November 9

The early morning temperature is unseasonably warm, in the low 60s under sunny skies, as a moderate southerly breeze accompanies me on a hike through an abandoned golf course along the banks of Salt Creek, near the village of Shepherd. Pausing along the trail, I can barely distinguish a one-inch short-horned grasshopper camouflaged among the undergrowth. Unable to regulate its own body temperature, this small insect will become increasingly sluggish as temperatures fall, eventually succumbing to winter's freezing conditions. Nearby, a few bright red berries of non-native bittersweet nightshade catch my attention. Although poisonous to humans, the berries are eaten by certain birds, which help disperse the seeds. Farther along, a solitary olive-sized haw hangs from the branch of a hawthorn tree. These small fruits provide nourishment for robins, cedar waxwings, and bluebirds. Scattered across what were once carefully manicured fairways, I discover the white blossoms of frost aster and the yellow flowers of winter cress. While most wildflowers have surrendered to autumn, a solitary dandelion continues to brighten the landscape with its golden blossom. Overhead, my attention is drawn to the papery nest of bald-faced hornets, now abandoned. Earlier in the year, industrious workers chewed weathered wood fibers, mixed them with saliva, and constructed the nest in overlapping layers. These remarkable structures are rarely reused. Come spring, a surviving queen will begin building a new colony elsewhere. Following the winding creek channel, I pause at the edge of a steep, thirty-foot bank overlooking the water flowing slowly through a wooded valley. The creek appears to have spent countless years carving its meandering course through glacial deposits left behind by the last Ice Age. Long before golfers walked these fairways, flowing water was quietly shaping this landscape. Nearby, the feathery seedheads of virgin's bower, appropriately nicknamed Old Man's Beard, cling to their vines. Their long, silky white hairs often persist into winter, decorating an otherwise bare landscape. Heading back toward my car, I discover the remains of a decomposing giant puffball, a striking contrast to the fresh specimen I encountered in mid-September. Driving away, I find myself reflecting on the transformation I witnessed. Where golfers once played on neatly trimmed fairways, wildflowers, insects, fungi, and flowing water are quietly reclaiming their place. Once again, something man-made is being restored to nature-made. 

Around the bend

Clear and cold

Surface in motion

Leaves of gold

Floating branches

Budweiser can

Debris of nature

Litter of man

Needles and twigs

Onward they go

Artifacts of autumn

Flow creek flow

 

D. DeGraaf

November 2

The mid-morning temperature is in the upper 40s under mostly sunny skies as I find myself hiking along the Pine River in Centennial Park, located in the small village of Sumner. Watching fallen leaves drift slowly downstream, something unexpected catches my attention. Near the shoreline, several leaves appear to defy the river's current, traveling upstream before making a graceful U-turn and joining their companions heading downstream. I'm witnessing a small eddy, a circular movement of water created by obstructions and differences in current speed along the riverbank. Exploring a patch of stinging nettle, I spot a half-inch Ichneumon wasp crawling across a leaf. By parasitizing hosts such as caterpillars and other insect larvae, these wasps help control insect populations. On another leaf, I discover a quarter-inch Tachinid fly. Unlike their parasitic larvae, adult flies often visit flowers to feed on nectar, making them useful pollinators. Proceeding north along a woodland trail, I notice the unusual, lantern-like seed capsules of Wild Yam dangling from a vine. Interestingly, the roots contain diosgenin, a compound used commercially to manufacture certain steroid hormones. However, the human body cannot directly convert wild yam into these hormones. Continuing along the leaf-covered trail, my attention turns to the colorful autumn foliage. Brilliant shades of red adorn Wild Raspberry, Red Oak, and the invasive Winged Burning Bush. Native to northeastern Asia, this bush was introduced to North America as an ornamental plant, prized for its spectacular fall color. Unfortunately, its dense growth competes with native woodland shrubs, wildflowers, and tree seedlings. Not all the foliage has surrendered to autumn's changing palette. Among the reds, oranges, and yellows, I discover lingering green leaves of Canadian Moonseed and Greenbrier vines. Overhead, the thinning forest canopy allows sunlight to reach the woodland floor as occasional leaves flutter downward, joining the colorful litter carpeting the trail. Turning back toward my car, I'm delighted to catch my first glimpse of a Dark-eyed Junco, darting among the understory vegetation. Its subtle call is a welcome reminder that these small birds have returned to mid-Michigan for the fall and winter months. As I drive away, I'm reminded that autumn's beauty isn't limited to brilliant foliage. Sometimes its greatest rewards are found in the quiet details—a lingering green leaf, a familiar birdcall, or a fallen leaf briefly traveling against the current before continuing its journey downstream.

Nature wakes November
With much to share,
Leaves upon the forest floor
Capture my stare.

Crimson and orange,
Amber and gold,
Adorn the woodland ground
A thousandfold.

