February 23

The early morning temperatures are in the upper 20’s under partly sunny skies as I begin my hike in Bulger Preserve, CWC’s newest acquisition.  Established in 2025, this 1+ acre property is located along the Chippewa River, 5 miles SW of Mt. Pleasant. Soon, I pause to listen to the clear call of a Carolina Wren (stock photo). These birds are increasingly common year-round residents of the state, due to warmer winters. They are early nesters, sometimes beginning in April, and are known to nest in man-made spots like mailboxes, hanging plants, and garages. Exploring the flood plain, I come upon the skull bone of a Virginia Opossum. These common critters have a very short lifespan, typically living only 1.5 to 2 years in the wild due to high predation, vehicular accidents, and environmental stress such as extreme cold, which can cause frostbite on their tails and ears. Continuing through the woodland, my ears first perk up to the call of a Tufted Titmouse (stock photo) and then a Common Crow. The ground around me displays an oak, maple leaf litter as well as deer scat. Overhead, I spot branches of needles of Canadian Hemlock as well as branches of a Muscle Wood tree still hanging on to its dead leaves. Called Marcescence, dead leaves of this tree do not fall off in autumn but remain attached until spring growth pushes them off. The dried leaves may protect delicate overwintering buds from: drying winter winds, sudden temperature swings and browsing deer since those crispy leaves might make twigs slightly less appealing. When new leaves begin to push out in April and May, they physically shove off the old papery leaves. One windy warm day and suddenly the tree is clean again. Reaching the snow-covered edge of the Chippewa River, I look upstream as the water flows past. Then, I look downstream as the water continues to wear away the icy shoreline. The river here is about halfway on its journey from its source in Barryton to the Chippewa Nature Center near Midland where it merges with the Pine River. Turning back toward the car, I come upon an interesting bark trio of a Hop Hornbeam tree next to a White Cedar tree with a Wild Grape vine between them. Pausing near the car, I think about nature’s familiar late-winter duality of stillness and stirring. The ice will withdraw soon. The snow patches will fade into memory. Buds will swell among the trees. This morning beneath a partly sunny sky, the preserve shows both endings and beginnings as a scenic watercourse moves steadily along its edge.

No gathering geese

Or mallards in flight

No croaking frogs

To welcome the night

Nestled in mud

Turtles aren’t seen

Beige and broken

Cattails aren’t green

River wetlands

Covered and sealed

End of February

Nature revealed

 

D. DeGraaf

February 16

The mid-morning sky is partly sunny with temperatures in the low 30’s as I begin my hike on a paved path in Mt. Pleasant’s Millpond Park. Up ahead, I can barely make out a Red squirrel perched high on a limb. Unlike Fox and Gray squirrels that bury their food in caches under the snow, Red squirrels harvest green cones, carry them to a favorite perch and methodically strip them for seeds. Over time, the discarded cones accumulate into noticeable mounds called middens (stock photo). Following the trail, I notice some of the ice-covered surface of the Chippewa River has opened up revealing flowing water. Looking more closely, I spot a few members of a large flock of Robins drinking water and flying around. Most likely these birds have taken the risk of wintering-over in the park rather than migrate. They can survive by consuming winter foods like Winterberry, Hawthorn and Juniper. In cold snaps, they sometimes gorge on fermented crabapples — which can make them disoriented (drunk). Other cold weather survival techniques of Robins include fluffing their feathers to trap heat and roosting in the shelter of a Cedar swamp. Glancing out on an ice-covered section of the river, I spot tracks of thirsty animals converging on a watering hole. Continuing along the path, I pause to watch the river water flow rapidly north carving a narrow channel through the ice. After looping back across the river, I spot a tree trunk covered with several rope-like vines of Poison Ivy as well as a newly gnawed 6-inch Beaver stump. Nearby, I pause to hear the faint song of a Northern Cardinal. Just ahead, I’m surprised to still see a few reddish-orange berries on a Bittersweet tree while near the ground, I spot the winter remains of once-lovely blossoms of Queen-Anne’s Lace. Veering off the paved trail, I follow a snow-covered path through a dense stand of Box Elder trees.  Turning back toward the car, I look up to take in the awesome sight of the sun breaking through the clouds. Nearing the car, I pause to hear a rare muted whirring call of a Blue Jay. Most everyone is familiar with the “jay-jay-jay” or “jeer” call of this bird. However, Blue Jays have a large repertoire of calls including those that mimic hawks. When I turn toward the parking lot, I look back at my footprints in the snow realizing they will fade in a few days. Trees will remain. The river will thaw. Other tracks will appear. Driving toward home, I’m grateful for another winter morning communing with nature at Mill Pond Park.

