Getting to the Wild Side of Seattle

April 7-13 was National Wildlife Week and April is Earth Month, a time to be especially aware of the ecosystem that sustains us and how we can be better stewards of the nature that surrounds us-be it in the wilderness, our cities, or our backyard.

Back in my youth, I was a park ranger at Arches National Park. Walking the trails and leading campfire talks, I was struck by how interested visitors were in the flora, fauna, and rocks of the park. I began to wonder if they thought about the same things at home. I suspected that if they did make these inquiries, they would discover that the answers about their own landscape were just as interesting, if not more so, than the answers I provided. This led me to encourage people to go home and seek out natural history stories around them.

When I returned to Seattle, I decided to take my own advice. Over the nearly three decades since coming home, I have continued to pursue these stories and as a result, I am fulfilling my long-term mission: to become naturalized to Seattle.

Since I am not a Seattle native, I feel that one way to naturalize myself is to try to adapt to living here in a sustainable and respectful manner, to learn about the connections that bind together and nourish plants, animals, humans, water, and earth.

As Robin Wall Kimmerer writes in her renowned book Braiding Sweetgrass, "Being naturalized to place means to live as if this is the land that feeds you, as if these are the streams from which you drink, that build your body and fill your spirit."

Nature is everywhere, all around us

Seeking out these stories of place in Seattle has taught me many lessons about urban nature. The biggest takeaway is that nature is all around us in cities. I've seen coyotes walk in front of my house and heard them while I was walking to a Light Rail station. I've watched bald eagles dive bomb mallards in a tiny neighborhood and soar with nest-making sticks in the city's busiest park.

Credit: David B. Williams

I have assisted a scientist collect otter scat, or spraints, as it is known, for a study of otter diet, and provided data on coyotes and raccoons for a study of urban carnivores. On occasions, I found fossils the size and shape of a cinnamon roll on the floor of a crowded hotel lobby and 3.5-billion-year gneiss (a metamorphic rock) used as building stone on a 23-story art deco office tower. I have sat silently in a forest of towering Douglas fir trees just over a ridge from Interstate 5.

When you consider it, most of us make our first connections with the natural world near to home. For example, like most kids, I played in my neighborhood, exploring neighbors' backyards and nearby green spaces, one of which we called the Ravine but which was officially called Interlaken Park. Wooded with a thicket of understory shrubs, it was an untamed landscape with few trails, or at least, adult trails-the kind that led from point A to point B. Boring! We kids didn't need those lame trails; we went where we wanted, following the "real" trails we had created.

These early encounters allowed me to feel comfortable outside without feeling alienated or worried about my safety in wilder spots. They also engendered an interest in what and who could be seen and found outside, which has stood me in good stead all my life.

Nature experiences in the urban landscape

Credit: David B. Williams

I have learned that the stories and connections that I make in the urban landscape can be just as gratifying and sustaining as my experiences in the nearby Olympic and Cascade Mountains. Whether it's sitting in my backyard, which is graced by three Douglas firs, so big that I cannot fully wrap my arms around them; watching hundreds of post-spawning salmon in a city park; or finding a hummingbird nest with two babies next to a railroad track, I have found solace and joy. I have learned over the years to rely on these opportunities to connect and to re-energize.

One thing I appreciate about all my urban adventures is that I don't need any special equipment. Although I tend to carry binoculars and a notebook and pencil, and a coffee mug (this is Seattle after all), all I really need to be happy in the urban wilds is being out there, slowing down, and paying attention. Stories are all around; they are simply waiting for us to notice.

David B. Williams is an author, naturalist, and tour guide whose award-winning books include Homewaters: A Human and Natural History of Puget Sound and Too High and Too Steep: Reshaping Seattle's Topography, as well as Seattle Walks: Discovering History and Nature in the City. His newest book, Wild in Seattle: Stories at the Crossroads of People and Nature is a best of collection from his free weekly Substack newsletter, the Street Smart Naturalist.