Almost a Walk at Glassberg

The new Nikon came in a bag, not a box, and it looked and felt so flimsy, so disappointing, next to the (3x more expensive) 2004 camera it replaced, but compact and light, it has wireless capability, and even a socket for a tripod, which was what sold me, and a 20x zoom lens, positively staggering zoom power for a camera of that price. Furthermore, the 256MB memory cards for the old camera are scarce--256 GB is more common these days--and as a nature photographer I'd rather have 20x zoom than the old camera's 8x zoom.

So I took the new flimsy thing on its inaugural nature walk at Glassberg, or the Glassberg Family Conservation Area, 429 acres with three established trails to choose from. First I find that the camera doesn't even have eyelets for a neckstrap, only a wrist strap. It's like the horror of carrying a clutch purse all evening, or a water bottle all the way through a hike.

Rather too near the point at which recreation becomes diminishment (too much work! too much working out! too many phone calls!), the new camera gave me the motivation to at least walk as far as I could and try it out. And it took these photos, exclusive to springtime, of an unnamed brook that feeds into the mighty LaBarque, and a small lively swimming pool for tadpoles. I'd love to know what they're thinking. Next, after I spend a few days in bed: an attempt at night photography to capture the exclusive-to-spring meadow knee-deep in fireflies. The genius of Creation is in its excess.

What's In That Puddle and Under That Rock?

Caddisfly case

Two days ago a friend with a keener eye than mine spotted along the trail, in a puddle, hundreds of tiny black dots with tails, swarming and swimming: Spring Peeper tadpoles, and we rejoiced at the new life and watched them. Two days later I brought my camera, and the puddles were there, but smaller. And the tadpoles were there, but lifeless. All of them.

Longing to see new life again, I walked to the stream, and at my approach all sorts of unseen creatures made splashes and fled, and in the water I hoped to

These were Spring Peeper tadpoles. R.I.P.

see live tadpoles, fish, or a crayfish (sign of very clean streamwater). Nothing. Then I turned over a rock and found a caddisfly larva case, built by larval caddisflies that develop in them underwater, unseen. It isn't an egg case; they hatch from a mass of gel. Caddisfly larvae will take gravel, crumbs of wood, beads, any material, to glue together a cylindrical case, glued to rock, where they pupate for 2 to 3 weeks. Caddisflies are also indicators of a healthy stream. I returned the rock to its original position.

Spring Green

After this winter we are all starved to see anything green, so I went walking to find and feast my eyes upon every possible green thing. It's too soon for leaves, but chives grew on the forest floor, Christmas ferns hung from the bluffs, and lovely spring green moss [pictured] grew over the thin rocky soil, and patches of algae lay submerged in the creek, its water made glass-clear by melting snow. And in the creek I saw, shooting by, a small half-fish half-frog: a tadpole! So I decided to take a chance and waited until dark and then opened the door to the porch and listened, and heard, for the first time this year, the spring-peeper chorus. I just about collapsed with joy and relief. Spring isn't quite dressed yet, but its music is playing.