Scattered among them,
Needles of pines,
Brown and brittle,
Mid-autumn signs.

 

D. DeGraaf

October 26

The late-morning temperature is in the mid-40s under sunny skies as I walk along the Pine River in St. Louis, Michigan, listening to the distant calls of Canada geese. At my feet, I discover a few husks and nuts that have fallen from a nearby Pignut hickory tree. These nuts provide important food for squirrels and chipmunks. The unusual name dates back to early settlers who sometimes fed them to hogs. Far out on the millpond, I hear the familiar quacking of Mallards. Along the bank, I notice seedheads where the yellow blossoms of Beggar-ticks once flourished (stock photo). Nearby, a row of American Water Horehound plants displays dark clusters of tiny nutlets along their stems. Continuing along the shoreline, I'm surprised to discover a few lingering blossoms of Daisy Fleabane this late in October. Less surprising are the bright red hips of Swamp Rose. These fruits provide food for birds such as American Robins and Cedar Waxwings. Rich in vitamin C and antioxidants, rose hips have long been used to make teas and jellies. Scattered among the duckweed floating on the water, I notice several goose down feathers, likely shed during routine feather replacement or preening. Farther along, a patch of cattail-like Bur-reed catches my attention. Although closely related to cattails, Bur-reed produces distinctly different flowers and rounded, spiky seedheads. Its dense vegetation provides valuable shelter for aquatic insects, amphibians, and small fish. My peaceful walk takes a sobering turn when I pause to read a warning sign about the river's contaminated fish. Although the water appears clean, toxic chemicals persist in the bottom sediments and accumulate in fish. Even here, roughly two miles upstream from the former Velsicol Chemical plant, the legacy of DDT, once manufactured at the facility, remains. Another contaminant, PBB, is associated with Michigan's notorious 1973 livestock-feed contamination disaster. Eating contaminated fish can expose people to chemicals that may accumulate in their bodies and threaten their health. Moving on, I notice clusters of blue-black berries on European Privet, an ornamental shrub introduced from Europe and western Asia, particularly for hedges. Considered semi-evergreen, its leaves may remain green well into winter, depending on the weather. Underfoot, fallen leaves reveal the distinctive shapes of Chinquapin and Bur Oak. As my walk concludes, the geese remain noisy, the river continues its quiet journey, and autumn's colorful remnants surround me. Yet I'm reminded that appreciating nature means more than admiring its beauty. It also means recognizing its vulnerabilities and striving to protect and restore places like this.

October's river show
Awaiting flurries of snow
Fallen leaves lose their glow
A restless buck seeks a doe

Turtles settle deep below
River currents ebb and flow
From woods afar, calls the crow
While redwings left long ago

Cattails sway as cold winds blow
Seasons change, we well know
Along the river, soft and slow
Autumn changes undergo

 

D. DeGraaf

October 19

The early morning sky is gray, and the temperature is in the low 50's as I begin exploring 130 acres of private property in Gratiot County. Walking beside a placid three-acre pond, I hear the sharp, piercing call of a Northern Flicker. Nearby, I spot the feathery seedheads of Phragmites, also called common reed. One of Michigan’s tallest grasses, invasive Phragmites spreads rapidly, crowding out native cattails, sedges, and other wetland vegetation. Nearby, a small, thorny Japanese Barberry shrub displays its bright red, pea-sized berries. Originally introduced from Asia as an ornamental shrub, this invasive species can form dense thickets that create favorable habitat for blacklegged ticks, which transmit Lyme disease. Turning south, I follow the edge of a county drainage ditch, where a decomposing wooden plank catches my attention. Its weathered surface is covered with an eight-inch, white, blob-like mass of Tapioca Slime Mold. Although it resembles a fungus, this curious organism belongs to a group of amoeba-like life forms that feed on bacteria and other microorganisms. Veering east into dense woodland, I shuffle through a colorful carpet of fallen leaves. Among them are numerous clumps of Eastern Woodland Sedge, whose slender green leaves offer a pleasing contrast to the browns and golds of the forest floor. Occasionally, I come across a Sugar Maple leaf displaying a striking pattern of yellow veins branching through crimson tissue. This artistic design develops because leaf cells near the veins and those farther away do not necessarily age at the same rate. As chlorophyll disappears and other pigments become visible or accumulate, nature produces these remarkable patterns of autumn color. Turning back toward the car, I discover a Wild Turkey wing feather lying among the fallen leaves. Perhaps it was lost during the bird’s annual molt, when old feathers are replaced with new ones. Reaching the car, I reflect on how autumn offers much more than a spectacular display of colorful foliage. From the thinning canopy overhead to the smallest organisms decomposing wood on the forest floor, the woodland is preparing for another season. What appears to be an ending is also a beginning. There is beauty in these changes and reassurance in knowing that nature’s annual cycle continues.

