Wild Life

Jun. 20, 2026 — I can’t see the greens for the greens this morning. There’s a small tree in there somewhere, a slippery trout in a stream. We are lazy and long-winded drinking seltzer as the day stretches out. Summer begins. — Amy Jean Wild Life / this newsletter is a place to learn about the life around us, one tree-trout at a time. Consider this a postcard till the next time! Thanks for sharing with family and friends. Subscribe

Hi, friends — It’s June 1! Say “rabbit, rabbit” and get the good luck. I’ve been listening to a little catbird in the rhododendron for at least the last hour, in the middle of the afternoon, singing his warbly, creative stylings. He cuts through the traffic noise and lawn mowers and loud banging of my own thoughts, just like the young black bear who walked up the sidewalk a few weeks ago. As always, please send me your small stories of animal encounters, and enjoy summer’s first true steps.

Hi, friends — Happy May Day! Say “rabbit, rabbit” and get the good luck. I have been traveling for work again, in Vienna the last few weeks installing an Anni Albers exhibition. Vienna is full of museums and incredible art but not many creatures. I’ve only really seen the big hooded crows hopping around neat hedges. I am ready to come home. Before I left Connecticut, I made a watercolor of the tiny tree and now send this colorful bonanza to you as greetings till the next time.

Hi, friends — It’s April 1st, watch out for the fools! I spent most of March trying to avoid the many, many spring gremlins (car troubles, stubbed toes, missing gloves, cold hands, rotten apples). Here on a small hill in Connecticut there is still very little coming out of the ground and the buds are only beginning, but the release from snow is an uncanny, transitory time. In honor of this mystery, when the seam between underground and overground is thin and transgressible, I bring you the fisher.

Hi, friends — It’s March 1! Somehow, the snow melts, the light returns, and winter makes way, even with an enormous storm last week. It’s been a tough one, the worst in years. I wonder about the bunnies under the shed, if they’re okay, and the foxes in the shrubs, waiting. Early spring is really for the birds, as they make their tiny ways back into our lives. I heard the first song in mid-February, and it brought a shocking amount of relief. A little trill can go a long way.

Hello, friends — it’s February 1 and we made it through the first brutal month of 2026. Here in Connecticut, we’re encased in snow drifts and I keep looking to this small tree. It’s growing out of rocks in an impossibly tough spot and devoured in snow. Its fresh greens and plucky shadows keep my spirits up. Find something bright to hold onto! We’re halfway to spring. — Amy Jean Wild Life / this newsletter is a place to learn about the life around us, one resilient evergreen at a time.

Hi, friends — Happy New Year! Let’s do what we can in big and small moments. Let’s appreciate the life around us. Let’s contemplate a herd of sea cows (Trichechus manatus) floating in front of a power plant in Tampa, Florida. With very best wishes to you and yours, and thanks for being there. — Amy Jean A couple of weeks ago I was in Florida for the first time. We drove more than I expected in a tiny rental car over the longest bridges I’ve ever seen.

Hello, friends — Happy December! Say “Rabbit, rabbit” and get the good luck. Now is the time for crows in Connecticut. They harass the hawks and drive our dog demented. But I like hearing their racket and insistence on being seen. While I was in Switzerland last month, the magpies caught my eye and attention. They are big and bold and smart and different enough from East Coast crows that I took extra notice. Stories abound and they are lucky in pairs.

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Hi, friends — Happy November! Say “rabbit, rabbit” to get the good luck. I’ve been in Bern, Switzerland, the last three weeks helping to install an Anni Albers exhibition. It is a long time to be away in unfamiliar rhythms, but it helped to see a red fox out the train window, a little flash of connection. And so, I thought I would reprise my fox post from years ago (five years, to be precise) and wish you warmth as the colder months begin.