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