Showy leaf
Autumn day
Won’t last
Won’t stay

Red to yellow
Fades to gray
Brown to black
Mold and decay

Disintegrates
Without delay
Turns to soil
Nature’s way

 

D. DeGraaf

October 12

Reposting of one of my nature blogs from years ago on October 12, 2013

Saturday was a good day at Forest Hill for a hike with my dog, Remi The early morning weather was sunny with some ground fog, a temperature of 45 degrees and no wind. Today, I would look for Mother Nature’s dark side, not the attractive rainbow colors of autumn, but the blacks and browns of living things, death and decay. From the crest of the hill, I proceeded down the hill to Mallard Marsh where I was surprised to see a few male redwing blackbirds perched among the cattails. Since all the resident redwings had left several weeks ago, I was unsure if they were the same birds and why they were there. I hiked through Bobolink Meadow where I noticed the flowerheads of Queen Anne’s lace had folded up and turned black. I entered North Woods and headed west where I saw plenty of dark, decaying logs on the ground. Underneath the colorful leaf litter was dark, humus-rich soil. Next to the trail, I spotted an aging white birch tree trunk covered with black fungus and lenticels. Exiting the woods, I circled Succession Field and turned east along the edge of South Woods where dark, decaying aspen leaves covered the trail. Following the trail through South Woods, I couldn’t help but notice the dark bark of a black Cherry and apple tree. I exited the woods, headed east and turned north toward Willow Wallow where I paused to watch several waves of noisy geese flying in formation high overhead. Climbing Reflection Hill, I noticed some of the goldenrod galls had turned dark including both the ball gall and bunch gall. At the top of the hill, I spotted a honeysuckle shrub with blacken, “witches broom” galls. I descended the hill to the south and proceeded toward Brady Cemetery, where I could still see the charred branches of a white pine tree killed by a wildfire over a year ago. Passing the cemetery, I turned north into Native Grassland where the black seedheads of purple cone flower punctuated the meadow. I paused at the edge of Grebe Pond where a dozen geese swam on the green surface. Continuing along the edge of the pond, I noticed a small cottonwood tree whose leaves were turning black. Flying low above the meadow was a large flock of redwings. At my feet, I spotted a black and brown, wooly bear caterpillar. Arriving at the barn, I walked to the north side where I spotted a few rotting, blacken hulls of black walnuts on the ground. Finally, we passed the classroom and arrived at the car for our trip home.

October forest

Eyes on the wild

Trail is littered

Leaves are piled

Descending the dome

One by one

Leaves of maple

Beams of sun

Up from the earth

Mushrooms appear

Just ahead

A Whitetail deer

D. DeGraaf

October 5

The mid-morning sky is sunny with a temperature in the upper 40’s and a slight breeze as I find myself about one mile west of Alma standing on the bank of Honeyoye creek close to its confluence with the Pine River. Since this important tributary is now dammed up with excess sediments drained from exposed cropland up stream, I can see its water is backed-up and stagnant, unable to flow as it should into the Pine river. Far in the distance, closer to the main river channel, I can see and hear a few noisy Killdeer birds flying among a large patch of lily pads feeding on small insects that land there. Exploring the flood plain, I come to large Box Elder tree where some Box elder bugs, both bright red instars and black adults, crawl on the trunk seeking warmth from the morning sun. These insects feed on the developing and mature seeds (“helicopters”) of female box elder trees using their piercing-sucking mouthparts to extract plant juices. Female box elder trees also provide suitable places for the bugs to lay eggs, so populations can build up around them. Looking up in a nearby willow tree, I observe a perching two and a half inch dragonfly called a green-striped darner. These insects catch insects in flight and may eat them while still flying. Near my feet, I see a couple of new ink cap mushrooms called Shaggy Manes popping out of the grass. Soon their caps will turn shaggy white (stock photo), a stage from which they get their other name, “lawyer’s wig”. As they mature theses fungi digest their own caps turning the gills into a dark, ink-like liquid (stock photo) thus the name “ink cap”. Scanning the shallow water near the creek edge, I see one of many golf-ball size Chinese Mystery snails covered with mud. These invasive gastropods were imported for sale as food in Chinese markets. They later spread through the aquarium and ornamental pond trade. The “mystery” is the sudden appearance of baby snails. Female snails carry developing young inside their bodies and give birth to tiny, fully formed snails without ever laying eggs.  Turning back toward the car, I think about how this creek contributes to the Pine River, carrying with it whatever the land upstream has given it, both good and bad. The aquatic plants, snails, insects, and birds I found today are all part of the creek’s riparian story.There is a larger question here, too: What does the future hold for Honeyoye Creek? I leave with the hope that efforts will continue to restore the health of this watercourse, along with the other tributaries that help shape the Pine River watershed.

