Nature's Little Helicopters

I returned home Friday evening after two long weeks away. My feeders and birdbaths were empty so I promptly cleaned and refilled them. As in prior absences, it takes several days for the birds and squirrels to return to my feeders. I am one of many in the neighborhood that provide food and water for the wildlife so once my supplies ran out, everyone moved on to other homes. By late Saturday evening however, the chickadees, nuthatches and sparrows returned, noshing on the thistle and black oil sunflower seeds.

Unlike the seed tubes, the hummingbird feeder had remained untouched during my absence. I had refilled the water bottle with fresh sugar solution just before I left so I knew that I had had no visitors. Once again, I missed the departure of the ruby-throated hummingbirds on their long trip south. As one of the earliest winter migrating birds, the hummingbirds of Michigan travel south to Mexico, crossing the full 600 mile length of the Gulf.  There they will remain until March when they begin their journey back to Michigan arriving by mid-May.

Hummingbirds are unique in the bird world in their ability to hover, fly backwards and up and down. Their wing anatomy allows them to rotate their shoulder joint so that the wing can completely turn over creating fore stroke and backstroke movements. During backward movement, the hummingbird positions its body more upright, reducing the wing incline to almost horizontal that allows the bird to draw its head downward for easier access to the flowers’ nectar. [Science Daily, September 30, 2012 -http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2012/09/120927091924.htm?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+sciencedaily%2Fplants_animals+%28ScienceDaily%3A+Plants+%26+Animals+News%29]

This past week, I received a link to a website where a birdwatcher photographed the life process of hummingbird chicks. I was amazed to learn that the eggs were only ½ inch in length and that the nest was barely longer than a toothpick. It was fascinating to see the development from naked chicks to fully feathered fledglings. To see the entire process from egg to independence, go to http://community-2.webtv.net/hotmail.com/verle33/HummingBirdNest/

As for my feeder, I will clean and refill it one more time just in case there are any hummingbirds remaining in the area. When the evening temperatures drop below freezing on a regular basis, I will store my feeder for the winter and wait patiently for the hummingbird’s return.

Chipmunk Paradise

In my parents’ back yard there is a tall bird feeder intended for the chickadees, goldfinches and nuthatches. The birds eat about half of the seeds, dropping the remainder to the ground below. What is different from my back yard is the number of chipmunks who scoot back and forth collecting the uneaten seeds.

Chipmunks are one of the smallest rodents in Michigan. At this time of the year, you can see these little guys, cheeks bulging with food, running from bird feeders to their winter abodes. Unlike squirrels, chipmunks build their homes underground creating a maze of tunnels that lead to sleeping chambers, food pantries and places to eliminate.  As autumn transitions to winter, the chipmunks move underground where they remain until spring.

I enjoy watching chipmunks running through the yard. They are a vision of continuous energy and industriousness. But what I have found is that chipmunks are often too focused on their collecting tasks ignoring what is happening around them. That is the reality at my home where chipmunks are often the dinner for many cats, dogs, raccoons and other neighborhood predators. It is a sad sight to find the partial remains of a chipmunk but the truth is that every piece of meat we eat once was part of a living animal. It is just that in our society we are so removed from the food production cycle that we forget that death is part of the equation.

As for the chipmunks at my parents’ house, protected by a fenced in yard, the chipmunks free feel to come and go unimpeded. They feel so safe in this environment that even a stranger to the yard, like I can stand within inches of them. It is chipmunk heaven, a place of safety and abundance and for a brief time, I, too, am part of that heaven.



Sunflowers in the Sunlight

You may have noticed that I haven’t had regular postings on my blog. Like so many other things in life, events come up that interrupt even the most ironclad plans. This past week has been a study in being flexible to life’s hiccups.

My visit home was expected to be an opportunity to enjoy the autumn colors and seeing the natural beauty of the community. Instead, I have been in and out of emergency rooms, hospitals and know the local EMTs by name. Family members who have always been resilient and for whom I relied on are now fragile and dependent upon me. Hours and days passed before I even realized that I had not written a paragraph for this blog that I love so much. As I look back upon this past week, it is a constant reminder that everything changes. Even the sturdiest of rocks will be eventually reshaped by the wind and waves.

On one of the few quiet hours this past week I took a car ride around the area where my grandparents had lived. I saw how the once open fields are now covered in trees and homes where I played as a child decaying into the landscape. I drove past a field of sunflowers standing in the sunshine which in itself is not an uncommon sight. What made this scene so unusual was that everything around the field was dark and overcast. How did the sun know to shine only on those sunflowers?

