Attachment and Loss, specific wild creatures

Nature Talk
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I am aware I am a lousy naturalist, in that I sit and watch far more than I document, and I tend to observe in the same places over and over. Because of this, I often see the same creatures on an ongoing basis. Sometimes I give them names. [I was tickled to learn here on the forum I was not alone in this practice.

But where I wonder if I am alone, and I think if so it is because I am, as stated, a lousy naturalist, is that when I bear witness to the completely natural, completely normal, in no way tragic ends of the lifespans of individual creatures to whom I have become accustomed, I feel bereft. Not like weepy or any such, but just a little pang. It is so silly, I know, even as I type it.

This week it has been the loss of a male x’mahana who was using our open air garage to sleep in during the days and night rains. He was with us for weeks, he had a favorite perch (on the side of the pressure washer), and while I did not give him a name, I became used to seeing him and him me. Two-ish weeks ago I finally made an observation of him. A week or so later, I realized he had brought a lady back to his place with him, and while I was happy for him, I was also sad, because I realized what that likely meant in terms of his lifespan. She was with him two days (nights for them, I guess) in a row, then I did not see her again, but two mornings later I found him in a tattered state on the floor of the garage just below his power washer, unable to hang vertically any longer. He had made it back to home base but couldn’t make it into his bed, so to speak.

I brought a piece of fruit (called huaya) from the garden, pierced it, and put it quite nearby and was pleased to see him go to it. I knew it was his end, that the ants would take him, but I just wanted him to have something sweet. Stupid, I know.

An hour later when I checked on him, most of one of his wings had broken off and a few hours later he was gone, likely to the ants or maybe an anole.

Now there are new x’mahana coming, it is the season, and while I am happy to see them, I still feel a bit wistful. They are not him.

The previous creatures to whom I have become a little attached have left or finished their lifespans further from my view.

Anyway, I just wondered if I am alone. I suspect I am.

2

Beautiful story Lucy. Thank you. Could you advise me on how to pronounce x’mahana? What sound does the x make, is it similar to the h?

For couple years we had pacific-slope flycatchers nesting over the door. (A tiny little bird with cute white eye-shadow and a little two-note call.) We loved them, they amused us so. Then one summer it was hot hot hot all of the sudden, the temperature jumped up from 85 to 115 F in just two days. No more peeping from the nest. And then, the line of ants going up the wall into the nest. We didn’t look, but we knew what happened.

This is not quite the same, but a happier story: I knew someone who used to feed the towhees (a medium brown bird in California, walks more than flies and scratches the ground for bugs) at a certain spot. During the pandemic he was not able to come back to the right spot because it was closed over a year. I saw the birds greet him the first day he came back and they were so excited. Clearly they had long memories and ability to recognize individual humans.

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This does not mean you are a lousy naturalist! In fact, you are describing the exact practice of some of the world’s greatest observers of nature. I’ve heard that Gilbert White, apparently a pioneer of modern ecology, spent decades studying just his small parish of Selborne. Deeply knowing one patch of earth over time is called deep mapping. It allows you to notice subtle changes that a traveling naturalist would completely miss. It keeps you fully present in the moment rather than distracted by screens, notebooks, or cameras.

If you would ever like to gently nudge your practice forward, I can help you with a few low-effort ideas. Lmk:

  • What is your favorite spot to observe? (a backyard, a local park, a window?)
  • What usually catches your attention? (birds, insects, changing leaves?)

Your identification skills are sure to be amazing, even if it is subconsciously, when it comes to the local species you know and love.

Personally, I must admit I cannot relate to this to such an extreme, as I’ve come to terms with nature and the natural way of things. However, when something is intentionally killed or when I slap a fire ant that is biting me, it does weigh on my conscience. My thoughts are – this thing’s life was just ended prematurely by myself – where do I get off having the authority to do this? I do get myself to understand that this is still the natural way. However, since they are still incapable of dealing with the things we can, it is our responsibility to responsibly help/deal with them.

|| Happy Observing!

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Some creatures it is hard to say whether the ones I see repeatedly are the same individual or not. I always wonder about the mourning cloak butterflies, because they’re unusually long lived for butterflies (about a year) and I’m in pretty mild climate so I don’t think they need to migrate or hibernate. I see them all year. So if I see one in the same spot, is it the same one? Or the same few? How would I know?

I used to watch a female coyote with a crippled back leg. She couldn’t chase the rabbits so she would sit at the gopher holes and wait for signs of the gopher moving and then grab it. She had a litter of pups one spring. But then I didn’t see her after that. I wonder what happened.

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We had a hadeda with a gammy leg who would visit our garden each year. With his lady. And one or two kids each year. Haven’t seen him for a while, but hadedas are still regular visitors. Perhaps those kids, or the grandkids ?

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What a nice purple bird!

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They are. VERY. LOUD !! with beautiful iridescent feathers.

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x is like sh. and there are a kabllionty ways to spell it because it comes from maya but everyone here does pronounce it the same way at least, which is like this.

This is lovely! I have heard of crows and parrots being able to recognize human faces. Bees, too.

I appreciate your offer and your kind words. I am still on post surgical restriction, but I might take you up on this when that is lifted in 6 more weeks.