Waters of life

Nourishes earth

Flows in her veins

River of worth

Wonder of nature

Beauty to inspire

Clean and clear

River to admire

More than a stream

More than a creek

Cherish the Chippewa

River unique

 

D. DeGraaf

February 2

Repost Jan 30, 2018

January 19

The mid-morning skies are cloudy with temperatures in the upper 30’s and a SW breeze as I begin my hike on the Meijer Bike Trail, west of Alma. One of my favorite nature trails, this 42-mile paved path follows an old railroad corridor and is maintained by volunteers and local supporters, linking communities across the region. Almost immediately, in contrast to a mostly colorless landscape, my attention draws to the bright red fruit on Winterberry shrubs. Nearby, Oriental Bittersweet vines twist through other shrubs, their orange and yellow fruit splitting open to reveal bright red interiors. This species grows aggressively, often strangling trees, toppling fences, and outcompeting native plants. Not so noticeable are the shriveled clusters of poison ivy berries clinging stubbornly. Off in the woodland, I observe the form of a perching Black squirrel (Melanistic Gray) while at my feet on part of trail that still had patches of snow, I note its tracks as well as tracks of a small Red Squirrel. Places on the trail that are bare, display a Burr-Oak leaf and a Slippery Elm leaf. Not far off the trail, a fresh deer carcass lies partially dusted with snow. Since there is no sign of trauma, it hard to know the cause of death.  Continuing east, I pause on a bridge to watch the water of Honeyoey Creek flow rapidly toward its confluence with the Pine River, some 2 miles south of here (stock photo). This infamous watercourse is a major source of nutrient and bacterial contamination from agricultural runoff and manure, which dumps excess nitrogen, phosphorus, and fecal bacteria into the river. These pollutants fuel algal growth and degrade water quality, especially visible in the Alma Millpond in the spring and summer. Turning around, I spot the trunk of a White poplar tree. These are fast-growing deciduous trees native to Europe and western Asia but widely planted in North America. Their spreading root systems can form colonies and invade native habitats. Next to the path, I notice some Laurel Dodder vines that grow tightly around other plants. Unlike most vines, this plant has no true leaves and little chlorophyll. Instead of rooting in soil, it inserts specialized structures called haustoria into its host plant, siphoning off water and nutrients. Over time, heavy infestations of this vine can weaken or kill shrubs, herbs and trees. Approaching the car, the breeze picks up slightly, swaying the still-clinging leaves of American Beech and White Oak. At the car, I recall that the hike was not dramatic or scenic in a postcard sense. However, in this stark winter landscape, every color, sound, and track mattered a little more to me ever thankful that I slowed down enough to notice.

Birds of the cold

Quest to survive

Swarming the feeder

Staying alive

Cardinal of red

Junco of gray

Eyes of the raptor

Fixed on its prey

A sudden dive

From a tree above

Life for the Hawk

Death for the Dove

D. DeGraaf

January 5

Under mostly cloudy skies and temperatures in the mid 50’s, today’s nature hike with Caroline and daughter, Allison takes us along the edges of Crissy Field Marsh in San Francisco, California. Once a forgotten military airfield, this wetland was restored to life through careful planning and community effort. Tides returned, native plants took root, and birds followed—transforming pavement and rubble into a living shoreline where water, wind, and wildlife now meet. One side of the marsh, we walk past coastal scrub habitat near the sandy shore of San Francisco Bay. The air carries the faint tang of salt, a reminder that this restored wetland breathes with the tides of the bay. In the distance, we notice Alcatraz Island. Located one-and-a-half miles out in the bay, this landmass was the site of an infamous federal prison. Although the last inmates were transferred off the island in 1963, the main prison block is still open to the public. Across the water, the Golden Gate Bridge appears and disappears as fog shifts in thin veils. A landmark willing to share the stage with tidal channels and marsh grasses. Nearby, we spot human and dog footprints pressed into damp sand--evidence of shared use and shared time. Up ahead, we notice a few blossoms of Coastal Strawberry. This plant is highly salt-tolerant and used for erosion control and dune stabilization. The flowers attract bees and butterflies, while the berries provide food for birds and small mammals. As the trail moves away from the shore, we pause to take in the view of the scrub vegetation and the lake-like open water of the marsh. Next, we watch a Willet shorebird (stock photo) fly over our heads and land far down the muddy shore. At our feet, we spot the closed blossoms of Bermuda Buttercup, Also known as Sourgrass, this low-growing perennial plant is native to South Africa. While admired for its vibrant golden blooms, it is considered a highly invasive and noxious weed in coastal California. Every so often, the wind rises just enough to carry the smell of Eucalyptus from nearby groves. Nearing the car, we pause to observe a Monterey Cypress tree with marble-size female cones. These seed cones, that can persist on branches for years, provide a critical food source for various birds and small mammals. Leaving Crissy Field Marsh, we are reminded what makes this place so compelling is that even in a great city, there are places where nature speaks first and we are wise to listen.