So as I sit in my room and fret over all that has occurred, I can recall that field of flowers; a reminder that no matter how awful life can be there is always a ray of hope.

As a postscript, I am still in the midst of hospitals and doctors only now I have been joined by another sibling to help with the workload. I hope to keep writing but I ask for your patience, prayers and continued support if circumstances prevent me from posting each day.

We Are All the Same?

The scene is etched in memory despite the fact that it occurred many years ago. I used to drive a busy road to work every morning; two lanes of traffic, bumper to bumper for the 5 miles into the business district downtown. One morning, I spotted a mallard duck sitting on the curb. It didn’t make sense that a duck would stay in such a dangerous location so near to the road. That was, until I passed the bird and saw the body of a female mallard lying against the curb directly in front of the drake. The next morning and for several days after, the drake remained in the same location.

Animism is the belief that everything on this earth possesses a soul. Animist traditions can be found in early hunter/gatherer civilizations, the traditional Japanese religion of Shinto, Native American religions and some Hindu and Judeo-Christian sects. As a person who feels a strong God-presence in nature, it isn’t much of a stretch for me to believe that that mallard duck’s vigil on that road side was evidence of grief for his dead companion.

In the September 12^th Science Daily: Plants & Animals News, researchers from the University of California- Davis, observed that Western Scrub Jays would summon other jays to encircle the remains of a dead companion. These funerals could last up to a half hour at a time. Scientists performed tests to determine whether inanimate objects shaped like jays would elicit the same behavior but the jays ignored the substitutes. Other animals such as elephants, giraffes and chimpanzees have been observed to display similar behaviors when faced with the death of a member of their species.

I have personally witnessed a comparable behavior when my cat Siegfried died. For several weeks after Siegfried’s death, his long-time companion Tristan moped around the house. At night he would climb into bed with me pressing his body next to mine where he remained the entire night. This was not a behavior that Tristan had previously exhibited. It was only when I introduced a new kitten into the house a month later that Tristan returned to his sleeping chair that he now shared with the rambunctious Max.

What scientists are discovering is that the animals possess emotions very similar to our own. If a Scrub Jay or a Mallard Duck can exhibit grief, what is to say that wildlife do not possess fear, doubt, joy, love or any other human emotion?

Nature's Housekeepers

On Tuesday, I walked along the shore of Huron Bay. It was a cold, windy day and the water on the bay was choppy and dark. In the distance I found a flock of gulls settled in on the shore line. It was obvious that they were aware of my presence for as I moved closer to them, they moved proportionately away. Despite their reluctance to pose for me I was able to get off several photographs before they moved out of a range.

People have a love/hate relationship with seagulls. Herring gulls (the proper name of the seagulls that reside in our area) will eat almost anything and are great at scavenging dead fish, crabs and food waste from local beaches and landfills. But as we all know, what goes in must come out so herring gulls have a bad reputation of depositing their poop on windshields, beach blankets and if you are truly unlucky, on your head.

As members of the Laridae (LAR-ih-dee) family, 43 species of gulls can be found world-wide. Comfortable in both salt and freshwater environments and despite their name “seagull” gulls do not normally live on the ocean but in the shallower waters of lakes, bays and oceans.

Gulls are not particularly strong flyers relying instead upon the air currents to carry them from one area to another. With their web feet, they are excellent swimmers but unlike ducks and other waterfowls, rarely dive underwater for food.

Not known for their demure behavior, herring gulls like to congregate in large numbers (called colonies), wailing, squeaking and generally making a noisy racket. As a species, gulls are a pretty bird to watch. Herring gull chicks are born with white and black spotted downy feathers. As they age the juvenile gulls are predominately black in color eventually fading to gray and finally the familiar adult white/gray.

I left the beach, satisfied that I got several good photographs. As for the gulls, they began moving back to their original spot returning to their conservation that I had rudely interrupted.

Know Your Surroundings

I can’t sleep so here I sit in bed with the computer on my lap. My fall retreat that I had looked forward to so anxiously abruptly ended tonight. I have mixed feelings about it but what happened is something I just have to accept.

The day began quietly. I stoked the fireplace and made breakfast. It was cold outside but the view to the west indicated that the rain and overcast clouds would soon pass and the possibilities of a beautiful September day were strong.

