I never know what I'll find in the world around me. But I do know one thing. If I don't open my window, I won't see the colors change, birds flying—or landing.

Sometimes I don't realize it, but the animals can be watching me as much as I watch them.

Once I went outside at night, into the woods, while wearing a strong headlamp. That night, I was surprised at how many eyes were reflecting back at me. 

I think I tried it a second time and was pleasantly surprised to be alone.

But during daytime hours, watching nature from a safe distance can be a wonderful way to spend a day.

I don't know why it was so important for me to visit the bison babies, but it was. A lot of nature interests me, and if bison are available almost in my backyard, then I want to see them.

A few months ago, I'd been bison photo hunting and a photographer I didn't know looked behind me...and gave me a warning—which I heeded. In my opinion, the bison below looks a lot more cheerful, happy and peaceful than the one behind me had appeared. I was fortunate! (The photo below was taken from inside a vehicle with a roll bar, and  while using a long lens. Luckily the roll bar wasn't needed.)

So when I went in search of baby bison, I remembered my rule of thumb: If a wild animal is dangerous, it's deadly when it has little ones. Or: Make the baby cry—you might die.

This trip, on the only time I stepped out of the car for a photo—I didn't trek beyond the road or even more than a few feet from the vehicle. I also had a spotter to warn me if any bison appeared agitated or closer. Brave I am not. Especially when it is a 1000-pound plus animal behind me almost within spitting distance. Or even a wriggly one that weighs only a few pounds near my feet. Fangs and horns pointed my way override photo ops. 

But I am fascinated by the beauty of the bison.

I would have been to the Tallgrass Prairie Preserve North of Pawhuska, OK, earlier this year had I not been delayed. And sometimes delays are a good thing because more of the 30 to 70 pound babies were available to see. My earlier anticipation had almost caused me to arrive before most of the babies did. As many as 500 newborns could be on the prairie this year. 

When I travelled the road, the herd was close enough that I wondered if the mothers did want to show off their little ones.

And I wondered if a few of the little ones were just as curious about me as I was about them.

Even if they weren't, it was fun watching them play. 

And seeing a mother corral her baby under her chin was a surprise.

We're so fortunate the Tallgrass Prairie Preserve is watching over the bison.

Irony is being at an event you've waited months on, and yet you don't have the glasses to look at it. I'd ordered them, and I'd been certain to check the date, but the glasses were now scheduled to arrive...after the eclipse.

The morning of the eclipse, I was on a full-speed schedule, and had to run an errand before I could start on my journey toward totality so I didn't even think to see if Wal-Mart had any glasses before I raced away.

I didn't know exactly where I'd stop but my wish was to go to Broken Bow, Oklahoma, because it's beautiful even on cloudy days.

Cloud clover was immense, and I didn't make it to Broken Bow because my husband believed we should stop at Lake Hugo. Hugo was scheduled to be a 100 per cent totality area so I agreed. 

I decided to have the best day possible. My picnic basket, camera, and spirit of adventure were all at hand and I took photos of the nearby clover. Everyone else was also making the best of it more-or-less even if they weren't smiling. It didn't seem like the glasses were going to matter. 

Cloud cover stretched across the sky.​

And then, the clouds started to part. They did. I really couldn't look at the eclipse because I didn't have glasses, but the clouds were parting. The eclipse reached totality and maybe I did glance up for half a second, and I kept pointing my camera that direction and hoping. 

It didn't get dark immediately like I expected...and then it did. I took a photo and then about four minutes later I took another one. 

After the sky brightened someone started a round of applause, which faded quickly, and then another round of applause that I participated in. My husband kind of teased me and I responded with a happy-lifetime-event-deserves-applause type answer.

He noticed I was tearing up from the emotion of the moment. And so was he.

For me, it was a heavenly event. Even without the glasses. I had seen the eclipse.

And one of my first photos when I pointed my camera lens above gave me a great view. 

For me, it was as bright as any rainbow.

The photo kinda looks dark now, but this was underneath it.

I don't have to wait for decades to see an event like butterflies in the clover, but I hope to appreciate the everyday wonderful sights around me as much as I do the rare eclipse...or maybe I should appreciate them even more. 

The Oklahoma National Wildlife Refuges aren't for everyone, but I made a mistake of going into a refuge at a young age, and perhaps I can keep others from stepping into the same trap. 

I first went to Little River National Wildlife Refuge soon after the refuge was established in 1987. I stayed three nights at a nearby hotel and walked the refuge during the day doing a songbird count for the refuge manager. (Okay, I really wasn't doing the bird count. I was just acting the part and was with someone who had experience in bird studies.)

