Today was so warm that I pulled the lawn mower out of the shed, checked my gloves for spiders, and spent several hours working outside. As I scraped away layers of leaves, twigs, and mud, I found traces of spring in every corner of the yard.
After finishing in the yard, I opened the windows, took off my shoes, and invited spring into the house.
I saw my first-ever hooded mergansers in January of this year:
Since then, I’ve seen them everywhere. At the Virginia Beach Fishing Center, prior to boarding a whale watching boat:
At Back Bay National Wildlife Refuge:
And, most recently, at First Landing State Park:
(In the photo above, the male seemed to be keeping watch while his mate foraged. She is partly visible in the background, captured mid-dive.)
Reviewing these photos, it’s hard to explain how I missed these lovely birds in the past. Is it possible that they were rarer in previous years? Has some imperceptible fluctuation in our weather pattern drawn them here in larger numbers than usual? Or are they like an unfamiliar word, more likely to be noticed in the days and weeks following their first recognition?
February’s annual malaise has set in. My mood reflects the sky’s gray clouds. My joints ache, brittle with frost. Each morning is more reluctant than the last, and each evening more welcome.
My instinct is to hide from February. To find a dry den, line it with blankets, and retreat into sleep’s warm sanctuary.
But then, when I woke to the storm-scented gusts of spring, I would regret my weeks of sleep. I would wonder what I had missed, while hibernating…
A final set of photos from Wednesday’s walk at Back Bay National Wildlife Refuge, which is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen.
A rich variety of wildlife makes every visit a fascinating new adventure.
(The ducks pictured above are a new species for me, and I would love a little help identifying them. Are they Gadwalls?)
As much as I enjoyed taking these photos, I regret that I missed the deer.
And I’m aching to know who left the following tracks on a patch of sand near the trail.
There were two sets of tracks, side-by-side, moving in the same direction. The footprints were slightly smudged, but the tail-drag marks were clear enough. What do you think? Did I miss otters? Or are the tracks more lizard-like?
I can’t resist a mystery, and I would love to add deer photos to the archive. I’m already planning my next walk…
During my Wednesday walk at Back Bay National Wildlife Refuge, I heard this flock of birds before I saw them. Their whistles and scolds carried over the water, and I wondered what was causing all the excitement.
At first, they seemed chaotic and confused, a disorganized muddle of hunger and alarm. After watching a while, their behavior made more sense. They would land for a frantic spell of foraging, gulping down seeds and anything else they found in the trees and on the ground. Then, at some mysterious signal, they would erupt into the air and circle to a new location.
When they reached a small gravel road, they streamed back and forth across it, oscillating between dense stands of pine on either side.
The most riveting part of this experience, to me, was the soundtrack. Whenever the birds landed, they communicated with a grating cacophony of calls. But they were almost silent in the air. As they shifted back and forth over the road, their wings whirred an eerie echo of the nearby surf.
I heard them in my sleep last night, and I dreamed of flying.
Rae Spencer 