After reading most of the morning, I decided to take a walk down to the water. Trails meander around the small bay and following an overgrown path I reached the beach. In the summer this is an ideal location for sunbathing and swimming. Today, whitecaps and dark water discourage any ideas of sitting out for long. I followed a flock of seagulls standing along the shore. Aware of my presence, they moved in sync with me so I was never really close enough to get a good photograph. I took 7-8 photos and decided to return to the cabin.

As I approached the trail that circles around the bay, I spotted an eagle soaring overhead. I pulled out my camera with its new telephoto lens. Again, I was outwitted by nature. A second eagle had now joined the first one and the two circled and braided their tail winds outside the range of my new lens. What I captured looked more like a silhouette than a photograph. At least I can say I saw eagles today.

On my walk back to the cabin I encountered a fellow photographer also in search of eagles. I was taken by surprise by his appearance for this was the first time I had encountered anyone in the preserve. We traded pleasantries and I went on my way.

An hour later while watching for wildlife on the dock, a woman and young man came walking up the trail to join me. We talked about eagles, moose and the cougar sightings. I had inadvertently admitted that I was staying alone in the cabin. The woman pointed to my front porch and referred to it as “her front porch” a statement that I had found odd. After a few minutes I said good-bye and went inside. The woman and young man walked past the house and down the trail.

After dinner I went back outside. From the corner of my eye, I spotted a gray car leaving the area behind my cabin. I had not seen the car arrive nor in my trips to bring in firewood, saw the vehicle parked. At this point, my instincts heightened and my mind began to run amok. I had broken the primary rule of being in the wilderness: know your surroundings. In my desire to make this stay an inner exploration, I had been lax in my attention to what was happening around me. I didn’t think about the consequences of being a woman alone in a remote cabin. I had come prepared with adequate clothing, food and first aid kit. But there was no cell service at the house, the closest neighbor a ½ mile away and the preserve was open for anyone to use. To top it off, I foolishly told two strangers that I was there alone.

I decided to spend the evening at my parents, an hour away. Quickly pulling together my most valuable possessions, I doused the fireplace flame, locked the doors and drove off. Tomorrow I will return to pick up the rest of my belongings, clean up the cabin and spend the remainder of my retreat in the comfort of my parents’ home.

Did I overreact? Most likely. But in violating the rule of knowing my environment I put myself in a situation where anything could have happened. Too often I focus on keeping safe around plants and wildlife, but I also need to be alert to what is often the most dangerous animal in the woods: humans. I ignored the fact that small game season was in season, hunters with dogs and guns. I gave out too much personal information. I hiked alone in an area where no one knew where I was and I had no way of communicating out if an emergency did occur. These are foolish acts, something that I knew better than to do.

So here I sit, wide awake in the middle of the night. This is not my isolated cabin but a warm house, my parents sleeping only feet away. The gravity of my actions haunts me and keeps me awake. Stupid, very stupid.

Solitude

Monday Evening

I am on my fall retreat; a twice a year occurrence where I go away to one of my favorite natural areas. When I first started taking these retreats ten years ago, I would go with another person. It made for lively conversation and camaraderie, but having someone around, gave me permission to neglect the issues that I wanted to ponder. Over time, scheduling conflicts provided me with a graceful way out to change these retreats from a girls’ weekend away to one where I was forced to be my own best friend.

In the past, I would go to a beautiful little cottage at the eastern end of the Upper Peninsula. The owners are wonderful people that I have come to call my friends. Cottage Number Two was my home away from home, fully furnished with all the conveniences I could ask for including television. But it was that dreaded boob tube, whose presence tempted me away from the purpose of my trip and I would find myself sitting there watching it. My retreat had become just another weekend at home, except in a different location.

So this fall, I changed the destination. My cabin has fewer modern conveniences. Yes there is a fully functioning kitchen, but there is no television, limited cell service and the closest ice cream shop, a half hour away. The only distractions are stoking the fireplace that provides the heat in my cabin and the myriad of birds and wildlife that keep me company.

I’m settled in now; belongings put away, food in the refrigerator. The logs in the fireplace are blazing hot and I’ve brought in enough fresh wood to last me through the evening. The rain that accompanied me on my journey here has finally ended, replaced by a brisk wind and overcast clouds. I have seen a couple of eagles despite the chilly conditions. My camera is assembled and ready for morning.

