It is disgusting to see wild animals act like that.

Occasionally I chat with the feeders, and ask them questions like 'Do you wonder why we never see any rabbits on the green belt' (too many foxes because their populations have been artificial raised by the feeding), or 'Have you seen how poor their coats look, because of the junk they are eating'.

Colorado Division of Wildlife personnel are aware of the feeding, and they do not condone it, even though it is not against the law. They have told me that the raw fatty hamburger and chicken foxes eat degrades their typical beautiful red coat.

The feeders reduce my experience watching the foxes because the they do not seem wild. I would much rather get a rare, fleeting glimpse of a fox with a beautiful red coat, than seeing one approach me like a hungry dog looking for a handout.

The feeding causes the foxes to congregate where the feeders give them handouts, and raises the potential of diseases passing among them.

I have seen one old man several times attempting to get the foxes to eat out of his hands. This man does not like to talk with me, even though our initial conversations were very polite. He does not like to hear my opinions on what he is doing to the foxes, and tells me to go about my business, which I do. (Nothing keeps me from playing my harmonica when he is nearby, domesticating our foxes; he has not yet told me how he likes my playing; I enjoy it and I think my dogs do as well).

He shows up every day to feed, usually about an hour after sunrise. Another lady also comes to feed. She thinks what she does is ok, since she feeds them chicken, rather than hamburger like the old man. She told me she has to feed them, since they don't eat geese and only rarely will take a duck. She said there is nothing for them to eat on the Greenbelt. I told her I think that they normally eat a lot of small rodents, like mice. She did not seem to be aware of that.

Photographers flock to the greenbelt to get marketable close up pictures of foxes. They do not come on a daily basis like many of the early morning green belt walkers, but are nowhere to be seen once they get their pictures, as if it were a mission accomplished, or a trophy. (been there, done that).

I once saw a group of four photographers with their big expensive lens trained on a spot outside of a chain link fence about 15 feet or so away from them. I thought that was odd, since the foxes usually stay on the other, wild, side of the fence, when there are people around. As I watched, one of the photographers reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of meat. He threw it to the spot where their lens were fixed. Under the fence came a red fox to eat the meat.

That kind of behavior is highly unethical and it is what gives nature photography a bad reputation. I would much rather see a far off shot of a wild animal in its habitat than a close up shot of a fed animal or a tame animal.

There is so much to be seen by walking each day - different light on the landscape, new bugs or birds, new animals, a sound of the wind blowing through frost covered bromegrass, that I never noticed before, designs in the ice on the lakeshore. You do not notice how varied the landscape is, how much it changes from day to day, unless you are a frequent walker. I have come to believe that John Burroughs was correct in his ideas of visiting nature close to home. He said that a person may go around the world, but that nature in those places is somewhat exotic, or foreign to him. He felt that a person can be just as enriched by observing the world close to his home:

'After long experience I am convinced that the best place to study nature is at on's own home, --on the farm, in the mountains, on the plains, by the sea--no matter where that may be. One has it all about him . The seasons bring to his door the great revolving cycle of wild life, floral and faunal, and he need miss no part of the show.'

'At home one should see and hear with more fondness and sympathy. Nature should touch him a little more closely there than anywhere else. He is better attuned to it than to strange scenes. The bird about his own door are his birds, the flowers in his own fields and wood are his, the rainbow springs its magic arch across his valley, even the everlasting stars to which one lifts his eye, night after night, and year after year, from his own doorstep, have something private and personal about them. The clouds and the sunsets one sees in strange lands move one the more they are like the clouds and sunsets one has become familiar with at home. The wild creatures about you become known to you as they cannot be known to a passerby. The traveler sees little of Nature that is revealed to the home-stayer. You will find she has made her home where you have made yours, and intimacy with her there becomes easy. Familiarity with things about one should not dull they edge of curiosity or interest. The walk you take today through the fields and woods, or along the river bank, is the walk you should take tomorrow, and the next day, and next. The happenings are at intervals and are irregular. The play of Nature has no fixed programme. If she is not at home today, or is in a noncommittal mood, call tomorrow, or next week. It is only when the wild creatures are at home, where their nests or dens are made, that their characteristics come out.'

(from 'Nature near Home' in the volume FIELD AND STUDY, 1919, John Burroughs).

On my green belt is a large meadow of bromegrass. Next to the meadow is a grove of cottonwoods. One large old tree towers above the rest. I can remember walking in this area in 1974, and wondering how old that tree was at the time. I saw then that someone had taken a core sample of the tree, to determine its age.

A person can imagine what this old tree has witnessed. I have seen large white tail buck in the meadow next to it. An old fox den is just east of the tree. Baby foxes with curious large eyes watch us pass the tree in late spring. Kids catch tadpoles in the shallow ponds near the old tree. One evening, near sunset, I photographed a couple walking hand in hand beneath the tree.

Cottonwoods usually live only around 70 years. Someday I may find it toppled after a wind storm. But for the moment it stands as a symbol to strength and wisdom, and the divine cycle of life.

Last Saturday morning I walked with my dogs, just like I do every morning. On the way home I saw a large raptor flying west over the river. I raised my binoculars and could see that it was a mature bald eagle. I sat down where I was, so as not to disturb him. The eagle slowly worked its way up over our westernmost lake. He was going slow against the moderate westernly winds. I watched in awe as he dipped down to the lake, out of my site because of trees and brush between us, then rose up with a duck in its feet. The eagle angled towards us and flew through a gap in the cottonwood grove, next to the old cottonwood. The eagle landed in a tree at the base of our ridge, and tore at the duck for five minutes or so, then flew off, still holding its kill. Magpies had flocked around the eagles perch, trying to get a remnant of the duck. A few moments later I saw a fox beneath where the eagle had landed.

Some people were walking on a path on the far side of the lake where the eagle took the duck. They had a much closer view than I did of the eagle diving down to capture his prey. I can imagine the strong impact this had on them, as it had on me.

My meadow and my cottonwood and my greenbelt provide me and countless other people with a special place to appreciate the cycles of our natural world, near home. They allow a personal connection with the day to day occurrences of nature, some common, some rare, but all special: as simple as wind blowing through the meadow grass, or the sun reflecting through morning dew drops in the meadow in June. Or they may be a whitetail buck walking across the meadow, or a black fox lying on a tree trunk sunning himself in the warmth of an October morning, beneath the old cottonwood glowing yellow with its brilliant fall colors, or in early march, a mature eagle with its six foot wing span flying next to the naked branches of the old tall cottonwood.