November 30

On this mid-morning hike in Lumberjack Park, my senses awake to nature’s late autumn landscape. With the temperature just above freezing, I welcome the warming sun that now can reach me through the leafless canopy overhead. I can feel the chill of a westerly breeze that rustles through the towering pines. Stooping down along the edge of the Pine River, my fingers touch the cold, clear water as it flows by. Nearby, on the forest floor, I feel the cushiony soft surface of a moss-covered stump. Mosses have primitive roots that are simply used to cling to the stump. Their primitive leaves absorb all the necessary nutrients and moisture directly from the air. Looking around this late fall landscape, mosses seem to be one of few plants alive and green. Turns out this amazing plant not only survives cold weather but actually thrives. It can even grow in subzero temperatures by producing a type of antifreeze called arachidonic acid. In their role as a decomposers, mosses help in eventually breaking down the stump into soil. In the meantime, my ears welcome the quietude of the forest as I walk through a corridor of stark tree trunks and over a muddy, barren floodplain. I enjoy the sound of a distance crow, the river flowing overs rocks and the wind through the understory. As I follow the trail ahead, the sound of dried oak leaves crunching beneath my feet also pleases. My eyes welcome the artistry of the natural world along the way, such as the sight of sunbeams and shadows that adorn the path before me. Or reflections off the glassy surface water accentuated by the rippling current. Or the beautiful view from my favorite bench, secluded along the north bank. Or the blue sky beyond the needles of White Pine. Or the green of a sedge that colors the beige and browns of the leaf litter. Or a view of Mud Creek as it flows west into the Pine River channel. This 5-mile-long creek is a convergence of drains from farmland and 2 small lakes to the northeast (stock photo). Or the colorful Kingfisher as it perches above the river searching for prey. And then there are samples of leaf litter-wonderful collages of shapes, textures and colors. Sample 1 (Oak & Pine), Sample 2 (Oak, Maple & Aspen). Sample 3 (Mostly Beech).

Once, creatures ran

Now, in lairs they lie

Once, meadows teemed

Now, drab and dry

Once, a dense canopy

Now, open and bare

Once, singing birds

Now, songs are rare

November’s final days

Autumn’s final breath

Gone, season of life

Comes, season of death

 

D. DeGraaf

November 23

The weather is unseasonably benign as I begin my morning hike on a paved path in Mt Pleasant’s Millpond Park. Along the way, I spot Oyster mushrooms growing in an oak knothole as well as a decomposing tree trunk with black spots from a fungus called Hypoxylon canker. This fungus colonizes and kills weakened or stressed oak trees. Across the path, I glance at a field of cattails as a west wind buffets their seed heads. Just ahead, my first encounter with the Chippewa River reveals a wide channel, a gentle flow and a mirrored surface, displaying large leafless trees. Following the river downstream, I pause near shore to observe it move rapidly to the north. From here the Chippewa River turns east for about 30 miles where it empties into the Tittabawassee River in Midland. According to the nearby USGS measuring station, the water today is 3.6 feet deep and flows at a rate of 292 cubic ft/second. Exploring the bank, I come upon the bright red fruit of a Winterberry bush. Also known as Michigan holly. its long-lasting fruit remains into mid-winter and is a food source for robins, bluebirds and cedar waxwings. Crossing a footbridge to the north bank, I continue on the paved path where I notice an American Bittersweet vine with a few remaining berries. As with Winterberry, this fruit is poisonous to humans but edible to wildlife. As the path takes me past a few scraggly Box Elder trees, a Blue Jay makes its presence known. Most people recognize this familiar “jeer” call. It’s a sound this bird uses early and often to stay in touch with other jays. The call helps mates keep track of each other and also serves to assemble others in response to a threat.  Most people do not know that these birds have an amazing array of other vocalizations, none of which sound at all like the raucous jeer. One such call mimics hawks, especially the Red-shouldered hawk. Back at the riverside, I pause to watch a flock of Canada geese soar overhead and a breeding pair of Mallards swim along the far shore. These ducks will soon migrate south to the mid and southern states for the winter. Retracing my steps back toward the car, I notice a fresh buck rub as well as a gathering of Canada geese swimming and feeding on the mill pond. Seeming to be comfortable around me, they are likely resident geese who will stay in the area as long as there’s food and open water. On the other hand, there are non-resident geese in the area that are leery of humans, breed in more remote places and migrate south for the winter. Finally, it’s back to the car for my trip home to Alma.

