March 22. A pair of barred owls have moved into the nesting box in the Wilderness Preserve. J.S. Jerry Slocum's been given the job of clearing the paths in the preserve this year. Al Craven did it last year.

Same day. Three of the seven osprey nests on the island are already occupied. W. S. Billy Slade had been taken on by the utility company to help with the winter clean up around the lines on the eastern end of the island. "My dad can see right down into the nests from his cherry picker," Jimmy Slade told Mrs. Thayer.

March 23. Otter tracks in the mud around Mink Pond. S.M. Sally Malloy went on the seventh grade field trip this week.

March 24. Wood frog (Rana sylvatica) heard at edge of vernal pond behind Chincoteale. E.C.

"My, my, aren't we fancy?" Annie Slocum said to Diane. "Rana sylvatica. Vernal pond."

"Erin is working at the museum again," Diane said. "Anna says she knows all the proper names for the species."

"Well, the poor thing. It's good she's got something to distract her what with everything else that's been going on."

***

The thermometer hit the high forties three days in a row and every afternoon after school, Sam checked the edge of the road at the usual crossing spot. Under the rocks, the salamanders were moving around, but they were waiting for rain.

Gus Tremayne flagged down his truck near the post office one morning. "I saw one of your lizards up there yesterday afternoon," he called. "Just sitting on the side of the road."

"They're actually salamanders," Sam said.

"That's right. Never can remember that name."

"Did you carry him across?"

"Nope. Figured I shouldn't mess with nature."

"This warm weather is bringing them out, but the road surface has got to be wet. Pray for rain."

Gus grinned. "You pray for rain, Sam. I'm praying for this dry spell to hold so I can finish the Woodworth's roof before they come up for Easter weekend. We'll see who wins."

*****

From his vantage point on the truck, Sam turned for a moment and looked back down the road to where the tents were going up. Two fires had been started and he smelled hamburgers. There was the slam of doors, the call of voices as more year rounders arrived and greeted each other. The crowd along the edge of the road had whooped and hollered when the first eight cars went through and the people inside had waved back through the windows with puzzled expressions on their faces. You couldn't blame them, Sam thought as he gazed down at the scene in front of him. The salamander bearers were moving about on the road like dancers in some strange pagan ritual. They dipped and wove, they poked one another on the arm and pointed proudly to their own particular crosser, they leaned over and hurried their charge along, then scribbled on their cards and called out to Erin for another. The rain had become a fine mist and from all directions, the beam of flashlights bounced off the slick surfaces of wet ponchos and damp faces and off the black plastic barrier when the older boys dropped it at Sam's signal. Above the noise, he could make out the distant, but reliable blow of the fog horn in the waters off Stony Point and from another direction, the irregular clang of the buoy bell as it rose and fell with the waves of the ebbing tide.

For this one moment, without any hesitation, he loved each and every one of these people who, on a rainy spring night, were willing to help him stand watch over the salamanders as they made their slow, moist, precarious way across the road to their breeding ground in the marsh.