I SHOULD NOT have been surprised to find a dozen plump tadpoles swimming in the ice-free center of the freshwater pond in January at Trustom Pond National Wildlife Refuge, in South Kingstown, R.I.

Packed with uplands, grasslands, a salt-pond and oceanfront, Trustom Pond is a marine-influenced sanctuary for flora and fauna or all sorts, including the human kind. For a relatively small refuge, it offers a tremendous amount of diversity, including tadpoles that remain tadpoles through the winter, which I’m told happens now and then.

The trees alone provide wonder. Hundreds of them look like versions of the Harry Potter “whomping willow.” Multi-stemmed, twisted cherries, maples, oaks and other species I cannot identify line the trails, extending into the woodlots.

Moreover, many of the trees are decorated with clinging or hanging plant life that appears to be some sort of moss or lichen. On a foggy day, Trustom Pond might look like Great Okefenokee Swamp.

Three times on the walk to Otter Point we encountered stones in the path marked by fox, coyote, or some other animal scat that contained the bones of rodents. Twice we found areas of owl whitewash and pellets below sturdy tree branches. We stopped at one spot to watch a handful of white-throated sparrows and a downy woodpecker pick off the blue fruit of an arrow-wood shrub.

The salt pond is Trustom’s grand attraction. This is Rhode Island’s only undeveloped coastal salt pond. No houses ring it. No boats cross it.

On the way there, a shiny object slowed me—a spotting scope carried by a birdwatcher, who asked if I wanted to scan the water. Family or scope, I pondered? My wife was happy to let me hang about for a few minutes, and she moved on with the kids.

Like bee swarms, hundreds of Canada geese crisscrossed the water. Cormorants glowed in the setting sun. Ducks produced beeps, peeps, honks, and squeaks, squawks and whistles. I saw coot, gadwall, scaup, bufflehead, widgeon, redhead, goldeneye, black duck, ruddy duck and three types of merganser.

Some of the smaller waterfowl fed in a massed frenzy, looking like a scrum of rugby players. A northern harrier, also called a marsh hawk, passed overhead, as did a great blue heron, which croaked like a movie dinosaur. A rough-legged hawk hovered over the sand dunes near Moonstone Beach. I heard the rattle of a kingfisher. Nearby was a sandhill crane, noted by birdwatchers for weeks, but we did not see it.

I caught up with my family at one of the observation decks, where a sea-freshened breeze rattled leaves on young white oaks. The kids had spotted a line of 4-inch-long, anchor-shaped web prints in the sand below. The setting sun turned the backs of some waterfowl a glowing yellow. In one corner, more than 100 coots looked like chocolate chips atop a golden cake.

Heading out we stopped because the kids wanted to climb a tree. The undergrowth contained a flock of five chickadees, six golden-crowned kinglets and a brown creeper, making a soft single see call.

At the Visitor Contact Station, there was a whiteboard for guests to enter sightings and other information. In a corner of the panel was a note from someone who had found comfort at Trustom Pond after the death of a loved one.

The refuge is crammed with nature and spirit. We don’t spend time there to explain the meaning or the causes of its ancient tidal and maritime forces, or to consider how to control them. We go to share the same place peacefully —to go with the flow.

Scott Turner is a Providence-based nature writer. His columns appear here each Saturday ( scottturnerster@gmail.com).