by Kristin Kenlan

I am coming to suspect, amidst considerable evidence to the contrary, that nature’s preferred shade is gray. Where I live, in the East, we are easily deceived. A New England hillside in early October is a riot of color, the entire spectrum displayed. The delicate green of a May morning has stunned my western friends. Vegetation cloaks the hillsides and valleys, obscuring substance and structure. But gray boulders, crumbs from the most recent glaciation, dot our fields. In spots, earth’s core thrusts through the crust — and it is gray.

It’s a hue that is under-appreciated. I teach sixth graders and I know they don’t see or understand gray. The young of the species need edges, areas of contrast, upon which to focus.

Similarly, our vision in the natural world. A black wolf is easily spotted against the gray-green of sage grasslands. Likewise, white. It is the grays that are harder to perceive. They shimmer, mirage-like, in and out of focus — disappear — their contours lost to all but the most practiced eye.

But if you would understand form and structure, it is in the shades of gray that they are revealed. It is there, once we are no longer distracted by color, that we can see the subtle gradations of shadow and light which reveal true form.

I started thinking about all this when I read an article by a friend about the death of a well-known and well-loved wild coyote. This was an animal that had been captured, collared and studied for many years — her habits, behaviors, and personality well-known. She was killed by a wild wolf, an animal that had also been studied and cherished. My friend is a biologist, a naturalist, who believes that reintroducing top predators is the right thing to do — for the health of the ecosystem and for the health of our spirits. But how do you feel when a beloved coyote is killed by a beloved wolf — when you find yourself in the emotional gray areas?

An ecotone is a technical term describing the place where two or more plant communities meet. Sometimes it is the result of changing soils or the ability of certain plant species to exclude others. Sometimes, though, it is an area where one community grades into another. Species from both communities intermingle in this zone of transition. But other species occur, too, species which are found in neither of the neighboring communities. As a result, this area of blurred edges can exhibit a greater richness and diversity than either of the adjoining habitats. It is, in effect, an ecological gray area.

Not far downstream was a dry channel where the river had run once...

Its overall pattern was the favorite serpentine curve of the artist sketched on the valley from my hill to the last hill I could see on the other side. But internally it was made of sharp angles.

It ran seemingly straight for a while, turned abruptly, then ran smoothly again, then met another obstacle, again was turned sharply and again ran smoothly.

It turns out that gray isn’t really gray after all. Like the diverse ecotone, it is the richest of colors, a composite of contrasts. A slab of granite, upon close inspection, contains silvery micas, glittering black hornblende, pink feldspars and translucent quartz. A gray wolf’s coat is an intermingling of black, white, gray and brown hairs. Success — close-up — looks somewhat different.

Maybe life only contradicts itself in the short run. What do you do when a beloved coyote is killed by a beloved wolf? The questions are asked in full living color. The answers hide in the richness of gray.