In my work, I wanted to showcase the odd couple relationship between avians and their urban environments.

Growing up as an avid naturalist in the City of Angels is a difficult thing. When seeking the refuge of fresh air and greenery, one is met instead with smog, asphalt, and sparse plantings of Eucalyptus trees. But I did find refuge in an unlikely place.

Plastered with 'No trespassing' signage, the abandoned railroad track sighs quietly and resignedly, accepting its fate as a forgotten relic. Commuters and neighbors alike passed the weed-filled five-acre plot daily, without giving it so much as a passing glance.

Following the brief rains that refresh the dusty chaparral (and parking lots) once in a blue moon, the railroad tracks become host to an unbelievable profusion of wildlife. Brewer's blackbirds and their less welcomed cousins, the cowbirds, flock to bath in the deep tread-grooved puddles. Wild grasses reach for the sky. Though they stopped short at my waist, I still happily commended their efforts and marveled at their beauty.

Gorgeously gigantic moonflowers elbow their way onto the scene and sprawl dramatically amidst the creaky railroad ties. Mockingbirds sit on the adjacent fences and taunt each other with their boldly marked wings, as scrub jays scold them loudly from above. I couldn’t understand why my dog and I were the only ones to witness this furtive attempt of Mother Nature to reclaim this concrete-city assimilated land.  But I gave it all the love it deserved.

The grass may always be greener on the other side of the fence, but what really matters is what side of the fence you’re on. Like the wildlife that adapts to its city surroundings, I too grew to live with and appreciate what was given to me.

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