Nature's Palette

I enjoy watching birds, and looking for birds, but, although I own several bird guides, I don't consider myself a hardcore birder. In fact, sometimes I take the easy way out, and visit Pinellasbirds.com to see what the real birders are finding. It's a great local website, with daily postings of who saw what where, complete with photographs. More than once I've chosen a park based on what's been posted.

Although I've been to Kapok Park in Clearwater on several occassions, this particular trip was specifically to find, in person, a Glossy Ibis I'd seen on Pinellasbirds.com. Kapok is a beautiful little city park. In the past, I've seen an owl and owlet, Eastern Cottontail rabbit, different butterflies, ducks, Coots, Moorhens, White Egrets, Great Blue Herons, Limpkins - basically, a who's who of Florida wildlife. But would I luck out and see the Glossy Ibis?


Of course, I wanted it to appear immediately, and, of course, it didn't. However, I'm not one to give up easily, and decided to focus on a Wood Stork, who was feeding near the boardwalk. I've never really observed one at work, and it was fun seeing it scooch around in the water, stirring up whatever it is Wood Storks eat. After awhile, the Wood Stork finished, and flew across the water to a small island. I followed it through my camera lens, and a few feet from where the Wood Stork landed, I noticed shiny emerald green in the grass. I couldn't tell what it was at first, so watched it a few seconds. Finally, it moved - it was the Glossy Ibis! I sent a mental thanks to the Wood Stork, and waited for the Glossy Ibis to emerge.


And waited. And waited. And, at long last, a beautiful, bejeweled-looking bird stepped into the water, and I was fully able to appreciate it. Pictures don't do this bird justice. Even seeing one in the flesh doesn't do it justice, until the sun shines directly on its feathers, making them shimmer. I was mesmerized, and took shot after shot as it moved through the water. It waded into a green algae patch in front of where I stood on the boardwalk, allowing me even closer views. I felt like the luckiest person on earth.


As if seeing the Glossy weren't special enough, I was amazed - enough to say "WOW!" out loud, even though I was alone - when first one, then another Roseatte Spoonbill flew into my frame. Their bright pink feathers are unmistakable, and reflected in the water. I was even able to zoom in close enough to see their red eyes. The Spoonbills splashed around, chased each other, preened, and eventually flew away. Between the Spoonbills and my first Glossy Ibis sighting, it was almost more than I could handle.


Feeling the day had reached its peak, I decided it was time to go. My camera dead camera battery agreed. I wasn't in the least bit disappointed, though, because I'd come hoping to see a Glossy, and had seen it. The two Spoonbills were icing on the cake. Magical moments far exceeded my expectations, and I left Kapok with a smile on my face, knowing nothing compares to the colors of nature's palette.

Our Winter Star

Once upon a time, there was a little dolphin caught in a crabtrap. But, in this story with a happy ending, she was discovered by a fisherman, who called the Florida Wildlife and Fish Conservation Commission. They, in turn, called the Clearwater Marine Aquarium, a marine hospital and rehabilitation center, where this dolphin, named Winter, was given a second chance at life.

Against all odds, Winter has blossomed at the aquarium. Although she was intact when saved from the crabtrap, Winter later lost her tail. Remarkably, she's learned to swim without one, which doesn't seem to hold her back, but it's damaging her spine. In normal circumstances, she'd use an up and down motion with her tail to propel herself. Her new swim pattern, though, is to move side to side like a fish. Luckily for Winter, prostheses designer, Kevin Carroll, heard about her on the radio, and decided to create a prosthetic tail. After many trials and errors, Kevin's team finally designed a tail Winter can use, and she practices swimming with it every day. Not that Winter always makes it easy. In the words of an aquarium trainer, "the only plan is what Winter has in mind."

Winter shares her tank with an older dolphin named Panama. It took Panama awhile to accept Winter, but she finally caved in to Winter's attention, and who can blame her? There's something infectious about Winter, something beyond her ability to overcome. She almost radiates a kind of happiness, a sense of being carefree. What I loved most about visiting her on this occassion was how uncooperative she was during the aquarium's demo. Winter swam out of her enclosure for a few seconds, then turned around and went back in. Panama wasn't that interested in the crowd, either, but the aquarium is about information, not performance, so it's no big deal. Sticking around paid off, though. Once the crowd wandered away, Panama leapt through the air several times, and Winter swam out to play. They were both the essence of Dolphin: joy.