The cabin is quiet, except for the hum of the refrigerator and the crackling of the flames as they pull up the chimney. Even for someone like me who loves silence, I find this quiet disconcerting and I look around the room expecting to see someone walk in the door. But there is no one here and no one is expected.

I think about purpose of this retreat. The last six months have been hectic despite my lack of employment. I have plenty of concerns, fears and questions to choose from. Yet I have found that these retreats often unfold much differently than how I originally plan them.

It is getting dark outside now with only the western horizon showing any sign of sunlight. In the distance I hear geese honking. Perhaps they spend their evening in the protected waters in front of the cabin. How wonderful it would be to arise tomorrow morning and find a flock of them preparing for their long journey south.

For being such a long day, I am not tired. The solitude relaxes me and I rather like the calm that envelopes this place. Maybe it is not the act of contemplation I need but the solitude.

SQUIRREL !!!!!!

I have been known to go out of my way to not harm animals. I move ants and spiders outside the house rather than squish them as most people do.  As I drive, I continually scan the sides of roads for deer, skunks and the assortment of other wildlife that have the misfortune to try to cross busy roads.

Experts advised that it is foolish and even dangerous to stop for or swerve around wildlife when you are driving a car. I get that, but in situations where to slow down or stop doesn’t create a hazard to me or others I always give the right away to the animal.

One such situation occurred this past Saturday. I was the designated driver for my sister and her two sisters in law for a day of wine touring. As I was driving to our first winery, a black squirrel crossed in front of my car. Since I was driving slowly due to the road’s curves, I put on the brakes giving the squirrel the chance to successfully cross the road. My riders who had been chatting in the back seat were taken by surprise. Their comments were basically “You brake for squirrels?!?” For the remainder of our travels, they would periodically yell out “squirrel!!!” bringing laughter from the back seat.

You may say that I take my “do no harm” to the extreme. But I say that most of us are too dismissive towards our nonhuman friends. We spray insecticides to excess to ensure that our time outside is insect free even if that kills the very insects that pollinate the flowers in our gardens. We fence in our homes to keep out that errant deer or rabbit. We drive way too fast, not giving that animal who just wants to cross the road, much of a chance.

If that makes me an eccentric, so be it. At least I am at peace that my actions reflect my belief that all living beings: human and nonhuman, plant and animal, deserves a chance to exist.

True Devotion

It has been an emotional year for me. I fret about not working and wondering how the remainder of my life will unfold. My physical appearance that had always looked decades younger than my driver’s license disclosed, now show the signs of aging: gray hair, sagging skin, fine wrinkles. It is a struggle to reconcile myself to the reality that there are fewer years ahead of me than I have already lived.

I worry about my aging parents, still independent but live so very far away. My oldest niece, who has always smiled through the difficulties that life gave her, was knocked down with pneumonia this summer. Her sudden illness and slow recovery was a reminder of how quickly life can be altered when it is least expected.

On most days, I can push down these thoughts but they always remain beneath the surface waiting to re-emerge. Today, they rise up and tears flow generously. I feel alone, despite being surrounded by many good friends and family. I know that these feelings will soon pass. And if they don’t, people close to me will reassure me that all will be well.

These thoughts return me to the summer of 2011. Deer are a regular occurrence in my yard so it was not unusual to see a buck and doe coming down the hillside. The doe was limping badly, her right front leg above the hoof swollen. As she gingerly walked, the buck remained at her side. During one visit, the doe was challenged by other deer in the yard. The buck intervened allowing his injured mate to get out of the way. Throughout the summer and into the fall, the pair was inseparable. The doe’s injuries were slow to heal and I was concerned about her ability to escape the hunter’s weapon. Once bow season arrived, I did not see them again. I often wonder about them, did they escape hunting season unscathed? If so, are they still together, protecting and nurturing each other through life’s tribulations?

To be witness to such an act of devotion in what we often consider “dumb animals” brings me hope that no matter what life throws at us, there is always someone, human or non, to bring peace and love to our lives.

Little Less Litter Please

When my niece was in grade school, I often took her for exploring adventures in the woods. On one such occasion, her cousin joined us and the three of us hiked the deer paths behind my house to a small creek on the Vasa Trail. The walk to the creek was quick for the two little girls skipped and ran all the way. Tired from all the running, our return walk was more leisurely allowing us to investigate the scenery.  Scattered along the trail was cigarette butts, broken glass and an assortment of candy wrappers. As I normally do when out in the woods, I picked up the litter and put it in my pocket to throw away once I got home. The girls, observing what I had done, started picking up the trash as well. We talked about litter and how sad it was that people cared so little about the woods that they would throw garbage on the ground.

