Belize Part I: The Animals

A holiday cruise to ports of the western Caribbean landed our family for a day in Belize, where we toured the River Wallace (or Olde Belize River) by boat. Look closely to find the animals below:


Slicing the water with grace and ease, a dolphin swims beside us.


Along the trunk of this tree cling tiny bats, which devour mosquitoes in record numbers.


Black howler monkeys are found only in the rainforests of Belize, Guatemala, and southern Mexico. Their howls can be heard as far as three miles away, though they were silent when we saw them.


A study in gray, the heron--with its beautiful fringed feathers--glides over the water.


Green iguanas are not necessarily green. They are found everywhere in Belize--like squirrels at home--and are called "Bamboo Chickens."


The crocodile is as camouflaged as the others. You wouldn't think it necessary for such a fearsome creature to hide so well. Who is hiding from whom?

Freedom

On Saturday the Triangle Wildlife Rehabilitation Clinic in conjunction with the Carolina Raptor Center released an American Bald Eagle into the wilds of Jordan Lake. The eagle had been found injured and underweight in a Raleigh landfill over the summer and was now restored to health.


Her caregiver handled her like an oversized, feathered baby.


Then she turned her towards the water and prepared to launch her into the sky.


The power with which the eagle took off was stunning. She didn't stumble, and she didn't look back.


After 45 minutes perched high in a tree on the other side of the lake (her bald, white head still visible), she finally flew off, circling higher and higher into the clouds until we could no longer see her, leaving us to ponder--in wonder and in awe.

The Call of the Wild

To hear the mournful call of the loon on Lake Bellaire in Michigan makes 17 hours of travel worth every bit of it. Something about that haunting wail evokes the beauty of a wilderness I rarely encounter. It's a sound that seems to rise and fall out of mist, casting a spell on those who hear.

How lucky I am to have heard its call once again.

Scenes from the Eno Festival

Bookish sand carvings, ancient creatures in the annual parade, a hot and tired soul waiting for a cool drink. Best of all, though, were the Star Catchers, a troupe of special needs adults who performed patriotic songs and imitated Elvis. They put the timid among us on notice. As one of them said, "All you need to do is put your mind to it, and you can do whatever you want."

Red-Eyed Cicadas

Yes, they're back. The 13-year Rip Van Winkles of the South. We haven't seen them since 1998, these red-eyed cicadas, and we each react differently to their arrival: Madeleine finds their din headache-inducing; Miranda does a mean imitation of their dying; Sundance tries to eat every one he can find; Mark and Cassidy seem interested but not obsessive; I kind of like them.

Their music begins in mid-afternoon with a tune that rises and falls in a cadence all its own. Hours pass as they croon their noisy love songs, drowning out lawn mowers and barking dogs. They're everywhere, and there's no mistaking their popping red eyes and glittery gold wings. Pixar would do well to model them for animation.

They'll be gone soon, these creatures of the subterranean world, leaving us to ponder where we were 13 years ago and where we'll be 13 years hence. In the meantime, we'll sit back and listen to their show and wonder how they came to be in this strange and amazing world.

Resurrection

Yesterday afternoon when I found in our woods five baby opossums clinging to life on their dead mother's body, I didn't know where I'd find help on Easter Sunday. Who would be open on a holiday? The Triangle Wildlife Rehabilitation Clinic, thank goodness.

As a part of its mission, the clinic "provides care for sick, injured, and orphaned native North American wildlife" and is open every day. Running on the usual non-profit shoestring, the staff and volunteers tend to squirrels, turtles, rabbits, native birds, snakes, and just about every little creature you can think of.

A far different enterprise from the pageantry at Duke Chapel, where I had attended Easter services earlier in the day. An inspiring and humbling sermon I heard for sure, but not quite as humbling as the modest animal clinic that took in five two-month-old opossums destined otherwise for death.

The natural world, it turns out, assures us that the Easter story will be told over and over again in infinite variety. How fortunate that we get to play a part.