There comes a point in photography when the camera ceases to be a machine and becomes something closer to a teacher. When you first pick up a camera commencing your photographic journey, much of your time is spent on educating yourself with the fundamental workings of this magical light capturing mechanical box, and how you can understand these functions and settings to hopefully over time continue to create better photographs.

One day, if you are fortunate, perhaps even a great one.

But somewhere along the way, the work begins to change. Through the pursuit of landscapes, wildlife, and the quiet spectacles of the natural world, you come to understand that knowing how to photograph something is only part of it. Knowing what you are looking at, what it is, how it moves, what it fears, what it endures becomes equally important, if not more so.

Curiosity is what deepens the work.

While composing my frame through the viewfinder you could sense the tiredness in Mom’s eyes; occasionally wincing in certain discomfort as her Skulk scurried around in a desperate fight for milk. Amidst the current tribulation of being the sole caretaker to these 9 kits, her eyes never ceased to radiate like the glowing embers of hot coal. Her pupils sharp and steel grey, precisely what you would expect from a cunning assassin, pierce right through the lens and into your soul. In what took not much more than a few split second actuations of the camera shutter, the whole spectacle was over. Kits back into the den, Mom – back into the woods.

Den duties are commonly shared amongst Momma & Poppa Fox rather equally. Dad at the current time of the photographs had been previously injured though was reported to be receiving medical care offsite. Mom on double duty and worn down having to raise this spirited bunch alone, stands frail yet resilient in the face of Mother Nature’s consistent hostile challenges.

For reasons unbeknownst, Mom decides to set up shop underneath a white vinyl clad lawn bowling clubhouse. Smack dab in the heart of downtown Brighton; a charming Mayberry-like agricultural community in Northumberland County, Ontario. Cunning and sly, the Leash of Foxes was rarely seen.

Plate II — The den, fifty feet from the grocery store.

They were seldom seen in full. Occasionally a kit or two would emerge into the open for a brief spell darting through the grass, tumbling over one another, or practicing the ancient and immediate mechanics of predation on the remains of a grackle carcass left from the night before. Most often, however, they kept to themselves, slipping in and out through a secondary burrow entrance with an intelligence that felt less instinctive than tactical.

To photograph all nine kits, plus their mother, required the sort of patience that photography claims to teach and then tests without mercy.

As a landscape and wildlife photographer, we of course place a heavy emphasis on setting. Initially, of course, I would have most preferred to stumble upon this den in the wilderness. Though the story through the photographs would not have been the same. Witnessing Mom completely comfortable in a most public setting during these moments of extreme vulnerability was only topped by our ability to respect this spectacle and observe without our natural human instinct to interfere.

In a world seemingly bent on descending further into our perilous midnight, two completely different species proved they can coexist in harmony. The closest sign yet to world peace unfolds just 50 feet from a Grocery store in the heart of town.