Landscape of autumn

Transformed once again

Creature of summer

Retreats to its den

Milkweed pods

Dry up and shred

Silky white seeds

Escape and spread

Goodbye to the goose

Farewell to the crane

October commences

In natures domain

 

D. DeGraaf

September 28

The early morning sky is sunny with a temperature in the upper 40’s and a slight westerly breeze as I stand on a deck in Alma’s Pine River Park overlooking the millpond where the river flows gently east toward the State St. dam. Proceeding west along the bank toward the boat launch, I notice a female Mallard sitting on a dock. Some mallards migrate, while others remain where they can find open water and food. I think, too, about the people who feed ducks unhealthy scraps year round preventing them from following their natural instincts. Near shore, an empty bottle floats among the duckweed: a small piece of litter in a place shared by so many living things. Up ahead, I see a dead four-inch Pumpkinseed fish floating in shallow water. The bodies of these fish are the shape of a pumpkinseed, which explains their name. While they are a popular and edible pan fish when caught in clean water, they are not so hear since the E. coli levels in the river frequently exceed safety standards, posing risks to anglers and anyone coming into contact with the water or fish. Continuing west on the paved path, I notice riverbank grape and Virginia creeper vines smothering the trees. Both bear dark fruit, though only the grapes are edible. Seasonal blossoms I see, include the tiny white ones of Heath aster and the yellow ones of Nodding Beggarticks. Along the way, I hear the “mew” call of a Gray catbird coming from the dense vegetation. Since it’s late September, this one may be preparing to migrate. Arriving at another deck, I scan the millpond noticing some homes along the far shoreline and wonder how they feel about effect of weed choked water in front of their places caused by high levels of nitrates and E. coli. Farther along, a yellow-rumped warbler pauses in the morning sun. This bird may still be here well into October, feeding on insects and berries before moving on. Large trees I see overhead, include Boxelder and Weeping Willow. Entering Conservation Park, I stop at a deck as the breeze stirs cottonwood leaves. Wood ducks suddenly lift from the water. The trail follows a line of trees, then climbs a slope where blue-stemmed goldenrod blooms and a small patch of coral fungus rises from the forest floor. From a deck on the high bank, I look down at the river. I pass tall bigtooth aspens and red oaks, then reach a large puddingstone bearing a plaque about the origin of Conservation Park. Along the earthen path beyond it are horsetails and a few Amanita mushrooms. At the final overlook, I pause once more to scan the river. This half-mile has offered questions as well as discoveries: about the lives supported by the water, the changes people have made to it, and what we might do to care for it. 

Summer memories, meadow scene

Teardrop pods, spiny and green

Balls of blossoms, fragrant and pink

Bees and butterflies arrive to drink

Oblong leaves, oozing with white

Feeding caterpillars, a welcome sight

Autumn arrives; the days grow cold
Leaves turn yellow; pods unfold
Go with the wind, each silky seed
A new generation of milkweed.

 

D. DeGraaf

September 21

With the morning temperatures in the upper 50’s under sunny skies, I pause on Wing Rd in Isabella County before entering the dense woodland on the south side of the 3.5-acre Cotton Family Preserve, a new property acquisition of the Chippewa Watershed Conservancy. In the distance, it is easy to make out a white sphere sticking out of the leaf litter. Recognizing it as a newly formed giant puffball, I approach and find that it measures about eight inches in diameter. Its firm exterior and uniformly white interior is characteristic of a young puffball. Although some people eat properly identified raw giant puffballs, experts recommend cooking them—and absolute identification is essential before tasting any wild mushroom. Following a game trail, I first spot a ¾-inch scarlet waxcap mushroom and then a five-inch golden scalycap mushroom, neither of which I would consider eating. Up ahead, I come upon a cluster of wild turkey feathers, most likely leftovers of some predation event. Continuing downslope, I pause to scan a half-acre pond covered with duckweed while hearing the call of a blue jay. Along the muddy shore, I notice some pink smartweed. The “smart” in smartweed comes from an old meaning of smart: to sting, burn, or cause sharp pain. Many smartweeds contain peppery, irritating sap that may produce a hot or burning sensation that “smarts”. Nearby, I observe blossoms of the extremely poisonous water hemlock. Swallowing even a small amount of plant tissue can result in nausea, confusion, muscle twitching, violent seizures and even death. Turning back toward the car, I notice the sheet web of a funnel weaver spider, made conspicuous by the morning dew. These arachnids (stock photo) are fast hunters. When an insect lands on the web, vibrations alert the spider, which rushes out, bites the prey, and drags it into the funnel. Looking up, I notice the upper surface of a sugar maple leaf with slender, fingerlike projections, called spindle galls. These growths are caused by microscopic mites that feed on young leaf tissue, prompting the plant to form  galls. Back to the car, I think about the many stories gathered in this small place. Fungi, feathers, webs and galls each record a different episode. With the autumnal equinox arriving soon, this preserve seems poised between seasons, as summer’s abundance begins to yield to autumn’s quieter rhythms. 

