why i go

Each spring, I catch moments of seemingly impossible synchrony.

Like the day all the moths gathered from the four corners of the forest into a fury of courtship, filling the woods with dusk-lit wings flitting from blueberry to mountain laurel to scrub oak to baby pine.

Or the morning all the Fowler’s toad eggs hatched, and the trail popcorned with half-inch toadlings bouncing away from each footstep.

Or this Wednesday. There must have been a special trade-in promotion at the arachnid exoskeleton dealership, because nearly every spider and relative was upgrading its shell. Shed your old skin, get a brand-new one, half-price!

Bare skin days before the mosquitoes realize it’s open season.

Somehow, knowing they’re coming makes me preternaturally sensitive. Each twitch and tickle needs to be soothed, skin swept clear of potential blood suckers.

The ticks. I even like flicking them off my legs, because each successful catch reminds me it’s that time of year. Warmer. Unfolding change and more change.

One after the other, I intercept their mad scramble for my nether regions. These buggers move awfully fast for quarter-inchers. But they won’t get to their destinations. I’m too fast. Not today, mother—- Oops, sorry. Got carried away there for a minute, forgot this is supposed to be a family-friendly blog.

Of course, I could rhapsodize about the blooms and the glorious explosion of green and the soothing showers and breezes till I run out of breath for the next syllable. But I’d only be repeating what others have said forever. These are my reminders of time and place. And you? Why do you go?

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if you go

There were a couple of weeks in April when I wasn’t sure I’d make it out from behind the computer screen in time to catch spring. I was able to sneak a few minutes here and there, just long enough to see the season was chugging along just fine without me, but the main events were still gathering steam. As soon as I hit the “Submit” button to send in my final paper and wrap up the class that had been keeping me indoors, I dashed out to the woods to see whether they had waited for me.

Just in time.

I went on an overcast evening and again on a beautiful, warmly lit evening – the kind of light that makes dust-motes and pollen twinkle on the breeze like a scene from Pocahontas. All the velvet-y reds and glowing golden greens and luminescent whites of spring are made for light like this.

Then I broke the spell. I visited my woods just a half-hour too early at the end of the lengthening day, and it was like the end of a party when the music stops and the house lights come up. The fragile, new red oak leaves had stretched into their bold, chartreuse adolescence, hiding all the singing birds behind green blinds. The magical sunlight that had gilded every edge two days ago was another hour in the making.

I spent a few melodramatic minutes poking at green things, resigning myself to the ordinariness of summer, a statement that looks ridiculous in print, I know. Another few moments were devoted to wondering whether I should give up the binoculars for the season since they didn’t come with x-ray options (why can’t I find the loudest damn bird in the whole woods? Whyyyyy?). And then, in a fit of overwrought despair, I pondered what the heck I’d write about for the next few months without new leaves and budding blueberries to gush over. What if, during my absence, the well of things worth telling had run dry? I grimace at this minor tragedy now, but these were Serious Thoughts while the woods went silent and I searched for something photogenic to point a lens at.

Of course, I wouldn’t be embarrassing myself with these confessions if there wasn’t some redemption somewhere. At some point in my reverie, the faintest of sounds crept into my distracted mind, nearly buried under the squawks and chatter of the Catbirds Who Would Not Be Seen.

Slosh.            Slosh.            Slosh.            Slosh.

The human brain can process some crazy amazing things based on sounds alone: the approximate size of the slosher (raccoon sized, cat sized); its location (in the muddy trickle of a stream behind me); how many legs it has (four); its motivation (sneaking). I spun around, and my eyes lit on a drippy, mustard-colored snapping turtle, with a dirty dinner plate of a shell and a prehistoric head the size of a fist, creeping down the creek. I applied first the unfocused binoculars and then the unfocused (and very frustrated) camera to my face, alternating a few times before the snapper noticed my flailing and splooshed under water, leaving a slick of (yellowish, vomitty) mud bobbing on the surface.

Righto, turtle. Thanks for the reminder that the story’s been going on for a few millennia without me around to see or tell it. My job is to go out, quiet down, listen, and see. Glad to be back.

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Posted in Birds, Looking closer, Summer, Uncategorized | Tagged , | 5 Comments

PSA: don’t kidnap (animal) babies!

