Last weekend I drove the eight hours from Lethbridge to Saskatoon; a flat and long road connecting wheat elevators to sloughs to cow pastures to giant sky. When I was younger, I spent the part of most summers in Saskatoon, visiting the river valley, the Mendel Art Gallery, Beaver Creek, and Wanuskewin. Revisiting was energizing; we wandered around the First Nations heritage park, pausing to say hello to stones that my 10-year-old self listened for bison hoofs within:
5.23.2012
counting salamanders
sifting through the forest debris, we work to quantify the amphibian distribution in a forest site in maple ridge. our class, divided into teams of three to four individuals, are each given a starting point, measured out forty meters apart down the gravel logging road running approximately north//south. we find our commencement points, grab out tie rope, and dive into the bush, measuring out a line of one hundred meters. then, on each side of the line and under it, we scour.
the forest, close to our faces, smells fresh and clean, recent rainfall has given little fungi the opportunity to push their way to the surface and we compare tastes of licorice fern to the scent of licorice centipedes. our fingernails are ringed in blackened humus, knees steeped in the earth.
western redbacked salamanders, ensatinas, gooey egg masses clinging to debris in ponds, flowering trillium, all observed with face at earth-level, field work is dirty and sweaty and possibility of discovery is under every needle on the forest floor.
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