Snakes and turtles and toads…Oh my! Enjoying nature and family on an after-school hike
“Let’s go on a hike,” I say to my partner. He agrees with a smile that includes his eyes. It’s a nice sunny Monday at the end of May. The seventy-ish-degree temperature adds to the summer-like feel that helps me pretend the school year is finished and time is ours to do as we choose. We get my son on the “back 40,” as they call the grassy field near the building where parents pick up their kids after school. They are clumped up under the shade of a big tree. He runs up to me and hands over his backpack, with plenty to talk about — what homework he has and an excited discussion about green anacondas — what his “crew” is learning about in school. We head to the car and tell him we’re going on a hike, to a local park we frequent.
We haven’t been on as many hikes as we did last year — when that was our main form of entertainment and exercise during the first months of home-school and work-at-home.
We arrive with our cameras — my partner loves photography, and I am slowly remembering my way back to this former love of mine. I haven’t done anything more than snap iPhone photos since my son was born eight years ago. I loved the film days, when I’d pop in a roll and then use my shots carefully — only 24, unless I splurged for 36 — and then hope and wonder for the rest of a trip that some of them would come out with the scenes I imagined and the facial expressions on friends I intended. I used more care in selecting the shot, focusing manually, taking care with the lighting.
Now that we can see our shots instantly, and take so many, I have thousands of undeveloped photos on my phone. I was looking for a particular photo yesterday, and I came across hundreds of moments I don’t even remember having a record of — it’s so different with technology changes. I used to get back from a trip and the first thing I’d do was drop off my film at the drugstore, fill out the envelopes by hand, put the film canisters inside, and seal them shut. Then I’d wait the few days until I could pick up my prize — thick envelopes full of 4x6 photos I could touch, flip through and lay out on the living room floor, arranging them into piles that got framed and sequencing them for photo albums. Now I return from the trip, set down my phone on the counter, and go right on to the next thing. I frequently forget to even look back at the photos once I’ve taken them.
Today we are using digital cameras — not the same as film — but, still, a real camera you can hold in your hands. My partner gave one of his cameras to my son and me. We alternate recording our finds. Today is exciting. There are some beautiful red-winged blackbirds soaring up to the trees and then down again to the grass.
I take a different approach to hiking with my son than I used to with friends. I’m more mindful of nature and conversation becomes incidental. In my twenties and thirties, I’d find myself wrapped up in talk. I’d see my surroundings as if from a distance, but a squirrel darting across the path became an interruption to ignore as I continued on with my thoughts. With my son, we are always on the lookout. He loves snakes, and he studied birds in first grade, so as a budding ornithologist he can tell me if what we are seeing is a peregrine falcon or a hawk, a house sparrow or a chickadee.
As my partner moves on to look for woodpeckers, my son and I fall back and digress, moving to the water’s edge. “Should we go Mommy?” he asks, as we look over the grassy edge down to the muddy bank. “Yup,” I reply, and we ease over the edge, our sneakers squishing into gooey mud by the crick’s edge. As he pulls his left foot out of the mud, his socked foot is released from its sneaker. We laugh. He puts his foot back in the sneaker and, holding onto my arm, pulls with more force. We hear a squelch, as the sneaker comes loose. We proceed along the edge of the bank. It’s like walking in smooth chocolate pudding. I see a black snake slithering across the surface of the water and yell, “Look!” My son follows my pointing finger, “Wow!” We try to see where the snake ends up and we rush forward to where he should have landed, but we can’t find a trace of him. My son is so excited that he wants to see more, so we go forward along the edge of the crick, holding onto branches to keep from getting stuck in the mud or falling into the water. I spot a turtle swimming underwater. I point to him, but he blends in too well with the golden-brown rocky bottom of the shallow water. My son is disappointed at missing the turtle, another of his favorite animals, so we head to the bridge. We try to spot him (or another turtle) from above. No luck.
Back on the trail, we walk for a while with nothing but a chipmunk scampering away and a few squirrels darting across the trail and up a nearby tree. As we near the end of the trail, I hear a rustling sound to my left. A snake slithers through the leftover dead leaves from last fall. I spot him first, and my son runs after the noise, but he is disappointed in his quest. The snake is too quick.
All is not lost, though. As we walk the final few hundred feet towards our car, a bumpy brown and gold toad hops across the trail. He and I chase after her, and we catch her. He carries her for awhile, but we make sure to put the toad back in her habitat. He is studying habitats in school, so he knows it’s important that she stay near her home. Then, a pleasant surprise after we’ve said goodbye to her. A baby toad — only a few inches big — emerges from the grass! He holds the baby in his hand, protecting her from a dog going by, and then sets her down and she hops away.
Time to go home. We race ahead to meet my partner a little ways down the trail. He was unlucky spotting the woodpecker, although he could hear the tap-tap-tap nearby. I grab my partner’s hand, and we walk the last steps to the car. We get in and hungrily head toward home, showers, and dinner. I may forget to upload the photos. I bet there’s a few good shots. I have the mental picture of today, though, and the warm, tired feeling of going home, so, for now, that is more than enough.
