Young Love

It’s spring, and a young man’s fancy turns to love. So does a young hawk’s, a young newt’s, a young chipmunk’s, a young…well, you get the picture.

Last month I couldn’t sit on my porch or take a walk without feeling like I should be averting my eyes. Birds, salamanders, you name it, they were all in the throes of passion. Or attempting to be. Every creature was intent on replicating itself, of passing on its genes to its progeny, ensuring that the species would continue.

Many of those eggs have now hatched.

The ditch near my house is home to wood frog tadpoles that I enjoy watching getting bigger every day. But if we don’t get some continuing rain, those babies will die before they grow legs and leave the water. In dry springs, my kids always wanted to scoop them up and move them someplace wetter. They really didn’t understand, or care about, my lessons on how life works, survival of the fittest, and all that rot. Me, if the water starts drying up, I make it a point not to stop and look; although I won’t interfere, I find it too sad to watch nature take its course.

Phoebes nest under my porch every year. I get to watch them as they make their never-ending rounds of my yard, snapping up all manner of flying things to feed their hungry babes. I find it amazing that I can often hear a quick “snap” when their beaks close on a meal. I can only imagine how hard that beak has to close to make a noise that’s audible to me many feet away!

I could go on about young love and young life, but I’d rather hear what YOU have to say about it! Leave me comments!

Peg Cherre, Nature Center Director

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