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

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