The Alligator Nursery We Almost Walked Past

We are not born Florida people. We still say it out loud, half in disbelief, every single time: alligator.

Our first sighting was nothing dramatic — a short boardwalk near home, water black as coffee, cypress knees standing up out of it like something from a bedtime story. And then, just past the reeds: a shape. Not moving. Just eyes. Two eyes, right at the waterline, watching us as much as we were watching it.

Nobody moved for a long time. Not us, not the alligator. From the safety of the observation deck, my kids went quiet in that particular way children go quiet when something is more real than they expected.

We've since watched them surface from an airboat deep in the Everglades, and again at Loxahatchee — eyes first, always eyes first. It hasn't worn off yet.

Here's what I want you to know, on the days you're wondering whether today's the day to load everyone into the car for a wetlands boardwalk you're not sure they'll care about: you can't teach curiosity. There's no lesson plan for wonder. That part only comes from being there — and it's doing at least as much for you as it is for them.

What's Actually Happening Right Now

This isn't a random month to be talking about alligators. Late August through early September is alligator hatching season across Florida. Right now, in nests all over the state, hatchlings are chirping from inside their shells — a sound their mother is already listening for, so she can dig them out.

A newly hatched alligator is only six to eight inches long, small enough to rest across an open hand. And unusually for a reptile, her mother doesn't leave once the eggs hatch. She'll guard her young for up to two years — one of the most attentive parents in the animal kingdom, reptile or otherwise.

If you're on a wetlands boardwalk this month and the water looks a little louder, a little busier than usual, this is why.

Where to See It This Month

A few real, family-friendly Florida state parks worth the drive this season:

- Myakka River State Park (Sarasota County) — one of Florida's oldest and largest state parks, with alligators visible right along the river from easy trails and boardwalks.

- Paynes Prairie Preserve State Park (Gainesville) — the La Chua Trail boardwalk puts you close to the water's edge, with wading birds and gators both common sights.

- Wakulla Springs State Park (near Tallahassee) — one of the deepest freshwater springs in the world, with glass-bottom boat tours that, in the right season, may pass right by hatchlings.

As always: stay well back, keep little hands and feet away from the water's edge, and never, ever feed them. The boardwalk is the whole point — it lets you get close to something wild without either of you having to be brave about it.

Ways to Bring This Home This Month

A few low-prep ideas to stretch this into the rest of September, whether or not you make it to a park:

- Build a nest. Head outside and gather mud, sticks, and leaves, and try building a mound the way a mother alligator does — by body alone, no tools. It's a surprisingly great lesson in just how much work "before anything is visible" really is.

- Practice hatching. Tuck a small toy inside a plastic egg or a ball of paper mâché and let your child work to "hatch" it out. Talk about what it might feel like to wait in the dark for two months before anyone comes to help you out.

- Measure six inches. That's a hatchling's full length. Compare it to a hand, a shoe, a favorite stuffed animal — scale is hard for young kids to grasp until it's physical.

- A two-dot painting. All you need to paint an alligator at the waterline is two eyes and a ripple. It's a lovely, low-pressure way to let a child try their hand at the same restraint we use in our postcards — sometimes the smallest, quietest image says the most.

- Fill in a page. If you're already keeping a Wonder & Wander Nature Journal, this is the month for a "Wild Wonders I've Noticed" entry on your first gator sighting — even if it's a small one, even if it's from a parking lot pond.

If you get out there this month, we'd love to hear what you saw. And if today isn't the day — that's alright too. The wetlands aren't going anywhere.