My Five Published Books; Swampwalker’s Journal, A Wetlands Year

Swampwalker’s Journal, A Wetlands Year, the third volume in my “Wet Sneaker Trilogy”- following Year of the Turtle and Trout Reflections – was awarded the prestigious John Burroughs Medal for distinguished nature writing.

From the book jacket:” David M. Carroll has dedicated his life to art and writing, and to turtles and wetlands. He is as passionate about swamps and streams, marshes, fens and vernal pools as most of us are about our families and closest friends. He knows the turtles, their habitats and their seasons, as well as frogs, dragonflies, waterlilies, sedges – everything that moves through or sinks its roots into wet places. In this “intimate and wise book” (Sue Hubble), Carroll takes us on an unforgettable yearlong journey, illustrated with his own elegant drawings, through wetlands and reveals why they are so important to his life and ours – and to life on earth. He serves as a knowing guide as each chapter introduces us to an individual wetland, its unique character and role in the web of life, all the while speaking out on the ongoing loss of these remarkable ecosystems and stressing the need to recognize the rights of nature and go beyond conservation to preservation.”

Upon conclusion of Trout Reflections, in my continuing correspondence with Harry Foster, I mentioned that I wanted to do another book, and put forth some of the ideas I had in mind. He asked me to consider doing my next book with Houghton Mifflin. His personal invitation offered me a significant opportunity. Looking to develop a proposal for submission, I turned to drafts, some dating back many years, for a “journal”. Those jottings and paragraphs, and my notes from the field, spurred the evolution to the final substance and framework of a book centered on wetlands that had been coming together in my thoughts.

The key came to me with the idea of writing a book in which each chapter would treat a different freshwater wetland type. By this point I had had even more years of intimate familiarity with the ecology of each of those in my region of the glaciated northeast: vernal pools; marshes; swamps; shrub swamps; ponds; floodplains; bogs and fens. And along with my additional seasons in the places of the turtles I had the enhanced background of the considerable research I had been conducting in the literature. I had voluminous notes from more years of wandering, wading, and searching in these wetlands, keeping notebooks of my own observations. Now I looked forward to doing a great deal more of all of these, with a book as a preeminent goal within my pursuits.

The back cover of SWAMPWALKER’S JOURNAL

“David M. Carroll, author of “Swampwalker’s Journal”, is so intimately connected with the landscape and its creatures in it that he seems to be part of it.”
—David Gessner, review in The Boston Sunday Globe.

My approach to the writing was to enter each wetland type, and in its chapter describe its defining habitat nature and ecology. By wandering (“swampwalking”) and observing its abiotic as well as biotic nature, such as its hydrology, representative animal inhabitants, and plant communities, I sought to have readers come to a familiarity with each wetland’s essence. My proposal was accepted, agent Meredith negotiated another contract, and I began my third book.

As contract terms were being delineated Harry asked me how long it it would take me to do the book. In keeping with my tendency toward the unrealistic I said three years. (But how could I ever have embarked on a book with the foreknowledge that it would take seven years from start to finish?) He said it might be better not to have art work, as he felt that visual art might have people think of the book as a coffee table title, and not focus adequately on the writing. I had envisioned drawings as I drew up an outline and sample text for the proposal. Art had been such an integral component of my first two books that I had difficulty imagining a book without it, but in time I found myself agreeable to restricting this one to writing. There was the additional consideration for me that it would save a tremendous amount of time.

The “journal” idea had been a constant in my mind, and at one point the title “Swampwalker’s Journal” came to mind. It seemed a perfect fit for what I intended to convey. And I decided on the subtitle “A wetlands year”, as I followed the pattern of my two previous books of having the writing and art follow the course of the seasons.

Writing and editing began in earnest. I sent Harry my first chapter, “Vernal Pools”. Harry was a devotee of brevity. We were not aligned very closely in this quality. But what was I thinking? This first chapter weighed in at 40,00 words. The total for the book was projected at 180,00, and I had six more chapters to go. The chapter one manuscript came back with Harry’s notations in pencil. For my first two books I had received editor’s comments, then considered them, wrote my responses, made changes or left things as they were, and sent them back to the editor. I was fortunate in that it went without saying that I had the complete power of “stet” – “let it stand” – with all five of my books. I don’t see that I could work otherwise.

