Sidling along the gravelly Lehman Ave. extension, just south of where it intersects with the trail, I hear a something moving not too far off in the grass. Whatever it is seems to be less concerned with stealth than I, and its progress in my direction can be tracked via both the regular rustling of dry stems as well as occasional motion transmitted up the stems from the mover below.
Breathing shallowly, I strain to keep track and hope vaguely that whatever it is might even emerge into the open area long enough to snap a photo. What, though? A cat? Closer...and closer....
clickclickclickclick
A cyclist just up the hill chose that unfortunate moment passing to stop pedaling and coast, and the rustler in the grass beat a quick and clumsy retreat upon hearing this mechanical announcement of humanity. Darn!
I stayed put, and thought I could see a slight movement down towards the ponded water below. A long, dark shape slipped under the inky surface. Could it be? Moments later it emerged on the opposite side, sleek brown body, followed by a brushy brown tail. A mink! It was fast, moving with purpose, and I was fumbly, and no photos were managed.
But the encounter made me more aware of these little pieces along the trail that I often pass by without a thought: two low basins on either side of the gravel extension not far from the Sycamore Apartments, each usually filled with water and surrounded by small trees and dense grass. They are little secret habitats, like the hidden stream near Birds in Flight: sometimes a pair of mallards might be lurking quietly, or a small flock of chickadees, juncos, and occasional cardinals will be foraging in the gravel, and chasing each other across the trail from tree to tree. Hawks can occasionally be seen perched nearby, casting their eyes down at those low-lying areas and whatever may be moving below.
These little fragments may not look like much to us; they're just low-lying areas flanking a planned road, or drainage from nearby development. They're often surrounded by ag fields and subject to whatever blows or runs off them in the air and water--hardly high quality wilderness. Yet they can support mink and other wildlife as long as we give them the space.
How many of these pocket-sized oases like this do we have in our city, in our neighborhoods, neglected spaces providing homes for animals we don't even know are there?
