April 29

With the temperature just above freezing and the morning sun shining bright, I’m in the village of Barryton gazing across the mirror-like surface of an impounded lake at a small dam and spillway where the main branch of the Chippewa River begins. Today is the first leg of my adventure to explore the entire 90-mile length of this river from here to the city of Midland where it empties into the Tittabawassee River. Periodically, over the next few months, I plan to access the river from public parks, preserves and maybe even a canoe, investigating the riparian flora, fauna and geology. From shore of the impoundment, my attention is drawn skyward to a singing male Redwing Blackbird and a gibbous moon. Next, I drive a short distance north to Sterns Park where I follow a paved path toward another access point of the impoundment. From a deck overlook, I notice the hanging male catkins of Tag Alder while barely catching a glimpse of some retreating Buffleheads. Looking upstream, I spot a pair of geese honking at me on this chilly morning as puffs of steam blow out of their bills. Wandering along the wooded shoreline, I come across evidence of beaver activity while on the ground, ice crystals on Trout Lily leaves have not yet melted. In a nearby tree, I notice a male Goldfinch whose plumage has turned from the muted yellow of winter to the bright yellow of spring. High up in another tree against an azure sky, a male Cardinal is singing his song. Not to be outdone, in yet another tree, a male Brown Thrasher is singing his song. These birds, like catbirds and mockingbirds, are mimics with varied repertoires of songs. While mockingbirds tend to repeat phrases three or more times, Thrashers typically sing phrases only twice. Making my way back to the car, I can’t help but notice bristly green catkins on a willow tree. As I drive back to Alma, I’m pleased with my introduction to the river and look forward to the next encounter.

Lifeblood of earth

Is what you bring

Your current calls

Your waters sing

Spring treasures

A garter snake

School of trout

A Mallard drake

Vistas of beauty

Your banks bestow

Chippewa River

Onward you flow

D. DeGraaf

April 22

In the hush of a cold, murky morning, I’m exploring the Stearns Preserve near the small village of Riverdale. My first stop is the edge of the rushing Pine River where I tune in to a singing robin. Wandering around the clearing, I spot a dime-size Banded Snail in the leaf litter. In the winter, this gastropod burrows under leaves and hibernates. Its heart hardly beats at all while its blood contains chemicals that prevent it from freezing. As I begin to hike east on the paved Heartland bike trail, I’m aware of the green patches of Equisetum (Horsetail) along the edge. A closer look reveals that some stalks have spore-bearing terminal cones and some do not. Next, I pause on the bridge and gaze south as the river flows rapidly downstream. On the far side of the bridge, I turn south and follow an earthen path along the river’s edge where I’m fascinated by a decaying tree trunk displaying an assortment of fungi and mosses. Further along, my attention is drawn upward to a tree branch whose bark has been recently girdled by some critter. My guess is was a porcupine. At my feet, I notice the sandy soil is littered with tiny red flowers of Red Maple. Turning around and retracing my steps, I look across the river and notice a clump of leafless Red Osier Dogwood shrubs. Back on the paved trail, I continue east where the deciduous canopy is showing signs of growth. Along the edge, Honeysuckle leaves are beginning to sprout. Down on my hands and knees, I look closely at the sporophytes that are emerging from a bed of moss. Just ahead, I come to one of my favorite sections of the preserve, a cedar swamp. However, because of flooding and lack of proper footwear, I’m unable to venture off the trail down into this unique habitat. At the eastern boundary line, I turn around and retrace my steps under an arching Box Elder tree before reaching the car and heading home.

