Anthropause: The reduction of human activity caused by the pandemic, and its impact on nature and wildlife.
Conservationists are still studying the evidence, but it wasn't all bad news for nature. We could say the same. Living here on the lake in rural Nova Scotia, the global pause gave us more time for home-based hobbies; isolation gave us immense gratitude for the natural landscapes and abundance of wildlife that surrounds us.
We’re never alone here, and we’re doing okay, so far – better than okay, and the same could be true for our wildlife companions.
It’s been a productive spring and summer, and perhaps I wasn't paying as much attention in the past, but 2021 sure seemed like Baby Boom in Birdland.
There’s a population explosion of robins and warblers, ditto the hummingbirds, they’re everywhere.
Sparrows, chickadees, nuthatches and woodpeckers, all performing their mating dances and songs, building nests from ground to treetops.
The spring winds are brutal, failed attempts are not uncommon, but the arrival of nestlings signal success that beats the odds.
In time, the fledglings appear, they're my favourite.
Babies fresh out of the nest, they hop and peep, not quite sure what to make of the world. They can fly, not well, a hectic time for the parents who still help with feeding. I don’t linger long when I discover one of these littles - it’s a dangerous time for them and many don’t survive.
It can be emotional, the consequences of predator and prey, but we get to see the food chain and circle of life in real-time, and overall it works, fair and fascinating.
Here's a few more of my backyard bird buddies.
On the water, the mallard pair arrived and mated early, making their spring nest on the tiny island offshore. The pond has been drier in recent years, and then there’s the red foxes who moved into the neighbourhood… I thought the nest was abandoned, but the mallards are known to create drama, and there were ducklings dabbling near shore by mid-summer.
Those webby toes! Mama Mallard nesting behind protective Daddy Drake, her feathers are good camouflage.
The Canada Geese had six goslings again this year (Get off my lawn, eh?!).
The boulder wall and rock-gardens provide cover for reptiles and rodents. Their tunnels host a colony of chipmunks; red squirrels are plentiful too, scurrying from tree to tree, beat-box chatter letting us know when they’re annoyed. The eagle keeps an eye out, but the barred owl’s decision to move was our loss and a boon to that group. Wut.
The turtles dig up our driveway gravel to lay their eggs, safe from the main roads at least. In our small cove, this was a better year for the painted than the snappers. The small-mouthed bass prefer gravel too, males finning out not-so-obvious round depressions in the shallow lake bottom.
My husband has an eye for smalls and critters that crawl. Frogs, baby turtles and snakes…You might want to get your camera?
Tiny painted turtle on a rock and an even tinier snake hiding in the thyme - pffft!
I take a lot of nature photos; you don’t know the half of it. That assists me in making these observations - even though when I transfer them to the laptop, there’s many mistakes and missed opportunities, blurred wings and empty branches, a moment too late for the quick, nimble or shy.
I’ve developed the daily habit (bordering on obsession) of a leisurely perimeter stroll, camera in hand. My route follows the waterfront to the lakeside pond, up the rock garden steps, along the patch of mixed evergreens, back through the mossy paths under the big trees, on to the herb and flower garden where I can pause and sit in the shade, just me and the birds, bees and butterflies.
Once the flowers start to bloom, I’m absorbed by the alien-like universe of the pollinators, more pretty than creepy up-close (beauty is in the eye of the beholder, you decide). Standing perfectly still in front of a clump of coneflowers or a patch of meadowsweet, I’ve learned to quell my fear of things that sting. They go about their business with no concern for me, with no conceit for how fascinating they are.
This time outside is akin to my yoga practice, a form of gentle activity, meditation without the mat. The hyper-attention to my surroundings calms my thoughts; I stand still, my eyes scanning for the slightest movement, cocking my head towards each sound… There’s no soundtrack richer or more complex than nature after a summer rain.
My walk of pleasant quietude yields health benefits and a few nice photos to share on social media. As a purely passive endeavour, that could be enough, but the companionship and consistency of living with nature has helped me immeasurably through these strange times, pointed me towards new learning opportunities and meaningful connections, made me wonder if I could become a more positive influence in their world.
