The Marsh Project Week #38

It is the day before Thanksgiving and I am on an afternoon hike; I have picked up the pre-cooked turkey dinner, the ingredients for the traditional green bean casserole with the fried onions that I have to have for Thanksgiving dinner (but don't make at any other time of the year), and my freezer is stocked with delicious frozen chocolate pies from the grocery store.  I am all about the low maintenance Thanksgiving dinner.

The water release from the dam has diminished, and the marsh trail is open again although it is muddy and it is obvious from the recently drowned vegetation how high the water had been in certain places.  Not much is going on; it's likely a bit too cold for snakes, although a pair of turtles are sitting on a log out in the pond; as I walk by on the boardwalk, which is littered with leaves, they slide back into the water.  A few variegated meadowhawk dragonflies land on the boardwalk and then fly away again; a bright orange question mark butterfly lands on some of the browning vegetation and opens its wings, sunning in the waning late afternoon light.

I walk down the boardwalk to the small blind, and am struck by the lighting amongst the cattails.  I pause for a minute.  I am thankful, grateful, full of awe, to be in this moment in this place as the early winter light strikes the cattails and shines through it. I take a photo, knowing that the results will be only a weak depiction of what I am seeing, but needing to document it anyway.  This is the day before Thanksgiving, after all, and it is a time to consider what we are thankful for.  I am thankful for many things but in this moment I am filled with gratitude for my mud-caked boots, for the winter sparrows chirping in the distance, for the osprey flying overhead carrying his own early Thanksgiving dinner of a fish, for the cold but fresh air, for the sunlight filtering through the cattails, for this moment of peace in a chaotic world.

Later, when I look at my pictures, I will see the light illuminating the individual strands of the cattail spike, along with tiny seeds that were not visible to my eyes on the trail.

As I continue on, I see some American coots on the water;  as I get closer, one flies away and then the others, equally startled by my presence, take off.  In the distance, I can see what could be gadwalls, but I can't be sure.  I leave the marsh behind and head into the wooded upland portion of the trail; here the sparrows are plentiful, and a pair of bright red Northern cardinals fly from branch to branch, evading a clean line of sight.  Just as I move to continue my walk, a beautiful white-throated sparrow alights on a branch and I get my photo.  A few months ago, the indigo and painted buntings were in the same tree, but now they are gone.  Winter is nearly here.

I look down and see some feathers on the ground; I wonder what goes on around this trail when people are not here. I hear rustling near the trail, and look up; what has to be the largest armadillo I have ever seen is rooting around in dead leaves.  As the armadillo moves on, a brown thrasher appears under a nearby tree and then flies off as I proceed towards the trailhead and my car; the preserve will be closing soon and it is time to get home; green bean casserole preparation awaits.

The Marsh Project Week #37

The dam is still releasing water at a stunning rate, so the trail to the marsh is still flooded.  I was out of town this past week, but was able to get to the nature preserve over the weekend; on Saturday morning, it was not to hike but to participate with the Son of Never Stops Eating in a trash cleanup, and then Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning I was able to get some hiking in.

The Son of Never Stops Eating was appalled at the amount of trash- especially glass bottles, beer cans, and fishing line- that we managed to pick up.  He kept asking me why people just couldn't put their trash where it belonged instead of tossing it on the ground or in the bushes, because didn't they realize that Mother Nature doesn't want their trash?

 As we were working with other groups to clean the area up, I came across another American white pelican that had suffered a fatal encounter with some fishing line.  When I showed this picture to people, several people felt that the answer to the problem was to stop allowing fishing.  That would probably solve the problem, but I'm not completely comfortable with that- the birds have great value to me, but fishing is also a valid recreational activity.  For some people, it's dinner.  For others, it's quality outdoor family time;  I remember how excited my kids were to catch their first fish.   I took a philosophy of environmental ethics class years ago and it just about broke my brain; what is the value of a pelican and is it worth cutting off access to another recreational activity that also has value?  I hope that there is an answer that allows for both; I just don't know what that answer is, especially when I see the damage firsthand to a bird species I love.

It was cool and cloudy Saturday and then Sunday it was just cold.  That didn't seem to bother some of the winter birds that have arrived; it's time once again to start working on the identification of the "Little Brown Birds" that are suddenly everywhere.  I'm starting to learn a few of them- there were plenty of white-throated sparrows near the entrance to the flooded marsh trail, and they were hopping on and off branches and then going to ground while I stood mostly helpless with my camera hoping that one would decide to hang out in clear view on a branch for a few minutes.  I finally met with success after several minutes of patient, quiet waiting.

