I’m walking down one of the narrower trails at the La Selva Biological Station, in Costa Rica. On either side of the trail there is a literal wall of vegetation, a range of greens going from the pale lime tones of fresh leaves on the tips of shrubs, through the pea-shaded smooth leaves of vines and their paler tendrils that curl relentlessly on anything they touch; to the jades and olives and emeralds of older leaves, mosses, grasses and even swaths of bark. Within this riotous vegetation, a comparable—if not larger—palette of browns cover the gamut from the deep dark tones of wet soil, through the umber tones of rotting leaves, the hazel shades of different barks, the whimsical corky wings of vines thick as a baby’s arm, to the fawnish tones of fallen leaves, carrying with them the brighter tones of yellows, oranges and reds. Through gaps in this wall, a dark, dripping and richly scented forest beckons, a place to get lost easily, ensnared in its incredible biological wealth.

You get used to it. Walking about on a mossy, wet trail (the equivalent of a sidewalk at the field station) you encounter a diagonal line of little bits of leaves, sticks and fragments of flowers crossing the path in front of you. They move jerkily but unwavering, going from the source—a tree or shrub that can be dozens of feet away—to the inconspicuous entrance to their massive subterranean labyrinth. There, the leaves and flowers and other organic mater will be chewed, mushed and tenderly placed on a special chamber to serve as the growing bed of a nutritious fungus, the ants main source of food. You step over them carefully and hope everyone, all those busy researchers, students, staff, cleaning crews and others also see them and avoid squashing them too.

I just can’t help it. I start walking down a trail and within a few seconds something moves, shimmers, rustles, calls or sticks out and I have to investigate. Camera in hand is a great way to experience the forest for me. Every encounter possible gets recorded, photographically and in notes, to be analyzed, studied, identified and shared later. And these are only the ones where I can actually get a decent photo. The majority of the encounters are fleeting, high up in the canopy, far in the distance, or too quick to register on film (digitally, I mean).

The new routines are starting to set in. We go to breakfast in the dining hall, on the other side of the suspension bridge, a short, 5 minute walk across the well-tended grounds of the La Selva Biological Station. It is a short walk with a specific purpose, from the house to the hall and then back across the bridge, making a left on the trail, and heading around the clearing to the old lab where my new office is. Birds call from within the trees, fleeting blurs of movement and color, the scarlet streak of the red-rumped tanager; the yellow shimmer of an unidentified little warbler; the iridescent flash of a hummingbird.