With our in-house bird expert and resident philosopher William McReynolds in the process of shifting houses, I’m going to be Laurel’s Wildlife Guy for this issue.
I’m happy with this assignment, because in my book this is when the Plateau bursts back into exuberant life!
One morning you wake to birdsong that wasn’t there the day before, and by lunchtime the whole mountain seems to have remembered itself. Everything is green again, everything is moving, everything is alive.
Along the forest edges, the white-tailed deer step out of the rhododendron thickets with that soft, unhurried confidence they wear this time of year. The does keep a watchful eye, knowing that fawns will soon be tucked into beds of last autumn’s leaves. Turkeys parade across meadows like they own the place, the toms puffed up in full regalia, each one convinced he’s the handsomest bird on the mountain.
The songbirds (Bill’s passion!) return in waves – warblers flashing yellow through the canopy, bluebirds perched on fence posts like bits of sky that forgot to fly away. Even the crows seem more talkative in May, holding long conversations that echo across the valleys.
Down near the creeks, the salamanders wake from their winter stillness. This is their season – cool, damp, and full of promise. You can spot them tucked beneath mossy stones or slipping through the leaf litter like tiny, living embers.
And then there are the otters.
Behind the Highlands Nature Center, Lake Ravenel becomes a stage for the Plateau’s most joyful performers. The resident river otters, sleek, whiskered, and endlessly mischievous, spend May doing what otters do best: playing as if it’s their life’s calling. They chase each other in looping arcs across the water, slide down muddy banks with the enthusiasm of children on a snow day, and pop their heads up with expressions that seem to say, Did you see that? We did it again.
Visitors pause on the trail just to watch them, because it’s impossible not to smile when otters are involved. They remind us that thriving isn’t always about grand gestures. Sometimes it’s about delight, about movement, about choosing joy in the moment you’re given.
By the time the sun sets behind Whiteside Mountain, the Plateau hums with life – frogs tuning up in the wetlands, little bats doing their effortless aerobatics, fireflies beginning their nightly lantern show, and the soft rustle of creatures settling in for the night.
Jurassic Park’s Ian Malcolm made it clear: “Life won’t be contained.” May’s a celebration, shared by every wild heart that calls this place home.
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