The Marsh Project Week #20

This past weekend was the annual iNaturalist City Nature Challenge, during which 64 cities from across the world competed in a friendly but fierce competition to find out which city could get the most observations and species observed in a four-day period.  Some people eagerly anticipate the Super Bowl, the World Series or March Madness; the Mom of No takes the City Nature Challenge seriously.  Fortunately, the weekend turned out to be sunny and warm: optimal conditions for getting outside with the camera, the hiking boots, and a large bottle of water and viewing some wildlife.

During the four day Nature Challenge, I logged over 16 miles walked and 81 observations with 57 species logged.  Not too bad, considering that I sometimes become absorbed into watching a bird even after I'd gotten photographic evidence of it and should have moved on (one of the goals being greatest number of observations, quantity is important),  or got sidetracked into looking for something that I heard might be in a certain place, and since I'm out here already, hey, why not go looking for it?  You never know what Nature will send your way- especially when the day is waning, the battery on the camera is almost dead, the water bottle is nearly empty, and the feet are weary.

It's clear on the trails that we are now well into spring; the butterflies and dragonflies are out and the summer birds are here. A day or so before the Nature Challenge started I'd heard a rumor that the painted buntings had arrived, and on Sunday, as I walked towards one of my favorite birding spots, a painted bunting flew out of the trees and landed on a rock right in front of me.  Yes! The bird never stood still long enough for me to get that perfect shot, but I had my first documented painted bunting observation for the season.

Sometimes you almost walk right by the critters and almost miss seeing them.  It happens to me often enough that I wonder what I'm missing even when I'm looking closely. On Friday night, I almost walked by a diamondback water snake that had wound itself up in some reeds.  Once I saw it, it was obvious- but I almost didn't see it.

Sometimes you go looking for things, and you don't find them.  On day two, I had seen a bittern fly up from some reeds, and the next day I returned to the area hoping for some luck.  I knew my chances were slim; they're secretive birds, skilled at hiding.  I could hear it (or at least I thought I heard it), but I couldn't see it.  Finally, it was time to go- I was almost out of water, and I had things to do elsewhere, but I left reluctantly.

I live in a suburban area near a very large city, and although I've been nature-nerding for a few years, I still find myself in awe over the number of species that I find in one relatively small area of undeveloped green space.  Every so often, I start thinking that maybe I've found almost everything that there is to find, and then the next week I find something new, or I see some behavior that I haven't seen before,  and I realize all over again that I will probably never see it all.  Then I ponder the thought that the diversity of what I am personally seeing is a miniscule part of what exists on Earth, and I realize all over again what an astonishing planet I find myself living on.