Harry wrote me, “I don’t edit, I suggest”. This ended any back and forth as far as editing went. We did discuss some matters as they arose. I saw “echo”, a new term for me, here and there in the margins of my text.
In time it dawned on me and I said to myself, “Oh, you mean you’ve heard this from me before.” I wrote back to him, “You’ll see my device of familiarization through endless repetition.” “Swampwalker” engendered some tough-love editing as it went on… and on. I drove him crazy and he drove me crazy. He often had the back-up of my in-house editor Laurette, she herself an excellent reader and editor. Nothing I have ever written has left Dudley House without having been subject to her review and comments, always extremely helpful – pro or con. I would run one of Harry’s suggestions by her and at times all but tear my hair out as she said, “I have to agree with Harry there.”

Spotted Turtle under water, in sedges

“If the Renaissance man is rare, then the Renaissance Naturalist is practically extinct… artist, naturalist, preservationist – all describe David Carroll”
—Boston Globe

I also learned the “delete” sign. It seems that my previous two editors did not use the same terms or symbol, but rather wrote out notes. I also noted that delete signs turned up with some frequency opposite my lines referring to habitat loss, to the ceaseless marginalization, fragmentation, and outright eradication of wetlands in particular, but to natural landscapes as a whole. It became apparent that he envisioned me more along the lines of a pied piper of the swamps, that my intimate knowledge of wetlands and their ecologies would serve increased awareness and spark interest in visiting them. But vanishing and vanished wetlands,
and the multifarious human activities driving them, cannot go unaddressed.

My constant expressing of the need for places to be left entirely alone, “exempt from public haunt” (a favorite Shakespeare quote) has always been a hallmark of my books and other writings, as well as my many and varied appearances on the theme of turtles and wetlands. I could not very well leave this critical subject out of my book on wetlands. I knew when I wrote about “a landscape of loss” I would see the delete squiggle.

We talked about this, and Harry offered the excellent suggestion that I write an epilogue on this theme, where I could treat it in something of a small essay, and not have it appear so often throughout my text. I welcomed this idea heartily, and the resultant epilogue stands as perhaps the best statement I have ever made on this critical issue. It has often been singled out in commentaries and reviews.

Bullfrog and floating-leaf pondweed

The project became massive and years went by. It was never made clear to me whether or not there were to be illustrations, but I undertook a series of pen and ink drawings, by desire and just in case. I was also spending an enormous amount of time with the literature, continually being fascinated by such papers as Francis Golet’s extraordinary paper on the ecology of red maple swamps. I took at least ten pages of notes that led to informing two or three paragraphs of my writing.

I was nowhere near completion when the three-year deadline came. “We can draw up another contract”, said Harry, and on I went. The fourth year came, the contract was re-worded. I worked on. When the fourth year came up Harry simply said, “Send in the book when you’re finished.”
I was grateful for his, and the publisher’s patience.

“Swampwalker” had quickly become a complex book as it dealt with intricate and wide-ranging subjects. I was constantly in need of re-working, attending to my own editing and compressing. Harry stayed with it, and and at one point surprised me by saying that he thought I should write a field guide to the wetlands east of the Mississippi River. That was a heady thought, and certainly attested to the fact that Harry, who had his own deep background, was at least certain that I knew what I was writing about.
I told him that if that opportunity had come when I was in my twenties or thirties I’d give it serious thought. But here I was, in my mid-forties, as I wrestled to gain control of and at last bring my “wetlands year” to the completion I envisioned.

Four-toed Salamanders nesting in sphagnum moss

“David M. Carroll writes with clarity, wit, and insight, and makes a strong case for his passion, ‘It is in swamps and marshes, freshwater wetlands, that I find my keenest sense of life’s past, my sharpest intimations of life’s journey in time, and my own moment within the ongoing’. This fine book is illustrated with Carroll’s superb drawings.”
—National Audubon.

