September 28

The early morning sky is sunny with a temperature in the upper 40’s and a slight westerly breeze as I stand on a deck in Alma’s Pine River Park overlooking the millpond where the river flows gently east toward the State St. dam. Proceeding west along the bank toward the boat launch, I notice a female Mallard sitting on a dock. Some mallards migrate, while others remain where they can find open water and food. I think, too, about the people who feed ducks unhealthy scraps year round preventing them from following their natural instincts. Near shore, an empty bottle floats among the duckweed: a small piece of litter in a place shared by so many living things. Up ahead, I see a dead four-inch Pumpkinseed fish floating in shallow water. The bodies of these fish are the shape of a pumpkinseed, which explains their name. While they are a popular and edible pan fish when caught in clean water, they are not so hear since the E. coli levels in the river frequently exceed safety standards, posing risks to anglers and anyone coming into contact with the water or fish. Continuing west on the paved path, I notice riverbank grape and Virginia creeper vines smothering the trees. Both bear dark fruit, though only the grapes are edible. Seasonal blossoms I see, include the tiny white ones of Heath aster and the yellow ones of Nodding Beggarticks. Along the way, I hear the “mew” call of a Gray catbird coming from the dense vegetation. Since it’s late September, this one may be preparing to migrate. Arriving at another deck, I scan the millpond noticing some homes along the far shoreline and wonder how they feel about effect of weed choked water in front of their places caused by high levels of nitrates and E. coli. Farther along, a yellow-rumped warbler pauses in the morning sun. This bird may still be here well into October, feeding on insects and berries before moving on. Large trees I see overhead, include Boxelder and Weeping Willow. Entering Conservation Park, I stop at a deck as the breeze stirs cottonwood leaves. Wood ducks suddenly lift from the water. The trail follows a line of trees, then climbs a slope where blue-stemmed goldenrod blooms and a small patch of coral fungus rises from the forest floor. From a deck on the high bank, I look down at the river. I pass tall bigtooth aspens and red oaks, then reach a large puddingstone bearing a plaque about the origin of Conservation Park. Along the earthen path beyond it are horsetails and a few Amanita mushrooms. At the final overlook, I pause once more to scan the river. This half-mile has offered questions as well as discoveries: about the lives supported by the water, the changes people have made to it, and what we might do to care for it. 

Summer memories, meadow scene

Teardrop pods, spiny and green

Balls of blossoms, fragrant and pink

Bees and butterflies arrive to drink

Oblong leaves, oozing with white

Feeding caterpillars, a welcome sight

Autumn arrives; the days grow cold
Leaves turn yellow; pods unfold
Go with the wind, each silky seed
A new generation of milkweed.

 

D. DeGraaf

September 21

With the morning temperatures in the upper 50’s under sunny skies, I pause on Wing Rd in Isabella County before entering the dense woodland on the south side of the 3.5-acre Cotton Family Preserve, a new property acquisition of the Chippewa Watershed Conservancy. In the distance, it is easy to make out a white sphere sticking out of the leaf litter. Recognizing it as a newly formed giant puffball, I approach and find that it measures about eight inches in diameter. Its firm exterior and uniformly white interior is characteristic of a young puffball. Although some people eat properly identified raw giant puffballs, experts recommend cooking them—and absolute identification is essential before tasting any wild mushroom. Following a game trail, I first spot a ¾-inch scarlet waxcap mushroom and then a five-inch golden scalycap mushroom, neither of which I would consider eating. Up ahead, I come upon a cluster of wild turkey feathers, most likely leftovers of some predation event. Continuing downslope, I pause to scan a half-acre pond covered with duckweed while hearing the call of a blue jay. Along the muddy shore, I notice some pink smartweed. The “smart” in smartweed comes from an old meaning of smart: to sting, burn, or cause sharp pain. Many smartweeds contain peppery, irritating sap that may produce a hot or burning sensation that “smarts”. Nearby, I observe blossoms of the extremely poisonous water hemlock. Swallowing even a small amount of plant tissue can result in nausea, confusion, muscle twitching, violent seizures and even death. Turning back toward the car, I notice the sheet web of a funnel weaver spider, made conspicuous by the morning dew. These arachnids (stock photo) are fast hunters. When an insect lands on the web, vibrations alert the spider, which rushes out, bites the prey, and drags it into the funnel. Looking up, I notice the upper surface of a sugar maple leaf with slender, fingerlike projections, called spindle galls. These growths are caused by microscopic mites that feed on young leaf tissue, prompting the plant to form  galls. Back to the car, I think about the many stories gathered in this small place. Fungi, feathers, webs and galls each record a different episode. With the autumnal equinox arriving soon, this preserve seems poised between seasons, as summer’s abundance begins to yield to autumn’s quieter rhythms. 