Remembering Earth Day

Mother Earth, child of the sun

You are a very special one

Water to drink, air to breathe

Life abounds on land and sea

Some worlds are far too cold

Living things cannot take hold

Some worlds are way too hot

Uninhabitable at every spot

Mother Earth, dwelling place

Rightful region in outer space

Sphere of white, sphere of blue

We dedicate this day to you

D. DeGraaf

April 15

From the trailhead, I’m hiking east on the White Pine trail in Lumberjack Park. With overcast morning skies, a gusty north wind and temperatures in the mid 30’s, it seems like the weather has retreated from spring back to winter. Continuing east along the Pine River, my ears tune in to the call of a Red-Bellied Woodpecker while high up the trunk of an aspen tree are fresh, baseball-size holes made by a foraging Pileated Woodpecker. Gazing skyward reveals a leafless canopy. Making my way down to the river’s edge, I pause to watch the flowing water as Titmice sing in the distance. Tracks in the mud mark the place where deer came to drink. Down in the leaf litter, I spot a turkey feather as well as another sign of spring-the mottled leaves of Trout Lilies. Curving north through a stand of tall Red and White Pines, I notice a log covered with harden Oyster Mushrooms that were fleshy and edible last fall. Picking up the Mud Creek Trail, I turn south and approach the creek to observe the disabled bridge that was partially displaced by spring floods. While the bridge is functional, a group of park volunteers are in the process of repairing it. From the middle of the bridge, I pause to watch the water gently flow west where it empties into the river. Following the trail west, I spot some green vegetation in the wetlands as duckweed and sedges appear. Next, I turn south across the boardwalk and pause to observe another sign of spring-maroon sprouts of Skunk Cabbage. Up the stairs, I loop around the Sugar Maple Trail back to the boardwalk, back over the bridge, through the pines, down the slope and pick up the White Pine trail as it heads west to the trailhead. Finally, I make it back to the car where I’m pleased by the condition of the trails and look forward to working on a new section in 2019.

Riparian wonder

Runs free and clear

Carries the fish

Quenches the deer

Washes the rocks

Cleanses the ground

Water of spring

Flows eastbound

Current is strong

Her banks confine

Nature’s creation

River called Pine

D. DeGraaf

April 8

Back in Alma, I’m taking a midday hike along the Pine River in Conservation Park. Even though I’m familiar with the cold weather and stark landscape of early spring in Mid Michigan, I can’t help but remember the warm breezes and flowery hills I hiked in last week in southern California. Even so, today as I walk through the park, Mother Nature is treating me to a symphony of sounds that mark the onset of this season of courtship and birth. Calls of the wild ring loud and clear. Just past the Eyer bird hut, where a patch of the white stuff still lingers, my ears perk up as I glance up at the leafless canopy to hear the familiar solo of the Tufted Titmouse (stock photo). This bird is a year round resident of the park and is most likely a male singing to let other male Titmice know that this is his nesting territory. Proceeding to the south end of the park where the wetlands are full and teeming with life, I take in the familiar calls of the Chorus Frogs. This sound can be compared to running your thumb down the teeth of a comb. These small, amphibians (stock photo) have recently thawed from their winter torpor and sing to attract a mate. Although quite vocal, they are nocturnal and rarely seen. Approaching one of several ponds, amid the noise of Chorus Frogs, I hear the clucking sound of Wood Frogs. These small amphibians (stock photo) are more commonly seen hopping through the forest leaf litter in the summer and fall. Making my way past the Girl Scout cabin, I come to a pond where, amid the crescendo of Chorus frogs are a few “peeps” of the Spring Peeper. This small amphibian (stock photo) is quite vocal in the spring but rarely seen. Heading back to the car, I’m amazed how different forms of wildlife in the park proclaim the spring season, right on cue.

Early in April

Woodlands awake

On the leaf litter

Crawls a garter snake

Inside the maple

Rises sweet sap

On the bark above

Woodpeckers tap

On the flowing river

Wood ducks return

Signs of the season

I now can discern

D. DeGraaf

April 1

Caroline and I could not ask for a better setting than Bluff Cove to take a final California nature hike before returning to our Michigan home. Sunny, warm weather along with a refreshing sea breeze accompanies us as we descend a steep trail though patches of blooming Mustard. Other wildlife attractions on our descent include blossoms of Coreopsis and Lupine as well as a perching Black Phoebe. As we approach the shoreline, I pause to scan the scenic cove where, far out in the surf, bobbing black dots (surfers) await the next big wave. Walking down to the rocky beach, I notice a Spotted Sandpiper as well as an Egret stalking and grabbing an insect. In the shallow water, I spot an Anemone with its colorful tentacles. Further down the beach, I come across part of a coral colony attached to a large flat rock. Upon a closer look, I could tell that some of the corallite tubes are empty while others contain living polyps. Nearby, a clump of edible Red Ogo Seaweed catches my eye. With a crispy texture and salty taste, this marine plant is used in salads and garnishes. About a ¼ mile off shore on a rocky islet, I spot a solitary gull and some basking sea lions. Away from the beach, I come across some imbedded volcanic rock with distinctive colors due to oxidation of the iron minerals (rust) as well as lichens growing on the surface. Further up the cliff, I can make out layers of shale. As we begin to hike back up the steep slope toward the car, I spot patches of Lavender flowers as well as a single blossom of wild Geranium. Back on high ground, we take a final look and bid farewell to the Pacific Ocean as well as the coastal city in the distance that was our home for the past 3 months.

Was it flowery fields

Or craggy coast

Was it azure skies

I remember most

Was it gullies green

Or hills I climbed

Was it birds close up

That stirred my mind

California memories

Cloudy and clear

Images of nature

I’m holding dear

D. DeGraaf