LINCOLNVILLE — Driving south on Route 52 through Lincolnville just before noon Tuesday, the sight of a large red fox crossing from one side of the road to the other in the rearview mirror prompted a quick U-turn. Often, this exercise proves futile — but when it doesn't, it's awesome.

Before heading back seconds later, I unloaded my camera from its bag and had it poised for action. Cresting a slight rise back up the road, two frames captured the fox crossing back again, this time carrying what appeared to be either a large rabbit, or a kit, in its jaws. The fox was traveling back from a yard into the woods, making it likely it was carrying fresh kill. But with only two frames to view, in motion, from a distance and shot through the windshield glass, it was quite possible the fox was bringing a wandering kit back to the den.

The adult fox slinked into the trees, but curiosity prompted me to stand still and watch to see if it would re-emerge. Since fox pairs rear their young together until the family disbands in late summer, it was hard to tell if this fox was the mother or father. In any case, the wooded area was not so dense, and surely a bright orange animal would be easy to spot as it continued to move away from the road — and the human with the camera.

But lo and behold, it was the movement of brown and black that caught my eye, and looking down I saw three little kits sniffing around on the ground. It was likely they were lured out of the den by their passing mother or father, who continued deeper into the woods so as not to lead a potential threat to the defenseless young.

Skulking down on haunches and inching a little closer to the den, the kits were startled by the sound of crunching leaves, turned to look at me and darted back into their earthen home facing away from the road. I sensed the mother/father was still by, though unseen, as chickens could be heard nervously clucking in a yard off in the distance through the trees.

Patiently waiting the kits out, it was the mother/father that appeared first again, that unmistakable orange eventually seen slowly moving through the fallen branches and brambles. A stream separated the adult fox from the den, and the fox knew I was behind the den. Looking into the eyes of a red fox, even at a distance, give cause for holding your breath. Making a wide circle around, she/he started making their way back, but I lost of sight of the fox, blocked by a small hill to my right, covered with tall dead grass and winter-crisp reeds.

But she/he was near, and the kits knew it too. Eventually one of them popped out and sniffed the air, walking in a circle but staying close to the den's entrance. Trying to focus the lens on that little creature amongst all the branches and brambles, it heard the camera's shutter open and close in rapid succession twice, and then looked straight at me for one more shot before it darted back inside the den.

It was then I realized that it was time to let the family reunite, or risk having the mother or father sneak up on me from behind or above on the hill. The parent had been patient enough. And I was quite thrilled to have had this first-hand taste of spring and its new life.

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Editorial Director Holly S. Edwards can be reached by email at hollyedwards@penbaypilot.com or by calling 207-706-6655.