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Remember that scene from Disney’s movie Bambi when Bambi the fawn meets Thumper and Flower and all the other animal babies, and they frolic in the woods all by themselves? Modern directors might consider inserting more parental supervisors into the scene, but the original is actually fairly faithful to the way animals really raise their little ones. Mammals especially take a paws-off approach. Momma deer, squirrels and rabbits spend most of the day far away from their new babies, who are safer hidden than guarded by mothers who are walking advertisements for young, tender, helpless meals. Baby birds flutter clumsily to the ground attempting their first flights, but bird parents keep a close eye on their chicks from the bushes as they master new feathers.

This means that, in most cases, that helpless-looking baby animal you find under your oak tree is better off than if you “rescue” it. In fact, well-meaning people are often baby snatching without realizing it, leaving behind confused parents who expect to find their babies exactly where they left them, if not close by.

Aside from unintentionally kidnapping some critter’s baby, the assistance of people is often a more risky situation than leaving the little ones alone. People are nowhere near as good at being animal moms as animal moms are. Even licensed, experienced wildlife rehabilitators lose many of the babies they try to raise. And before you tell me the heartwarming story about your grandma who brought up an eternally returning baby crow by feeding it bread chunks soaked in milk, I need to level with you. Not to besmirch your grandmother’s memory, but very few attempts end successfully, and lots of folks who try end up doing more harm than they realize. Bread, dog food, ground chicken – nothing you have in your kitchen will satisfy the nutritional needs of a baby animal, not to mention all the other needs they have. And, even if Grandma had a gift, it might not be genetic.

It is always better to leave wildlife raising to professionals.

So what should you do if you find a baby animal? First things first: handling animal babies will not make their mothers abandon them. That is a myth! Tell all your friends! Now, here’s the run-down by species, with links to more information if you’re interested:

Squirrel kits: Leave these long-tailed squirmers in a small “nest” (towel-lined, open box) at the foot of the tree for mom to find. She’ll return them to the nest and raise them right.

Bird chicks: If it’s an ugly, pink, featherless baby, put it back in its nest, or make a nest from a small container (with holes for drainage!) and secure it back in the tree for the parents to find and feed. If it’s cute, fully feathered, and fluffy, leave it alone, and keep away your pets (and yourself) as long as possible. It’ll find its wings and fly away before you know it, and in the meantime, its parents will feed it while you’re not looking. Note: this applies mainly to songbird chicks, who grow in their first feathers and fledge early. Baby owls and hawks start off with white or grey down feathers, and it may be hard to return them to their high nests at this stage.

Bunnies: Put these back in their nest if their eyes are still closed, or they still have a “star” on their foreheads. If it’s peeking at you with open eyes and hopping away, leave it alone. It will be able to forage for itself.

Fawns: Leave fawns alone, and stay far far away! They’re a little dopey – they follow anything that moves, and it’s very hard to make them stay where they belong once they latch on to a person.

Opossum joeys: Frankly, these are the cutest, in my opinion. And here’s where you actually get to help. If you find a baby possie by itself, it’s really and truly an orphan. Its mama didn’t notice when it fell off her back, and she won’t come around again to look for it. And, since baby possies grow up in their mother’s pouch, they often survive accidents that kill their mother. So, as yucky as it might be, it’s often worth it to check dead opossums from May to August for babies in the pouch that might be savable.

Sometimes, human help is needed, though, so what should you do if you think you should intervene?

Know when to take a baby animal to a rehabilitator –  only if 1.) You know the parents are dead, or really, truly not coming back; or 2.) You see that the baby is injured.

Know what to do. First, put the baby in a towel-lined shoebox with holes in the sides. Add a bottle filled with hot water under the towel to help the baby stay warm. Then, take it to a rehabber as soon as possible. Don’t feed it anything, and keep it in a quiet, dark place. Be sure to leave a donation with the rehabber if you can, because, as I’ve mentioned before, rehabbers don’t have big budgets (or any budget), and a few dollars go a long way.

If you want to help more, volunteer your services to a rehabilitator. I’m not an official rehabber myself, I just play one (as a volunteer) one day a week. Many wildlife rehab facilities depend on volunteers, and they will train you to do everything you’ll need to know. If you’re helping with baby animals, the first thing they’ll show you is how to dodge bunny pee. They’re like four-inch, adorable, but unpredictable fountains… But they make the cutest faces.

*This post is pictureless, because if I showed you the adorable animal babies I take care of during the summer, you’d comb your own neighborhood for nests, and snatch all the little ones. And that would be a little counterproductive, now wouldn’t it?

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