December 28

Welcoming the winter morning sun, I’m taking the “River Walk” in downtown Alma. With temperatures just above freezing and a noticeable south wind, I pause on a footbridge to observe the gently flowing water of the Pine River as it passes north through a corridor of leafless vegetation. Also, I’m amazed by the collection of colorful lichens growing on the metal bridge beam. Along the snowless riverbank, I come across Bush Honeysuckle with its bright red berries and a stand of unfamiliar looking reed-like stalks that I discover are from highly invasive Japanese Knotweed. Sometimes known as "Mexican bamboo" or "Michigan bamboo," this plant spreads rapidly with reddish stalks and broad leaves.Referred to as the “Incredible Hulk” of plants, it’s hard to get rid of.  If you mow it down, it spreads. If you dig it up, it spreads. Tiny bits of it can take root anywhere. Toss "dead" knotweed into a compost pile and it becomes a knotweed patch. If you spray it with herbicides, it explodes with growth. Continuing on the paved path as it curves eastward, I spot a well-camouflaged fox squirrel moving through the brush and a few Mallards swimming downstream while a gust of wind sways samaras in a Box Elder tree. Crossing another footbridge, I pause to look and listen as the river flows eastward. Exploring the bank next to the Euclid ballfields, I notice a few patches of ice as well as green leaves of Prickly Lettuce. During its first year, this biennial plant overwinters as a rosette of basal leaves. Gazing skyward, I’m not surprised to spot a couple of Fox squirrel nests. Because these critters are constantly scurrying from place to place, it’s common for them to have a second and third nest located near their main home. These additional nests are often used in an emergency to hide from a predator, to store extra food and even as a temporary rest stop. Up ahead, I first hear some European Starlings, then look up to see them perching in a tall Cottonwood tree and then, watch them fly away. These birds turn from spotted and white to glossy and dark each year without shedding their feathers. The new feathers they grow in fall have bold white tips that look like spots. (stock photo) By spring, these tips have worn away, and the rest of the feather is dark and iridescent brown. (stock photo). It’s an unusual changing act that scientists term “wear molt.”

 

Senses and seasons of nature

Through the months, through the mind

Waves that crashed, rivers that flowed

Sun that shined, skies that snowed

Through the meadow, through the woods

O’er fields of summer flowers

Blooming in the daylight hours

Through the fog, through the rain

Paths of dirt, trails of sod

Up and down slopes to trod

Through the wind, through the wild

Memories held, far and near

Grateful for another year

 

D. DeGraaf

December 21

I’m at the south end of Alma’s Conservation Park, facing the early morning sun as it rises above the snowy landscape and distant treetops. It’s partly cloudy and cold as I pause to recognize this moment when the sun is at its winter solstice-the lowest altitude of the year (stock photo). Unfortunately, our closest star soon disappears behind a thick cloud layer. To celebrate this event, which is also the astronomical start of the winter season here in the northern hemisphere, I'm performing a Native American ritual of making and using a Prayer Stick. A few days ago, I located a Cedar tree in the park with a branch to be used for such a stick. As a way to honor all living things, I conducted a tobacco ceremony of thanksgiving to the tree before cutting and peeling the branch. Tobacco has been used by Indian nations for centuries as a medicine with cultural and spiritual importance. It was burned or smoked to promote physical, spiritual, emotional, and community well-being. It was used as an offering to the Creator or to another person, place, or being. In many teachings, the smoke from burned tobacco had a purpose of carrying thoughts and prayers to the spirit world or Creator. After adorning the stick with jewels, a feather and some fur, I now proceed through a wooded landscape to a special place along the Pine River, dig a small hole, attach a red bag of tobacco and plant it. Concluding the sacred ritual, I invoke the Great Sprit, Mother Earth and Father Sun by reciting a Native American prayer. Next, I continue ahead to the Eyer Learning circle where I sit and ponder the idea of celestial motions. Nearby, at the bird feeders, I watch a Downy Woodpecker feeding on a suet cake and a Tufted Titmouse searching for seeds. Titmice take advantage of a full feeder by storing many of the seeds they get. They carry them off one at a time, open and eat them, or hide them in tiny holes in trees or wedged behind bark. On the other feeder, I spot a White-breasted Nuthatch, another bird that often hides its seeds. These small agile birds creep along trunks and large branches, probing into bark furrows with their straight, pointed bills. Like other nuthatches, they often turn sideways and upside down on vertical surfaces as they forage.