The more I’ve observed this small space in the big scheme of things, through seasons and life cycles, changes of weather and climate, the more it’s become more than just beautiful landscapes, flora and fauna to enjoy and photograph. I’ve started to think more in terms of habitat, trying to understand not just the diversity of what lives here, but why.
When you look a creature in the eye, and it pauses and trusts you enough to look back, it’s hard not to care about it. It’s made me ponder how we could contribute to conservation with a greater sense of purpose.
It’s not a grand plan, and it doesn’t have to be. Opportunities to preserve or improve habitat vary from a balcony garden to forest acreage (if you’re fortunate enough to even have that opportunity at all).
Ruminating about all the great environmental and social challenges of our time can leave me feeling overwhelmed, cynical and helpless. So, I ask myself the question - “What can I do?”, and it occurs to me that the bad answer is nothing, and the good answer is something.
I’m doing some self-study on species at risk, learning about invasive, introduced, and native species of plants and animals and how that’s all connected. Taxonomy is tiring and to be truthful, I’m terrible at it! Many’s a time I’ve compared my nature photos to the vast internet resources, decided a broad category is close enough.
I’m getting better at it though, and if nothing else, with the help of iNaturalist and other resources, I may be more likely to pull the noxious weeds and not the perennials. When I go to a garden center in spring, I still think about hardiness zones and what looks pretty, but now I give priority to natives and how they fit with the bigger picture.
For the animals, habitat is mostly about “What’s for dinner?” That can be a combination of adding things they like to eat, removing a few human mistakes, or in most cases to just take care of what Mother Nature already put there for them (she knows what she’s doing).
I’ve figured out at least one reason why some species of birds favour our yard as a nesting ground over other options - it’s the berries baby!
The holly bush has always fed the winter-hardy robins, they leave it alone until the protein lessens and then they gorge themselves on a fruit diet; some years I can barely salvage a sprig for holiday décor. Now, on my daily photo shoots, I notice the many shrubs and trees that have berries on them, most of them native species.
I’m starting to sound like the Bubba Blue of Berries – There’s your wild strawberries, blueberries, blackberries and black huckleberries, your red elderberries and service berries, your wild raisins and bristly sarsaparillas…
And then there’s the abundance of small trees laden with cherries that look like berries – all the birds are crazy for those! (I tried one. Do not recommend.)
Thinking back (way back), I took so much more notice of nature as a kid – I expect most of us did - before the joy of playing outside got over-shadowed with making a living. My old Brownie scribbler is filled with pressed dry leaves and pussy willows, pencil drawings of robins and woodpeckers, my enthusiastic observations noted in the blocky, cursive handwriting of a seven-year-old. There were always cool things for a little kid to discover at the lake – tiny tadpoles and big bullfrogs on the lily pads… My mother always had a vase of “wildflower” bouquets.
Now, in my sixties, my findings are recorded by camera and computer, but in many ways both my knowledge and appreciation of nature feels childlike again. Not such a bad thing.
On a global scale, conservationists agree that the anthropause created limited and mostly temporary benefits to wildlife. That may be so, but I believe the great stepping-back created a change in many humans that could be enduring, and it gives me hope.
I know I’m not alone in my renewed appreciation of nature. I see it often, people who discovered or deepened their connection to the natural world and the personal benefits of that experience. They observed with appreciation, as I have, how nature carried on in spite of us and our turbulent times.
With greater attention, you see how much of nature still thrives, finding solutions to adversity with strength and ingenuity, through diversity and cooperation. You see how much we have in common.
You see that we are all nesters in the habitat of the earth. Our human pursuits may seem lofty, but our needs are not so different from the natural world, when trimmed down to survival.
It's easier to be optimistic in this part of the world, where change happens ever-so slightly slower. There is still so much to do, and undo, and as we return to routines and demands, the human activity that played on in the background will resume its deafening volume.
But for some of us, we will quietly linger…to listen, to look, to learn.
Thanks for reading. All Photos are mine, credit/permission to use please. Sharon