May 11

The midday temperatures are in the upper 50’s under partly sunny skies and a stiff west wind, while I pause on the high bank of the Bad River as its water flows gently below me. Up ahead, I spot a 10-inch Northern Map turtle basking on a log before it quickly slides into the water. This reptile is named for the intricate, map-like yellow lines on its grayish-brown shell that resemble contour lines on a topographic map (stock photo). On the far shore I spot another one of these turtles, resting on the muddy bank. Since it does not move quickly into the water, I’m thinking it’s a female laying her eggs. A single nest typically contains 6 to 20 oval, flexible-shelled eggs. While It takes 50 to 70 days for the eggs to hatch, most hatchlings dig themselves out and head instinctively toward the water. However, those that hatch late in the season may overwinter inside the nest and wait until the following spring to emerge. Exploring the floodplain, I come upon the shell of a type of freshwater mussel called a Giant Floater. While most of the flesh was likely consumed by a raccoon, some is still being decomposed by small flies. These mollusks act as nature’s water purifiers by filtering up to 10 gallons of river water per day as they feed on plankton and organic debris. Further along, I first hear the piercing call of a Baltimore Oriole and then follow a Mourning Cloak butterfly as it lands on the ground extending its upper wing surface. As attractive as the butterfly is when its wings are open, when they’re closed, they look like a dead leaf (stock photo). The gray and brown patterning on the underwing also lets the butterfly easily camouflage itself against a lot of tree bark where it overwinters having glycerol-based antifreeze in its blood to survive freezing temperatures. The name “mourning cloak” is a  translation of the German word referring to the butterfly's dark, velvety wings that resemble a traditional cloak once worn by people in mourning. Turning around, I notice blossoms of Woodland Violets on the ground and those of Common Hawthorn overhead. Near the car, I spot a Shagbark Hickory tree with one of its branches displaying new green leaves above unfolding reddish leaf bud scales. At the car, I pause and realize that spring is not simply about beauty returning to the landscape. It is also about resilience. New blossoms still emerge. New leaves still unfold. Birds still return and sing from unseen perches high in the trees. Maybe that is why spring always feels quietly hopeful to me. The season does not promise perfection. Instead, it offers another chance to begin again.

Creature lives

Creature dies

On the earth

There it lies

Decaying carcass

Joins the ground

Decomposers

Are always found

Flies and maggots

Beetles crawl

Flesh eaters

Plenty for all

 

D. DeGraaf

May 4

The late morning temperatures are in the mid 40’s under mostly cloudy skies and a variable north wind, as I begin hiking in the Jailhouse Trail just south of Ithaca. Right away, I come upon a Red Squirrel Midden, a large pile of discarded conifer cones and cone scales at the base of a White Pine tree. A pile like this is created over years by a single squirrel.  It will tunnel into the Midden to create chambers where it caches fresh cones gathered in late summer for winter survival. From the trail, I notice patches of blossoming Daffodils growing on the forest floor. These wild patches are often indicators of abandoned homesteads, old cabins, or forgotten cemeteries. Because Daffodils are toxic to deer and other wildlife, they are rarely eaten, allowing them to naturalize and multiply over decades. On the damp ground, I spot a mound of mud that serves as the entrance to an underground tunnel system for a terrestrial burrowing crayfish (stock photo). Referred to as chimneys, they are made by digging a hole and depositing balls of mud around it. Used for accessing water, hiding from predators and reproduction, tunnels can extend 2 to 3 feet deep. Up ahead, I spot a large patch of Japanese Knotweed, a fast-growing, highly invasive plant known for its bamboo-like stems. This plant, native to Japan, China, Korea and Taiwan, is one of the most invasive plants in the world and is thought to be found on every continent besides Antarctica. In Michigan, it is a “prohibited species”. Under state law it is illegal to possess, introduce, sell, or grow Knotweed without a permit. Turning around, I examine the leaf litter where I spot a 1/3 inch Drumming Sword Wolf Spider. The spider's common name refers to the male’s courtship behavior. Upon finding a female, the male drums his appendages near the mouth and twitches his abdomen against dry leaves creating a purring or humming sound that can be heard up to 10 feet away. Off in the distance, I spot some fresh 12-inch diameter Pheasant's Back mushrooms growing on a decaying stump. While technically edible and non-toxic, this fungi is considered to have a poor taste and becomes very tough as it matures. Nearing the car, my ears perk up to the farewell call of a Northern Cardinal. By the time I exit the trail, I feel like I haven’t just walked through the woods—I’ve witnessed another shift in the season. Not dramatic, not loud, but steady and certain. Maybe that’s the real lesson from nature today. Sometimes it whispers through blossoms, breezes and birdsongs, asking only that I slow down enough to notice.