 

Not too far from the hunter’s gun

Run, river run

Your journey’s not over, only half done

Run, river run

By light of the moon, light of the sun

Run, river run

Ice floes have not yet begun

Run, river run

Keeping you clean is priority one

Chippewa River, run

 

D. DeGraaf

November 16

Partly cloudy skies, mild temperatures and a gentle southerly breeze accompany me on a midmorning hike along the edge of Isabella County’s Salt Creek as it flows north through the village of Shepherd.  Back in the mid 1800’s, a village called “Salt River” sprang up here (stock photo) that included a grain mill and sawmill, with the river providing power. After the Civil War, veteran Isaac Shepherd expanded the village and renamed it after himself. However, present day names and locations of the Salt River are somewhat confusing. Current maps label this watercourse, “Salt Creek” while some refer to it as “Little Salt River”. These designations are not be confused with the northern and southern branches of the Salt River (Big Salt River) that converge into the main branch in the northern part of the county. Observing the flowing creek, I note willow leaves carried downstream have backed up due to a dam of tangled brush and leaves. Further ahead, the current speeds up as it flows through a narrow gap of downed trees. Making my way along the east bank, I spot the dried 1-inch seedpods of Wild Cucumber and a leafless Multiflora Rosebush displaying lots of bright red hips. Noticing that many large Ash trees have died and fallen into the creek, I come upon one of them that clearly shows how the Ash Borer larvae tunneled under the bark to girdle and kill it. As a patch of blue sky appears above the leafless canopy, I make my way around to the west bank where I pause to watch a Fox Squirrel scurry through the underbrush. Next, I come upon a Japanese Barberry bush with its red leaves and red fruit. Continuing to explore the surrounding flood plain, I look east through the dense underbrush to barely make out the rotating blades of one of many wind turbines that have been recently constructed in the county. From here, the creek flows northeast about 10 miles into Midland County where it empties into the Chippewa River. Turning around, I’m pleased to spot a few dark-colored birds flashing their white wing patches as they flutter through the underbrush and realize, as one perches close by, they are Dark-eyed Juncos. A sure sign of late Autumn, these birds migrate from the far north to spend their winter here in Michigan. Further along, I pause to watch a female Downey Woodpecker pecking away on a twig. Females do not have a red patch on the back of their heads like males have (stock photo). Back to the car, I head for home.

 

November’s leafless canopy-

bare branches, stratus gloom

view above the forest floor.

How I miss the dome of beauty,

splashed with scarlet and gold,

backlit with midday beams.

Low and behold the trail-

strewn with colors and designs 

is just as beautiful.

My feet welcome leafy aisles 

until early snows replace 

tapestries of autumn with 

blankets of purest white.

 