Old year sets

New year rises

California hike

Welcome surprises

No flowerless fields

Or ponds that freeze

Sky with birds

Trees with leaves

East or west

No matter where

Nature’s wonders

Are waiting there

 

D. DeGraaf

 

December 29

While most of December was cold and snowy, today’s early afternoon temperature is 50 degrees under mostly sunny skies and a breeze out of the west as I begin my hike at Hubscher Park, 8 miles west of Ithaca. This 60-acre property was originally a gravel mining site operated by Hubscher & Son, Inc. for more than 30 years. After mining operations ceased, the land was reclaimed and donated to Gratiot County for a public park. Walking along the edge of a large ice-covered gravel-pit lake, I look up to spot a perching Tree Sparrow and look down on the stoney beach to spot some shells of the invasive Zebra Mussel. Nearby, in the dead, drab leaf litter, I’m pleased to see a color for the season in the form of a few red Nightshade berries. Continuing along the shore, I glance out on the ice to see a Muskrat breathing hole and a few Cottonwood leaves that landed here after being blown from the now-exposed leaf litter. Further along, I pass a stand of Cattails and come upon a Cocklebur plant with their brown prickly pods, called burs that each contain 2 seeds.  Most burs are removed from the parent plant during late autumn and throughout the winter as animals brush against them. They easily stick to fur, hair and are dispersed by these roaming creatures. Climbing up a high bank, I watch a sparrow-like bird take a quick bath before flying off. Passing one of the snow patches, I pause to observe the exposed tunnel of a Meadow Vole. These mouse-like mammals (stock photo) stay active all winter, not hibernating, and thrive under the snowpack where they build tunnels, create nests, and feed on grasses, roots, and even tree bark. They form family groups for warmth and protection, relying on the snow for insulation and cover from predators like owls and foxes. Instead of finding tracks in the snow, I find them on the earthen trail, including white-tail deer and raccoon. Turning around, I look up at a tall Cottonwood tree to spot an unusual, ornate growth attached to the trunk. When a Cottonwood branch breaks off or bark is damaged, the tree responds by growing callus wood around the injury. As it closes over time, it can form smooth, pale, sculpted shapes like this. The lighter tone is exposed or newly formed wood that hasn’t yet darkened or fully re-textured to match the surrounding bark. Near the car, a gust of wind blows the clinging leaves of Oak and Beech. As the light lowers, the hike feels complete. December does not rush out; it simply reminds me that even in the quietest season, nature keeps speaking—if only I look and listen. 

Waves that rolled, rivers that flowed

Sun that shone, skies that snowed

O’er fields of summer flowers

Blooming in daylight hours

Paths of dirt, trails of sod

Up and down slopes I trod

Memories held, far and near

Grateful for another year

D. DeGraaf

December 22

The midday temperatures are in the mid 20’s, under mostly sunny skies as I find myself in Alma’s Conservation Park sitting on one of the benches in the Eyer Learning Circle to take in the sights and sounds of nature. Nearby, I stop by the bird feeders where I spot a Chickadee and a Titmouse. On this first day of astronomical winter (solstice), I head west on a familiar trail knowing the sun is only about 23 degrees above the horizon. With sun at my back, I note my shadow is the longest it will be for the year. Nearby, in the snow, I see where a squirrel has been searching for buried nuts, a reminder of movement in a season that seems lifeless. Scanning the woodland, I observe the Oaks and Maples stand bare, their dark branches crisscrossing against a pale sky. Turning north, I reach the high bank of the Pine River millpond where I notice it’s completely iced over. River ice can give the comforting illusion of protection, a white lid sealing the water beneath. In winter, frozen surfaces quiet the current and hide what flows below, but they do nothing to stop pollution. Nutrients, salts, and industrial contaminants continue moving under the ice. Ice may slow surface exchange with the air, yet it cannot filter chemicals or cleanse sediment. When spring arrives, melting ice releases what was hidden, often concentrating pollutants downstream. The frozen river reminds me that nature’s coverings conceal damage but do not repair it. Turning east, I spot a few Oak leaves on the snow. Wildlife announce themselves subtly. A Pileated Woodpecker fills the air with loud taps, and somewhere deeper in the woods a Crow calls. Following a trail to the south, I find the delicate pattern of vole tracks disappearing beneath a fallen log, and farther on, the unmistakable heart-shaped print of a white-tailed deer. Animals, like the plants, are conserving energy, living inward, yet they are unmistakably present. As afternoon wanes, the light takes on a blue-gray quality unique to winter. The sun dips lower, setting the snow to faintly glow while shadows stretch long and slow. This is the hinge of the year, the day when darkness reaches its fullest measure and, almost imperceptibly, begins to loosen its hold. Walking back toward the car, I’m grateful to have taken in the light and warmth of the sun despite its brevity. The solstice offers a clear-eyed acceptance of cycles, of endurance and promises.

You had barely left

When redwings arrived

My memory faded

When cattails thrived

Forgot about you

When summer came

Autumn commenced

Still the same

You finally showed

O heavenly sphere

Winter solstice

Glad you’re here

 

D. DeGraaf