Takes leaves of green
Gives us leaves of red
Takes a meadow’s green
Gives us gold instead

Takes a red-wing’s song
Gives us a cricket’s call
Takes away the summer
Gives us another fall

Each change of season
Nature gives and takes
After her long slumber
Lady Autumn wakes

 

D. DeGraaf

September 14

Back in early August I began my exploration of Sugar Creek at its source in northern Gratiot County. After five previous encounters, I begin my final hike to reach its confluence with the Pine River, east of Alma. The early morning sky is mostly cloudy with temperatures in the upper 50’s as I make my way east toward the Pine River. Arriving at the river I look in vain for the creek’s outlet. After re-checking my map and compass, I proceed north about a hundred yards and pause to observe an impressive looking, forty-foot-wide mouth of Sugar Creek where surprisingly clear water flows slowly under a large over-hanging willow tree into a slow-moving Pine River. Exploring the bank, I come upon a colony of ground-nesting yellowjackets. They commonly use underground cavities including abandoned animal burrows, enlarging it to hold a paper nest (stock photo) that can contain hundreds of workers along with a single queen. Knowing how aggressive this species is, I keep my distance. When disturbed, they can attack and sting repeatedly. Unlike honeybees, yellowjackets do not leave their stinger behind so they may sting several times when defending their nest. Nearby, I spot a milkweed leaf displaying a pile of monarch caterpillar poop, called frass. Sometimes frass can help locate a hidden caterpillar. However, after looking over the plant, I am unable to find one. Further down the bank, near the water, I spot a couple of blossoms of nodding beggar-ticks. Seen in late summer, the flower heads often droop or “nod” downward which is part of it name. The other part of the name comes from the idea that their barbed seeds (stock photo) are “begging a ride” from any animal or human that brushes past. On another bank, I notice at least four places where fragments of leathery eggshells surround a hole where a turtle had laid and covered her eggs. The likely culprit is a raccoon, an effective nest predator who can detect freshly disturbed soil, the scent of the female turtle, or odors associated with the eggs. After digging into the nest, the critter eats the eggs leaving the shells behind.  Finally, with wet shoes and tired legs, I head back to the car, knowing that my month-long effort has been worthwhile. Exploring Sugar Creek has helped me see it’s not as a series of separate places, but one connected riparian ecosystem that supports a remarkable variety of life despite the pressures and pollution imposed upon it. Following its course has reminded me that even a small and often-overlooked stream has a story worth discovering—and a future worth protecting. 

Outer edge of summer

Nature has her way

Swallows gather above

Wish they could stay

Queen Anne’s Lace

Folds up its flowers

Meadow shines golden

Through daylight hours

Fungi emerge

And berries abound

Frogs of the marsh

Surrender their sound

 

D. DeGraaf

September 7

The midmorning skies are sunny, while the air is hot and very humid, with temperatures in the low 80s, as I make my way along the lush banks of Sugar Creek, getting closer to its confluence with the Pine River. Nearby, I spot a half-inch Goldenrod Soldier Beetle perched on a blossom of Canada Thistle. These insects contribute to pollination as they move from flower to flower. Their larvae (stock photo) are predators that live near the ground, feeding on small insects, insect eggs, and other soft-bodied prey. Up ahead, I come upon a one-inch Leaf-footed Bug resting in the tall grass. These insects feed by piercing stems, fruits, seeds, and other plant tissues and sucking out fluids. Neither adults nor nymphs (stock photo) normally bite or sting humans, although some can release an unpleasant odor when disturbed. Exploring the floodplain, I notice stems of Virginia Knotweed, also known as Jumpseed, displaying their reddish fruits. As the fruit matures, tension builds at the joint of the flower stalk. At the slightest touch, the fruit can be catapulted several feet from the stem—hence the common name “jumpseed. Continuing to follow the creek, I spot what appears to be a Great Blue Heron hunting near shore. As I carefully stalk the bird, hoping to get closer for a better photo, I realize it is simply an old tree branch. So much for my expertise at spotting wildlife. Moving away from the creek, my ears pick up the high-pitched whine of cicadas, while my eyes turn to the leaf litter, which consists mostly of Cottonwood leaves. Among them, I spot some bright red haws that have fallen from a nearby Hawthorn tree. Haws are an important food source for birds such as robins, cedar waxwings, and thrushes, as well as for some mammals. Down in the tall grass, I observe a few blossoms of Yellow Toadflax. Native to Europe and Asia, the plant is now common across much of North America, including Michigan. Its flowers have a long nectar spur, making larger bees (stock photo) especially effective pollinators. Its other common name, “butter-and-eggs,” comes from the flower’s two colors—the yellow “butter” surrounding its deeper orange-yellow “egg” center. As I make my way back to the car, I am struck by how much is happening at once. Summer flowers still bloom, insects remain busy, fruits are ripening, and fallen leaves are beginning to gather. Along Sugar Creek, the seasons do not change all at once. Instead, summer and autumn briefly share the landscape, each quietly making room for the other.