Takes leaves of green
Gives us leaves of red
Takes a meadow’s green
Gives us gold instead

Takes a red-wing’s song
Gives us a cricket’s call
Takes away the summer
Gives us another fall

Each change of season
Nature gives and takes
After her long slumber
Lady Autumn wakes

 

D. DeGraaf

September 14

Back in early August I began my exploration of Sugar Creek at its source in northern Gratiot County. After five previous encounters, I begin my final hike to reach its confluence with the Pine River, east of Alma. The early morning sky is mostly cloudy with temperatures in the upper 50’s as I make my way east toward the Pine River. Arriving at the river I look in vain for the creek’s outlet. After re-checking my map and compass, I proceed north about a hundred yards and pause to observe an impressive looking, forty-foot-wide mouth of Sugar Creek where surprisingly clear water flows slowly under a large over-hanging willow tree into a slow-moving Pine River. Exploring the bank, I come upon a colony of ground-nesting yellowjackets. They commonly use underground cavities including abandoned animal burrows, enlarging it to hold a paper nest (stock photo) that can contain hundreds of workers along with a single queen. Knowing how aggressive this species is, I keep my distance. When disturbed, they can attack and sting repeatedly. Unlike honeybees, yellowjackets do not leave their stinger behind so they may sting several times when defending their nest. Nearby, I spot a milkweed leaf displaying a pile of monarch caterpillar poop, called frass. Sometimes frass can help locate a hidden caterpillar. However, after looking over the plant, I am unable to find one. Further down the bank, near the water, I spot a couple of blossoms of nodding beggar-ticks. Seen in late summer, the flower heads often droop or “nod” downward which is part of it name. The other part of the name comes from the idea that their barbed seeds (stock photo) are “begging a ride” from any animal or human that brushes past. On another bank, I notice at least four places where fragments of leathery eggshells surround a hole where a turtle had laid and covered her eggs. The likely culprit is a raccoon, an effective nest predator who can detect freshly disturbed soil, the scent of the female turtle, or odors associated with the eggs. After digging into the nest, the critter eats the eggs leaving the shells behind.  Finally, with wet shoes and tired legs, I head back to the car, knowing that my month-long effort has been worthwhile. Exploring Sugar Creek has helped me see it’s not as a series of separate places, but one connected riparian ecosystem that supports a remarkable variety of life despite the pressures and pollution imposed upon it. Following its course has reminded me that even a small and often-overlooked stream has a story worth discovering—and a future worth protecting. 

Outer edge of summer

Nature has her way

Swallows gather above

Wish they could stay

Queen Anne’s Lace

Folds up its flowers

Meadow shines golden

Through daylight hours

Fungi emerge

And berries abound

Frogs of the marsh

Surrender their sound

 

D. DeGraaf

September 7

The midmorning skies are sunny, while the air is hot and very humid, with temperatures in the low 80s, as I make my way along the lush banks of Sugar Creek, getting closer to its confluence with the Pine River. Nearby, I spot a half-inch Goldenrod Soldier Beetle perched on a blossom of Canada Thistle. These insects contribute to pollination as they move from flower to flower. Their larvae (stock photo) are predators that live near the ground, feeding on small insects, insect eggs, and other soft-bodied prey. Up ahead, I come upon a one-inch Leaf-footed Bug resting in the tall grass. These insects feed by piercing stems, fruits, seeds, and other plant tissues and sucking out fluids. Neither adults nor nymphs (stock photo) normally bite or sting humans, although some can release an unpleasant odor when disturbed. Exploring the floodplain, I notice stems of Virginia Knotweed, also known as Jumpseed, displaying their reddish fruits. As the fruit matures, tension builds at the joint of the flower stalk. At the slightest touch, the fruit can be catapulted several feet from the stem—hence the common name “jumpseed. Continuing to follow the creek, I spot what appears to be a Great Blue Heron hunting near shore. As I carefully stalk the bird, hoping to get closer for a better photo, I realize it is simply an old tree branch. So much for my expertise at spotting wildlife. Moving away from the creek, my ears pick up the high-pitched whine of cicadas, while my eyes turn to the leaf litter, which consists mostly of Cottonwood leaves. Among them, I spot some bright red haws that have fallen from a nearby Hawthorn tree. Haws are an important food source for birds such as robins, cedar waxwings, and thrushes, as well as for some mammals. Down in the tall grass, I observe a few blossoms of Yellow Toadflax. Native to Europe and Asia, the plant is now common across much of North America, including Michigan. Its flowers have a long nectar spur, making larger bees (stock photo) especially effective pollinators. Its other common name, “butter-and-eggs,” comes from the flower’s two colors—the yellow “butter” surrounding its deeper orange-yellow “egg” center. As I make my way back to the car, I am struck by how much is happening at once. Summer flowers still bloom, insects remain busy, fruits are ripening, and fallen leaves are beginning to gather. Along Sugar Creek, the seasons do not change all at once. Instead, summer and autumn briefly share the landscape, each quietly making room for the other.