Very little has changed since that day in the woods. In the current issue of Splash, a publication of the Ocean Conservancy, the lead article discusses the plight of the Albatross. The Midway Atoll is home to more than 450,000 nesting pairs of Laysan and black-footed albatross. The scientists studying these birds estimate that an annual 4.5 million tons of plastic come to the islands. That alone is a huge amount of trash, but the truly sad fact is that the plastic arrives through albatross’ waste products.  The birds eat the plastic floating on the sea, confusing it for food.

[Plight of Albatross Puts Scientist on Path to Tsunami Debris Research, Splash, Summer 2012, Ocean Conservancy]

Most of us have seen photos of skunks, heads trapped in glass bottles. We may initially giggle at their plight, but when you really think about it, how much extra effort is it to properly dispose of that bottle? When you toss that cigarette butt on the ground, what do you think happens to it? We humans create so much garbage and give so little thought to where it goes once we are done with it. 

There is so much we can do to reduce the amount of garbage. From recycling and re-using, buying items packaged with less material and picking up trash left by others, we can all contribute to making our communities safer and cleaner for us and for our wildlife friends.

Passions

I have taken to scanning my previous posts to avoid writing about the same subject. What I have read leans toward cautionary tales of predation, destruction and decline; a rather negative perspective from one who loves the out of doors. As I have written previously, as a thinker, I look at all sides of an issue including those that have less than rosy outcomes. But what I haven’t written about as much is my passion for healing the natural world.

I stumbled upon wildlife rehabilitation more than twenty years ago. I had read about a local group that provided care for orphaned and injured animals and on more than one occasion, I attended get-togethers where the volunteers talked about the work they did. I loved the idea of rehabilitation but was held back by my fear of needles and blood. How much help could I provide if I passed out at the sight of an open wound?

Finally, I garnered enough courage and took on my first animal, an orphaned baby rabbit. Despite all my efforts, one morning I found the baby dead in the cage. Told not to give up, I was given a second with the same result. Then, I was provided a family of three bunnies. Two eventually succumbed but the third was successfully released. I was so excited.

Shortly after that, I took in three orphaned grey squirrels: Charlie, Ernie and Squirt. It was well into autumn and it was apparent that the three would not be ready for release before the snow came. In addition to providing food, medical care and shelter, the role of the rehabilitator is to ensure that the animal in care has sufficient skills to survive on their own. My little guys, only 6-7 weeks in age, showed little inclination to build nests with the materials I provided in their cage. The only answer was to house them for the winter.

So I built a release pen in my back yard, an 8’ x 6’ x 8’ structure of wood and hardware cloth. I placed a large, leaved branch inside the cage for climbing and hung a squirrel nest box in the back corner of the pen. Except for two ceramic bowls of water, only natural objects were placed inside the cage. I moved the three inside and watched. They immediately took to climbing and jumping and hanging from the top of the cage. That night all three climbed into the nest box to sleep. Food was now brought into the pen before they awoke, scattering it on the ground so that they could use their hunting skills to secure nourishment. I spent very time around them now for it was the stage in their development to learn independence and fear of humans. In my place, neighborhood squirrels climbed up the outside of the pen and gave my three the first opportunity to meet their new friends.

As the winter passed into spring, it was time to release my orphans. They had grown so much over the past eight months, now full size and feisty as they should be. One beautiful afternoon, I opened the release door at the top of the cage. Curious, the three poked their heads through and ventured outside. They scampered down the side and around the yard. In the evening, they returned to their nest box. This pattern was repeated for the next week until finally they returned no more.

It was sad to see them go but it was happy tears.  I had made a difference in the lives of these three little squirrels, a sense of satisfaction that I never got from donating to wildlife causes. For the next six seasons, I continued to rehabilitate, improving upon my skills. In the spring of my seventh season, family obligations forced me to give up my work and I never returned to rehabilitation.

But I stay connected, maintaining memberships in the two national organizations, reading rehabilitation journals and websites monitoring wildlife diseases. I remain strong in my belief for land and water protection to ensure that all wildlife have adequate habitat in which to live. So when I write about pesticide impacts and invasive species it comes from the point of view of a former rehabilitator. Nothing broke my heart more than to receive an animal harmed or orphaned due to human action. I know, deep down, that I will return one day to the work I love.

