May 4

The late morning temperatures are in the mid 40’s under mostly cloudy skies and a variable north wind, as I begin hiking in the Jailhouse Trail just south of Ithaca. Right away, I come upon a Red Squirrel Midden, a large pile of discarded conifer cones and cone scales at the base of a White Pine tree. A pile like this is created over years by a single squirrel.  It will tunnel into the Midden to create chambers where it caches fresh cones gathered in late summer for winter survival. From the trail, I notice patches of blossoming Daffodils growing on the forest floor. These wild patches are often indicators of abandoned homesteads, old cabins, or forgotten cemeteries. Because Daffodils are toxic to deer and other wildlife, they are rarely eaten, allowing them to naturalize and multiply over decades. On the damp ground, I spot a mound of mud that serves as the entrance to an underground tunnel system for a terrestrial burrowing crayfish (stock photo). Referred to as chimneys, they are made by digging a hole and depositing balls of mud around it. Used for accessing water, hiding from predators and reproduction, tunnels can extend 2 to 3 feet deep. Up ahead, I spot a large patch of Japanese Knotweed, a fast-growing, highly invasive plant known for its bamboo-like stems. This plant, native to Japan, China, Korea and Taiwan, is one of the most invasive plants in the world and is thought to be found on every continent besides Antarctica. In Michigan, it is a “prohibited species”. Under state law it is illegal to possess, introduce, sell, or grow Knotweed without a permit. Turning around, I examine the leaf litter where I spot a 1/3 inch Drumming Sword Wolf Spider. The spider's common name refers to the male’s courtship behavior. Upon finding a female, the male drums his appendages near the mouth and twitches his abdomen against dry leaves creating a purring or humming sound that can be heard up to 10 feet away. Off in the distance, I spot some fresh 12-inch diameter Pheasant's Back mushrooms growing on a decaying stump. While technically edible and non-toxic, this fungi is considered to have a poor taste and becomes very tough as it matures. Nearing the car, my ears perk up to the farewell call of a Northern Cardinal. By the time I exit the trail, I feel like I haven’t just walked through the woods—I’ve witnessed another shift in the season. Not dramatic, not loud, but steady and certain. Maybe that’s the real lesson from nature today. Sometimes it whispers through blossoms, breezes and birdsongs, asking only that I slow down enough to notice.

 

Shaded trail

Beneath the dome

Chipmunk retreats

To hidden home

On muddy ground

Ephemerals grow 

Spring Beauty

Puts on a show

Beams of sun

Break the day

Birdsongs resound

Beginning of May

 

D. DeGraaf

April 27

The early morning temperatures on this “Earth Day” 2026 are in the low 40’s under mostly clear skies as my dog, Riley and I begin our daily “runway” walk, a .75 mile up-and-back hike from our house through a part our neighbor’s property. Right away, I’m pleased to hear a House Wren as it has returned from its southern winter grounds to nest in the neighborhood.  After quietly passing through our neighbor’s sheep pasture, we proceed into a wooded area where I scan the leaf litter to spot a few small wildflowers that I’ve never seen before, called Striped Squills. This is a non-native plant that was originally brought to North America from the Middle East as an ornamental garden bulb. Up ahead, I pause to listen to a couple of Chipping sparrows calling to each other after returning from their winter migration. After spotting a Whitetail deer scampering through a patch of Mayapples, we finally reach the runway, a secluded ¼ mile stretch of open grassland once used as a landing strip by a neighbor. Over the years, this place has been a welcome retreat for Riley to run free while I enjoy the sights and sounds of nature. Exploring the ground, I notice hundreds of newly formed mounds of Field ants including this one where tiny workers are moving in and out. These workers survive winter by entering a dormant state where their metabolism slows, and they cluster around the queen deep underground. Before winter, they consume large amounts of food allowing them to survive months without eating. On the ground nearby, I spot a few blossoms of Wild Strawberry and Pussy Toes. Pussy Toes get their name from the fuzzy, soft, white-to-pink flower clusters that resemble the tiny pads of a cat's paw. Small solitary bees visit these flowers for nectar and pollen while tiny flies and beetles may also visit the blooms. While Riley takes a break, I spot a Serviceberry tree with its white blossoms. The fruit from this tree is a delicious, sweet, dark purple-blue berry that ripens in early summer (stock photo). Up ahead, I notice an Apple tree displaying young leaves and flower buds. Tuning in to birdsongs, I pick up the call of a Northern Cardinal and a Red-bellied woodpecker. After reaching the cropland on the northern end of the runway, we turn around and head for home. On this Earth Day, it’s easy to think big—global issues, sweeping challenges. But out here, the meaning feels smaller and more immediate. It’s in the blossoms, the bird calls, the ants at work and the unfolding season. It’s the simple act of walking, noticing, and belonging, even briefly, to this living, breathing landscape

