Stories

I caught a splash of color against the slowly lightening sky. There, perched on the electric wire, was the first eastern bluebird of the se

Grey tree frogs (Hyla versicolor) are a marvel of adaptation. Their skin can shift from gray to green, allowing them to blend seamlessly wit

American robins are some of the earliest migratory birds to return in spring, often showing up while the world still feels locked in winter’

My eyes snap open, and I catch the flash of tawny fur darting between the still-bare brambles. A chipmunk!

Rabbits are opportunists, and winter offers few choices, so young maples and birches like these make an easy target

That’s when I heard it – the haunting call of a barred owl echoing through the forest.

Pike are apex predators are perfectly adapted to their environment, even in winter. As the water temperature plummets, their metabolism

I’ve driven the roads of Northern Michigan countless times, hoping to catch a glimpse of the elusive elk in the Pigeon River Country.

White-footed mice, with their sleek fur and white underbellies, have taken refuge among the stacked logs, seeking warmth and shelter from th

Amidst the serene winter landscape, a small, vibrant figure appears—a flash of red against the white. It’s a young red squirrel, his russet

They are an industrious bunch, each bird deftly snatching up a peanut in its beak before flying off to stash its prize.

The pileated woodpeckers in our back yard are a mated pair, their bond formed through a shared life cycle that plays out across the seasons.

The chickadee lands on a branch near the back door, its bright eyes scanning the scene with keen intelligence.

Perched on the feeder is a tiny bird with a striking appearance—a red-breasted nuthatch.

I realize I have come face-to-face with a red fox. The creature, with its vibrant red fur and bushy tail, is a stunning sight against the ba

There, crouched regally on a moss-covered log and intent on something in the downed trees, is a bobcat.

Silhouetted against the darkening sky, a flurry of small, darting shapes emerges. Brown bats, their wings beating rapidly, swoop and flutter

Fascinated, I watch as a raccoon scrambles from the top of the feeder to the tree trunk with surprising agility in the moonlight.

But those who fish the Rifle river, or any river, in September know a different story. The air is crisper, the river quieter.

It doesn’t take long before I see the first Monarch flutter by, its distinctive orange and black wings standing out against the blue sky.