All day I could not wait for the sun to go down. The rain was pouring and pouring in sheets. The ice on the pond was melting. The mud was growing soft. The world felt like it was waking up from a very long nap. We ate an early dinner, and headed out before the sun went down in our rain jackets, mud boots, and ball caps. I found some eastern newts already making their way across the dirt road in front of our house, in fact, since it was commuting time, 3 had already been hit by cars.
The sun finally dipped and was gone, and we were out and patrolling the road in front of our house. Within minutes, a car driving blessedly slow pulled up. Is there where the salamanders cross? They asked. That was the beginning of what was seemed to be a secret salamander society out that night. This slow driving, salamander society held flashlights, wore reflective vests, and smiled a great deal.
Within moments we found our first spotted salamander crossing (see the moment here: First spotted salamander). Just listen to the joy as we quickly move the gorgeous creature across the road. There is nothing like that feeling, as April describes in Salamander Sky, there is a warm glow in our chests. We have done something good.
We spend the next several hours helping spotted salamanders (11!), numerous wood frog, and eastern newts cross safely. We marvel at tiny fingers and toes, long tails, and spherical, glossy eyes. Great Horned owls call to each other over our heads.
We meet up with other members of the salamander society and chat for a bit, noting the most active areas for migration on the road. Great Horned owls call to each other over our heads. Wet and tired, but happy, I put the girls to bed and go out one last time just before midnight. I find this spotted salamander moving across our driveway.