As I drew near the conclusion, the book was not yet truly resolved, but I had it in hand. Harry struggled with the text, at one point writing “the eyes glaze”. And my last sendings came back with lines drawn down the middle the pages.

I was on my own, and it did not trouble me. Late in the game he commented, “Do you have the illustrations yet? – need to cue them in with the text.” Only then did I know that there was to be art. Happily I had fifty pen and ink drawings in hand, many of which I considered to be among the finest I had yet produced.

At length I finished and sent in the last of the writing. Laurette delivered the art work to Harry in Boston in person. I hadn’t heard from him in weeks, and had absolutely no idea of what he thought of the book. But with this submission I had completed my “Wet Sneaker Trilogy”, as I had come to call my three books.

The book went into production and a period of months followed without any dialog between author and editor. On a late afternoon in August I set off to do some work in my altiplano garden, a high piece of our land that was separated from the house and back field and its gardens by a deep ravine. The only way I could access it was to walk a section of the road that edged our land.

Pushing a wheelbarrow loaded with my farming implements I had just reached the bottom of our half-circle dirt driveway when I saw a UPS truck come up the other entrance. I had an intuition… it was about the time that I could expect to receive a copy of my book.

I left the wheelbarrow, greeted the driver, and took in hand a package from Houghton Mifflin Company. It was just the right size to be containing a book.

Laurette and the kids were away. I went into the house and laid the package on the kitchen table, and went back to my wheelbarrow. After an hour and a half or so of work on the altiplano I returned to the house. It was close enough to l’heure d’apéritif for me to pour my vodka.

I held the package for a moment, then opened it to see the wonderful cover design of SWAMPWALKER’S JOURNAL. Upon opening the book I found a note from Harry: “Dear David, Here is the first copy of one of the most beautiful books I have ever seen… beautifully written, beautifully illustrated. Thanks and congratulations, Harry.”

Hatchling Painted Turtles in the nest chamber

“There is no greater wetland emissary than Carroll…”
—Kirkus Reviews; starred review.

Some time over the winter I had a call from Harry, relaying the tremendously heartening news that SWAMPWALKER’S JOURNAL had been awarded the John Burroughs Medal for distinguished nature writing. This put me on a life list with renowned nature writers, among them a number of my personal favorites, writers who had influenced and inspired me: Joseph Wood Crutch; Loren Eiseley; Aldo Leopold; Annie Dillard and others. Authors are listed alphabetically, and by alphabetical good luck “Carroll” came between Archie Carr and Rachel Carson.

Archie Carr, who was the pioneering researcher and advocate for the preservation for endangered sea turtles, was also the father of modern studies of freshwater turtles. His HANDBOOK OF TURTLES OF THE UNITED SATES AND CANADA was the bible of my early years. I asked for it for Christmas when I was eleven years old.

Noting the expense, my mother said that that would be my only gift. It was all I wanted, and all I received.

In my late twenties I had a chance to meet Archie at the University of Florida. The father of American turtle studies was as approachable and eloquent as his books. I presented him with a watercolor of a spotted turtle, and he signed my treasured book.

In the tradition of the award, I received the medal in a ceremony in the Hall of the Asian People at the American Museum of Natural. Laurette, Meredith, and daughter Rebecca were my guests. Harry Foster and the vice president of Houghton Mifflin joined us. In time I received a generous supply of copies of the book with the Burroughs Medal medallion on the cover.

I was deeply grateful to have brought this to Harry, editor and friend who had so much to do with the book; Meredith who had so much regard for and faith in my work; and to my publisher. I was further honored by having made a contribution to the genre of nature writing.

Wood Turtle basking in alders

“David Carroll is a kind of St. Francis of the Wetlands, ranging the marshes, bogs and fens of New Hampshire, where he has maintained a long and benevolent kinship with the inhabitants. His interpretation of the natural world to be found there has firm scientific basis, but it is also exceptionally enriched by his viewpoint as artist, by his gifts of expression, and his respectful affection for all that lives in the saturated environment he knows so intimately… Reading his epilogue is to hear a cri de coeur”
—Lee Pennock Huntington, special to the Valley News.