Colors in Flight

I had the pleasure of seeing butterflies over the weekend, a rare occurrence at my home. As my house is surrounded by trees, it isn’t an ideal location for growing the variety of flowers preferred by them.

Butterflies are one of those insects that can enchant the spirit. From their delicate structures to the awe inspiring colors, there is no insect that can compare with them. Most of the butterflies I encounter are the monarchs; those magnificent large orange creatures that migrate north in the spring, returning to Mexico every fall.

But on occasion I do come across a new species. One summer day two years ago, I was working in the backyard when I detected a movement. As I came closer, I saw a beautiful blue butterfly perched on the strap of my husband’s golf bag. Unlike most butterflies, this one was not startled by my appearance and for the longest time rested on the strap, opening and closing its wings. I hurried into the house in search of my camera, hoping that the butterfly would not disappear during my absence. To my amazement, the butterfly remained on the strap and I was able to photograph the beauty from all angles. Eventually the insect went on its way and I have not seen it since.

Pictures in hand, I went in search of identifying her species and found that she was a Red-spotted Purple (Limenitis arthemis astyanax). Found in wooded areas, the Red-spotted Purple feeds on flower nectar but also loves overly ripened fruit, a treat that could be found in the compost pile just beyond my patio.  

Butterflies in general have been declining in population. In our efforts to eliminate mosquitoes, beetles and other insect pests that damage crops and carry diseases, the use of pesticides have also killed beneficial insects such the butterflies. We walk a fine line between doing what is needed to protect our needs versus what is good for other species. Scientists continue to look at alternative ways to address harmful insects such as using integrated pest management techniques that limit the use and timing of pesticide applications to maximize eradication of the harmful insect and minimize impact to others. One technique that I find fascinating is the introduction of other predator insects that feed on the offending insect. Called biological controls, the predator insects do what comes naturally without the residual harm to everyone else in the habitat.

As the autumn continues I will see fewer and fewer butterflies as the migratory ones head south and the remainder reproduce and die. But for a short time, we can all be graced with the beauty of these colorful fliers.

What comes naturally

I have started and stopped writing this post several times this morning. Ideas have been popping into my head; however, when put to paper seem to falter. Lack of energy in a concept often means that I have little vested interest in the idea and need to let it go. My work style is task focused, just give me a job and I’ll get it done, efficiently and timely. So when I struggle with a chore, I need to ask myself ‘am I the right person for this job’?

Homo sapiens are unique animals in that we come with different interests and abilities. Having these attributes creates individuality that is often not found in other species. Most animals and plants survive within a particular set of conditions and when faced with significant changes are forced to adapt, leave or die.

But every gift comes with its cost. I’ve often been told I think too much. Skilled in the ability to mentally strategize, organize and then implement has made me a valuable employee who can easily identify a problem and develop practical solutions.  But that gift also creates problems when I take a straight forward issue and create a convoluted scenario detailing all the things that can go right or wrong. What I end up with is analysis paralysis, creating unnecessary stress to myself and everyone around me.

In situations like these, I turn to the natural world for guidance. Over the years I have come to identify patterns of wildlife behavior and can reasonably estimate when a particular animal will come to eat, mate, build their homes. These wildlife behaviors are instinctual and survival based. By using these observations I can apply them to my own questions. If left to my own instinctual devices, what action would I naturally gravitate to versus those that are driven by others? Trusting in the internal God-given gifts always result in the right decision. I  may not recognize or appreciate it immediately, but looking back after the situation has passed, I know that I made the right choice.

A Fair Fight?

Moskey Basin - 1994

Over the years, I have subscribed to a large number of wildlife and environmental list services, so it is not uncommon to have 5-10 messages waiting for me every morning. Most emails are quickly scanned for items of interest and deleted. But occasionally an article catches my attention that has me returning to it repeatedly.

Yesterday was one such message. The Stewardship Network, an Ann Arbor based environmental organization is sponsoring a free webinar for next Wednesday. The subject is the Predator / Prey Study that has been taking place on Isle Royale National Park for more than 50 years. The presenter, John Vucetich, PhD, is a Michigan Tech professor in the School of Forest Resources and Environmental Science.

While I always appreciate the convenience and quality of webinars, this particular one holds a special appeal for me. Michigan Tech is my alma mater with the university only four miles from where I grew up. Isle Royale is my favorite place to backpack. Only forty five miles in length, the park is protected by the National Park Service and is a recognized International Biosphere Reserve. With the exception of Rock Harbor on the eastern end and Windigo on the western end, the interior of the main island is wilderness, accessible only by hiking trails.

