Stream monitoring in solitude is something I would and could do, but when my friend Jill arrived at Elmwood Park last spring with her two tough and earthy charges, I was elated. My own inner biologist is not so pure as the passion and joy of two children foraging a stream for life.
Though they were new to monitoring, at five and nine, Sijoula and Adeyo were already fluent at fun and exploration. Jumping in, the mucky murk of creek waters were stirred up in no time and sorters, Jill and I, were already heavily behind. What they first discovered: buckets of skuds.
The children were attracted to the skuds because they look a little like miniature shrimp and at our first site, near the mouth of the creek, they were plentiful. Other beauties, (if one can refer to anything larval as beautiful) were scarce. Looking over the criteria for the stream monitoring, we began to fear that our portion of the stream was not healthy. The children, upon observing the absence of caddisfly (which they had never seen) and other first class indicators, stretched and reached and dug more. Though the river banks were bright and the waters silty, but seemingly clear, we searched for signs. Together, our team became engaged in, not only the idea of health, but the desire for it. Arms fatigued by heavy nets and the children decided to rest...
While the nets were draining and buckets were being sifted, the children relaxed by exploring on their own. First, they discovered a frog, named him, and then tried to claim him as their pet. Luckily, our stomachs had minds of their own, and the merits of lunch soon overshadowed the importance of fighting for the frog (plus, I bartered an afternoon with my dog.)
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