Edge of April

Mid of Spring

Crows Caw

Peepers sing

Rising orb

Mid of morn

Noisy dome

Bluejays warn

Forest fugue

Nature sounds

Whitetail runs

Red squirrel bounds

 

D. DeGraaf

April 20

The early morning temperatures are in the low 60’s under mostly cloudy skies and a gentle north breeze as I begin my hike in the Ithaca Public Schools Outdoor Education Area while being greeted by a loud, defensive male Redwing Blackbird. Proceeding into a dense forest dominated by mature Red Oak trees, I’m surrounded by piles of logs of dead, decaying Ash trees killed by the Emerald Ash borer. Overhead, I see a wide open canopy and hear a solitary Spring Peeper. Soon, I approach a sign and proceed to the John Clark pond where I notice a newly built deck in honor of John, replacing the old one that rotted away. Back in the 1980’s and 90’s, as an exemplary high school science instructor, John used his extensive knowledge of natural history to offer outdoor education opportunities to his students. During that time, he got the Ithaca School district to acquire and prep this property for field trips. John worked tirelessly to get as many K-12 students and teachers as possible to use this resource. Further along the Clark pond, I hear a Bluejay along with the distant drumming of a woodpecker. This rhythmic pounding is a classic sign of the season, acting as a "love song" to announce territory and attract mates. Woodpeckers can strike a surface up to 20 times per second, using specialized anatomy to avoid brain injury. Looking downward, I notice the ground is covered with male flowers of Red Maple. Appearing as vibrant crimson "confetti", these tiny, clustered flowers bloom before leaves emerge, with male flowers falling to the ground while female flowers remain on branches to develop into winged seeds. Heading back toward the car, I notice a cluster of Turkey Tail mushrooms tinted with a green algae that form a mutualistic, relationship on the mushroom's surface, gaining a better position for photosynthesis while the mushroom provides a stable, moist habitat. Back at the car, I notice the sign at the gate while a neighbor reveals to me that only 2 groups of elementary students have been bussed here for field tips in the last year. While research shows the importance of outdoor education for young people, minimal usage is likely due to a lack of teacher training in outdoor education along with a lack of a nature-based curriculum at the district level. So, I take one last look before heading out, feeling a quiet sense of gratitude. There’s something grounding about being here—about slowing down enough to notice moss, fallen flowers and distant bird calls. I carry that stillness of mind with me as I leave, hoping it lingers throughout the day.

 

What is spring

To the eye and ear

Wonders of nature

To see and hear

Skunk Cabbage

Breaks the ground

Its gift of green

Is spread around

Tree of the morning

A Cardinal’s home 

Song of the season

Fills the dome

 

D. DeGraaf 

April 13

The early afternoon temperatures are in the low 40’s under partly sunny skies and a noticeable south breeze as I find myself at Lumberjack Park, standing on the Madison Rd bridge as the overflowing water of the Pine River moves under me. Also, from the bridge, I spot the ornate female flowers of a Silver Maple. These trees are "synchronous" bloomers, meaning all flowers on a tree (and often the entire park) burst into bloom within a few days. Following an earthen trail north, I pause to see the way ahead over a boardwalk spanning a wetland. Turning west, I walk along the edge of Mud Creek where I come upon a noisy gander defending his nest area. Approaching the footbridge, I recall how different the landscape was back in December. Continuing through a stand of tall Red and White Pine, I then turn back toward the river where I pick up the faint call of a Nuthatch. Walking along the high north riverbank, I pause at the bench to take in the lovely scenery of spring. Aware that the Lumberjack Rd bridge is closed for replacement, I loop back on the White Pine Trail where I come upon several tree trunks with dark lumpy growths. These growths are called Bacterial Crown Galls. They form due to excessive cell division in response to bacteria, fungi, insects, or environmental stressors. While they can appear alarming, they are often similar to scar tissue and indicate the tree has been fighting off an infection or pest. Looking down at the leaf litter, I notice a Cluster Fly resting on a Big-tooth Aspen Leaf. Cluster fly larvae are soil-dwelling maggots that act as parasites on earthworms, developing entirely outdoors. Females lay eggs near earthworm burrows, where larvae hatch, enter the worm, and feed on it for 2–3 weeks before pupating. Retracing my steps back toward the car, I walk across Mud Creek on the footbridge and then across the boardwalk where I spot a few sprouts of Skunk Cabbage which are mottled, maroon, hood-like shells that house knob-like bracts. As its name suggests, it emits a foul, skunk-like  odor when bruised or during its flowering phase. Near the car, I come across an old church foundation where the stones lie on the forest floor, a reminder of those who once gathered here. In conclusion, I realize that early spring here doesn’t arrive all at once. Instead it’s gradual—rising water, softening soil, new green shoots and the quiet return of life. For me, walking through Lumberjack Park isn’t about dramatic change, but about noticing small, steady transitions that signal the season turning.