During one expedition with the wildlife manager into the heart of the refuge, he stopped his vehicle to move a turtle from the grassy, employee-only road so his vehicle wouldn't squash the reptile. Then he took me and my partner and stopped somewhere deep in the refuge. We were loaned an expensive spotting scope and we were supposed to record birds we saw in the swamp that morning.

Then the manager took us to a log across a crevasse, and as I inched over it and he remained on the other side, he said, "That mud's not as soft as it looks." It looked like a thin layer of wet dirt over centuries of packed rock and dinosaur bones. If I fell, I was going to get hurt and I'd be dragged out—eventually—covered in mud for the trip to the hospital. 

His directions were something like..."Go left at the big oak tree, right at the cedar thicket, and after the tree with the knot on it, go six feet and turn to the right again...and then when it's time for me to pick you up at lunchtime, retrace your steps." In hindsight, I would have taken some florescent tape to mark the path. I could have taken it down on the way back and left nothing but footprints...if I returned... And I wasn't so reluctant to hike into a swamp area which had poisonous snakes, but more scared I wouldn't be able to get out.

Yep. He moved the turtle out of the way and dropped me off in a snake-filled swamp area. And this was without cell phone service.

A brochure says American alligators are in these oxbow lakes. l didn't see the alligator that I was hoping for which just goes to show how you usually don't see nature on your timeframe but on nature's, and you can't count on seeing every critter in the place. 

I was moving around in the refuge for three days...and I wasn't sure how I would like it. After seeing a few slithering movements on the ground, I said that I was leaving after I saw five snakes. Finally, I had to guess I was seeing the same snakes over and over so I wouldn't be a liar.

We kept our records of the birds we saw, and I relied on the former ornithology student to do the real heavy lifting and heavy navigating. We heard a tree crashing to the ground and saw other evidence of true nature.  Birds lived in a world of their own and relatively few people had traipsed into this swamp area. The natural inhabitants didn't even seem aware of us.

So, if I had a rating system of one to five alligators, sadly I would not be able to give this experience even one alligator. If I was using a snakes rating, it would be a five plus.

I survived! And so did the refuge. And maybe that was when I got trapped. Like
a tourist deer in the headlights. I had survived repeated snake sightings and sadly, had a grand time. The trap for me was set. I had already heard about ​Salt Plains National Wildlife Refuge.

I had been told great things about this place. And the first time I went, it was really cold, and I saw a bobcat. I don't remember much else about it except it was cold and the bobcat gave me a glare and left. I could tell I wasn't welcome. 

I knew there was more to the refuge but I didn't stop at the ranger's office and ask questions. So, I missed a few things.

It does have a seasonal digging area for selenite crystal, which is not like crystal stemware or chandeliers. Expect rocks formed into the shape of crystals yet hidden under salt. I'm not kidding. There's enough salt there to fill up every saltshaker in Oklahoma. A lake of it. And later I found out that in WWII we had dropped some little practice bombs in the area, and if I found a bomb, I wasn't to touch it. 

That did make it more interesting to me and I think I learned on the first NWR visit not to touch everything I see in the woods. More about that later.

I was missing something at Salt Plains, and I knew it. Salt Plains NWR is considered an Important Birding Area. The caps aren't mine. And it's a Member of the Western Shorebird Reserve Network. I'd never heard of them. I'm not really a birder, although my friends seem to think otherwise. 

I gave it another try. Many tries. Because I just kept seeing birds I wasn't used to seeing, and I wanted to see the major bird thing. You know, the major bird thing that causes this to be called an Important Birding Area.

Again, I drove in and I saw a bunch of birds flying over my head as they left the area. Missed it... Although I did have an enjoyable morning as the auto loop tour was open. 

But, those birds seemed to have my number. And I was not happy with that. It was a matter of honor now.

So I started watching the refuge Facebook page. It's not like they'll give you a call to let you know the birds are there. You have to put in some work. Some clicks.

And when the birds landed, I planned my trip, still not even really knowing what to expect. And then I got a late start. Mornings are better for critter viewing, and I know that. You snooze, you lose...or you stumble upon an eagle looking for lunch, or a whitetail buck running along the road, or a Rio Grande turkey popping out. 

The critters were moving, and I had my hopes up for the Important Birding Area.

Then, as I was going into the refuge that morning, I saw flocks and flocks and flocks of birds flying out of the refuge. A sky of birds avoiding me.