In golden fields

Crickets sing

In trembling Aspens

Chickadees cling

In native prairies

Bluestems grow

In vernal ponds

Water is low

Swallows gather

Migrations begin

Cycles of nature

Again and again

 

D. DeGraaf

August 31

The morning temperatures are in the mid-50s under sunny skies as I stand on the steep bank of Sugar Creek and look far to the west. The east branch (stock photo) of the creek flows beneath US 127, merges with the west branch, turns east toward me as the main branch, and then curves south toward Cheesman Road. Walking along the bank, once again a wide, well-developed buffer strip stands out as a good example of how streamside vegetation can help mitigate runoff from adjacent cropland. The grasses and other plants help trap sediment and nutrients before they reach the creek. Exploring the vegetation, I spot several yellow blossoms of Bird’s-foot Trefoil. The plant’s name comes from the way its slender seed pods spread from one point, forming a shape that resembles a bird’s foot (stock photo). Not everything is green. Bright red Virginia creeper leaves are scattered through the grass, another reminder that autumn is approaching. On the far bank, I notice an eight-inch opening to a Woodchuck burrow. A burrow may extend 15–30 feet or more underground and contain several chambers. Continuing south, I pause on the Cheesman Road bridge to notice the creek channel and watch the water flow quietly downstream. Next, I follow a path along the bank that takes me south and then east as the creek passes through a large culvert beneath Begole Road. Turning around, I notice a quarter-inch Spotted Cucumber beetle resting on a thistle blossom. Besides cucumbers, these insects feed on the leaves, flowers, and pollen of crops and wild plants. Their larvae (stock photo) live underground, feeding mainly on the roots of grasses and crops such as corn, which is why they are sometimes called corn rootworms. Nearby, I spot a three-quarter-inch Yellow-collared Scape moth resting on thistle seeds. Its name comes from the distinctive yellow band, or “collar,” just behind its dark head. Unlike many moths, this species is often active during the day. Its caterpillars (stock photo) feed on low-growing plants, especially grasses and sedges. Nearing the car, I listen to the sounds of cicadas. Males produce their calls with special vibrating structures in the abdomen to attract females. These insects are often called dog-day cicadas because their calls are such a familiar sound during the hottest part of summer. Nearby, I spot an adult Monarch butterfly resting among the creek-side grasses—perhaps one of the late-summer generation preparing for the long migration to Mexico. Reaching the car, I am reminded that late summer is a season of overlap. Blossoms remain, insects are active, and the banks are still green, yet red leaves, cool mornings, and a migrating monarch quietly point toward the season to come.

Wildlife wonders

Geese in a flock

Turtles on logs

Lichens on rock

Chicory blue

Aster white

Perching crows

Black as night

Meadow aroma

White sweet clover

Celebrating nature

Summer’s not over

 