Winter is truly an inspiration. Not only is she an ambassador for those who need prosthetics, she's living proof we can overcome our obstacles. My friend Anna's 3 year old granddaughter, Eve, thinks every dolphin she sees now is Winter, and when you ask her about Winter's tail, Eve's reply is always, "We have to buy her a new one." Sometimes life really is that simple. Winter has been our star here in Pinellas County since she was a baby, but she's about to go global. A film crew is in the area making "Dolphin Tale," due out in September 2011. We've all heard of the Little Engine that Could. Now, everyone's going to know the Little Dolphin that Could.

A Two Parks a Day Habit

For her birthday, my friend and photo buddy, Anna (bird watcher and the business brain behind The Way Eye See It Photography), wanted to celebrate with a day at Brooker Creek Nature Preserve in Tarpon Springs. We met early in the morning, anticipating what birds we might spot, and hoping to see Swallow-tailed Kites, but the park was closed when we arrived. We stared at the locked gate, as though the power of our desire would make it magically unlock, and, when it didn't, we sat, contemplating our next move.

John Chestnut Sr Park is, fortunately, only a short drive from Brooker Creek, and we headed there, with no expectations, since we've had hit & miss photo ops on previous visits. We wanted to stop first at the butterfly garden, but got diverted by the loud pounding noises of a Pileated Woodpecker looking for food. It's not easy, despite their bright red heads, to spot pileateds among tall oak branches, and when we did, it flew away. I've yet to get a decent shot of a pileated, but I love watching them, and they're always a goal to look forward to. Alligators are common at John Chestnut, and I wanted to see one surface from an algae-covered pond, but no such luck there, either. We did spot a Blue Heron, though, and its color, combined with the algae, was spectacular.

Not to be deterred from our original birthday plan, Anna and I drove back to Brooker Creek a few days later, and wandered a few trails, followed some butterflies, got a split-second view of a Red-shouldered Hawk, and swatted mosquitoes. Early on, we could tell it was going to be the sort of day where patience might or might not pay off. We finally lucked out on the exit trail, when both a Palimedes Swallowtail and an Eastern Tiger Swallowtail, a new butterfly for us, landed and fed on close-by plants. Butterflies are among my most difficult, but favorite, photo challenges. Swallow-tailed Kites are an even more elusive challenge. We'd seen one once at Brooker Creek, and wanted to see one again, but it didn't feel like we would on this trip. So, we packed up our gear, making plans to hit John Chestnut Park next. Anna and I are shameless gawkers, constantly on the look-out for wildlife, and when, on the drive out, Anna spotted Gulf Fritillaries on daisies, we couldn't pass them up. But we had to, because there was a car behind us. So we drove the park's entry/exit loop again, hoping the butterflies hadn't zipped away, and this time pulled over. Not only was I rewarded with butterfly shots, we were shocked when first one, then another, Swallow-tailed Kite swooped over our heads. The first kite flew so close, it practically touched the hood of the car, and I was so surprised, all I could do was watch. Both kites sailed high in the sky above us for a few minutes, before disappearing behind a line of trees.

That's what I love about nature: the magic and the gifts. In my experience, there's a mystical element to nature, which I can't explain, but magical moments, like the Swallow-tailed Kites, almost always happen. Sometimes I have my camera handy, and sometimes I don't. And sometimes I have my camera handy, but am too caught up in the moment, or too surprised, to even think about using it. I don't mind if I don't get the shot; I'm just grateful to receive the gift.

When I'm in the zone, though, concentrating on a subject, there's nothing that compares. Later that afternoon, at John Chestnut, we followed the sound of a Red-shouldered Hawk calling. When we found it, we were able to watch it/photograph it for several minutes. The hawk sat on its oak branch, I stood below it, and it's as though we were connected by some invisible thread. It definitely knew I was there, because it looked right at me, and I stood as still as possible to let it know I wasn't a threat. In moments like this, when I'm connected to an animal, it feels like I'm in a bubble, and nothing exists outside it. These moments fade as abruptly as they occur, and I can always feel when the moment is over. The imaginary thread breaks, the bubble bursts, and I hear the noises of everyday life again.

