Ducklings Wobbled, Turtles Baked, and the Raven Served Looks - May 23, 2026

Part 1: The Morning Wildlife Therapy Session

It was a gorgeous sunny Saturday, and honestly, what better thing is there to do on a sunny Saturday?

Some people run errands.

Some people clean their house.

Some people pretend they are going to “relax” and then somehow end up at Costco.

Me?

I needed wildlife.

This past week had been stressful, and I could feel my brain waving a tiny white flag. I didn’t need noise. I didn’t need plans. I didn’t need anything complicated. I just needed a few hours to myself, my camera, and hopefully a few tiny wild creatures doing tiny wild creature things.

And since it is officially baby season, I had one mission on my mind:

Find the furry little babies.

So I headed to a local pond, and let me tell you, nature did not disappoint. The babies were everywhere.

First up: mallard babies.

Tiny. Fluffy. Ridiculously cute.

They had those perfect little yellow-and-brown markings that make baby mallards look like they were designed by someone who said, “Make them adorable, but also give them racing stripes.” They waddled down the path with their little wobbly bodies, searching for snacks like tiny feathered food critics.

Naturally, I sat myself down on the ground because dignity is optional when baby ducks are involved.

There I was, camera in hand, trying to get a variety of shots while also resisting the urge to say, “Oh my gosh, look at you!” every three seconds.

I even photographed one mama mallard with her three babies. She was so comfortable with me sitting there that she eventually just lay down nearby while her ducklings investigated the seed I had brought.

The look she gave me was very clear: “Wonderful. You’ve got them for a few minutes. I’ll be over here taking my union break.”

And honestly? Fair. Motherhood looks exhausting, even when you’re waterproof.

Then came the wood duck babies.

They were much bigger than the mallard ducklings, so clearly they had hatched earlier and had already entered their “we are practically teenagers now” phase. Their colouring was different too — soft cream mixed with dark grey and they had that slightly more confident energy of babies who have already figured out where the snacks are.

I ended up just sitting there, watching them all and handing out bits of seed to the ducks that came over. There is something about the little quacks and peeps of ducklings that is almost meditative. I don’t know how else to explain it.

Some people listen to ocean waves.

Some people use meditation apps.

Apparently, I just need a pond full of baby ducks making tiny squeaky noises while waddling around like wind-up toys.

And then, because nature likes to add a surprise guest star, a raven showed up.

He came over while I was feeding the ducks and watched everything with great curiosity. He gave me a few deep raven clucks — the kind you don’t just hear, but feel in your bones. It was almost like a small vibration, like nature had briefly switched on surround sound.

He picked through the seed carefully, selecting only what he wanted, because apparently ravens also have standards.

What amazed me was how respectful he was. He didn’t bully the ducks or push anyone out of the way. He just inspected the situation, made his choices, and behaved like the mysterious gothic gentleman of the pond.

And when the sunlight hit his feathers?

Oh my goodness.

They shimmered with the most beautiful iridescence, deep blues, purples, and greens hidden inside all that black. I told him how pretty he was, and he tilted his head at me in a way that clearly said: “Yes. I know. But thank you for finally noticing.”

Honestly, the confidence. The drama. The feather shine.

Raven knew he was the moment.

I was surprised to see a raven right in the city, since they are not usually the birds I expect to find casually hanging around an urban pond like they own the place. But he was a lovely surprise, and there was something really special about sitting there with ducks at my feet and this intelligent, curious bird nearby, all of us just sharing a quiet sunny morning.

Last but not least, I spotted painted turtles stretched out on a log, soaking up the sun with absolutely no worries in the world.

As I zoomed in on one of the painted turtles sunbathing on the log, I realized he was not just soaking up the sun, he was serving face. Full turtle attitude. His little eyes had that unmistakable look of, “Excuse me, human, why are you staring? This is a private spa appointment.”

He didn’t move. He didn’t flinch. He just sat there, chin lifted, basking like a tiny prehistoric celebrity, silently judging me through the lens.

Honestly, the energy was very: mind your business, human.

And I respect that.

No emails.

No deadlines.

No stress.

Just tiny turtle bodies lined up like they had booked the premium waterfront tanning package.

Honestly, I respected it.

By the end of the morning, I felt lighter. The stress of the week had softened, replaced by duckling peeps, raven clucks, turtle sunshine, and the simple joy of being still long enough to notice what was happening around me.

It was exactly what I needed.

A sunny Saturday.

A local pond.

A few hours with wildlife.

And a reminder that sometimes the best therapy has feathers, webbed feet, and a very sassy raven who already knows he’s beautiful.

Stay tuned for Part 2 — because apparently, my afternoon had more wildlife plans for me.