I think I might not have been clear: there is not really an extreme aspect to my feeling. It is just that I am aware that a specific living creature is no longer there and I am saddened to have lost that touchstone, because those instances of specificity are (at least for me) somewhat rare.

Yes, this is very true. There has to be something about the individual, like the gammy leg of Diana’s bird or they have to make their home somewhere specific like your flycatchers.

Or you have to observe at length so you begin to recognize individuals within species; recently I became aware that x’mahana are distinguishable from one another, that even though they are patterned similarly in the same colors, they are individual, like giraffes, I think, or tigers, and if you watch for hours and hours you will begin to recognize the one you see all day long.

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It was actually a cool thing to realize.

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What a beautiful and sad story. I really appreciate you sharing!

I haven’t really gotten attached to a certain individual, but I spend most of my time observing in my own garden so certain species feel like friends. As I have focused on planting native plants, every year more and more insects and arachnids frequent my gardens. I have also noticed an uptick in birds who prey on them. This doesn’t bother me so much, but lately giant robber flies have decided that my gardens are wonderful hunting grounds. I kind of like the robber flies. They are very cool looking and impressively fast when catching their prey, BUT a couple of days ago one was hanging around right by a couple of two-spotted longhorn bees, which are my very favorites. Needless to say, I shoed the robber fly away. It’s so funny because I love all of the smaller predatory arthropods. I just can’t bear the thought of my sweet bees (and some of the gorgeous wasps) being stolen from me. I guess I feel like they are mine.

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This resonates with me. I miss “my bees”, whom I left behind when we moved, more than I can say. I would not be able to tot up how many hours I spent enjoying watching them at work.

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You are not alone.

You said it yourself: the new x’mahana coming in …they’re not him. Even though there may be nothing to differentiate him from the others, he was the one who found your garage to be a safe and congenial place. He was the one who made his home in your garden for weeks, and shared some piece of his life with you. You, in turn, came to recognize him, to pay attention to him. He was no longer a x’mahana like a hundred thousand other x’mahana.

That does not make you a lousy naturalist. If anything, I think that it means that you are closer to the example of naturalists of the past. You spend time, and see more of the lives of your neighbors in the garden than many of us do. I admire that.

Just because the end was “completely natural, completely normal, in no way tragic” does not make the sense of loss any less valid. Thank you for sharing your memories of him with us.

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Thank you. :)

In the photo compile above, he is the topmost. One of the more recent arrivals is in the photo on the bottom. To me they look completely different from one another, especially when shown that way, but I was so surprised to realize I recognized “mine” by sight when he would begin to flutter in (they are sort of ungainly in flight, at least when coming in to sleep) even if others passed through.

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I feel this way about ant colonies. But the nuptial flights cheer me up when I’ve noticed that a colony I’ve watched for years isn’t around any more.

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“Jeremiah was a bullfrog” is the famous opening line of the 1971 hit song “Joy to the World” by Three Dog Night. It actually has no hidden meaning. Songwriter Hoyt Axton wrote it as a placeholder lyric while pitching the melody, but the band recorded and released it before he could change it

remembering the bullfrog that never was :grin:

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This isn’t just about animals. There are also trees that I have mourned.

But trees are often much older than me.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_individual_trees

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may we mourn the olive trees of Gaza ?

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You are a wonderful advocate for ants. The only flights I am acutely aware of are the ones for Acromyrmex, which happen after the first big rains of rainy season here. There was one year they seemed to be everywhere. I remember walking into an OXXO and looking down, wondering what was on the floor and realizing it was discarded wings.

Individual trees I have known and loved, yes, I have mourned, but only once has one been “mine”, a lovely, little one taken out by a tropical storm. Otherwise I have only come across ones around town suddenly vanished.

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If you haven’t yet seen the Nature documentary My Garden of a Thousand Bees, I highly recommend it. He follows individual bees in detail, and has a special relationship with one named Nicky.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=YW-dVOgy48o

In general, I just pretend it’s the same wild animals over time, like the pair of phoebe’s who nest on my porch every year. For 40-some years now. . . :thinking:

Actually finding wild animals I’ve been watching dead is sad, but I think of it as the price we pay for noticing them in the first place.

Trees can be even sadder to me, because some of them I’ve known all my life, watched through the seasons, used as landmarks, and hoped would outlive me by hundreds of years. Then a gust of wind catches them at the wrong angle, and I find them on the ground.

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Perhaps these birds return to their nesting grounds to nest? And so you are hosting the offspring, a patront of sorts to this family?

(This is my theory after observing my doves, both in this house and the last, with row upon row of nests to support it. There is a mother Columbina talpacoti on her nest just out the kitchen door now, as I type. I am the madrina!)

Thank you for the documentary recommendation. I am going to watch it.

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Lucy, I feel this way. You can call it deep mapping, which is cool, but I just call it love for the natural connected world. I wish there were more of us, but you are in good company in iNaturalist.

I feel very close to the fireflies in our yard. All of the surrounding yards are close mowed, some are treated with chemicals, and they do not have fireflies. We keep the grasses long in our back yard on purpose and have a gorgeous display every evening in the warmer part of summer. I’ve never used pesticides or herbicides on the plants and am feted with an array of critters and invertebrates and birds every year. It’s magical. But it is also a magic of our making because we care.

Please keep on loving your friends in nature. It’s the core gift of every person on this platform.