"Stop," I cried out to my husband, "I've got to get a photo." I knew better than to shout at the birds. They won't listen and it is illegal to disturb nature in some wildlife areas. Thankfully it's not illegal to disturb a husband. He did stop briefly. But he had some blasted idea about getting to the refuge to see more birds. I thought I had seen so many flying over that there couldn't be many birds left in the area.

We got there, and I heard the loudest sounds of birds calling that I had ever experienced. And you are not issued hearing protection. Nope. You have to tough it out. 

So, only about half of the birds were there. Not all of them had flown over me as I was entering the refuge. Imagine what seems to be about 10,000 birds flying over you in V shaped flocks and then another 10,000 or so in front of you. (Check Facebook for the website's official numbers.)

But now I was satisfied with the capital letters. Important Birding Area. Check that off the list. 

You do have to take care, though. Once on the trail, I had to step aside to avoid the poop of some animal that had been eating hackberries. 

But I wasn't a junior wildlife enthusiast anymore. I didn't stick my finger in it like I did at Little River. I had learned that just because you see something shiny glinting on the ground, or something really unusual, it doesn't mean you need to pick it up. I strongly advise against it. That rule to leave things undisturbed is not just for the animals' protection. 

So, if I were rating this in saltshakers, I would have to give it five saltshakers out of five. Not a single one of the birds flying overhead bombed me with any kind of projectile.

By the time I saw the Major Bird Thing, I had already discovered the Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge. 

In most places an oasis is a little burst of green in a barren area. This could be considered a little burst of mountainous oasis on the plains, and yet it seemed so much more. 

According to one of the brochures I have, the WMNWR, set aside in 1901, is one of the most visited refuges in the United States.

I shouldn't say anything about this one if it's visited a lot. So, I'll keep it brief. The bison seem friendly, but you never know. They can be irritable, and if you've ever seen the meme of the bison with the outline of tourists on his shoulder to denote the ones he's sent on their way, you'll know what I'm talking about. I'm not even rating this refuge.

But if I were a bison, I would give it a 0 tourists rating. The bison believe they were there first. We kinda displaced them, but they have reclaimed their space. 

I only saw maybe five bison on the first visit, but later I would see many.  Something else captured me on those first few visits. One thing was the spirituality of the views. 

The other thing was the innocence of the little prairie dogs. Those little barkers with their high-pitched calls stick close to the road, and they have the right-of-way. Every critter in here has the right-of-way—the turkeys, the elk, the bison and even the wild Texas longhorns that graze along the road sometimes, or near the picnic areas. I haven't spotted one of the river otters on the road so I guess they have more manners than the others but they seemed like little rascals when they were cavorting in Lost Lake and Jed Johnson Lake.

I would say this refuge is the one you're most likely to have to brake for wildlife. So you might want to avoid it if you are ever in a hurry. It's just not a place for people in a hurry unless they're hiking to the top of Mount Scott, or they're a biker.

So, you might have to adjust your speed, and if you're an impatient person, refuges are not for you. I would say, Stay Out. 

Remember, refuge inhabitants don't operate on a person's time frame, but their own.

 Plus, if you're a foodie, and you like restaurants, this might not be the place for you. Sometimes the visitor center could be closed, and you might not be able to buy a soda. I take my trusty picnic tote and water because once I get there, I don't want to leave right away. It kinda draws me in...because I'm caught in that trap set by nature. 

Even aside from the birds, the trap isn't always quiet either. Bison can give a snort, elk can bugle in the fall at WMNWR, and those little prairie dogs can get vocal and you don't want to get on their bad side or they'll disappear into their burrows. 

Which we people should probably take a lesson from and stay in our own little burrows. And I suppose most Oklahomans avoid our nine National Wildlife Refuges because you really can step in critter poop. Or see something really kinda unpleasant...

And I'm not including every negative thing about going to wildlife areas. There's a lot, especially if you're used to waitresses asking if you would like a refill.

If you're not a person who can relax against a vehicle, chowing down from a packed lunch, and be okay with the fact that you forgot the hot dog mustard, then refuges might not be your cup of tea, coffee, milk or water. Wildlife areas are here for nature. They're the sunrise of a nature lover's life, too. And it's been hard for me to accept that they aren't for everyone, but it's true. 

If you're wondering if this type of trip is your weakness and you're in Oklahoma, you can usually visit a NWR within a few hours of your home. So far, I have paid $0 in entrance fees for the ones I have visited, although State Parks might charge a parking fee. (There is a difference between Salt Plains State Park and the Salt Plains National Wildlife Refuge.) 

Starting in the panhandle and going right we have Optima, Salt Plains in the more central area of the state, and on the east side the Ozark Plateau.