In golden fields

Crickets sing

In trembling Aspens

Chickadees cling

In native prairies

Bluestems grow

In vernal ponds

Water is low

Swallows gather

Migrations begin

Cycles of nature

Again and again

 

D. DeGraaf

August 31

The morning temperatures are in the mid-50s under sunny skies as I stand on the steep bank of Sugar Creek and look far to the west. The east branch (stock photo) of the creek flows beneath US 127, merges with the west branch, turns east toward me as the main branch, and then curves south toward Cheesman Road. Walking along the bank, once again a wide, well-developed buffer strip stands out as a good example of how streamside vegetation can help mitigate runoff from adjacent cropland. The grasses and other plants help trap sediment and nutrients before they reach the creek. Exploring the vegetation, I spot several yellow blossoms of Bird’s-foot Trefoil. The plant’s name comes from the way its slender seed pods spread from one point, forming a shape that resembles a bird’s foot (stock photo). Not everything is green. Bright red Virginia creeper leaves are scattered through the grass, another reminder that autumn is approaching. On the far bank, I notice an eight-inch opening to a Woodchuck burrow. A burrow may extend 15–30 feet or more underground and contain several chambers. Continuing south, I pause on the Cheesman Road bridge to notice the creek channel and watch the water flow quietly downstream. Next, I follow a path along the bank that takes me south and then east as the creek passes through a large culvert beneath Begole Road. Turning around, I notice a quarter-inch Spotted Cucumber beetle resting on a thistle blossom. Besides cucumbers, these insects feed on the leaves, flowers, and pollen of crops and wild plants. Their larvae (stock photo) live underground, feeding mainly on the roots of grasses and crops such as corn, which is why they are sometimes called corn rootworms. Nearby, I spot a three-quarter-inch Yellow-collared Scape moth resting on thistle seeds. Its name comes from the distinctive yellow band, or “collar,” just behind its dark head. Unlike many moths, this species is often active during the day. Its caterpillars (stock photo) feed on low-growing plants, especially grasses and sedges. Nearing the car, I listen to the sounds of cicadas. Males produce their calls with special vibrating structures in the abdomen to attract females. These insects are often called dog-day cicadas because their calls are such a familiar sound during the hottest part of summer. Nearby, I spot an adult Monarch butterfly resting among the creek-side grasses—perhaps one of the late-summer generation preparing for the long migration to Mexico. Reaching the car, I am reminded that late summer is a season of overlap. Blossoms remain, insects are active, and the banks are still green, yet red leaves, cool mornings, and a migrating monarch quietly point toward the season to come.

Wildlife wonders

Geese in a flock

Turtles on logs

Lichens on rock

Chicory blue

Aster white

Perching crows

Black as night

Meadow aroma

White sweet clover

Celebrating nature

Summer’s not over

 

D. DeGraaf

August 24

The early morning skies are overcast with temperatures in the low 60’s and a slight SW breeze as I continue my quest to explore Gratiot County’s Sugar Creek from source to mouth. Today, I start out by watching its water flow slowly under M-46 near Petticoat Junction and head south toward the Pine River confluence. This watercourse probably got its name because sugar maples—and perhaps maple-sugaring camps or “sugar bushes”—were common in the area. Also, this part of mid-Michigan is where early settlers encountered extensive hardwood forests and maple sugaring was already practiced by Native peoples long before European settlement. Right away, I realize the creek is part of the county drain system cutting through acres of ripening soybeans. Walking along its banks, I’m pleased to observe a very wide buffer strip containing a variety of wildlife, including this well- camouflaged Red-legged grasshopper. Blossoms that catch my eye include yellow Flat- topped Goldenrod and pale purple Field Mint whose leaves smell strongly of mint when crushed because they contain menthol-related compounds. Continuing to walk through the buffer strip, I spot a large patch of Queen Anne’s Lace. So, I stop, open up the folded umbels of one of the flowers to reveal a dotted, ½ inch Carrot Seed Moth caterpillar. These invasive caterpillars feed on developing flowers and seeds rather the leaves. Other plants they feed on, include parsley, dill, fennel, and parsnip. Continuing south along the steep bank, I watch the creek water trickle downstream while listening to a chorus of katydids. A little further, I gaze afar where the creek flows under the busy US 127 interstate highway. Turning around, I come upon a bunch gall on top of a Canadian Goldenrod stem. A gall forms when a tiny fly, midge or mite interferes with normal plant growth. Instead of producing a normal flower cluster, the leaves and buds become crowded into a tight rosette. Galls usually don’t seriously harm the plant as it often continues growing and flowering normally on other stems. Heading back to the car, I’m reminded that this small stream winds through a landscape heavily influenced by people. Still, there is plenty of wildness here. Grasshoppers leap, caterpillars hide and goldenrod spread their yellow blossoms quietly announces the approaching change of seasons. Sugar Creek may flow through farm country and within earshot of traffic, but along its lush green banks, nature continues to find room to flourish.

