Nature Note #147: Why Nature?

There are a lot of interesting things people have chosen to write about in this world. Some focus on the politics and problems of the world at large, while others write about their pet hobbies and ideas. I have chosen to write about an obsession of mine which is as large and varied as the world it encompasses. Those of you that visit regularly (despite the slow updates) know that the subject this blog covers is all things nature. 

But why nature? 

It seems like a simple question, but really it can be answered in so many ways. I will never know what precisely perked my interest in nature to start with. Maybe it was the day I watched a blackbird play over the garden hedge in Wales as a young boy, or the first time I ran terrified from my fishing rod when I caught my first ever Bluegill (Lepomis macrochirus). Perhaps it was the first time I canoed with my family down the Sudbury River taking in the smell of the water, the Red-winged Blackbirds (Agelaius phoenicus) calling in the cattail lined banks, and feeling the hot summer sun shimmering above.  

Maybe it has been a mix of all of those experiences and many more like them. As I settle into my new home in Syracuse, I've been trying to find those places that make me feel welcome and always with something new to see. In our modern world, we are clambering to interact more and more, while being easily bored with things that don't refresh or renew their appeal. The joy that I find in nature is that there are so many aspects you can focus on. While my initial forays into the wild were to find out more about birds, I've grown to appreciate other creatures along the way. Whenever I'm walking a trail in deciduous woodland or cruising along a pond in a kayak, I feel like there are so many things to see and feel while there.

When I was at Beaver Lake Nature Center three weeks ago, I marveled at the variety of habitats contained in one plot of land. I wandered through a section of dark woods, where feathered gnomes like Ovenbirds (Seiurus aurocapilla) and Veerys (Catharus fuscescens) sang their emphatic and haunting songs. The trees darkened the trail ahead so much that my camera couldn't take good distance shots in the gloom. 

A lone Veery tauntingly ran ahead further and further up the trail while I tried to capture a glimpse on camera. Eventually, when it stopped by a downed tree, I captured the small bird, surrounded by the giants that shade it from danger and shelter its hidden nest.

As I continued my journey through the forest, I emerged onto a boardwalk and explored a bog reaching out towards Mud Lake. The bog was a lovely mixture of saplings, low bushes, and small tubular vegetation that are known as pitcher plants. The sky was spitting and for a moment, I considered turning back, until I heard an odd yelping noise. Grak, grak, grak. It sounded like a young heron after a night on the ale, but knowing that to be unlikely, I walked to the end of the boardwalk and onto a trail that led me to the edge of the lake. The noise continued. Grak, grak, grak. 

As it turns out there were other waterbirds to be seen on that drizzly day. Caspian Terns (Hydroprogne caspia) are the largest tern species in the world. Here in Central New York they are an uncommon sighting and were likely attracted to the large freshwater lakes that were scraped into the landscape by glaciers years ago. They were the ones making those raspy croaking calls, as they soared through the mist.

I walked back through the darkened wood, satisfied that I had solved the mystery. I headed toward the nature center where I ogled the butterfly garden. Day-lilies, milkweed, and other flowers gazed back in the drizzle, bright as distant stars. The rain decided to get heavier, so I retreated back to my car and headed home. 

Why nature you wonder? After what I've described here, why would you need to wonder anymore?