floodplain in central Illinois, where nature had reclaimed the land and restored it to its former glory. Once a drained agricultural field, Emiquon had been revived into a wetland haven, rich with life and sustenance for the migrating flocks. It was a sanctuary, a place where they could rest, feed, and gather strength for the journeys still to come. As they descended, the pelicans were met with the scent of fresh water and the symphony of life ...