Nature's saga

Milkweed leaf

Tiny white egg

Stage is brief

Caterpillar's born

Yellow & black

Chrysalis next

No turning back

Orange emerges

Wings will dry

Monarch of summer

Ready to fly

 

D. DeGraaf

August 17

 

The early morning temperatures are in the low 60’s under overcast skies as I set out for a nature walk on the paved Cedar Creek trail near my daughter’s house in Sherwood, Oregon. Right away, I notice how peaceful my surroundings are, with a densely populated neighborhood waking up on one side of the trail and a protected riparian landscape for wildlife on the other. From the trail, I can see a pond covered with a thick mat of aquatic weeds; however, the slow trickle of creek water at the bottom of a steep ravine is well hidden by dense vegetation. Looking skyward, I get a quick glimpse of a Steller’s Jay (stock photo) and a few Black-capped Chickadees fluttering through a thicket. Some of the plants along the way are unfamiliar compared with those I regularly encounter in Michigan. One of the most impressive is a Bigleaf Maple tree. Its enormous leaves immediately catch my attention, and the paired samaras help confirm its identity. Closer to eye level, there are other unfamiliar species that catch my attention, including the bright white fruit of a Snowberry shrub and the bright red hips of Nootka rose that both stand out against green foliage. Also, I spot the pink blossoms of Fireweed, a plant often found on recently burned or disturbed ground—hence its name. Familiar Queen Anne’s Lace appears along the trail, and inside a folded umbel, I discover a tiny Asian Lady Beetle. This insect was introduced from Asia to North America to help control aphids and other crop pests. Turning around and heading back through this corridor of lush green vegetation, I come upon a familiar sight- a bumblebee feeding on blossoms of St. John’s wort. The plant name comes from its traditional association with St. John the Baptist. The plant often begins flowering around June 24, the Feast of St. John the Baptist in Europe. Near the end, I come upon an unfamiliar sight- vines of Himalayan blackberries. Despite the name, they’re not from the Himalayas, but from western Europe and were introduced to North America in the late 1800s. In Oregon and much of the Pacific Northwest, this plant is considered highly invasive, even though its berries are delicious and valuable to wildlife. Pausing at the trailhead, I realize that walking in a new landscape like this changes the way I look at nature. I couldn’t rely entirely on familiarity today. Instead, I had to stop, photograph, question, and look more closely. Perhaps that is one of the pleasures of exploring somewhere new: for a few hours, even an ordinary trail can make me a beginner again.

A hike to wonder, pause, and see
Quiet trail before my eyes
A perching bird, a buzzing bee
Waking earth and morning skies

Mother Nature’s handiwork
Unfamiliar shrubs and trees
Pink blossoms and white berries
Soft needles and giant leaves

Path through a corridor of green
No creek to cross, no hill to climb
My senses open to it all
Slow my steps and take my time

 

D. DeGraaf

Early morning skies are overcast with temperatures in the upper 60’s and a slight southerly breeze as I stand on Madison Rd. and look north at a portion of Sugar Creek whose channel had been straightened and incorporated into the county drain system to prevent flooding of cropland. The first thing I notice is how narrow the strip of vegetation is between the creek ditch and the cropland. Wider ones capture more runoff, remove more nutrients, reduce flooding impacts, and support a greater diversity of wildlife. Nearby, I spot a female Clouded Sulfur butterfly perched on a blade of grass. While females have paler yellow wings with lighter spotting, males are bright lemon-yellow with a bold black border around their wings (stock photo).. Up ahead, I come upon a large patch of Chicory blossoms. These blue flowers usually open shortly after sunrise and often close by early afternoon, especially on hot, sunny days. On overcast days like today, they may remain open longer. Before getting back in the car, I pause below a powerline to listen to the lovely song of an Indigo Bunting. Driving a short distance south on Begole Rd., I enter private property to observe the slow moving creek and listen to the continual high-pitch chorus of Katydids. At my feet, I watch what I thought was tiny white moth landing in the underbrush. Upon a closer look, I realize it’s a ¼ inch Flatid Planthopper, a species I’ve never seen before. These tiny insects feed on plant sap using piercing mouthparts, much like aphids and leafhoppers. Their nymphs produce fluffy white wax, making them look like little cottony tufts (stock photo). Overhead, I notice the ripening fruit on a Mulberry tree. More than 40 species of birds—including Robins, Catbirds, Waxwings and Baltimore Orioles—eat mulberries. Mammals such as raccoons, squirrels, foxes, and opossums also enjoy the fruit. For humans, ripe mulberries can be eaten fresh or used in pies, jams, and wines. From here, I drive a short distance south to observe the creek as it slowly flows along the eastside of the parking lot of the Petticoat Junction restaurant. Right away, I spot a drain pipe entering the ditch from the restaurant area, making me wonder about quality of the runoff water. On the opposite bank, I’m surprised to see a small feed lot occupied by a few cows and wonder what happens to their manure.. Finally, I watch the creek water as it passes under M-46 and heads south and east becoming another county drain. Back at my car, I’m reminded that even small creeks deserve our curiosity, our respect, and our care. Every visit deepens my appreciation for this overlooked watercourse. I’m already wondering what discoveries Sugar Creek will offer the next time.