In more central OK, starting at the left, we have Washita, Deep Fork more centrally, and Sequoyah closer to the Arkansas line.

Nearer the southern OK border, there's the Wichita Mountains, Tishomingo and in the right southern area, we have Little River.

And I've heard other countries have incredible nature areas, and if I lived somewhere else, I would be able to tell you about their animals, but those are others' stories.
​
Each area is very individual and each visit is different. The time of year matters, and the time of day even matters. You won't even necessarily see the same wildflowers in the same spots year after year. You can't really expect a rerun.
I guess that's part of how nature captured me.

And one more flower, spider and bee picture that illustrates it's not all flowers and sunshine. It's real.

Start with an idea you love.

Get stuck at Chapter 2.

Change the original idea because you believe you have an even better premise.

Remain focused. Stare at the Keyboard. Stumble and grumble through a first draft, keeping an eye on the calendar. Working regularly. Determined. Going at an injured snail's pace.

Start a different story but put it aside because there's no time.

Get another an idea for a different book but put it aside because...you have to finish that other book.

Write until your back hurts. Stare at the computer between writing moments.

Avoid making plans because you want to be ready if the muse strikes. The muse is only amused. Not visiting you. You're on your own.

Finish rough draft. Start revising.

Get to the end on schedule. Finish first final draft Sunday night before book is due on Monday morning.

Time passes. Forget everything you wrote.

Receive a revision request. Spend the first day thinking about it and mumbling to yourself.

Dig in. Revise. Quickly. Accidentally discover a new command on your computer than you didn't know existed and try to undo the command without having to go back to find the last version on the story you emailed yourself.

Check Facebook and see if you missed anything.

Get back to work. There's not enough time to even read the story twice after you've finished. Send on schedule.

Receive a second revision request... Plan on a few more late nights.

Sunday night before manuscript is done for the final time, decide to change the ending slightly. Discover what the story is really about. Fall in love with the characters. Wonder why you didn't write it that way the first time. Wish you could just spend a little more time involved in this book because you like it so much. 

Driving into the Salt Plains Wildlife Refuge—late in the morning—I thought I had missed the estimated 25,000 plus birds at the refuge. Many times, I had attempted seeing the fall arrival, but drought in the area or the mistake of believing the entire area was closed for the hunting season had prevented me from the experience.

When I was arriving this time, I thought I had missed it again. After all, numerous flocks of birds were exiting the refuge, flying over my vehicle. Numerous. So, I stopped on a dirt road and took some pictures of the sky, including the one above. So disappointed that the sight of the waterfowl gathering had escaped me yet again...

Rushing into the refuge, I expected to see nothing more than a few birds, but when I got to the parking lot, the noise hit me. A cacophony. 

In the dictionary, cacophony is described as harsh and discordant. I would describe the bird calls as a symphonic cacophony in nature. 

Before practically running the quarter mile or so to the lake where the birds were, I dropped my camera, but I knew it wasn't going to be broken. I just knew it. It seemed to have fallen to the ground as gently as if the rush of wings overhead had softened its fall.

Finally, the birds were in front of me—a larger flock than I could have dreamed of. 

A secret almost, that everyone knows about...migration. But a large example of it before my eyes. The cranes were still flying over me, seemingly unconcerned that someone was in their world. 

I felt it important to return a second time, earlier in the morning, to see the birds before they took their morning flight.

This time the temperature was slightly above freezing, and it seemed that different bird species were in the area. Luckily, I had l remembered an important rule...dress for weather ten degrees colder than you think it will be. The cold didn't bother me much.

The irony is that I had considered taking a birding tour about 500 miles away and likely I wouldn't have seen such a magnificent display as the one I saw not far from my home. I'm glad I kept trying, and maybe I appreciated it more because I took so long to get there.

Not being a morning person, I once woke up early, looked outside and thought What a beautiful sunset. Only, it was in the eastern direction. I just wasn't used to seeing it...

More recently I have been waking before dawn, and sometimes I even make it out of bed in time to really experience a sunrise. Is it worth stepping out of your comfortable bed to see what is happening around you, even if you might have to make an effort to view something besides your routine world?

Plus, you never can plan in advance just how the morning will turn out. Sometimes it rains, or is foggy, or too cold, or things just don't fall into place. But on occasion, a sunrise appears to be giving you a blessing, and it is.

The little Plover on the left is voting to sleep in, and I understand that also. 


                       Photos from my sunrise collection. 

Part of the antler arches in Jackson, Wyoming and Moose Falls in Yellowstone.