The brown thrashers were also plentiful and lively, and hard to find as they moved around on the ground- but after more patient, quiet waiting I was able to get a fairly decent shot (as in, good enough for ID) of one.  The main theme for winter bird photography seems to be patient, quiet waiting- and good eyesight; unlike the herons and egrets, which are usually easy to find (except for those tricky green herons, which hide along the shoreline or amongst the lily pads) and photograph from a distance, these winter birds require a lot of work.

The dragonflies and butterflies were not in evidence this past weekend- except for one or two hardy variegated meadowhawks and some common buckeyes.  I'll be looking forward to seeing them again next spring.

The Marsh Project Week #36

I'm getting a little behind in my marsh project documentation, and some of it is my fault, but forces beyond my control are also playing a role- we've had a huge amount of rain, and the marsh area has been flooded and inaccessible.  Fortunately, I was able to access the trail for a short afternoon walk yesterday, and it was a mess- leaves and branches everywhere, and lots of mud.  I was really glad I was wearing my waterproof boots.

This area is located right below a large dam, and sometimes water is released from the dam at a rapid rate, and it attracts pelicans, cormorants, egrets and herons to feed on the fish.  The pelicans wait just past where the rapids of the water coming out of the outlet gates subside; they are entertaining to watch as they fish, bob on the water, and defend their fishing grounds from other birds.  However, the area is also popular with the two-legged fishermen.  Usually we can all co-exist together, but unfortunately sometimes challenges emerge- sometimes birds get entangled in the plastic fishing line, and they cannot always free themselves.

On Friday, a nature-loving friend of mine posted on his Facebook page that he had seen an American white pelican get entangled in line below the outlet gates, and the pelican had to be rescued by the local fire department.   I've cleaned up enough fishing line in the last few years to fill up several large trash bags, and I've developed a loathing for the stuff.  I wish I knew the magic formula for getting people to pick up their fishing line (and other trash) but I don't, and it seems so unfair to the birds who unwittingly get tangled up in fishing line and have to fight (sometimes unsuccessfully) to get free.  We can't fix all the world's problems, but picking up trash and fishing line is always a step in the right direction.

I was expecting not to see much wildlife on my hike, except perhaps for some gulf fritillary butterflies, some winter sparrows and some late fall dragonflies- the last few Eastern pondhawks, a few common green darners, and the variegated meadowhawks. What I wasn't expecting to see was a red saddlebags, hanging on.  Of course, it had chosen a perch with lighting not conducive to great nature photography, but I did my best.

I had another surprise waiting for me as I got closer to the end of the trail- a cottonmouth snake, curled up on a fallen tree trunk.  The striking thing about this snake was that it had different coloration than what I'm used to seeing.  I got several photos (from a respectful distance, as always) before it slithered off the log to go about its snakey business.

This morning, the outlet gates were being opened further, so the trail will be inaccessible again, but fortunately there are other trails to explore; the winter birds (the kinglets, the sparrows, the wrens) are coming; I can hear them tweeting in the branches, so we'll be playing hide and seek all winter.

The Son of Texting

Last weekend, the Son of Never Stops Eating reached yet another new developmental milestone.

If you're thinking that he went out on a date, you'd be wrong;  he bought himself a smartphone. He'd been insisting that he needed a smartphone so that he could text pictures of his Lego creations to his besties, and he finally decided that the need was urgent and compelling enough to part with some of his saved-up Lego cash to buy one. So after our usual Saturday breakfast, off to the store of the mobile devices we went.  I set some ground rules: if he lost it or damaged it, he was paying for the replacement.  No watching Simpsons You tube videos or playing with the phone during school. He was responsible for making sure it was charged at night.

Mom, he sighed, I know what to do.

As soon as we got home, we started entering phone numbers into the contacts list: me, the Dad of No, the Grandpa of No, The College Student.  I showed him how to text, and told him to practice by texting me.

Son: Hi Mom it's me!
Me: Hello!
Son: I love this phone Mom you rock.
Me: You are my favorite son!
Son: Did you put $20 on my card?

It appeared that he'd mastered texting along with the essential teenager survival skill of hitting your parents up for cash.

The next day, I got another text:

Mom I may have some thing in my ear can you clean it out for me when I get home please

Um, sure, ewwwww, but ok...….

Then I got a phone call from him at school.  Someone from the phone store had called him, he said, and wanted his zip code.  I was absolutely befuddled.  Why would someone from the phone store be calling him for our zip code?  And why was he answering his phone during school, when he was supposed to be focused on learning?  I'd told him that while he was in school he needed to put the phone away and not use it for anything.

One of his teachers got on the phone and explained to me that the phone had started ringing, so The Son of Never Stops Eating had answered it and then had gotten up and walked into the hallway. She'd followed him out and had stopped him from giving out any information.  Then he'd called me. He was worried.

