November 9

The early morning temperature is unseasonably warm, in the low 60s under sunny skies, as a moderate southerly breeze accompanies me on a hike through an abandoned golf course along the banks of Salt Creek, near the village of Shepherd. Pausing along the trail, I can barely distinguish a one-inch short-horned grasshopper camouflaged among the undergrowth. Unable to regulate its own body temperature, this small insect will become increasingly sluggish as temperatures fall, eventually succumbing to winter's freezing conditions. Nearby, a few bright red berries of non-native bittersweet nightshade catch my attention. Although poisonous to humans, the berries are eaten by certain birds, which help disperse the seeds. Farther along, a solitary olive-sized haw hangs from the branch of a hawthorn tree. These small fruits provide nourishment for robins, cedar waxwings, and bluebirds. Scattered across what were once carefully manicured fairways, I discover the white blossoms of frost aster and the yellow flowers of winter cress. While most wildflowers have surrendered to autumn, a solitary dandelion continues to brighten the landscape with its golden blossom. Overhead, my attention is drawn to the papery nest of bald-faced hornets, now abandoned. Earlier in the year, industrious workers chewed weathered wood fibers, mixed them with saliva, and constructed the nest in overlapping layers. These remarkable structures are rarely reused. Come spring, a surviving queen will begin building a new colony elsewhere. Following the winding creek channel, I pause at the edge of a steep, thirty-foot bank overlooking the water flowing slowly through a wooded valley. The creek appears to have spent countless years carving its meandering course through glacial deposits left behind by the last Ice Age. Long before golfers walked these fairways, flowing water was quietly shaping this landscape. Nearby, the feathery seedheads of virgin's bower, appropriately nicknamed Old Man's Beard, cling to their vines. Their long, silky white hairs often persist into winter, decorating an otherwise bare landscape. Heading back toward my car, I discover the remains of a decomposing giant puffball, a striking contrast to the fresh specimen I encountered in mid-September. Driving away, I find myself reflecting on the transformation I witnessed. Where golfers once played on neatly trimmed fairways, wildflowers, insects, fungi, and flowing water are quietly reclaiming their place. Once again, something man-made is being restored to nature-made. 

Around the bend

Clear and cold

Surface in motion

Leaves of gold

Floating branches

Budweiser can

Debris of nature

Litter of man

Needles and twigs

Onward they go

Artifacts of autumn

Flow creek flow

 

D. DeGraaf

November 2

The mid-morning temperature is in the upper 40s under mostly sunny skies as I find myself hiking along the Pine River in Centennial Park, located in the small village of Sumner. Watching fallen leaves drift slowly downstream, something unexpected catches my attention. Near the shoreline, several leaves appear to defy the river's current, traveling upstream before making a graceful U-turn and joining their companions heading downstream. I'm witnessing a small eddy, a circular movement of water created by obstructions and differences in current speed along the riverbank. Exploring a patch of stinging nettle, I spot a half-inch Ichneumon wasp crawling across a leaf. By parasitizing hosts such as caterpillars and other insect larvae, these wasps help control insect populations. On another leaf, I discover a quarter-inch Tachinid fly. Unlike their parasitic larvae, adult flies often visit flowers to feed on nectar, making them useful pollinators. Proceeding north along a woodland trail, I notice the unusual, lantern-like seed capsules of Wild Yam dangling from a vine. Interestingly, the roots contain diosgenin, a compound used commercially to manufacture certain steroid hormones. However, the human body cannot directly convert wild yam into these hormones. Continuing along the leaf-covered trail, my attention turns to the colorful autumn foliage. Brilliant shades of red adorn Wild Raspberry, Red Oak, and the invasive Winged Burning Bush. Native to northeastern Asia, this bush was introduced to North America as an ornamental plant, prized for its spectacular fall color. Unfortunately, its dense growth competes with native woodland shrubs, wildflowers, and tree seedlings. Not all the foliage has surrendered to autumn's changing palette. Among the reds, oranges, and yellows, I discover lingering green leaves of Canadian Moonseed and Greenbrier vines. Overhead, the thinning forest canopy allows sunlight to reach the woodland floor as occasional leaves flutter downward, joining the colorful litter carpeting the trail. Turning back toward my car, I'm delighted to catch my first glimpse of a Dark-eyed Junco, darting among the understory vegetation. Its subtle call is a welcome reminder that these small birds have returned to mid-Michigan for the fall and winter months. As I drive away, I'm reminded that autumn's beauty isn't limited to brilliant foliage. Sometimes its greatest rewards are found in the quiet details—a lingering green leaf, a familiar birdcall, or a fallen leaf briefly traveling against the current before continuing its journey downstream.

Nature wakes November
With much to share,
Leaves upon the forest floor
Capture my stare.

Crimson and orange,
Amber and gold,
Adorn the woodland ground
A thousandfold.

Scattered among them,
Needles of pines,
Brown and brittle,
Mid-autumn signs.

