I walked out of my new apartment, into a rainy evening, to go drop off my rent check. Lance shined our flashlight on the pavement in front of us as we walked, and the beam caught some movement. “Oh, a toad!” I exclaimed excitedly.
The toad moved slowly on this cool evening, taking a few steps across the parking lot surface. We kept walking, leaving him to his business. A few steps past him I cheerily remarked, “I should take a picture of him.” Lance replied, “A toad?” surprised at my excitement since we’ve often encountered these on our nature outings. “Yes,” I replied, “Since we’re living in a city again, I’m starting to explore ‘urban nature.’ I don’t know when we’ll see a toad again, and in a parking lot, for that matter. It’s pretty cool that he’s here.”
We were caught up in our conversation, and quietly chatted the rest of the way to the office. I dropped the rent check into the door slot, and we began back toward the parking lot. I asked Lance for his phone, and he handed it over so I could take some shots of the toad. No sooner had I decided to take those pictures then a car zipped around the corner, quickly drove by on the road next to us, turned into the alley, and then the parking lot. At that moment, I said, “gosh, I hope the toad’s OK. He was right in the middle of the parking lot…”
We quickened our pace, turned down the alley, and walked into the lot. My worries were confirmed as our flashlight beam shone on the toad. He had been run over. His middle was flattened, entrails hung out his mouth, and blood drifted away on the watery surface of the parking lot. I glanced at him, but then kept moving. I didn’t want to linger as a wave of heartbreak, sadness, and anger washed over me.
The toad as it appeared when I returned to take, what I anticipated to be, a photo celebrating wildlife thriving in an urban environment.
“I didn’t even think to move him to a safer location,” I lamented to Lance as we walked up the stairs to our apartment. “We should have moved him. He was right in the middle of the parking lot. I didn’t even think to do that…” He quietly replied, “neither did I.”
I felt sad for the toad as it had lost its life, doing nothing other than going about its own business.
I was frustrated with myself for not having the foresight to consider that the toad may be in a dangerous location, and move it to safety.
I was also mad. Why should the toad have to be moved to be safe? Why couldn’t it be safe just by existing and going about its business?
After pacing around my apartment, feeling upset that I hadn’t thought to move the toad to a safety before it could be run over, I said, “let’s go. I still need to take pictures of him. His story needs to be told.”
There are plenty of stories of death and destruction of nature, especially where people and wildlife interact. For that reason, I choose to focus my photography on life and hope. I look for stories of coexistence and peace. I think this toad experience impacted me so profoundly because the shots I ended up getting were not the positive, co-existing story I intended to showcase. In the short time between encountering the toad and returning to take its picture, the toad became a victim of the human-dominated landscape it was living in.
The timing of this event also played into its impact on me. We’ve recently relocated and I’m adjusting to living in an urban, human-centric environment again. As a result, I’m actively looking for ways that humans and nature interact in these urban environments. As I adjust to my new living arrangement and further explore the concept of “urban nature,” I’m sure I will discover more unpleasantries. However, I have hope that the examples of co-existence I can uncover will shine brighter.
