Wildlife gardening comes with its joys and frustrations. This week, I was reminded why all this hard work is so rewarding, and not just for me.

Wally

A young Plain-Bellied watersnake we dubbed “Wally.”

Very soon after installing a pre-formed pond in our front yard, I noticed we had a small, slithery visitor: a Plain-Bellied watersnake (Nerodia erythrogaster). As you know, I’m not afraid of snakes, and I thought it was novel to have a baby snake in our tiny little pond. I didn’t think it would stick around very long, since the pond obviously wasn’t big enough to support a full-sized watersnake.

Except, we noticed that we didn’t have spring peepers anymore. And our goldfish kept mysteriously disappearing. Raccoons, we thought. They’d stolen our goldfish before. But that didn’t explain our missing frogs.

Then, I saw the watersnake again. It was bigger. Significantly bigger. (From a healthy diet of spring peepers and goldfish, no doubt.)

Over the years, I periodically saw Wally, as we dubbed our watersnake, sunning itself on the rocks, slithering through the dense vegetation around the pond, or shedding its skin in the shelter of my giant coneflowers. It grew to be huge. (So much for our pond not supporting a full-sized watersnake…)

An adult Plain-Bellied Watersnake getting ready to shed its skin. This is likely Wally as an adult—and getting bigger.

We gave up trying to keep goldfish. We got used to having no frogs or toads in the front yard. Wally got used to us, as well, exhibiting little to no fear of us when we startled upon one another doing business in the yard. This allowed some great watersnake photo ops.

Earlier this spring, I noticed some thrashing in the pond, and I thought, “Oh! Wally is back!” It’s never a guarantee that an animal will survive a winter interspersed with extreme cold, so I was pleased. But then, I saw it wasn’t Wally.

It was a young Plain-bellied watersnake, about the same size Wally had been when I’d first seen it. My spouse quickly dubbed it Wallaby, short for Wally-baby.

Wallaby

This is “Wallaby,” a young watersnake, likely Wally’s offspring.

I haven’t seen Wally this year. Plain-bellied watersnakes can ostensibly live for over ten years, so it’s possible Wally finally outgrew our pond. But Wally left a little gift for us: another watersnake to take its place, perhaps aware that our yard is a safe haven to grow, with plenty of food and shelter. Plain-bellied watersnakes are live-bearing, so I’m guessing Wally is actually a female, and this young ’un has been hanging out in our yard or nearby since last fall.

These are the joys and frustrations of being a wildlife gardener. You get the raccoons that tear your bird feeders apart, and the grasshoppers that eat your coleus. You get the watersnakes that eat your frogs and toads. But then you also encounter these beautiful creatures, and you know that your home is also theirs. You’re creating a space that is safe for them to live their lives, reproduce, and make way for the next generation. Wildlife gardeners support life and nature, boosting entire ecosystems. And while nature may have a different vision of what that should look like than I do (I do love listening to frogs singing at night), I take delight in seeing my watersnakes and the sheer variety and beauty of the myriad creatures sharing my home.