D. DeGraaf

August 24

The early morning skies are overcast with temperatures in the low 60’s and a slight SW breeze as I continue my quest to explore Gratiot County’s Sugar Creek from source to mouth. Today, I start out by watching its water flow slowly under M-46 near Petticoat Junction and head south toward the Pine River confluence. This watercourse probably got its name because sugar maples—and perhaps maple-sugaring camps or “sugar bushes”—were common in the area. Also, this part of mid-Michigan is where early settlers encountered extensive hardwood forests and maple sugaring was already practiced by Native peoples long before European settlement. Right away, I realize the creek is part of the county drain system cutting through acres of ripening soybeans. Walking along its banks, I’m pleased to observe a very wide buffer strip containing a variety of wildlife, including this well- camouflaged Red-legged grasshopper. Blossoms that catch my eye include yellow Flat- topped Goldenrod and pale purple Field Mint whose leaves smell strongly of mint when crushed because they contain menthol-related compounds. Continuing to walk through the buffer strip, I spot a large patch of Queen Anne’s Lace. So, I stop, open up the folded umbels of one of the flowers to reveal a dotted, ½ inch Carrot Seed Moth caterpillar. These invasive caterpillars feed on developing flowers and seeds rather the leaves. Other plants they feed on, include parsley, dill, fennel, and parsnip. Continuing south along the steep bank, I watch the creek water trickle downstream while listening to a chorus of katydids. A little further, I gaze afar where the creek flows under the busy US 127 interstate highway. Turning around, I come upon a bunch gall on top of a Canadian Goldenrod stem. A gall forms when a tiny fly, midge or mite interferes with normal plant growth. Instead of producing a normal flower cluster, the leaves and buds become crowded into a tight rosette. Galls usually don’t seriously harm the plant as it often continues growing and flowering normally on other stems. Heading back to the car, I’m reminded that this small stream winds through a landscape heavily influenced by people. Still, there is plenty of wildness here. Grasshoppers leap, caterpillars hide and goldenrod spread their yellow blossoms quietly announces the approaching change of seasons. Sugar Creek may flow through farm country and within earshot of traffic, but along its lush green banks, nature continues to find room to flourish.

Nature's saga

Milkweed leaf

Tiny white egg

Stage is brief

Caterpillar's born

Yellow & black

Chrysalis next

No turning back

Orange emerges

Wings will dry

Monarch of summer

Ready to fly

 

D. DeGraaf

August 17

 

The early morning temperatures are in the low 60’s under overcast skies as I set out for a nature walk on the paved Cedar Creek trail near my daughter’s house in Sherwood, Oregon. Right away, I notice how peaceful my surroundings are, with a densely populated neighborhood waking up on one side of the trail and a protected riparian landscape for wildlife on the other. From the trail, I can see a pond covered with a thick mat of aquatic weeds; however, the slow trickle of creek water at the bottom of a steep ravine is well hidden by dense vegetation. Looking skyward, I get a quick glimpse of a Steller’s Jay (stock photo) and a few Black-capped Chickadees fluttering through a thicket. Some of the plants along the way are unfamiliar compared with those I regularly encounter in Michigan. One of the most impressive is a Bigleaf Maple tree. Its enormous leaves immediately catch my attention, and the paired samaras help confirm its identity. Closer to eye level, there are other unfamiliar species that catch my attention, including the bright white fruit of a Snowberry shrub and the bright red hips of Nootka rose that both stand out against green foliage. Also, I spot the pink blossoms of Fireweed, a plant often found on recently burned or disturbed ground—hence its name. Familiar Queen Anne’s Lace appears along the trail, and inside a folded umbel, I discover a tiny Asian Lady Beetle. This insect was introduced from Asia to North America to help control aphids and other crop pests. Turning around and heading back through this corridor of lush green vegetation, I come upon a familiar sight- a bumblebee feeding on blossoms of St. John’s wort. The plant name comes from its traditional association with St. John the Baptist. The plant often begins flowering around June 24, the Feast of St. John the Baptist in Europe. Near the end, I come upon an unfamiliar sight- vines of Himalayan blackberries. Despite the name, they’re not from the Himalayas, but from western Europe and were introduced to North America in the late 1800s. In Oregon and much of the Pacific Northwest, this plant is considered highly invasive, even though its berries are delicious and valuable to wildlife. Pausing at the trailhead, I realize that walking in a new landscape like this changes the way I look at nature. I couldn’t rely entirely on familiarity today. Instead, I had to stop, photograph, question, and look more closely. Perhaps that is one of the pleasures of exploring somewhere new: for a few hours, even an ordinary trail can make me a beginner again.

A hike to wonder, pause, and see
Quiet trail before my eyes
A perching bird, a buzzing bee
Waking earth and morning skies

Mother Nature’s handiwork
Unfamiliar shrubs and trees
Pink blossoms and white berries
Soft needles and giant leaves

Path through a corridor of green
No creek to cross, no hill to climb
My senses open to it all
Slow my steps and take my time

 

D. DeGraaf