I've never felt complete in anything I've ever done until I started taking photography seriously. I've always loved being in nature, and the combination is what makes me whole. In The Power of Myth, Joseph Campbell talks about "the peak experience." He explains it as "actual moments of your life when you experience your relationship to the harmony of being." Campbell's peak experiences came when he ran track. My peak experiences happen, camera ready (or not), in nature.

That's why I'll never give up my two parks a day habit.

Cross Creek - Marjorie Kinnan Rawling's Florida Homestead

Smack dab in the middle of nowhere sits the tiny community of Cross Creek, Florida, and smack dab in the middle of Cross Creek, sits author Marjorie Kinnan Rawling's Cracker homestead, purchased in 1928, when Marjorie moved to Florida in search of a place to write. Standing amidst her citrus groves, it's not hard to imagine what life was like when Marjorie lived there. It's as though her spirit still resides in the trees, the barn, her seasonal kitchen garden, the now quiet typewriter sitting on the front porch table, next to a pack of Lucky Strikes and an empty gin glass.

The day we visited, it was stormy and hot. In fact, it rained so hard at one point, we took refuge in the barn along with a few chickens. When the rain stopped, steam rose from the tin roof of the hen house, and left droplets on the tiny growing oranges in the grove.

As much as I love wandering the grounds, my favorite part of the Cross Creek experience is walking through Marjorie's house. Like any visitor, you wipe your feet on the doormat, and enter through the front porch, where Marjorie wrote and napped. The house still contains mostly original furnishings, aside from Marjorie's book collection, which included signed copies by Ernest Hemingway and Robert Frost. Many authors were guests at Cross Creek, and if only the dining room walls could talk. Not hindered by political correctness, and fueled by fresh, local food and much booze, you can practically hear the high-spirited conversations that took place. Marjorie had gentler dinners with poet Robert Frost, though, and I like to envision them discussing yearlings, sojourners, fences and neighbors, and roads not taken.

Marjorie's kitchen alone is worth the visit. My mother's side of the family comes from a North Florida town about the size of Cross Creek, called Ponce de Leon. The family homestead is a typical Cracker house with a tin roof and wrap-around porch, and Marjorie's kitchen reminds me of the kitchen my Great Aunt Anna Lou ruled: wood burning stove, pie chest, fresh veggies from the garden, corn bread in a skillet, and the mixings for caramel cake. Park rangers at Marjorie's still use the kitchen to occasionally cook for themselves.

Marjorie called Cross Creek her "place of enchantment." She lived there for 25 years, wrote The Yearling and Cross Creek there, and, although it was by no means an easy life on a farming homestead, walking the grounds and in the house, you can feel what she meant. She had an independence out there on her land, and took pleasure in her natural surroundings. She created a successful business from her groves, and I'm sure would be pleased to know her land still produces citrus, and continues to live on as a state park.

"It is is necessary to leave the impersonal highway, to step inside the rusty gate, and close it behind. One is now inside the orange grove, out of one world and in the mysterious heart of another. And after long years of spiritual homelessness, of nostalgia, here is that mystic loveliness of childhood again. Here is home."

Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, Cross Creek, 1942

Where Have All the Peacocks Gone?

One of my favorite places to visit and photograph was the Dunedin Cemetery in Dunedin, FL. It was unique, in my opinion, because of the 40 or so peafowl, who used to make the cemetery their home. In the past few years, though, people from neighborhoods around the cemetery have complained so much, the City sent our peacocks packing.

The Dunedin Cemetery is 7.75 acres of beautiful oak trees, blossoming frangipani and golden rain trees, floating butterflies, and many varieties of birds. It was established in 1876, and is the final resting place of many of Dunedin's founding "pioneer" families. It's tucked away on a busy road, not visible from the street, and, peafowl or no, is a serene haven.

Nevertheless, the peacocks were the main reason I loved going to the cemetery. I never fed them, but enjoyed observing them and photographing them. April is their mating season, and it was fun to watch the peacocks scratch in the dirt, fan, then shake their tail feathers, as they tried to attract peahens. It was equally fun watching peahens pass by them with ho-hum glances, although, obviously the displays worked at some point, because a few months later sweet, fluffy chicks would arrive. I never realized peacocks could fly until I saw one go up into an oak tree at the cemetery. I'd never seen juvenile peacocks before, young males with bright blue heads and necks, and just the beginnings of their magnificent fans trailing behind them. And peacocks battling one another is something to see. Fans waving, angry squawks, feet flying. There's so much I learned about peafowl from quietly watching them. They're fascinating, gorgeous creatures.