D. DeGraaf 

November 9

I’m west of Alma in the small village of Elwell ready to hike on the Meijer Heartland Trail. The early afternoon weather is sunny with temperatures in the upper 60’s and a steady head wind as my wife, Caroline, my daughter, Allison and I walk west on the paved path through a corridor of mostly leafless, broadleaf trees that only a few weeks ago displayed brilliant fall colors.  However, closer observations reveal that some trees still retain leaves, ranging from chlorophyll green to those lacking any pigments. Gazing skyward, I notice a few leaves still atop some tall White poplar trees as well as some on the path. This non-native tree, often confused with White birch, is rarely seen around here but does have some invasive traits. It outcompetes many native tree species and interferes with the normal progress of natural succession. Dense stands of White poplar prevent other plants from coexisting by reducing the amount of sunlight, nutrients, water and space available. Continuing west, I spot a massive White Oak holding many brown, papery leaves as well as some in the leaf litter. The name for this type of leaf retention is marcescence, from a Latin root meaning ‘to shrivel’. Like other types of oaks, this tree lacks enzymes responsible for producing an abscission layer (stock photo) at the base of the leaf stem that allows the leaf to easily be released from the tree. As to why this occurs, one commonly accepted belief is that by concealing next year’s growth; the tasty, nutritious, new-twig growth and buds that lie beneath them; the desiccated, bitter-tasting, difficult-to-digest leaves, which have little food value, may act as a deterrent to browsers, such as deer. Not surprisingly, up ahead I come upon a mature Red Oak holding its leaves as well as a Bur Oak with some of its leaves on the path. Still heading west, I pass by a Quaking Aspen holding on to some leaves while many are seen on the path below. Nearby, I notice some leaves of American Elm still hanging on. Also, I spot two trees not only holding on to their leaves but also their fruit: Crab Apple and Wild Apple. Turning around and heading east, I pass by a small Black willow tree and a towering Rock Elm tree with leaves that are still green. Nearing the end of our hike, the bright red berries of Viburnum catch my attention. 

 

Gone from the fields

Luster of gold

Warmth of summer

Has now turned cold

Gone are redwings

That ruled the marsh

Winds of November

Blow stiff and harsh

Gone is the green

Of leaves and vines

Revelations of nature

Mid-autumn signs

 

D. DeGraaf

November 2

Near the end of my journey to reach the source of the Pine River, I’m a mile south of the village of Remus overlooking Pine Lake, a private, 16-acre impoundment of the river. Under overcast skies and temperatures in the low 40’s, I follow a leaf-covered path to the water’s edge to view the mirrored surface of this secluded, private lake. Tracing the river upstream from the lake, I find a narrow channel of water slowly flowing from north to south. Exploring the surrounding area, I glance up a huge Maple trunk to spot some edible, Chicken of the Woods mushrooms. In the leaf litter, I spot some unusual looking Aspen leaves. These yellow leaves with patches of green are not quite dead. Residing in a tiny pocket of tissue near the base of the green patch is a translucent 2mm. caterpillar (stock photo) feeding on tissue. The larva secretes an anti-senescent hormone that keeps part of the leaf alive so that it can keep eating. Soon, it will pupate for winter and emerge as a tiny adult moth (stock photo) in spring.  Next, I drive about a mile north to Wheatland Township Park in Remus to search for the actual terminus of the Pine. Hiking south from the car, I notice the leaf litter has Maple leaves with dark patches called Tar spot-a fungal disease that attacks the leaves but does not kill the tree. Overhead, as a gust of north wind blows, I observe leaves of a Willow tree sway against the gloomy sky. Continuing south, I trudge through a large wetland that, in-fact, is the ultimate source of water for the Pine River to begin flowing. Along the way, some plants with lingering fruit catch my eye including: Winterberry, Privet and Virginia Creeper. Finally, I come upon what can be called the beginning of the river channel-a narrow stream of water covered with a green blanket of highly invasive, Water Hyacinth. This free-floating aquatic plant forms dense mats that block sunlight from what once was open water. This drastically reduces the number of native algae and plankton in the water, which in turn disrupts the food chain. Native to South America, Water Hyacinth was introduced in the United States as an ornamental pond plant in the 1880’s. Spreading through the southern states, it’s now reached Michigan, although its impact is less since it dies back in sustained freezing temperatures. With gratitude for a successful journey from end to beginning, I bid farewell to the Pine River.

 

End of the beginning 

Falling into springtime

Over months of weekly days

Flowing down upstream

Along narrow channel wide

On gentle current strong

Straight meandering course

With flooded shallow banks

Through vast fields of forests

Under clouds of sunny skies

Witnessing wildlife of death

Pine River with me, without

 

D. DeGraaf