Near our home is a 110-acre lakeside park. It is a neighborhood gem that escapes the notice of most, despite being the largest of those owned by our park-loving city and a short walk in the shade of the alders from one of the most popular beaches in the region. The park is bisected by a four-lane arterial chronically packed with traffic, yet it is a serene oasis filled with birds and aquatic creatures that makes one feel as if transported to a realm far from the crush of people going to and fro just beyond the trees, encompassing wetlands described by The National Geographic Society as a prime urban birdwatching area.¹

Those wetlands are joined by a creek named after the Euro–American family that claimed the acreage that is now the park and who arrived from Iowa after the American Civil War to mill lumber. Their home — rebuilt in 1905 after a fire — still stands. The land itself was devoted to a nine‐hole golf course from 1932 until 1975, when the county bought the property that became the park now owned by our city. The creek was originally the scene of a winter habitation for members of the Duwamish tribe, who would gather wapato that grew in the vicinity.

My wife and I spent yesterday afternoon in the park, gawking at the bald eagles that joined us overhead and spying on the turtles warming themselves while perched on logs. The park is home to Western Painted turtles, but I am pretty sure we saw just Red‐eared Slider turtles in the bright afternoon; boardwalks through the rushes and sedges made it easy to find a position from which to observe. I hoped that we might spot a beaver or two, but we were able to see only evidence of their nearby presence. The lacustrine environment by which our home is enveloped is never as inviting as when we notice how precious it is, and then only if we accept that we are obliged to act as its stewards, having been its vandals. The park reminds us that the lake is teeming with creatures and is not merely a barrier to travel upon which we have floated the two longest such bridges in the world. Yesterday was a fine occasion to watch fly catchers spin through the air on the prowl for a meal and enjoy a few hours of respite from the ordinary.