 

D. DeGraaf

October 26

The late-morning temperature is in the mid-40s under sunny skies as I walk along the Pine River in St. Louis, Michigan, listening to the distant calls of Canada geese. At my feet, I discover a few husks and nuts that have fallen from a nearby Pignut hickory tree. These nuts provide important food for squirrels and chipmunks. The unusual name dates back to early settlers who sometimes fed them to hogs. Far out on the millpond, I hear the familiar quacking of Mallards. Along the bank, I notice seedheads where the yellow blossoms of Beggar-ticks once flourished (stock photo). Nearby, a row of American Water Horehound plants displays dark clusters of tiny nutlets along their stems. Continuing along the shoreline, I'm surprised to discover a few lingering blossoms of Daisy Fleabane this late in October. Less surprising are the bright red hips of Swamp Rose. These fruits provide food for birds such as American Robins and Cedar Waxwings. Rich in vitamin C and antioxidants, rose hips have long been used to make teas and jellies. Scattered among the duckweed floating on the water, I notice several goose down feathers, likely shed during routine feather replacement or preening. Farther along, a patch of cattail-like Bur-reed catches my attention. Although closely related to cattails, Bur-reed produces distinctly different flowers and rounded, spiky seedheads. Its dense vegetation provides valuable shelter for aquatic insects, amphibians, and small fish. My peaceful walk takes a sobering turn when I pause to read a warning sign about the river's contaminated fish. Although the water appears clean, toxic chemicals persist in the bottom sediments and accumulate in fish. Even here, roughly two miles upstream from the former Velsicol Chemical plant, the legacy of DDT, once manufactured at the facility, remains. Another contaminant, PBB, is associated with Michigan's notorious 1973 livestock-feed contamination disaster. Eating contaminated fish can expose people to chemicals that may accumulate in their bodies and threaten their health. Moving on, I notice clusters of blue-black berries on European Privet, an ornamental shrub introduced from Europe and western Asia, particularly for hedges. Considered semi-evergreen, its leaves may remain green well into winter, depending on the weather. Underfoot, fallen leaves reveal the distinctive shapes of Chinquapin and Bur Oak. As my walk concludes, the geese remain noisy, the river continues its quiet journey, and autumn's colorful remnants surround me. Yet I'm reminded that appreciating nature means more than admiring its beauty. It also means recognizing its vulnerabilities and striving to protect and restore places like this.

October's river show
Awaiting flurries of snow
Fallen leaves lose their glow
A restless buck seeks a doe

Turtles settle deep below
River currents ebb and flow
From woods afar, calls the crow
While redwings left long ago

Cattails sway as cold winds blow
Seasons change, we well know
Along the river, soft and slow
Autumn changes undergo

 

D. DeGraaf

October 19

The early morning sky is gray, and the temperature is in the low 50's as I begin exploring 130 acres of private property in Gratiot County. Walking beside a placid three-acre pond, I hear the sharp, piercing call of a Northern Flicker. Nearby, I spot the feathery seedheads of Phragmites, also called common reed. One of Michigan’s tallest grasses, invasive Phragmites spreads rapidly, crowding out native cattails, sedges, and other wetland vegetation. Nearby, a small, thorny Japanese Barberry shrub displays its bright red, pea-sized berries. Originally introduced from Asia as an ornamental shrub, this invasive species can form dense thickets that create favorable habitat for blacklegged ticks, which transmit Lyme disease. Turning south, I follow the edge of a county drainage ditch, where a decomposing wooden plank catches my attention. Its weathered surface is covered with an eight-inch, white, blob-like mass of Tapioca Slime Mold. Although it resembles a fungus, this curious organism belongs to a group of amoeba-like life forms that feed on bacteria and other microorganisms. Veering east into dense woodland, I shuffle through a colorful carpet of fallen leaves. Among them are numerous clumps of Eastern Woodland Sedge, whose slender green leaves offer a pleasing contrast to the browns and golds of the forest floor. Occasionally, I come across a Sugar Maple leaf displaying a striking pattern of yellow veins branching through crimson tissue. This artistic design develops because leaf cells near the veins and those farther away do not necessarily age at the same rate. As chlorophyll disappears and other pigments become visible or accumulate, nature produces these remarkable patterns of autumn color. Turning back toward the car, I discover a Wild Turkey wing feather lying among the fallen leaves. Perhaps it was lost during the bird’s annual molt, when old feathers are replaced with new ones. Reaching the car, I reflect on how autumn offers much more than a spectacular display of colorful foliage. From the thinning canopy overhead to the smallest organisms decomposing wood on the forest floor, the woodland is preparing for another season. What appears to be an ending is also a beginning. There is beauty in these changes and reassurance in knowing that nature’s annual cycle continues.