 

Shaded trail

Beneath the dome

Chipmunk retreats

To hidden home

On muddy ground

Ephemerals grow 

Spring Beauty

Puts on a show

Beams of sun

Break the day

Birdsongs resound

Beginning of May

 

D. DeGraaf

April 27

The early morning temperatures on this “Earth Day” 2026 are in the low 40’s under mostly clear skies as my dog, Riley and I begin our daily “runway” walk, a .75 mile up-and-back hike from our house through a part our neighbor’s property. Right away, I’m pleased to hear a House Wren as it has returned from its southern winter grounds to nest in the neighborhood.  After quietly passing through our neighbor’s sheep pasture, we proceed into a wooded area where I scan the leaf litter to spot a few small wildflowers that I’ve never seen before, called Striped Squills. This is a non-native plant that was originally brought to North America from the Middle East as an ornamental garden bulb. Up ahead, I pause to listen to a couple of Chipping sparrows calling to each other after returning from their winter migration. After spotting a Whitetail deer scampering through a patch of Mayapples, we finally reach the runway, a secluded ¼ mile stretch of open grassland once used as a landing strip by a neighbor. Over the years, this place has been a welcome retreat for Riley to run free while I enjoy the sights and sounds of nature. Exploring the ground, I notice hundreds of newly formed mounds of Field ants including this one where tiny workers are moving in and out. These workers survive winter by entering a dormant state where their metabolism slows, and they cluster around the queen deep underground. Before winter, they consume large amounts of food allowing them to survive months without eating. On the ground nearby, I spot a few blossoms of Wild Strawberry and Pussy Toes. Pussy Toes get their name from the fuzzy, soft, white-to-pink flower clusters that resemble the tiny pads of a cat's paw. Small solitary bees visit these flowers for nectar and pollen while tiny flies and beetles may also visit the blooms. While Riley takes a break, I spot a Serviceberry tree with its white blossoms. The fruit from this tree is a delicious, sweet, dark purple-blue berry that ripens in early summer (stock photo). Up ahead, I notice an Apple tree displaying young leaves and flower buds. Tuning in to birdsongs, I pick up the call of a Northern Cardinal and a Red-bellied woodpecker. After reaching the cropland on the northern end of the runway, we turn around and head for home. On this Earth Day, it’s easy to think big—global issues, sweeping challenges. But out here, the meaning feels smaller and more immediate. It’s in the blossoms, the bird calls, the ants at work and the unfolding season. It’s the simple act of walking, noticing, and belonging, even briefly, to this living, breathing landscape

Edge of April

Mid of Spring

Crows Caw

Peepers sing

Rising orb

Mid of morn

Noisy dome

Bluejays warn

Forest fugue

Nature sounds

Whitetail runs

Red squirrel bounds

 

D. DeGraaf

April 20

The early morning temperatures are in the low 60’s under mostly cloudy skies and a gentle north breeze as I begin my hike in the Ithaca Public Schools Outdoor Education Area while being greeted by a loud, defensive male Redwing Blackbird. Proceeding into a dense forest dominated by mature Red Oak trees, I’m surrounded by piles of logs of dead, decaying Ash trees killed by the Emerald Ash borer. Overhead, I see a wide open canopy and hear a solitary Spring Peeper. Soon, I approach a sign and proceed to the John Clark pond where I notice a newly built deck in honor of John, replacing the old one that rotted away. Back in the 1980’s and 90’s, as an exemplary high school science instructor, John used his extensive knowledge of natural history to offer outdoor education opportunities to his students. During that time, he got the Ithaca School district to acquire and prep this property for field trips. John worked tirelessly to get as many K-12 students and teachers as possible to use this resource. Further along the Clark pond, I hear a Bluejay along with the distant drumming of a woodpecker. This rhythmic pounding is a classic sign of the season, acting as a "love song" to announce territory and attract mates. Woodpeckers can strike a surface up to 20 times per second, using specialized anatomy to avoid brain injury. Looking downward, I notice the ground is covered with male flowers of Red Maple. Appearing as vibrant crimson "confetti", these tiny, clustered flowers bloom before leaves emerge, with male flowers falling to the ground while female flowers remain on branches to develop into winged seeds. Heading back toward the car, I notice a cluster of Turkey Tail mushrooms tinted with a green algae that form a mutualistic, relationship on the mushroom's surface, gaining a better position for photosynthesis while the mushroom provides a stable, moist habitat. Back at the car, I notice the sign at the gate while a neighbor reveals to me that only 2 groups of elementary students have been bussed here for field tips in the last year. While research shows the importance of outdoor education for young people, minimal usage is likely due to a lack of teacher training in outdoor education along with a lack of a nature-based curriculum at the district level. So, I take one last look before heading out, feeling a quiet sense of gratitude. There’s something grounding about being here—about slowing down enough to notice moss, fallen flowers and distant bird calls. I carry that stillness of mind with me as I leave, hoping it lingers throughout the day.