 

Earth slumbers

Winter draws nigh

Sun of the season

Low in the sky

Deep in December

First snowy days

Sun of the season

Cooler your rays

Wildlife in waiting

Nature’s content

Sun of the season

Begin your ascent

 

D. DeGraaf

December 14

On a cold, overcast morning, I proceed west along a paved path in Alma’s Conservation Park and pause to observe a pair of Mallards swim through the mirrored surface of the Pine River Millpond. Just ahead, a sun-less view of the watercourse from the deck is in sharp contrast to the sunny view from a week ago. Nearby, I notice a perching Fox squirrel and a thin layer of ice forming near shore. Turning inland, I proceed south past the Girl Scout cabin and stop to take a close look at a patch of British Soldier lichens growing on a stump. This lichen’s claim to fame, of course, is its bright red top, which some think is reminiscent of the red jackets worn by the British “Red Coats” during the Revolutionary War. In fact, this is the lichen’s fruiting body, its reproductive structure or “apothecia” that contain spores. Following a trail along the south end of the park, I enter a dense coniferous forest of mature White pine, Red pine and White spruce. After following the meandering trail that is also used by mountain bikers, I exit into a clearing where I spot some deer scat and a fresh Opossum carcass. Opossums are one of nature’s most misunderstood animals. They’re often thought of as dimwitted and dirty creatures. The truth is just the opposite: They’re smarter, cleaner, and more beneficial to humans than many of their woodland neighbors. In North America, the words “opossum” and “possum” mean the same creature, but in Australia the word possum refers to a completely different animal known as a Brushtail Possum (stock photo). Next, I walk over to the Eyer Learning Circle of six outward-facing benches to take in the late Autumn landscape and sit for a few minutes on the north-facing bench. My last stop is the bird observation hut where I pause to observe a Dark-eyed Junco on the feeder. While I’m not surprised to see this bird, a winter-only resident in the park, I am surprised to see it up on the feeder rather than on the ground where it normally forages for seeds that have fallen. Although still considered common, current data show that Dark-eyed Junco populations declined by over 40 percent in the last several decades. Like many other bird species, this one is vulnerable to habitat loss.

 

Deep in the woods    

Noises cease              

Sounds subdued

Nature at peace

Mid of December

End of the year

Mother prepares

Slumber is near

Tucks her children

Turns down the light

Covers them up

With a blanket of white

 

D, DeGraaf

December 7

Temperatures in the low 30’s and sunny skies greet me as I begin my hike in Alma’s 50-acre Conservation Park. My first stop is the Eyer Learning Circle that has been renovated to include outward-facing benches for patrons to sit quietly and take in whatever nature has to offer. Nearby. I enter the bird observation hut to look at one of the feeders as a couple of Black-capped Chickadees stop by. I watch while they grab seeds and quickly fly off. Unlike birds with stronger beaks, like finches that can immediately open seeds and eat them on the feeder, the smaller-beak Chickadees move to nearby perches, gripping seeds with their feet while pecking meat out of the hulls. Working my way west through a late Autumn landscape, I come upon an Eastern White Pine tree with a large, unusual growth. This diseased or mutated mass of dense, deformed twigs and foliage, caused by fungi, insects, nematodes or viruses is called a Witch’s Broom. The name evolved in ancient times when they were often found in old trees in old cemeteries. It was believed this was the spot where a witch had rested during her nightly travels. Following a meandering trail through the woods, I look overhead to see a feeding Downy Woodpecker and look downward to notice needle-like ice crystals on green foliage. Once out in the open, I pause as a wind gust from the west passes through the leaves of a Black willow tree.  Also, I’m puzzled as to why these green leaves have not turned yellow and dropped like the rest of the willows in the park. Just ahead, bright red berries, still hanging from  a Viburnum tree, catch my eye. Working my way north, I pause on a high bank of the Pine River to scan the clear, blue water of the millpond, a far cry from what it looked like in July when covered by choking algae and pondweed (stock photo). Not surprisingly, I see and hear several gaggles of Canada geese swimming about. Most of them are resident geese that will stay around here through the winter as long as there is open water. Following a path eastward, I’m surprised to spot a single Common Merganser swimming far offshore. After spending its summer in the far north, this migrant is heading for warmer winter weather in the southern and western United States. 

 

Dawn of December

Pulse of nature slows

Decaying leaf litter 

Dusted by early snows

Down earthen tunnels

Retreat meadow mice

Over the vacant pond

Brittle layer of ice

Creature sounds are few

No buzzing of bees

Only a Chickadee’s call

Heard among the trees

 

D. DeGraaf