The mid-day skies are partly sunny with temperatures in the upper 30’s and a SW wind, as I watch the water of Salt Creek flow through huge culverts under Blanchard Rd, just east of the village of Shepherd. While current maps label it “Salt Creek.”, maps in the 1800’s called it “Salt River”, which was also the name of the village that is now Shepherd. To the best of my knowledge, the term “salt” in the name has nothing to do with the salinity of the surface water, instead it refers to brine-rich aquifers and springs in this area where valuable chemicals were extracted. Following the creek bank north, I still see lots of ice covering the water. Exploring the floodplain, I spot a rosette of green leaves of an invasive Dame’s Rocket plant. This rosette represents the first year of two-year life cycle. In the second year, it's a tall plant with clusters of flowers (stock photo). On the ground, an Orange Milkcap mushroom displaying gills, catches my eye. Mushroom gills are thin, papery structures on the underside of the cap where spores are produced and released. Still hiking through the flood plain, I come upon Turkey Tail mushrooms stained with green algae. This coloration indicates these are false turkey tails. True turkey tails typically have minimal algae growth and appears more uniformly colored. Moving back to the creek’s edge, I watch the water flow gently between icy shores. In the distance, I see two Canada Geese walking and honking. Most likely a mating pair, they are seeking a nesting site. Mating pairs like these will stay together for life. If one member of a pair dies, the other goose usually finds another mate within the same breeding season. Turning around, I work my way back toward the car where, I notice a few spore stalks of Sensitive ferns and imagine the green fronds displayed next summer (stock photo). Before reaching the car, I cross a foot bridge and hike along the far shore where I can barely make out a Chipping Sparrow perched in the dense undergrowth. Early naturalists had a way of describing birds you just don’t see anymore. In 1929, Edward Forbush called the Chipping Sparrow “the little brown-capped pensioner of the dooryard and lawn, that comes about farmhouse doors to glean crumbs shaken from the tablecloth by thrifty housewives.” Continuing along the creek, I notice the ground is covered Cottonwood leaf litter. Looking up, I see the branches are displaying new leaf buds. These buds exude a reddish resinous sap that has medicinal compounds for making salves and oils to treat inflammation, pain, and soreness in muscles and joints.
Spring starts to pull
Winter won’t let go
One warms the ground
Other returns the snow
One thaws the pond
Welcoming the geese
Other refreezes
Nesting efforts cease
One brings Redwings
Songs from the marsh
Other keeps the wind
Still blowing harsh
D. DeGraaf
Thanks for the blogs, and poetry. I appreciate them!
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