Mystery call

Feb. 9 9:40AM 38F

On my way to the mandala, I stop and look around at the forest. It's fortuitous timing as I turn just in time to see a sly red fox (Vulpes vulpes) dart up the hill and disappear from view. I've been seeing foxes with some regularity recently, perhaps due to increased activity during their January-March mating season. I'm pretty sure I see fox tracks by the stream later.

Approaching my spot, I notice for the first time a deer trail. Perhaps it's been warm enough long enough to soften the ground and allow these paths to emerge from frozen obscurity. As I leave the main trail during each of my walks into the mandala, I've thought about varying my approach, trying to avoid leaving any evidence of my frequent presence here. Thoreau's perspective of his trail readily comes to mind. I may not be that picky, apparently neither are the deer, but I can respect Thoreau's position that once the trail is made, it's time to move on.

After I make myself comfortable on my stool, leaning back against my ash tree, I commit to my sit. The sounds of nature are masked by overwhelming noise from the fire call at the Owings Mills Fire Department maybe a half mile away, of construction, of distant traffic. I lament that my mandala is so inundated by anthropogenic influence but need to remember that I chose this spot in part out of necessity. How far would I have to go to escape the roar or even the din of human society? Just how impacted is my mandala by the noise, our presence here in whatever forms it's expressed? In talking about ecology and biodiversity in my Environmental Science course last week, I told the story how ecological studies used to only be done in "pristine" areas. Gradually, we've come to recognize that there are no such areas as pristine and untouched by anthropogenic influence. There are even some really great studies exploring the ecology of human-dominated and even human-constructed systems.

The sounds of nature come like waves, the bird songs ebb and flow. One moment, all I hear is construction noise and the water flowing in the stream. Then for several minutes, I hear birds, like that Carolina chickadee's "chick-a-dee-dee-dee-dee." The ebb and flow doesn't seem to be driven by human activity but rather by the fluctuation in nature's biological activity. What causes these cycle, a need to catch their breath? Tucked in with the birdsong is what I think is a frog call. It seems early to me but I've read recently that other amphibians are entering their breeding season. I've heard the call in two cycles now over the past 30 minutes. I wait for another cycle to see if I might locate the source. Unfortunately my waiting patience runs dry before another call but in reality, it probably doesn't matter as I'm not particularly stealthy and it's unlikely that I'd be able to find the caller. **After I return to my computer, I explore frog calls on the Virginia Herpetological Society's webpage. Based on the timing, habitat, and the call as best as I can recall it, it seems possible that I was hearing an Upland chorus frog (Pseudacris feriarum).

Before I leave, I check out the ice patterns on the stream, even find a small fish under the ice. The leaves dancing in the below-ice flow are mesmerizing. I'll look forward to exploring the stream in greater detail later in this journey.