Mid of April

Into the wild

Life and death

Are reconciled

Flesh and bone

Creature gives

Blood and fur

Predator lives

Down the path

A barren field

Nature’s cycle

Carcass revealed

 

D. DeGraaf

April 6

The early morning temperatures are in the mid 50’s under mostly cloudy skies and a stiff west wind as I prepare to hike at the 90-acre Forest Hill Nature Area. While listening to a Song Sparrow, I follow a grass trail west through a meadow of amber-colored Switch Grass. Arriving at the edge of one of the ponds, called Sora Swale, I scan the flooded landscape while listening to several birdsongs and the solitary mating call of a male American Toad. What a contrast to what this same place looked like during the drought of 2024. Nearby on a tree trunk, I spot a faded and tattered egg mass of a Spongy Moth (formally a Gypsy Moth) (stock photo). Eggs from viable masses will hatch into caterpillars in late April and could easily defoliate large trees. Entering South Woods, I notice male catkins of Quaking Aspen trees scattered on the muddy trail. Up ahead, I come upon a true, but subtle, sign of spring, a 1-inch leaf of a Trout Lily poking up through the leaf litter. Soon, the forest floor will display lots of these. Arriving at the edge of another one of the ponds, called Swanson Swamp, I listen closely to hundreds of Chorus Frogs along with the solitary mating call of a male Spring Peeper (stock photo.) This early caller is hoping to attract females without competition. It wouldn’t be long and the whole wetland will be “peeping”. Exiting the woods, I follow the trail through White Birch row, turn north and pause to listen to the lovely song of a Tuffed Titmouse. A little further, I notice a birch tree displaying some Tinder Conks.  This fungus infects a tree through broken bark causing it to rot. It will reside on trees long after they have died, transitioning from a parasite to a decomposer. Making my way through North Woods, I first notice the trail ahead is marked with fresh deer tracks, and then I come upon a large patch of Pennsylvania Sedge. Exiting the woods, I make my way along another pond, called Willow Wallow, where I hear the loud calls of Canada Geese announcing their plans to nest here. Climbing to the top of Reflection Hill, I turn toward a flooded Mallard March where I watch a noisy pair of Mallards fly westward. Overlooking Grebe Pond, I gaze afar at a large raptor flying toward me. Not until it flew past me where I could make out its white tail feathers did I realize it was a Bald Eagle. As I make my way back toward the car, the west wind continues its steady push, rustling branches and bending Switch Grass. On this day, Forest Hill Nature Area did not offer a single dramatic scene, but a chorus of subtle changes—each one a note in the unfolding song of spring.

Onset of April

Opening days

Greening meadow

Whitetails graze

Closing canopy

Opening lairs

Creatures gather

Mating pairs

Open water

Free of snow

Free of ice

Mallards show

 