I have been to Isle Royale many times, the first with a church youth group. The summer of my sophomore year at Tech, I worked at Rock Harbor Lodge. Years later, I returned first as a guest at the lodge then as a backpacker hiking the trails on the eastern end of the island.

Isle Royale is beautiful and wild. As the least visited national park, hikers are given the opportunity to walk its trails without meeting up with any more than one or two other hikers all day. It is not an easy journey for the topography of the island is steeply undulating with heights of bare rock and valleys of treed marshes. But what you can experience there is pure wilderness where nature rules and people are only a four month distraction.

But I return to the webinar. The Predator/Prey Study is the longest continuous research study in the world. What began as a short term project to study the relationship between the wolf and the moose has evolved for some, a lifelong career. The work performed there has provided a significant amount of scientific information about the role that predation plays in maintaining an ecosystem. The moose and wolf populations have fluctuated greatly over the years and in recent times, a disconcerting trend has emerged. The wolf population has been declining and there is concern that the current packs cannot sustain themselves. If that happens the wolf could disappear completely from the island.

If the wolf goes extinct on the island, will the moose also disappear? Without a predator, the moose population will explode and the vegetation will suffer from overconsumption.  Eventually the moose population will decline as the food sources die off.

There has been discussion about introducing more wolves into the current population. Over the years, inbreeding between the wolves has resulted in genetic deformities. Introduced wolves could bring in new genetics that could help re-establish the packs.

The question becomes, are we playing God? The appeal of hiking Isle Royale is that chance, albeit slim, to see a wolf in the wild. Would that appeal disappear with the wolves? On the other hand, there is thought that human behavior has caused the decline. The ice bridge that once allowed new wolves to cross Lake Superior from the mainland does not form now with the warm winters we are experiencing. Do we owe it to the wolves to give them a fair fight?

These are not easy questions to ask but the time is now if we want to help the wolves. I don’t have an answer except that I love this place too much to see it harmed.

Traveling within and without

I decided to have my morning coffee outside today. There is a peculiar look to the yard, almost like a soft burnt sienna filter over the landscape. Except for road noise in the distance, a silent shroud extends out to the wooded area behind the house. With the ever-shrinking daylight hours, the wildlife comes in later each day. So this morning, almost 8 o’clock, it is just me and three of my cats.

My camera returned home late yesterday afternoon and the morning will be devoted to reloading its settings and testing whether the repairs hold. I have been delaying my autumn trip north, not wanting to see the fall migration without my beloved camera. Now, I can finalize my plans.

The trip will follow the south shore of Lake Superior starting at Tahquamenon Falls and ending at Copper Harbor on the Keweenaw Peninsula. Along the way, stops at Pictured Rocks, Lightfoot Bay, Seney Wildlife Refuge and a myriad of much smaller natural areas will fill my daily activity. My camping equipment will be packed along with my camera and field guides. Although I have mentally planned out my trip, only the time spent at Lightfoot Bay will be firm. The remainder of my trip will remain fluid. This will be a journey of discovery, my own personal vision quest.

My first backpacking trip was to Isle Royale some twenty years ago. My dad came to pick us up at the end of the visit, expecting to find his oldest daughter bruised and begging for a soft, warm bed. Instead, I bounced out of the seaplane all smiles, declaring that I had the best time. My parents were astounded, where did this love of sleeping on the ground and carrying your belongings on your back come from? Not from them, they declared.

What my parents didn’t realize until just recently was that even as a teenager, I spent many hours sitting in the woods across from our home. Surrounded by trees, I felt that I was in God’s house, protected from the demands of a society I understood so little. I get nature. The rules are pretty clear. Nature demands respect from everyone, from the tiniest insect to humans. Challenge it foolishly and you will be burned, guaranteed. That brightly colored mushroom will make you sick; pet a semi-tamed fox at a campsite and you will get bitten or worse.

People find solace in many ways, in many places. My church just happens to be a 2-person tent, surrounded by giant white pines and the waters of Lake Superior.  

The quiet that dominated my yard has now transitioned to a chickadee chorus and the swooping of crows through the trees. It is time to go inside now and finish my breakfast. The day awaits.

