What in sand-hill? Cranes make Somerset a habit.

After a few years of birding, you get to know where the rarities are going to be, and when. It's more than understanding that Red Knots are going to arrive on the Delaware Bay in May or that the Short-Eared Owl will be hunting the grasslands of the Wallkill National Wildlife Refuge in the dead of winter. It's knowing that if a certain species is going to show in New Jersey at all, it'll be within a certain range of dates at a given location.

You might even say that it's a given that if the unlikely is going to happen, the experienced birder is going to know when and where it will occur.

Where's Sandy? The Randolph Road Sandhill Cranes,
neatly camouflaged in corn stubble.

It's that way for Sandhill Cranes. Ask a longtime birder if she's seen one this year, and she'll tell you whether she's recently visited a certain street in Somerset. I don't know if anyone knows exactly why the birds have adopted the spot for a late fall visit over the better part of a decade, but this year up to eight at a time have been seen in a cornfield across from a corporate park on Randolph Road.

About the height of a Great Blue Heron but twice as heavy, Sandhill Cranes are normally western birds, known for hanging out in large numbers in prairies and the type of grasslands that are not natural habitats in New Jersey. Spending their summers in Canada, large flocks make their way to Nebraska and other points south and west for the winter. Talk to folks in New Mexico, and they'll marvel over the spectacle of thousands of Sandhill Cranes congregating at the state's Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge, their rattling calls heard up to two miles away.

Sandhill crane. Credit: Department of the Interior/USGS

New Jersey's crane visitors appear to be a lot quieter, or at least their sparse numbers don't gain the same level of attention for their calls. A few birders at a time might stop on the shoulder of the road to get a good eyeful or a couple of photographs as the birds forage for leftover corn or the occasional rodent. Otherwise, they go without notice, blending rather nicely with the stubbled cornstalks on the field.

Besides Somerset, Sandhills have been known to show up in Cape May, Mercer and Camden Counties at times over the past 20 years, but it's not clear whether those places produce sightings as reliably as the Randolph Road cornfield. We saw them among a foraging herd of longhorn cattle in New Egypt a couple of years ago while on a chase to see the even rarer Northern Lapwings, but nobody's reported them since.

Why these individuals aren't with a larger flock, we'll never know, but I'm selfishly happy to be able to see them here, rather than having to travel west for the spectacle. If they're looking for a bit of solitude or distance from the clamor of the Sandhill Crane lifestyle, it's ironic that they've chosen the country's most densely populated state to spend a few weeks in.

On the other hand, they may have a good reason. Interestingly, while I was checking into the cranes' visitation to these parts, I came upon one of the most novel bird-related theories I've ever read. A group of Jersey Devil hunters submits that some of those who've claimed to see Mother Leeds' 13th child may have actually seen a Sandhill Crane instead. With their height and impressive six foot wingspan, the cranes would give an unsuspecting wanderer a good fright, but I'm skeptical. The cranes, on the other hand, may just be stopping by to find their storied cousin.

It's as good an explanation as any. Right?

Walk like a New Egyptian

Put enough mileage on your car, and you're likely to find some unexpected animals in New Jersey farm fields. I've learned to go with it: if northern lapwings have found their way from Europe all the way to Central Jersey, and they happen to be hanging out with a couple of sandhill cranes, who am I to say they shouldn't settle down among a pasture of grazing longhorn cattle in New Egypt?

Longhorn cattle? Here? If you adhere to the truism that everyone has a relative in Jersey, why should they be any different? For whatever reason, a farmer on Brynmore Road decided to bring a little bit of Texas back East, and there we go.

Ivan and I first found them in January, when the lapwings were first reported. True to the accounts on the American Bird Association bulletin board, the avian visitors were lingering on the ground looking like plovers with crests, navigating through the firm mud churned by the longhorns. The cranes, a bit easier to spot from a distance, were farther backfield, not getting as much attention from the scrum of birders congregated at the edge of the narrow two-lane road. The cattle themselves looked a bit wary; we gave them wide berth, even with a wire fence separating us. I couldn't help but think that a rare discourteous birder could find himself on the business end of those horns pretty quickly if he were foolish enough to hop the fence for a closer look at the rare visitors to New Jersey.

In any case, Ivan and I got our life lapwings, plus a curious new place to check out. We'd passed through what looked like downtown New Egypt on our way in and made a mental note to return when we had more time to explore. An impressive-looking former bank building labeled "Welcome Center" in big letters is a focal point in the small business area, so I figured some of the locals would be ready and waiting for us when we got back.

New Egypt - or Plumsted Township - has the distinction of being in the geographic center of New Jersey, but if you're trying to find it, it feels a little more like the middle of nowhere. County roads bring you there from the Parkway or 195, and if you're not sure how long it should take, well, it feels like a long drive. You're rewarded with rather pleasant scenery - farm fields and some woods along the way, punctuated by housing developments here and there.

Longhorn salad bar, from the safety of the car.

Before I checked out downtown, though, there was the matter of the longhorns. I returned to find them at the salad bar. Who knew bovines were into mixed greens? One was even bellying up to the bar, resting his front legs upon the flatbed holding the food, looking much like a tired laborer hunched over his beer at the corner tavern after a long shift.

Back in town, I was disappointed to find that the Welcome Center was closed, with no hours posted for when it would be staffed. The town was not giving up its secrets so quickly, so I had to do a bit of research after returning to Hidden New Jersey headquarters.

First, there's the matter of the town's rather curious name. I saw no deserts or pyramids on my visit, so why Egypt? Legend has it that the community was once called Timmons (or Kimmons) Mills, until General George Washington made a fateful quip. He'd sent soldiers to search for supplies for his hungry army, and one returned with food, Washington quipped, "Here is Joseph, returned from Egypt with wheat." When the revered father of our country affixes a label to your town, it tends to stick.

Another story has a similar theme, with different details. A man named Kimmons would store corn during high-yield harvests, and when lean years came, people would go to his farm to buy grain and corn. Referring to the Bible as Washington was said to have, people would say they were going to Egypt when they went to Kimmons' mill for grain. The "New" was added, as the 1930s WPA Guide to New Jersey stated, "to differentiate it from other Egypts." Other Egypts? In New Jersey?

The name was changed to Oakford in 1869 at the behest of a real estate developer who said he'd pave the roads with brick if the town agreed to make the change. Apparently the locals had a change of heart when the railroad refused to change the name on its timetables: they reverted back to New Egypt a few weeks later.

Besides the uniqueness of its name, New Egypt established its place in history for agriculture. It's said that the town was where the berries for the world's first cranberry sauce were grown, though I didn't see any bogs when I was there. The community was also once host to the world's largest egg hatchery.

Outside of farming, New Egypt was a resort area for a time in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, made more accessible by the arrival of railroad service. More than two dozen inns and boardinghouses sprung up to accommodate those who came to enjoy the countryside, including the Duchess of Windsor. Visitors could swim or boat on Oakford Lake, hike in the nearby woods, or take in a leisurely picnic, just to name a few of the activities available to them. Predictably, many businesses also took root downtown, meeting just about any need a visitor might have.

These days, things seem a lot quieter. There's no longer a train bringing visitors -- that ended with the advent of the automobile, shore attractions and other distractions. If anyone's visiting New Egypt, it's either for the flea market or the speedway, or perhaps to pick their own vegetables at one of the local farms. Maybe it's better that way: the community retains a rural, small town feel that's a true respite from the overcrowding that's endemic to more highly-developed parts of the state.

It's nice to know that at its heart, New Jersey can still maintain a quiet, peaceful core.