D. DeGraaf

March 30

The noontime temperatures are in the mid 40’s under mostly cloudy skies and a gentle breeze as I begin my hike on Consumer’s Energy property along the north side of the Pine River Millpond in Alma. To start with, I spot a mating pair of Mallards and then follow a narrow earthen trail through a dense stand of leafless Sandbar Willow. Along the way, one of the branches displays a dried up rose gall. Last year, midge larvae feeding on stem tips, disrupted their growth causing leaves to form a, flower-like rosette. (stock photo). Generally these galls are harmless to the overall health of the tree. Nearby, I come upon a dead Opossum on the ground with patchy white and dark fur. This unusual color is due to Leucism-a recessive genetic condition causing partial loss of pigmentation. Looking more closely, I see it has been killed by a body gripper trap (stock photo). A little farther, I notice remnants of a Muskrat lodge as well as a dead Fox Squirrel, also killed by a gripper trap. Gazing far out on the millpond, I observe a pair of Trumpeter Swans. When lakes and rivers start freezing in late fall, some of these birds move south to find open water—often just to nearby states like Indiana, Illinois, Missouri, or Arkansas. If they can find open water and food locally, they will stay in Michigan all winter. Passing by a stand of last year’s cattails, I’m not surprised to see and hear a male Redwing Blackbird defending his nest territory. Nearby, I first hear the harsh call of a Common Grackle before it flies off over the water. Even though these two blackbird species forage in the same mixed flocks, their interactions can turn violent when resources or territories are at stake. Male Red-winged Blackbirds are notoriously fierce defenders of their nesting sites. They will aggressively dive-bomb and attack Grackles that trespass into their space. Likewise, Grackles are known to raid Redwings nests to eat their eggs and chicks. Up ahead, I spot the bright red fruit of American Bittersweet. Although poisonous to humans, the berries are a food source for many songbirds as well as small mammals like Fox squirrels. Speaking of Fox Squirrels, I spot a one perched on a tree branch staring at me while flicking its tail and chattering, a behavior to warn other squirrels of potential danger. As I looped back toward the car, I’m reminded that even this side of the Pine River has a story to tell. Stark beauty, life and death, natural rhythms and human influence—all coexist here. It is this blend, perhaps, that keeps drawing me back: not just to experience nature, but to witness its complexity.

Nature awakes

This time of year

Signs of the season

Spring is here!

Snow and ice

No longer conceal

Skunk Cabbage

Sprouts reveal

Cardinal calls

High in a perch

Finding a mate

Ending his search

 

D. DeGraaf

March 23

The mid-day sky is sunny, temperatures in the mid 50’s with a gentle westerly breeze as I begin my hike on the disc golf course east of downtown Alma. Heading east, I first hear the song of a Northern Cardinal and then spot a leafless Wild Dog Rose shrub displaying large, ovoid fruit. While some of these “hips” have spoiled over the winter, others are soft, sweet and edible. Reaching the edge of the Pine River, I pause to hear a single male Redwing Blackbird mixed with sounds of Canada Geese.  Along the shore, I’m surprised to see recent Beaver activity, including a newly gnawed stump of a Hawthorn tree and another of a large Maple tree. These stumps are often left standing when a beaver is in the process of felling a tree for food, specifically the soft, nutritious layer of wood beneath the bark, or for gathering building materials for their dams and lodges. From the riverbank, I look through leafless branches to see and hear a mating pair of Canada Geese squaring off with others, wings spread and necks low, splashing and lunging in a dispute over nesting territory. While these displays usually work, ganders have been known to use their strong beaks and powerful wings to strike at intruders, including humans. Up ahead, I spot a few golf-ball size woody growths on branches of a Red Oak tree. Called Gouty Oak Galls, these growths house developing larvae. While often harmless, persistent infestations can kill branches and stunt or misshape the tree. A tiny, non-stinging wasp lays eggs in the twigs forming the gall, which serves as a food source and shelter for the larvae.  Continuing my hike on a path covered with dried oak leaves, I notice the shadows cast by the trees behind me and remember that since today is the Vernal Equinox and based on the sun’s elevation, these shadows are half as long as they were back at the Winter Solstice and will continue to shorten until the Summer Solstice in June. Heading back toward the car, my ears perk up to the sound of hundreds of tiny male Midland Chorus Frogs (stock photo). Pausing at a vernal pond where they congregate, the noise is so loud it’s hard to hear the squeaky call each one makes, described as the sound of running a thumbnail along the teeth of a stiff plastic comb. Near the car, I pause to bid farewell to a Black-capped Chickadee singing "good bye" to  me from a spruce tree. Today, the equinox did not arrive with fanfare. It revealed itself in birdsongs, in flowing water and the tension between seasons. On today's hike it was clear: the balance has tipped. Spring is no longer coming. It is here!