That's weird, I said. I wonder who it was.  Probably someone telling him he had a credit card balance due on a fake credit card account, or asking if he wanted to buy a timeshare at Disneyworld, or the IRS telling him he owed them money and he needed to send it in right away on a gift card.  I was  certain it wasn't the phone store.  I couldn't think of any reason they'd be calling him.   We hadn't really talked about scams and solicitation phone calls yet.

OK, I told him.  Don't answer the phone if you don't know who it is.

Son: What did they want?
Me:  I don't know. Information.
Son: I don't have any information! I just have a hamster!
Me:  Well, don't give anyone anything over the phone, like your debit card number.
Son: (indignantly)I would NEVER give anyone my debit card number! That's stealing! They better not take my money!

After I told him not to answer the phone unless it was a number he knew, I realized that when he started applying for jobs, he might be getting legitimate calls from numbers he didn't know.  So the next challenge awaits: knowing when to answer the phone if you don't know the number, and setting up voice mail.

The Marsh Project Week #35

It's been awhile since I've updated my project; a weekend trip and then a unexpected ER visit followed by a few days of recuperation interrupted my nature exploration, as did flooding in the marsh due to what seemed like endless rain.  However, I'm back on track (hopefully) and sunshine this weekend meant that I could get the mud boots on, grab the camera, and make my way back out to my favorite trail and observation point.  One aspect of cooler weather I really enjoy: almost no mosquitoes. 

The marsh had changed- a lot.  When I'd been out there three weeks ago, the lily pads covering the marsh were looking a little wilty and brown around the edges, but they were still mostly green and they were still covering the water surface.  Either the cold spells we've had or the flooding or both had rendered them shrunken and brown.  The green herons are gone for the winter; I'll be looking forward to seeing them next summer.  In their place, the northern flickers have arrived. 

The dragonflies are mostly gone, with the exception of the common green darners, which were still plentiful and active, and the variegated meadowhawks, which seem to be the first to come and the last to leave every year.  Even the Eastern pondhawks, usually everywhere on this trail, were nowhere to be seen.  In sunlight, the variegated meadowhaws' metallic coloration glimmers, making them seem like winged jewels of early spring and late fall. 

The butterflies, however, are making a late fall appearance with the monarch migration coming through.  This past spring I'd seen almost no monarchs, so I was glad to see multiple monarchs in a wildflower patch at the entrance to the nature preserve, along with the Gulf fritillaries, variegated fritillaries, and common buckeyes.  I also observed a goatweed leafwing perched on a branch with its bright orange wings open; when its wings are closed, it can easily be mistaken for a leaf.  

Earlier yesterday, I'd gotten a hot tip from another fan of nature that the pelicans were out on the river.  The water flow had been cut off from the dam and no water was coming out of the outlet work gates, but when I arrived several American white pelicans were standing around (literally- the water appeared to be only a few inches deep).  I don't know if they were waiting for the water to start flowing out of the dam so that they could commence fishing, or what they were doing, but I'm always excited to see the pelicans.  After I finished my hike, I noticed that they'd all left. 

Finally, a really interesting find as I came off the trail- a very large green caterpillar- possibly a Polyphemus moth, but I am not sure as to ID.  

A Note from 2010

A few weeks ago I made a weekend trip to visit the Grandpa and Grandma of No.  The Grandma of No is now in an assisted living center, and the Grandpa of No is adjusting to being home alone.  When The Son of Never Stops Eating found out about my plans, he tried to finagle an invitation to accompany me on my journey.  He reminded me that it had been a long time since he'd been on an airplane and informed me that it was unfair that his sister had been on an airplane twice this year and he was still at ZERO flights.  I reminded him that he had school. He said he needed a break from school.

It was a good try, kid.  Your time will come.

As I sat with my mom, one of the Alzheimer's caregivers came over and started talking with us- well, mostly to me. My mom doesn't have conversations anymore. The caregiver told me not to feel badly that Mom had no idea who I was, and I assured her that I hadn't expected her to- Mom hasn't known who I am for awhile now.  She doesn't know who anyone is.

She'll hold your hand while you walk, the caregiver told me.  Just touch her hand, and she'll grab yours.  She likes to hold hands.

So Mom and I walked for awhile around the assisted living center, holding hands.  When my daughter was born, I told another caregiver, Mom rocked her for hours while I rested.  She walked me through nursing, through changing a newborn's diaper (I was worried I'd hurt the baby; she seemed so fragile), through confounding bouts of newborn fussiness. The caregiver nodded.  I'm sure she'd heard stories just like that from other people. The assisted living center was full of Alzheimer's patients who had once held babies, cared for children, watched proudly at graduations, danced at weddings.  The place was full of stories that were lost to time and disease.  That daughter is now a college freshman, I told the woman. She's an adult just beginning to spread her wings, and the grandmother who rocked her to sleep at five days old has no memory of it.