How did the peacocks end up in the cemetery? They arrived sometime in the late 1930's, thanks to a farmer who lived on the Clearwater/Dunedin border. In the 1920's, peacock feathers were all the rage in the fashion world. But, when the market bottomed out in the 1930's, this local farmer let his peacocks loose, and they settled in Dunedin Cemetery. They've been a constant in Dunedin, an attraction, and generations of Dunedin's residents have grown up visiting them.

In this modern world, though, there are fewer and fewer places for the wild to roam. In 2008, some residents in the neighborhood closest to the cemetery started seriously petitioning the City to relocate the peafowl. Residents complained the peacocks landed on their pool screens, pooped in their yards, pecked at their at cars, and cried all hours of the night. It seems to me, that's something those residents should have realized before choosing to live there. Sure, peafowl behavior can be annoying at times, but isn't that true of most of us? And aren't we taught to live and let live? It's unfair, I think, when people aren't willing to compromise, to share space, and win out over animals.

To give the City of Dunedin credit, our peafowl weren't destroyed. Initially, some of the birds were thinned out. Finally, the remaining ostentation (isn't that the perfect term for a group of peafowl?) was relocated, and, I'm assuming, is happily doing its thing somewhere undisturbed. But, I feel Dunedin has lost a little bit of its charm. I live a short distance away from the Dunedin Cemetery, and, on nights I had my patio door open, I could hear the peacocks' cat-like cry. I miss them.

Birds and Gators at Gatorland

If you've never been to Gatorland in Orlando, FL, put it on your must-see list. It has an old Florida roadside attraction quality to it (afterall, it opened in 1949), but it's a special place if you love Florida birds and the North American alligator.

My favorite part of Gatorland is their rookery, which has become part of the Great Florida Birding Trail. It surrounds a marsh filled with over 100 alligators, who serve as natural protectors by eating snakes, raccoons, and other predators hunting birds and their eggs. Of course, alligators also feed on birds and their eggs, so it's kind of a twist that the very creatures who save birds also savor them. But Mother Nature ensures everything works out for the best.

It's nesting season right now, and birds are busy building homes and laying eggs. Cattle egrets zip past, the workers of the marsh. Wood Storks glide overhead, also on the move for nesting materials. In quiet moments, you can hear the crack of branches as Double Crested Cormorants choose just the right one. White egrets float like angels. Anhingas fly quickly, but awkwardly, like they're being chased, or have too much to do, but not enough time. Blue Herons bully everyone who lands in the marsh.

Some chicks have arrived, too, looking like mini-Einsteins with stick-up hair that hasn't yet grown out into feathers. Baby Tricolored herons view their world with wide-eyed expressions, and don't have the sense to be frightened of people. You can hear the sounds of white egret chicks long before you see them. It's as though they're revving motors, their bodies swaying in time. There are Wood Stork chicks of all ages. The "toddlers" look like they're wearing hoodies, with white fluff up to their foreheads. Teen Wood Storks retain some fluff, but you can see the outlines of what will become adult bald heads. Cormorant chicks have black eyes and yellow bills, unlike the adults' aqua-colored eyes and orange bills, and I think they should win the award for Bird Most Annoying To Its Parent. While I saw many chicks demanding food that day, the Cormorants were by far the most aggressive, pecking their mother's head, and forcing her mouth open with their beaks. Not even her slit-eyed expression deterred them.

As for the alligators, they're late in the baby department this year, because of the long winter. They're finally in the midst of their mating ritual now, though, and it's something to behold. When you're in a marsh filled with alligators, and you think you hear trucks rumbling by, you're wrong. It's the sound of an alligator bellowing. This involves the gator lifting its body out of the water, puffing itself up, and letting out ... a bellow. There's no other way to describe it. One alligator set off a chain reaction, with other alligators bellowing, some on their own, and others in groups. Then, as quickly as it started, the noise stopped, and there wasn't another display for the rest of the day. That moment alone was worth the 2 hour drive and entrance fee.

My trips to Gatorland have all been different. The same birds and alligators may be there, but each and every one has the potential to be magical, and none has ever disappointed.