Star of the earth

You light the way

Sun of the heavens 

You warm the day

Source of life

None can deny

Sun of the heavens

Orb of the sky

Rays you send

Beams you bring

Sun of the heavens

Welcome to spring

 

D. DeGraaf

March 16

The early morning sky is overcast with temperatures in the low 40’s as I begin my hike in a section of the Maple River State Game Area, west of US 127. The entire area covers about 9,000–10,000 acres of public land stretching across Gratiot and Clinton counties. It forms the largest contiguous wetland complex in mid-Michigan, composed of floodplains, marshes, woodlands, grasslands, and agricultural fields along the Maple River corridor. Because of these varied habitats, the area serves as both a breeding ground and migratory stopover for thousands of birds each year. After noticing a Robin perched on a nearby tree branch, my ears perk up to the call of distant geese as well as the long, repetitious song of a Song Sparrow. These short-to-medium distance migrants (stock photo) have returned to nest and provide us with their lovely serenade. Up ahead, I pause to see and hear another migrant, a male Redwing blackbird that arrived to establish a breeding territory (about 0.5 acres). Redwing males are polygamous, actively defending their territories to host 2–5 females who will arrive in a week or two. On the shore, I come upon an 18-inch carcass of a Common Carp. This non-native fish was introduced in the USA in the 1800s as a food and game fish. By 1885, the U.S. Fish Commission was actively stocking lakes and rivers throughout the country. Since they can tolerate cold winters and low-oxygen water, their population thrives in this habitat. Soon, these wetlands will be churning with splashing carp as their annual spawning ritual takes place. Carp are a popular food source in Europe and Asia. Not so in the US, since they require specific preparation to manage numerous small bones and a potentially "muddy" taste. Overhead, I see and hear a pair of noisy Sandhill Cranes that are likely returning from their winter grounds in Florida and the Gulf Coast to nest in these wetlands or nearby agricultural areas. Out on the water, I watch a Muskrat swim north on the placid surface. Before turning around, my attention is drawn to the low hum of distant highway traffic drifting across the wetlands, a reminder that even here, in the middle of this marshy refuge, civilization lies just beyond the trees. Nearing the car, I spot a mating pair of Canada geese likely establishing their nesting area. These waterfowl are intensely territorial and protective during nesting season with the male (gander) actively defending the nest and female from threats. He will exhibit aggressive behaviors like standing tall, hissing, honking, and charging, and will attack humans or predators that approach too closely. 

From stillness of winter

To sounds of spring

Mother nature wakes

To birds that sing

Redwings shrill

Robins serenade

From Sandhill Cranes

Calls are made

From open water

Mallards quack

Noisy geese

Are welcomed back

 

D. DeGraaf

March 9

The early afternoon skies are mostly cloudy with temperatures in the low 40’s as I find myself in Alma’s Conservation Park beginning my hike on a re-designed “Trail of Trees”. Instead of the trailhead being north of the restroom building, the new trailhead starts and ends at the Eyer Learning Circle. Turning right, I follow a meandering earthen trail northward past trunks of Wild Cherry, White Cedar and Muscle-wood trees. Continuing north, I spot the ice-covered Pine River Mill Pond through the leafless understory. Curving left, I converge with an asphalt trail and head west where decaying leaves of Red Oak, Sugar Maple and Big-tooth Aspen are seen as well as a female cone of White Pine. Up ahead, as the sun appears, long shadows from tree trunks cut across the path. Continuing west, I pause near the base of a Bur Oak tree, where I’m not surprised to see a few “bur-like” acorn caps which gives the tree its name. Turning south along the edge of a dirt road, I look up to notice dried up seed pods of a Black Locust tree still hanging to branches and a Fox Squirrel perched on a horizontal branch. Nearby, I come upon another Fox Squirrel feeding on a walnut before scampering away. This time of year, squirrels are eating food from buried food caches they stored in the fall. Their memory helps them recover many caches, but they also rely heavily on their sense of smell. Turning onto a paved road, my ears perk up to caws of crows before pausing to spot two, well-camouflaged Whitetail deer staring at me through the dense underbrush. Right now, these deer are likely at their lowest body weight of the year. Since winter food was limited, they will spend a lot of time browsing heavily on twigs and bugs, eating remaining acorns buried in the leaf litter and foraging for early green plants emerging where snow has melted. Turning east, on the paved road, I spot a Pine tree trunk with neatly placed holes made by a Pileated Woodpecker. While most of the leafless canopy remains wide open, evergreen needles of White Pine and Norway Spruce provide some shade. After passing the Eyer Bird Hut, I turn left and follow a mulch-covered path north to my final stop which is the Eyer Learning Circle. After, looking at the kiosk displays, I sit on one of the benches facing east where I notice a variety of tree trunks. Then, I move around and sit on a bench facing west where I notice more tree trunks. Before leaving, I relax and reflect on signs of the waning winter and the waiting spring season ahead.

