"Marine biologist Bearzi celebrates the marvels of ordinary wildlife in these charming meditations. Collecting vignettes about the animals she observed while confined to her Los Angeles home during COVID-19 lockdown, she serves up thoughtful commentary on humanity’s place in nature and the value of all creatures." —Publishers Weekly"Bearzi's thoughtful and meditative essays will appeal to naturalists, conservationists, and anyone who appreciates all the other animals with whom we share this planet." —Booklist"When marine biologist Bearzi was forced to leave the ocean at the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic, she turned to a marvel of nature a bit more quotidian: her backyard in urban Los Angeles. Writing in the contemplative voice of early lockdown, Bearzi observes resilience in birds, bugs, and plants and finds peace and purpose for herself." —Alta Journal"These nature essays exemplify evenhandedness, curiosity, and close observation. […] The book is a passionate primer to appreciating everyday nature." —Shelf Awareness"Marine biologist Maddalena Bearzi chronicles her unexpected transition from studying oceanic life to exploring the diverse ecosystems in her own urban backyard during the COVID-19 lockdown. Through her keen observations and profound reflections, Bearzi encourages readers to find beauty in the ordinary and underscores the critical need for environmental stewardship." —Scuba Diving Magazine"Stranded reminds us of what we all too easily forget: the sustaining delights of finding beauty and wonder all around us." —Florence Williams, author of The Nature Fix and Heartbreak"Maddalena Bearzi's way with words is magical, and so is her ability to transform what seem to be ordinary animals into miraculous creatures doing outrageous things right under our collective noses. And she puts us humans in our place as Earth’s worst nightmare, but also the best hope for restoring and safeguarding the health of the only home in the universe just right for us—and the millions of other species that underpin our existence." —Sylvia Earle, author of Sea Change"What happens when a scientist, trained in the powers of observing wildlife, turns that curious eye on herself? Maddalena explores so beautifully her journey of reckoning with the wild wonder of the everyday world as she realizes what she has left unexplored is not just found in the vastness of the ocean but in her own backyard.” —Beth Pratt, author of When Mountain Lions Are Neighbors"Stranded is one of the first great pieces of environmental writing to emerge from the COVID-19 pandemic."—Peter S. Alagona, author of The Accidental Ecosystem“Bearzi has found her place as a nature essayist of the highest order." —Craig Stanford, author of Upright“Maddalena ends with not just hope but teaching-words of personal responsibility, grassroots activism, and large-scale governmental and other action that may—may—help us in this amazing, rapidly advancing Anthropocene Epoch.” —Bernd Würsig, coeditor of Encyclopedia of Marine Mammals“Nature is everywhere! We will discover awe and wonder any time we open our eyes and really look. Maddalena Bearzi shares how she rediscovered this state of amazement by focusing on the nature hidden in her urban Los Angeles neighborhood. She shows us how the insights she gained by merging her sense of curiosity and scientific know-how are available to everyone as soon as we open our senses to the natural wonders around us." —Daniel T. Blumstein, author of The Nature of Fear: Survival Lessons From the Wild"Maddalena Bearzi's important book is a wonderful reminder of just how critical it is to get outside, rewild ourselves, and enjoy the diverse and magnificent fauna and flora who await our attention and appreciation. (Re)finding nature is healing on the individual level and spreads compassion and empathy in our mixed communities of human and nonhuman beings." —Marc Bekoff, author of Rewilding Our Hearts: Building Pathways of Compassion and Coexistence"It is ironic that this thing that ‘socially distanced’ all of us from each other brings us together now, to tell the stories of how we coped, how we changed, how we adapted as the world swirled around us, how we stopped going far and started going deeper." —Carl Safina, from the foreword

EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER ONE: FOLLOWING FLUKEPRINTS [...] Over many years, led by curiosity and dedication, my research team and I have had countless encounters with the wild and mysterious marine mammals off the teeming City of Angels. We saw Pacific white-sided dolphins close off Malibu, showing off the natural beauty of their two-tone physiques in astounding midair somersaults. With a languid mood, bottlenose dolphins traveled and foraged up and down the coast in almost perpetual motion. They were constantly changing group composition in their fluid fission-fusion societies, much like people shifting from one social cluster to another at a party. On occasion, transient, mammal-eating orcas, with their monochrome black fins and cultural traditions passed from generation to generation, roamed in pursuit of a meal: a baby gray whale, a sea lion, an occasional seabird. Pacific harbor seals slept on sun-kissed rocks or relaxed in kelp beds just shouting distance from Hollywood celebrities' garish and well-guarded mansions. Offshore, shadowy Dall's porpoises dashed with gravity-defying leaps, their dorsal fins carving through the surface with such swiftness a watery "rooster tail" was all one could see. Standoffish and bulky Risso's dolphins, oddly dissimilar in temper from the affable ones I met in the Tyrrhenian Sea, made brief appearances before fading into the depths in search of squiddy buffets. We tailed gargantuan blue whales, with blowholes so big a baby could fit inside them, and humpback whales, with their endlessly evolving, haunting and beautiful songs. I learned as much as I could about their otherworldly complex and magical existence, especially that of the whales and dolphins, who captivated me the most. And I started to understand how much they share with us, the striking resemblances, and the linkages among different species and their collective habitat—those invisible ties that exist in the intertwining web of marine life. I saw firsthand how every living organism at sea plays a part; how every being is essential for the survival of others in a delicate balance. Life in LA revolved around the work Charlie and I do for and with the ocean. Then all of a sudden, on a seemingly ordinary morning at the outset of spring, that life vanished. The flowers in my garden were blooming; the sky was its usual intense California blue; the dog next door was barking with his high-pitched voice. On my desk lay the airplane ticket for Europe, where it had been sitting for over a week. My iPhone squawked, showing another incoming text from my mom: "Don't come!!! It’s a mess here!!!!!" I remember scrolling down to read the rest of my mother's exclamation point-filled dispatch reaching me from the other side of the planet, sadly learning how Italy was already strangled in the grip of the Coronavirus. That day changed everything for me. And for everyone else on Earth. With no other choice on the horizon, we did what other nonhuman animals on Earth do: we adapted. We stayed home, we avoided crowds, we wore masks and reduced activities to the purely essential. And then there was the awkwardness of social distancing and Zoom meetups, swapping our natural contact with others for sterile face-to-face conversations on computer screens. It was a new domain, an unfamiliar creek to navigate with no paddles or easy instructions. Confusion, panic, and fear were everywhere.  As a field marine biologist accustomed to spending most of the time outside and in the wild, I found this new regime stifling. For so many scientists whose jobs depend on being out in the world searching to further understand nature beyond human borders, our lives’ purpose was upended. You can’t work from home when your work is the ocean. Not that I had any right to complain. I was living in my house with a loving husband, a dog, a backyard, and everything I needed, toilet paper included. But I still couldn’t circumvent the caged feeling of being closed inside four walls. With my research shuttered because of the unforeseen, meteor-like impact of a pandemic, unable to be at sea with my team due to social distancing, I could only revisit in my mind that vivid day when the anchovies arrived, that simple act of feeding, interacting, living. I was sequestered, stopped in my tracks and blocked from being on the water, where I have spent much of my life. I yearned for the ocean and that lost, almost spiritual connection with the dolphins.