The other day I wandered into the forest without the dogs, a nice break from the task-oriented world of early parenting. The exuberant green of early summer had given way, under an onslaught of insects and summer weather, to a more matured visage. The vegetation frayed at the edges, and even the once robust umbrellas of mayapples staggered about in tatters.

The brittle soil waits for the rain that never seems enough when it comes. For the previous two years we lived here, frogs reproduced in pools created by the spring rains. By this May, these vernal pools had become thick masses of black mud that pulled at my boots. The dark liquor on top was no hospitable environment for masses of jellied eggs, or darting tadpoles. Wood frogs which rely on these ephemeral bodies of water had to breed elsewhere, and hopefully not across too much inhospitable territory in this fragmented landscape. According to AmphibiaWeb, the average wood frog only has 3 or 4 years to reproduce before death. Some amphibians managed to breed, judging by all the tiny frogs and toads that have been crossing our paths.

Babies abound in the woods. Ruffed grouse chicks meander across the driveway. Miniature rabbits infiltrated my garden, to the detriment of my beans. The wetlands where I work are very productive. Young muskrats graze on strips of lawn, only bothering to move away when I lean in for a closer look. I suppose they’ve had no opportunity to learn the dangers of man, though considering my coworkers there’s not much danger for them to discover. Other wildlife takes a dimmer view to our presence. As I walk the trails, the hiss of crossing guards halts my progress – Canadian geese escorting their gray goslings from one pond to another.

Raising young is time consuming, which is why the vast majority of organisms don’t bother. They compensate by creating vast numbers of offspring which the world will winnow out. Most of the mass of frog eggs won’t make it to a reproductively mature adult, though wood frogs are a common species. Even with parental support, many song birds don’t make it to reproductive age. Migrants have come here specifically to breed but they face many obstacles. Back in June I watched the phoebes catching bugs at a frenzied pace to bring to a changeling. A brown headed cowbird had laid an egg in their nest which grew to a burly chick that bullied its nest-mates. As I watched, the nestling opened its wings angrily, knocking its adopted parent off to find yet more food. Fortunately, phoebes arrive so early that they can often renest, and the young fledglings from this second brood are still hanging around the house. Despite all the challenges, parenting succeeds often enough that we’re all here.