March is ready

Curtain opens wide

Green begins to show

Snow begins to hide

Props are in place

Stage is clear

Room for Redwings

Room for deer

Geese arrive

Right on cue

Robins appear

If only a few

 

D. DeGraaf

March 2

Under sunny skies and temperatures in the low 30’s, I begin my hike in the Little Salt Creek park, located in the village of Shepherd. As I watch the water flow north, I’m reminded that “salt” in the river’s name has nothing to do with the chemistry of the surface water. Instead, it's associated with underground brine deposits nearby that once were mined for valuable minerals. Following the riverbank, I pause as the water flows slowly downstream. Standing here, I feel a quiet certainty that winter is retreating and spring is taking hold. Up ahead, I come upon what could be the start of a bird nest. Having heard a Carolina Wren last week near Mt. Pleasant and knowing that they are early, sloppy nesters, I’m thinking this could be one of theirs. Moving away from the channel, I make my way onto a wooded flood plain where I spot a Melanistic Gray Squirrel scampering down a tree trunk. Nearby, I first hear the not-so-common call of a Blue Jay and then spot a cluster of red fruit of High-bush Cranberry. Down the path, I walk past some deer tracks on a patch of snow while listening to the call of a Northern Cardinal. Continuing to explore, I look down at a patch of Turkey Tail fungi growing on a decaying log and then look up at a wide-open forest canopy. Nearby, I hear a Robin singing from on high while at my feet, the litter consists of Cottonwood and Maple leaves. Before turning around, I come again to the creek channel where I disturb a flock of Geese. Heading back, I spook a few deer and watched them race across a distant ridge. Nearing the car, I encounter a few muddy mounds created by Eastern Moles (stock photo). These small mammals remain active all winter and do not hibernate. They usually tunnel below the frost line hunting for worms and larvae. As the ground thaws they push soil up from deeper tunnels creating these volcano-shaped mounds. Taking one last look as water flows toward me, I think about the identify crisis of this watercourse. 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. Likewise, the graveyard south of the village is still called Salt River Cemetery and this park is called “Little Salt River Park. However, there is another watercourse that runs through the middle of Isabella and Midland Counties that currents maps label “Salt River” (stock photo). To confuse matters even more, upstream this same watercourse meanders through a golf course that once named it “Winding Brook” and now names it “Maple Creek”.

March commences

Lingering chill

Creatures hiding

Sounds are nil

Out of the silence

A song is heard

Morning melody

Nature stirred

High in the pines

Message to bring

Cardinal of winter

Beckoning spring

 

D. DeGraaf

February 23

The early morning temperatures are in the upper 20’s under partly sunny skies as I begin my hike in Bulger Preserve, CWC’s newest acquisition.  Established in 2025, this 1+ acre property is located along the Chippewa River, 5 miles SW of Mt. Pleasant. Soon, I pause to listen to the clear call of a Carolina Wren (stock photo). These birds are increasingly common year-round residents of the state, due to warmer winters. They are early nesters, sometimes beginning in April, and are known to nest in man-made spots like mailboxes, hanging plants, and garages. Exploring the flood plain, I come upon the skull bone of a Virginia Opossum. These common critters have a very short lifespan, typically living only 1.5 to 2 years in the wild due to high predation, vehicular accidents, and environmental stress such as extreme cold, which can cause frostbite on their tails and ears. Continuing through the woodland, my ears first perk up to the call of a Tufted Titmouse (stock photo) and then a Common Crow. The ground around me displays an oak, maple leaf litter as well as deer scat. Overhead, I spot branches of needles of Canadian Hemlock as well as branches of a Muscle Wood tree still hanging on to its dead leaves. Called Marcescence, dead leaves of this tree do not fall off in autumn but remain attached until spring growth pushes them off. The dried leaves may protect delicate overwintering buds from: drying winter winds, sudden temperature swings and browsing deer since those crispy leaves might make twigs slightly less appealing. When new leaves begin to push out in April and May, they physically shove off the old papery leaves. One windy warm day and suddenly the tree is clean again. Reaching the snow-covered edge of the Chippewa River, I look upstream as the water flows past. Then, I look downstream as the water continues to wear away the icy shoreline. The river here is about halfway on its journey from its source in Barryton to the Chippewa Nature Center near Midland where it merges with the Pine River. Turning back toward the car, I come upon an interesting bark trio of a Hop Hornbeam tree next to a White Cedar tree with a Wild Grape vine between them. Pausing near the car, I think about nature’s familiar late-winter duality of stillness and stirring. The ice will withdraw soon. The snow patches will fade into memory. Buds will swell among the trees. This morning beneath a partly sunny sky, the preserve shows both endings and beginnings as a scenic watercourse moves steadily along its edge.