 

What is spring

To the eye and ear

Wonders of nature

To see and hear

Skunk Cabbage

Breaks the ground

Its gift of green

Is spread around

Tree of the morning

A Cardinal’s home 

Song of the season

Fills the dome

 

D. DeGraaf 

April 13

The early afternoon temperatures are in the low 40’s under partly sunny skies and a noticeable south breeze as I find myself at Lumberjack Park, standing on the Madison Rd bridge as the overflowing water of the Pine River moves under me. Also, from the bridge, I spot the ornate female flowers of a Silver Maple. These trees are "synchronous" bloomers, meaning all flowers on a tree (and often the entire park) burst into bloom within a few days. Following an earthen trail north, I pause to see the way ahead over a boardwalk spanning a wetland. Turning west, I walk along the edge of Mud Creek where I come upon a noisy gander defending his nest area. Approaching the footbridge, I recall how different the landscape was back in December. Continuing through a stand of tall Red and White Pine, I then turn back toward the river where I pick up the faint call of a Nuthatch. Walking along the high north riverbank, I pause at the bench to take in the lovely scenery of spring. Aware that the Lumberjack Rd bridge is closed for replacement, I loop back on the White Pine Trail where I come upon several tree trunks with dark lumpy growths. These growths are called Bacterial Crown Galls. They form due to excessive cell division in response to bacteria, fungi, insects, or environmental stressors. While they can appear alarming, they are often similar to scar tissue and indicate the tree has been fighting off an infection or pest. Looking down at the leaf litter, I notice a Cluster Fly resting on a Big-tooth Aspen Leaf. Cluster fly larvae are soil-dwelling maggots that act as parasites on earthworms, developing entirely outdoors. Females lay eggs near earthworm burrows, where larvae hatch, enter the worm, and feed on it for 2–3 weeks before pupating. Retracing my steps back toward the car, I walk across Mud Creek on the footbridge and then across the boardwalk where I spot a few sprouts of Skunk Cabbage which are mottled, maroon, hood-like shells that house knob-like bracts. As its name suggests, it emits a foul, skunk-like  odor when bruised or during its flowering phase. Near the car, I come across an old church foundation where the stones lie on the forest floor, a reminder of those who once gathered here. In conclusion, I realize that early spring here doesn’t arrive all at once. Instead it’s gradual—rising water, softening soil, new green shoots and the quiet return of life. For me, walking through Lumberjack Park isn’t about dramatic change, but about noticing small, steady transitions that signal the season turning.

Mid of April

Into the wild

Life and death

Are reconciled

Flesh and bone

Creature gives

Blood and fur

Predator lives

Down the path

A barren field

Nature’s cycle

Carcass revealed

 