Alzheimer's is a cruel disease.

And then I got back on the airplane and came home to the chaos of my own life.

A few days later I was feeling restless and decided to start decluttering the kitchen cabinet where we stash all the odds and ends.  Every now and then I go on this tear where I make a vow to remove five items a day from the house, the idea being that at the end of a year I will have effortlessly decluttered my life.  It hasn't worked out that way so far, but under the premise that next time I might get it right, I keep trying.  As I was going through old brochures, product guides for appliances I no longer own, numerous packages of address labels from charities (I have enough to last me the rest of my life) I'd stuck in there, I found a small notecard my mother had written back in 2010.  Her cursive was still even and flowing, the handwriting I remembered from my own childhood.  I saw no glimpse of what lay in wait just a few years away.  Maybe even then she was showing subtle signs; I don't remember.

"Sorry I've been so late in getting your "belated Easter basket" to you", she wrote, "so I am just sending you a check".  She mentions a recent bout of sinusitis that had started to clear up, and requested a permission slip as part of registering The College Student (who was then the Elementary School Student) for her church's Vacation Bible School that coming summer.  It seems like so long ago, that I had kids young enough to go to Vacation Bible School and that my mother could write a letter.  It was only eight years ago, but it might as well have been a century ago.

I wanted to write my mother back.  I wanted to tell her that the VBS student is now The College Student, and that she is in another state, adulting up, playing clarinet in a college marching band.  I wanted to tell her that the Son of Never Stops Eating is over six feet tall now, and desperately wants a job at a snow cone stand or a pet store. I wanted to tell her that I still make her peanut blossom cookies, and that when I'm not feeling well I curl up in the quilt she made me years ago and I feel like I'm getting a Mom hug.  I wanted to tell her that sometimes I walk out of Target, or the grocery store, and I can't remember where I parked my car, and although the Son of Never Stops Eating laughs at me, I wonder if it's a sign of worse things to come.  I wanted her to know that I miss her.

Maybe when she held my hand, some part of her brain still knew that I was someone who had been important to her.  Maybe not. Maybe we shouldn't wait to tell people what they mean to us. We don't know what eight years will bring.

The Marsh Project Week #35

The title of this blog post is really a misnomer; the marsh trail is flooded and I have no access to my favorite place, so I had to settle for exploring other trails, ones I don't hike as often. Last weekend I was temporarily out of commission with some nasty bug and it was really just the best thing to hang out on the sofa and read a lot of books while drinking ginger ale and munching on the occasional saltine cracker.  I seem to have recovered, but the trail is still flooded.

It was a hard week for multiple reasons, which I won't get into here; suffice it to say I badly needed some time out in nature just to breathe and see if I could find anything interesting or different.  Some people do yoga or drink wine; I go look for snakes and dragonflies.  As it happened, earlier this week was my lucky night: I was just about to leave the trail and head back to my car, and I saw a copperhead sliding in between the slats on this small bridge.  I think the Dad of No was a little worried that maybe I was too close, but that snake was not interested in me; it was getting chilly and I suspect it was interested in finding a warmer spot.

Then, on another hike, I found something else- not a snake, but three sora in one pond.  A sora is a very elusive bird; it likes to hide amongst reeds and vegetation and they generally make themselves scarce as soon as they suspect that you're getting close, so it usually takes some luck or some stealth or both to sneak up on one, or you need the kind of patience that lets you stake out a spot for a long time hoping a great bird will show up. I don't have that kind of patience; I'm always thinking that I might be missing out on something else while I'm sitting there looking at a pond with no birds in it.

Anyway, I was out wandering around and I happened to glance over at one of the ponds I was walking around and saw one sora, two sora, and then a third sora.  This was the first time I had ever seen more than one sora in the same place;  I'd gotten several sora sightings in this area, but I was never really sure if it was the same bird multiple times or multiple birds once- but now I know there are at least three sora in this area.

Since it's been so rainy and wet, mushrooms have started to pop up all over.  Most of them are the usual white caps with gills that pop up after rain storms, but a few have had some spectacular colors. This morning, while on a hike with a friend, I found one that looked like a glorious sunrise (or sunset);  the camera was reluctant to take a good photo in the early morning light so it's not the best picture, but it's one of the most beautiful mushrooms I think I've ever seen.

I'm starting to notice more deer out on my evening hikes, along with some wild turkeys.  A few nights ago I'm fairly sure I saw a coyote watching me from a distance half hidden in some tall grass, but he took off as soon as I turned my head in his direction.   Even though it's still warm, there are leaves on the ground and, every so often, a chill in the air.