No gathering geese

Or mallards in flight

No croaking frogs

To welcome the night

Nestled in mud

Turtles aren’t seen

Beige and broken

Cattails aren’t green

River wetlands

Covered and sealed

End of February

Nature revealed

 

D. DeGraaf

February 16

The mid-morning sky is partly sunny with temperatures in the low 30’s as I begin my hike on a paved path in Mt. Pleasant’s Millpond Park. Up ahead, I can barely make out a Red squirrel perched high on a limb. Unlike Fox and Gray squirrels that bury their food in caches under the snow, Red squirrels harvest green cones, carry them to a favorite perch and methodically strip them for seeds. Over time, the discarded cones accumulate into noticeable mounds called middens (stock photo). Following the trail, I notice some of the ice-covered surface of the Chippewa River has opened up revealing flowing water. Looking more closely, I spot a few members of a large flock of Robins drinking water and flying around. Most likely these birds have taken the risk of wintering-over in the park rather than migrate. They can survive by consuming winter foods like Winterberry, Hawthorn and Juniper. In cold snaps, they sometimes gorge on fermented crabapples — which can make them disoriented (drunk). Other cold weather survival techniques of Robins include fluffing their feathers to trap heat and roosting in the shelter of a Cedar swamp. Glancing out on an ice-covered section of the river, I spot tracks of thirsty animals converging on a watering hole. Continuing along the path, I pause to watch the river water flow rapidly north carving a narrow channel through the ice. After looping back across the river, I spot a tree trunk covered with several rope-like vines of Poison Ivy as well as a newly gnawed 6-inch Beaver stump. Nearby, I pause to hear the faint song of a Northern Cardinal. Just ahead, I’m surprised to still see a few reddish-orange berries on a Bittersweet tree while near the ground, I spot the winter remains of once-lovely blossoms of Queen-Anne’s Lace. Veering off the paved trail, I follow a snow-covered path through a dense stand of Box Elder trees.  Turning back toward the car, I look up to take in the awesome sight of the sun breaking through the clouds. Nearing the car, I pause to hear a rare muted whirring call of a Blue Jay. Most everyone is familiar with the “jay-jay-jay” or “jeer” call of this bird. However, Blue Jays have a large repertoire of calls including those that mimic hawks. When I turn toward the parking lot, I look back at my footprints in the snow realizing they will fade in a few days. Trees will remain. The river will thaw. Other tracks will appear. Driving toward home, I’m grateful for another winter morning communing with nature at Mill Pond Park.

Waters of life

Nourishes earth

Flows in her veins

River of worth

Wonder of nature

Beauty to inspire

Clean and clear

River to admire

More than a stream

More than a creek

Cherish the Chippewa

River unique

 