Showy leaf
Autumn day
Won’t last
Won’t stay

Red to yellow
Fades to gray
Brown to black
Mold and decay

Disintegrates
Without delay
Turns to soil
Nature’s way

 

D. DeGraaf

October 12

Reposting of one of my nature blogs from years ago on October 12, 2013

Saturday was a good day at Forest Hill for a hike with my dog, Remi The early morning weather was sunny with some ground fog, a temperature of 45 degrees and no wind. Today, I would look for Mother Nature’s dark side, not the attractive rainbow colors of autumn, but the blacks and browns of living things, death and decay. From the crest of the hill, I proceeded down the hill to Mallard Marsh where I was surprised to see a few male redwing blackbirds perched among the cattails. Since all the resident redwings had left several weeks ago, I was unsure if they were the same birds and why they were there. I hiked through Bobolink Meadow where I noticed the flowerheads of Queen Anne’s lace had folded up and turned black. I entered North Woods and headed west where I saw plenty of dark, decaying logs on the ground. Underneath the colorful leaf litter was dark, humus-rich soil. Next to the trail, I spotted an aging white birch tree trunk covered with black fungus and lenticels. Exiting the woods, I circled Succession Field and turned east along the edge of South Woods where dark, decaying aspen leaves covered the trail. Following the trail through South Woods, I couldn’t help but notice the dark bark of a black Cherry and apple tree. I exited the woods, headed east and turned north toward Willow Wallow where I paused to watch several waves of noisy geese flying in formation high overhead. Climbing Reflection Hill, I noticed some of the goldenrod galls had turned dark including both the ball gall and bunch gall. At the top of the hill, I spotted a honeysuckle shrub with blacken, “witches broom” galls. I descended the hill to the south and proceeded toward Brady Cemetery, where I could still see the charred branches of a white pine tree killed by a wildfire over a year ago. Passing the cemetery, I turned north into Native Grassland where the black seedheads of purple cone flower punctuated the meadow. I paused at the edge of Grebe Pond where a dozen geese swam on the green surface. Continuing along the edge of the pond, I noticed a small cottonwood tree whose leaves were turning black. Flying low above the meadow was a large flock of redwings. At my feet, I spotted a black and brown, wooly bear caterpillar. Arriving at the barn, I walked to the north side where I spotted a few rotting, blacken hulls of black walnuts on the ground. Finally, we passed the classroom and arrived at the car for our trip home.

October forest

Eyes on the wild

Trail is littered

Leaves are piled

Descending the dome

One by one

Leaves of maple

Beams of sun

Up from the earth

Mushrooms appear

Just ahead

A Whitetail deer

D. DeGraaf

October 5

The mid-morning sky is sunny with a temperature in the upper 40’s and a slight breeze as I find myself about one mile west of Alma standing on the bank of Honeyoye creek close to its confluence with the Pine River. Since this important tributary is now dammed up with excess sediments drained from exposed cropland up stream, I can see its water is backed-up and stagnant, unable to flow as it should into the Pine river. Far in the distance, closer to the main river channel, I can see and hear a few noisy Killdeer birds flying among a large patch of lily pads feeding on small insects that land there. Exploring the flood plain, I come to large Box Elder tree where some Box elder bugs, both bright red instars and black adults, crawl on the trunk seeking warmth from the morning sun. These insects feed on the developing and mature seeds (“helicopters”) of female box elder trees using their piercing-sucking mouthparts to extract plant juices. Female box elder trees also provide suitable places for the bugs to lay eggs, so populations can build up around them. Looking up in a nearby willow tree, I observe a perching two and a half inch dragonfly called a green-striped darner. These insects catch insects in flight and may eat them while still flying. Near my feet, I see a couple of new ink cap mushrooms called Shaggy Manes popping out of the grass. Soon their caps will turn shaggy white (stock photo), a stage from which they get their other name, “lawyer’s wig”. As they mature theses fungi digest their own caps turning the gills into a dark, ink-like liquid (stock photo) thus the name “ink cap”. Scanning the shallow water near the creek edge, I see one of many golf-ball size Chinese Mystery snails covered with mud. These invasive gastropods were imported for sale as food in Chinese markets. They later spread through the aquarium and ornamental pond trade. The “mystery” is the sudden appearance of baby snails. Female snails carry developing young inside their bodies and give birth to tiny, fully formed snails without ever laying eggs.  Turning back toward the car, I think about how this creek contributes to the Pine River, carrying with it whatever the land upstream has given it, both good and bad. The aquatic plants, snails, insects, and birds I found today are all part of the creek’s riparian story.There is a larger question here, too: What does the future hold for Honeyoye Creek? I leave with the hope that efforts will continue to restore the health of this watercourse, along with the other tributaries that help shape the Pine River watershed.

Landscape of autumn

Transformed once again

Creature of summer

Retreats to its den

Milkweed pods

Dry up and shred

Silky white seeds

Escape and spread

Goodbye to the goose

Farewell to the crane

October commences

In natures domain

 

D. DeGraaf

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