I have written previously about serendipity in Greenway outings, and am reminded of earlier days in my long ago youth when I might go for a walk outside every few months and return disappointed in having seen nothing of interest. No exciting birds, no sculptural snails, no rare flowers. I might hear tales from friends or families of having seen an exciting sight, but rarely experienced the same.
I have since learned that I was doing it all wrong.
First, one must create frequent opportunities for fortuity. A short walk a couple of times a year will not do the trick. Immersion and familiarity are key; get to know a place and its habits, and then you may be rewarded with the occasional out-of-the-ordinary sighting. At the same time, keen attention is required as well. You won't see anything if you're not looking and listening (or if you're looking at and listening to, oh say a small electronic device instead of the world around you).
Next, one must understand expectations. Not every encounter of interest may be terribly interesting to others. I've spent hundreds of hours on the Greenway and rarely spot a mammal other than deer and squirrels, one highlight being an opossum mother with two babies clinging to her back, as well as a muskrat or two. I've heard tales of bobcat in the area, but seen only standard Felis catus. So I keep my expectations small: an interesting bug; frogs and turtles; an oddly-formed flower are all serendipitous encounters.
And finally--the fortuity. Chance, luck, serendipity. Whatever you choose to call that impossible-to-plan confluence of events. Stopping to watch a downy woodpecker foraging on a low stem when a young red-eyed vireo literally drops out of a tree right in front of you and proceeds to glean insects in open branches nearby, oblivious to the eager photographer trying to appear as a tree trunk while snapping away.
The encounter was a lucky coming-together of opportunity (taking the time to quietly watch the woodpecker for several minutes), expectation (the red-eyed vireo is hardly a rare bird, but not one I've encountered before thus terribly exciting--for me), and fortuity (what are the odds the bird would land so close, and go about its business with such disregard for me standing there?).
Later on the same walk, a tiny tree frog nestled in a curled leaf. Opportunity: stopping to investigate a nearby patch of thistle and its pollinators. Expectation: again, hardly a rare specimen but uncommon enough to cause delight. Fortuity: if I had stopped at a different thistle patch, or stood eighteen inches to the left or right, I wouldn't have caught sight of the little motionless frog.
It is these chance encounters that spice regular outings and keep me going out week after week. I generally know what I will see, and yet I never know what I will see.