D. DeGraaf

February 2

Repost Jan 30, 2018

January 19

The mid-morning skies are cloudy with temperatures in the upper 30’s and a SW breeze as I begin my hike on the Meijer Bike Trail, west of Alma. One of my favorite nature trails, this 42-mile paved path follows an old railroad corridor and is maintained by volunteers and local supporters, linking communities across the region. Almost immediately, in contrast to a mostly colorless landscape, my attention draws to the bright red fruit on Winterberry shrubs. Nearby, Oriental Bittersweet vines twist through other shrubs, their orange and yellow fruit splitting open to reveal bright red interiors. This species grows aggressively, often strangling trees, toppling fences, and outcompeting native plants. Not so noticeable are the shriveled clusters of poison ivy berries clinging stubbornly. Off in the woodland, I observe the form of a perching Black squirrel (Melanistic Gray) while at my feet on part of trail that still had patches of snow, I note its tracks as well as tracks of a small Red Squirrel. Places on the trail that are bare, display a Burr-Oak leaf and a Slippery Elm leaf. Not far off the trail, a fresh deer carcass lies partially dusted with snow. Since there is no sign of trauma, it hard to know the cause of death.  Continuing east, I pause on a bridge to watch the water of Honeyoey Creek flow rapidly toward its confluence with the Pine River, some 2 miles south of here (stock photo). This infamous watercourse is a major source of nutrient and bacterial contamination from agricultural runoff and manure, which dumps excess nitrogen, phosphorus, and fecal bacteria into the river. These pollutants fuel algal growth and degrade water quality, especially visible in the Alma Millpond in the spring and summer. Turning around, I spot the trunk of a White poplar tree. These are fast-growing deciduous trees native to Europe and western Asia but widely planted in North America. Their spreading root systems can form colonies and invade native habitats. Next to the path, I notice some Laurel Dodder vines that grow tightly around other plants. Unlike most vines, this plant has no true leaves and little chlorophyll. Instead of rooting in soil, it inserts specialized structures called haustoria into its host plant, siphoning off water and nutrients. Over time, heavy infestations of this vine can weaken or kill shrubs, herbs and trees. Approaching the car, the breeze picks up slightly, swaying the still-clinging leaves of American Beech and White Oak. At the car, I recall that the hike was not dramatic or scenic in a postcard sense. However, in this stark winter landscape, every color, sound, and track mattered a little more to me ever thankful that I slowed down enough to notice.

Birds of the cold

Quest to survive

Swarming the feeder

Staying alive

Cardinal of red

Junco of gray

Eyes of the raptor

Fixed on its prey

A sudden dive

From a tree above

Life for the Hawk

Death for the Dove

D. DeGraaf

January 5

Under mostly cloudy skies and temperatures in the mid 50’s, today’s nature hike with Caroline and daughter, Allison takes us along the edges of Crissy Field Marsh in San Francisco, California. Once a forgotten military airfield, this wetland was restored to life through careful planning and community effort. Tides returned, native plants took root, and birds followed—transforming pavement and rubble into a living shoreline where water, wind, and wildlife now meet. One side of the marsh, we walk past coastal scrub habitat near the sandy shore of San Francisco Bay. The air carries the faint tang of salt, a reminder that this restored wetland breathes with the tides of the bay. In the distance, we notice Alcatraz Island. Located one-and-a-half miles out in the bay, this landmass was the site of an infamous federal prison. Although the last inmates were transferred off the island in 1963, the main prison block is still open to the public. Across the water, the Golden Gate Bridge appears and disappears as fog shifts in thin veils. A landmark willing to share the stage with tidal channels and marsh grasses. Nearby, we spot human and dog footprints pressed into damp sand--evidence of shared use and shared time. Up ahead, we notice a few blossoms of Coastal Strawberry. This plant is highly salt-tolerant and used for erosion control and dune stabilization. The flowers attract bees and butterflies, while the berries provide food for birds and small mammals. As the trail moves away from the shore, we pause to take in the view of the scrub vegetation and the lake-like open water of the marsh. Next, we watch a Willet shorebird (stock photo) fly over our heads and land far down the muddy shore. At our feet, we spot the closed blossoms of Bermuda Buttercup, Also known as Sourgrass, this low-growing perennial plant is native to South Africa. While admired for its vibrant golden blooms, it is considered a highly invasive and noxious weed in coastal California. Every so often, the wind rises just enough to carry the smell of Eucalyptus from nearby groves. Nearing the car, we pause to observe a Monterey Cypress tree with marble-size female cones. These seed cones, that can persist on branches for years, provide a critical food source for various birds and small mammals. Leaving Crissy Field Marsh, we are reminded what makes this place so compelling is that even in a great city, there are places where nature speaks first and we are wise to listen.

Old year sets

New year rises

California hike

Welcome surprises

No flowerless fields

Or ponds that freeze

Sky with birds

Trees with leaves

East or west

No matter where

Nature’s wonders

Are waiting there

 

D. DeGraaf