June 30, 2019
It just happened 10 minutes ago- but my heart is still in a flurry. The feeling of pure excitement, followed by amazement, then a short adjustment period upon realizing what I’m seeing is real. Yes- this is happening. This moment I’m a part of is playing out before I can comprehend how incredible it is. Then before I can grasp this thought, it’s already over. Just like that. This is how wildlife encounters often go. The glimpse of something majestic, the narrowing in and immediate identification, then the quick decision how to react. To stay quiet and calm, to respect its space, but to crane one’s neck as far as possible and squint one’s eyes as narrow as they will go-to make the experience last as long as possible. The wildness and alertness I feel- it’s invigorating! I kneel behind the reeds and horsetail, slowing my breathing- and doing my best to calm pup and encourage him to sit still. I watch for a few brief seconds, before my curiosity gets the better of me. I shimmy forward a bit more, trying not to make a sound or disturb the vegetation. The critters swim out of view, and I briefly stand to continue a few paces before finding a new spot to gaze from. Pure energy is coursing through my veins, preventing me from looking away. My favorite animal is right here beside me!
My current residence isn’t exactly in the city- but it’s not rural either. It’s a town smaller than the one I grew up in, and it hasn’t grown much over the last few decades, unlike my childhood home which has experienced a phenomenal population boom. In this new place I appreciate the slower pace, the lack of crowded intersections, and the bravery of the wildlife to make their home alongside ours. I’m vehemently protective of their space- but with fewer people they can more comfortably live in town- where nature still persists. One such place is the human-made lake down the road from my house. This strip of water is crowded with life. Many times we’ve walked near the shoreline; spotting tiny muskrats cruising past, songbirds busily feeding their young from bird-boxes atop poles, flocks of ducks-wild and domestic-sitting on grassy knolls, and noisy ospreys flying above, past the prehistoric-like great blue herons perched in the trees. Virginia opossums and racoons emerge from their hiding-spots, walking down the sidewalk and across yards as soon as night falls- though they are momentary illuminated by the old street lamps- glowing a dull yellow. In the winter their numerous tracks can be traced in the snow- zig-zag patterns as far as the eye can see-from one crawlspace to another. I even remember a magical crisp evening where during a game of glow-in-the-dark frisbee a racoon made a daring appearance. After a failed catch he crawled down a nearby tree, sideways scampered with an arching back- and absconded with the frisbee! He drug it a couple feet and flipped it over a few times before giving up and climbing back up the tree. He watched the game continue from the lower branches, his little eyes glowing with the movement of the lit disk-back and forth, back and forth.
Tonight, on this warm summer day moments before dusk, it’s a family of river otters that has caught my attention. Two adults, and a tiny offspring-which seems to be receiving rides between its parents. Their dark profiles are a welcome contrast against the gray blue of the water. My first sighting is just one of them, swimming parallel to the shore, leaving a narrow path in its wake. I’m immediately giddy. It swims at a leisurely pace, before stopping to stare straight at me. I’m embarrassed, I thought I was being quiet- and now feel like I’ve just been reprimanded. I stop and sit, and the courageous critter swims towards me, grumbling in a raspy tone and producing guttural cough noises, almost a wet bark. I’ve been caught. He continues this for a few seconds, vocalizing his disinterest at my presence. I sit and watch, and soon it unites with two other otters, one clearly smaller than itself. I’m surprised as all three otters swim directly towards us, the two oldest towing the young one between them. They come to the shoreline through the lily pads to stare my pup and I straight-on, as we sit on a small embankment obscured by plants. I feel I’ve respected their space, but perhaps they are more curious than I realized. All three stop inches from the shore, bobbing heads- three in a row. They silently watch us, and we sit motionless- pup doesn’t seem to know what to think. He emits a small whine, getting restless and impatient. The otters don’t seem phased, and slowly continue their evening swim and search for snacks as darkness begins to fall. They move farther into the lake, and then back out again, ignoring us completely from that point onward. Perhaps we’ve been marked as “harmless, no threat detected”. They’ve checked us out and are no longer interested. They resume their family time; their high-pitched chirping and chittering to one another echoing across the smooth water.
Pup and I sit together until it’s almost too dark to see. I gently pet him as he sniffs the air, standing guard alongside me. The mosquitos descend, and I begin to brush them from my arms. I wonder to myself where the bats are…..I could really use a bat just about now…. but before I can even finish the though, I catch their movements as they swoop low over the water. We watch them hard at work, making easy meals of the thousands of insects touching down on the lake. Our winged friends race to and fro- in constant movement- almost invisible against the black sky, apart from the glow of the light behind us. We quietly make our way back home; across the street and along the sidewalk. I race inside to jot down the thoughts spilling from my noggin. “You don’t have to be in the backcountry to experience nature; if you’re patient it’s closer than you realize.”
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