Roadblocks

I sit here at the computer unable to put my thoughts together. Normally, I awake with some concept of what to write each morning and for some reason today, my mind is blank. It is not that my world is boring, squirrels and mourning doves frequent the feeders outside my window and my indoor cats are playing with toys in the next room.

I have not anticipated writers block so soon in the blogging process. A voracious journal writer, I have filled countless composition books. There are days when I can write five, six pages of thoughts in one sitting.  Today, I have nothing to say.

In Julia Cameron’s book, The Artist’s Way, she recommends morning pages to drain your mind of the clutter and fears that often block us from reaching our full potential. Handwrite three full pages, she says, even if it is gibberish. It is the process of writing, not the words that releases your creativity.

I saw this blog as a conduit to express in writing my love of nature and an opportunity to make the most of my passion for learning.  The written word has always been my sanctuary, an escape from the emotional exhaustion that comes from daily life.  Perhaps I have demanded too much of this process, rather than honor it as it was intended, a joyful expression of nature.

Julia was right, I was creating roadblocks. I began this blog as an act of love and quickly turned it into a must-get-it-done process. I feel much better now having recognized what I was doing. The sun is breaking through the overcast skies outside. I think I’ll go for a walk and see what nature has in store for me today.

Somber Thoughts and Hope

The morning after Labor Day tends to bring out the worst in me. For a person who loves summer, this day is a cold splash of reality that the hot, sultry days of the last three months will soon disappear.  It has been an unusually hot and dry summer, hard on vegetation and in turn, the people and animals whose lives depend upon plants for sustenance. The ferns in the front yard have yellowed already, weeks ahead of their normal die off time.

The local news announced that Lake Michigan water levels had dropped this summer impacting local marinas and waterfront homeowners. Curious, I decided to see whether this fact was true across the Great Lakes. The US Army Corps of Engineers monitors water levels and in their August 2012 report, cited that all the Great Lakes, except Lake Erie, saw significant declines in precipitation in July. Their report also showed that Lakes Superior and Ontario water levels declined eight inches, Lakes Michigan and Huron 21 inches and Lake Erie, seven inches below their averages.

Source: US Army Corps of Engineers, Detroit District MONTHLY BULLETIN OF LAKE LEVELS FOR THE GREAT LAKES – August 2012 http://www.lre.usace.army.mil/_kd/Items/actions.cfm?action=Show&item_id=3887&destination=ShowItem

I can’t help but wonder what the impact of these low water levels have done to wildlife. Everything in nature is interconnected and dependent upon the fitness of all its components. Low water levels and high air temperatures increase lake water temperature reducing the amount of available oxygen in the water needed for maintaining fish populations. Too little oxygen, more dead fish. Fewer fish reduce food availability for waterfowl and other fish-eating mammals leading to their starvation and death. Low precipitation kills off terrestrial vegetation that starved herbivores leaving less food for carnivores. The cycle isn’t pleasant to think about.

What is also true of nature is its ability to correct imbalances. I awoke this morning to find that it had rained overnight. Walking down the driveway to collect the newspaper, I was greeted by a harmony of bird songs kept in rhythm by the steady sound of rain falling off the tree leaves. The music lifted my spirits and hope that the long drought had finally come to an end.  

The Year of the Insect Continues

While I was sweeping the patio, I came across this pretty little caterpillar on my lawn chair. Something in the back of my mind reminded me that if an animal is colorful, it is often a danger sign.  

My instincts were right on. The yellow hairy guy is the caterpillar stage of the American Dagger Moth (Acronicta americana), common in oak/maple forests. Although it is not known to sting, handling the caterpillar’s hairs may cause irritation to the skin.

In ecological terms, the caterpillar’s hairs and coloration are known as a predator defense, characteristics a species possesses to protect it from predation. Predator defense comes in many forms.  Here are some of the more common defense characteristics you will find in our area:

Chemical release – alarm pheromones used to discourage close interaction - skunks

Flashing coloration – distraction behavior and body traits - white-tail deer flipping up their tails when running, the white underside distracts the predator and alerts the other deer to danger

Cryptic coloration – color and body patterns that allow the animal to blend in with their environment - pheasants

Object resemblance –body shapes that resemble another object - walking sticks

For my caterpillar, its defensive mechanism was its warning coloration, a strong color or pattern that alerts potential enemies. Although it was fuzzy and a beautiful yellow color, the caterpillar was telling me to stay away. It may have taken me all summer to smarten up but at least this time, both insect and I came out of this encounter safe and unharmed.