D. DeGraaf

April 6

The early morning temperatures are in the mid 50’s under mostly cloudy skies and a stiff west wind as I prepare to hike at the 90-acre Forest Hill Nature Area. While listening to a Song Sparrow, I follow a grass trail west through a meadow of amber-colored Switch Grass. Arriving at the edge of one of the ponds, called Sora Swale, I scan the flooded landscape while listening to several birdsongs and the solitary mating call of a male American Toad. What a contrast to what this same place looked like during the drought of 2024. Nearby on a tree trunk, I spot a faded and tattered egg mass of a Spongy Moth (formally a Gypsy Moth) (stock photo). Eggs from viable masses will hatch into caterpillars in late April and could easily defoliate large trees. Entering South Woods, I notice male catkins of Quaking Aspen trees scattered on the muddy trail. Up ahead, I come upon a true, but subtle, sign of spring, a 1-inch leaf of a Trout Lily poking up through the leaf litter. Soon, the forest floor will display lots of these. Arriving at the edge of another one of the ponds, called Swanson Swamp, I listen closely to hundreds of Chorus Frogs along with the solitary mating call of a male Spring Peeper (stock photo.) This early caller is hoping to attract females without competition. It wouldn’t be long and the whole wetland will be “peeping”. Exiting the woods, I follow the trail through White Birch row, turn north and pause to listen to the lovely song of a Tuffed Titmouse. A little further, I notice a birch tree displaying some Tinder Conks.  This fungus infects a tree through broken bark causing it to rot. It will reside on trees long after they have died, transitioning from a parasite to a decomposer. Making my way through North Woods, I first notice the trail ahead is marked with fresh deer tracks, and then I come upon a large patch of Pennsylvania Sedge. Exiting the woods, I make my way along another pond, called Willow Wallow, where I hear the loud calls of Canada Geese announcing their plans to nest here. Climbing to the top of Reflection Hill, I turn toward a flooded Mallard March where I watch a noisy pair of Mallards fly westward. Overlooking Grebe Pond, I gaze afar at a large raptor flying toward me. Not until it flew past me where I could make out its white tail feathers did I realize it was a Bald Eagle. As I make my way back toward the car, the west wind continues its steady push, rustling branches and bending Switch Grass. On this day, Forest Hill Nature Area did not offer a single dramatic scene, but a chorus of subtle changes—each one a note in the unfolding song of spring.

Onset of April

Opening days

Greening meadow

Whitetails graze

Closing canopy

Opening lairs

Creatures gather

Mating pairs

Open water

Free of snow

Free of ice

Mallards show

 

D. DeGraaf

March 30

The noontime temperatures are in the mid 40’s under mostly cloudy skies and a gentle breeze as I begin my hike on Consumer’s Energy property along the north side of the Pine River Millpond in Alma. To start with, I spot a mating pair of Mallards and then follow a narrow earthen trail through a dense stand of leafless Sandbar Willow. Along the way, one of the branches displays a dried up rose gall. Last year, midge larvae feeding on stem tips, disrupted their growth causing leaves to form a, flower-like rosette. (stock photo). Generally these galls are harmless to the overall health of the tree. Nearby, I come upon a dead Opossum on the ground with patchy white and dark fur. This unusual color is due to Leucism-a recessive genetic condition causing partial loss of pigmentation. Looking more closely, I see it has been killed by a body gripper trap (stock photo). A little farther, I notice remnants of a Muskrat lodge as well as a dead Fox Squirrel, also killed by a gripper trap. Gazing far out on the millpond, I observe a pair of Trumpeter Swans. When lakes and rivers start freezing in late fall, some of these birds move south to find open water—often just to nearby states like Indiana, Illinois, Missouri, or Arkansas. If they can find open water and food locally, they will stay in Michigan all winter. Passing by a stand of last year’s cattails, I’m not surprised to see and hear a male Redwing Blackbird defending his nest territory. Nearby, I first hear the harsh call of a Common Grackle before it flies off over the water. Even though these two blackbird species forage in the same mixed flocks, their interactions can turn violent when resources or territories are at stake. Male Red-winged Blackbirds are notoriously fierce defenders of their nesting sites. They will aggressively dive-bomb and attack Grackles that trespass into their space. Likewise, Grackles are known to raid Redwings nests to eat their eggs and chicks. Up ahead, I spot the bright red fruit of American Bittersweet. Although poisonous to humans, the berries are a food source for many songbirds as well as small mammals like Fox squirrels. Speaking of Fox Squirrels, I spot a one perched on a tree branch staring at me while flicking its tail and chattering, a behavior to warn other squirrels of potential danger. As I looped back toward the car, I’m reminded that even this side of the Pine River has a story to tell. Stark beauty, life and death, natural rhythms and human influence—all coexist here. It is this blend, perhaps, that keeps drawing me back: not just to experience nature, but to witness its complexity.

Nature awakes

This time of year

Signs of the season

Spring is here!

Snow and ice

No longer conceal

Skunk Cabbage

Sprouts reveal

Cardinal calls

High in a perch

Finding a mate

Ending his search

 

D. DeGraaf