Cornfield Paradise

On March 19th, I met up with Matt & Shannon Bordeaux and Trevor Edmonson for some salamander scouting somewhere in northern Illinois.  We visited several sites, including a paradise tucked away in the middle of expansive cornfields.

We found a handful of smallmouth salamanders (Ambystoma texanum).  

 Matt Bordeaux with a smallmouth salamander he found in a dry floodplain, underneath a log.

 The first signs of skunk cabbage (Symplocarpus foetidus) which in turn are often the fist signs of spring.

 Brightly-colored scarlet cup (Sarcoscypha occidentalis).

 An example of the state-threatened four-toed salamander (Hemidactylium scutatum).  These occur quite sporadically in Illinois and populations are extremely disjunct.  They are very delicate animals living in very delicate habitat; extreme care must be employed when hiking through four-toed salamander habitat.  They nest during the spring, with females laying eggs solitarily or in communal arrangements. 

 While putting this post together, I was reminded of something I was thinking about over the last few days.  I thought about all the people I've spent time with in the field, and what forces bring us together time and again.  A mutual respect for nature, first and foremost, is important.  I love people who are voraciously enthusiastic about nature, but that know when not to cross the line.  A lot of so-called "nature lovers" are collectors of wild living things (and I'm not talking about careful collecting by scientists to further understand a species).  I have zero interest in collecting for the pet trade or for my own personal collection.  Nothing we can create can improve on what nature provides for any organism.  

Sometimes, I look at the eyes of those I'm in the field with.  There's something about the way they respond to the wonders of nature.  There's a fire in the eyes of those who are absolutely captivated by a frog, or a fish, or a flower, or just stepping off a paved road and into a marsh.  Though it's hard to see in this photo (since I was so far away), Trevor is exhibiting the exact sense of wonder I write of.  I was standing at the edge of a marsh, listening to calling frogs, when I noticed him in my peripheral range.  A grown man, kneeling in the mud in the middle of a floodplain, gazing at a smallmouth salamander he had just caught. To me, it's a priceless representation of our connection with nature.  It's a symbol of of true naturalist's undeniable affinity with the natural world.  These are my people.