Watercourse

Hidden from view

Gathering runoff

Toxic stew

Polluted water

Human curse

Downstream

Getting worse

Creek’s mouth

End of the line

Merging and mixing

With the River Pine

D. DeGraaf 

August 3

The early morning air is still with temperatures in the low 70’s under partly sunny skies as I stand on Grafton Rd, in northern Gratiot County listening to the “chips” of several Redwing Blackbirds and one Catbird while looking east at a drainage ditch choked with lush vegetation that hides a small stream of water that is the source of the east branch of Sugar Creek. For the next few weeks, I plan to follow first the east branch, then the west branch and then the main branch as empties into the Pine River, east of Alma. Turning around on the road and looking west, I do see some creek water flowing ever so slowly downstream. Tracing the channel along a steep bank it was rare to see any open water. Up in a mixture of green foliage, I spot the remains of a silky web constructed by Fall Webworms. Unlike Eastern Tent caterpillars, which construct their tents in branch crotches during spring, these caterpillars (stock photo) spin these webs around the ends of branches enclosing both leaves and the caterpillars as they feed. Up ahead, I notice several blossoms of Sow Thistle. When a stem or leaf of this plant is broken, it releases a white, milky latex (stock photo). The name "sow thistle" comes from the old belief that feeding the plant to sows (female pigs) increased their milk production. Veering away from the creek, I enjoy the distinctive song of a Yellowthroat while down in the underbrush, I can barely make out a 2-inch Carolina Grasshopper. Although it's superbly camouflaged when resting, it reveals striking black hindwings when it takes flight. The sudden flash can startle predators before the insect disappears into the grass again. Reaching Jefferson Rd, I notice the water of Sugar creek flowing slowly underneath. From here, I scan the landscape to observe three species of plants with a lot in common. First, on the steep bank, I see a stand of Purple Loosestrife. On the far bank, I spot some Common Teasel and beside me some Spotted Knapweed. Beside their attractive pinkish blossoms, all three are nonnative, invasive species from Europe that are known to crowd out native species and damage habitats. On the other hand, their blossoms are rich in nectar and attract a wide variety of pollinators. So are these invasives villains or do they contribute to the wellbeing of this riparian ecosystem. Nature is rarely black and white. Driving home, I realize the calendar may say August but nature is already preparing for what comes next. Every one of my hikes offers more signs of this slow transition from season to season and I'm grateful to be a witness these changes. 

Manure that smells

Lagoons that leak

Onward you flow

Sugar Creek

Banks that erode

Waters that reek

Onward you flow

Sugar Creek

Healthy watercourse

Is what we seek

Onward you flow

Sugar Creek

D. DeGraaf

July 27

The midmorning skies are mostly sunny with temperatures pushing 80 degrees and a noticeable breeze from the west as I find myself at the Chippewa Watershed Conservancy’s Lake Steven Preserve. This 1-acre parcel is on the west shore of 25-acre Lake Steven, located in Montcalm County. Entering the first section, a small meadow, my eyes follow a small butterfly as it lands in the undergrowth. Getting closer, I see it’s a black and orange Pearl Crescent, opening its wings. This butterfly gets its name from a tiny, pale, crescent-shaped mark on the underside of its hindwing. (stock photo). Not too far away, I track a small moth as it lands.  Getting closer, I see a moth that I’ve never seen before, a 1-inch V-shaped Angel Shade moth. This one is famous for its remarkable camouflage. With its wings folded, it resembles a dried, curled leaf (stock photo). Next, I enter a wooded section of the preserve consisting of mature maples, hickory and white birch. Along the way, my attention is drawn to a tiny, 1/8 inch juvenile Harvestman scavenging, smelling, and feeling its way around a leaf with its elongated appendages.  Juvenile Harvestmen resemble miniature versions of the adults rather than going through a caterpillar- or larva-like stage. Nearby, on the frond of a Sensitive fern, I observe two Craneflies joined end-to-end while mating.  These adults live only a few days. After mating the male dies immediately while the female will die shortly after depositing her eggs. On the ground, I notice decaying birch bark filled with orderly holes once drilled by a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker (stock photo) to feed on tree sap. Reaching the shore of Lake Steven, I look around to see a body of water choked with Lily pads as well as 3 perching Great Blue Herons searching for a meal. Their eyes are specially adapted for hunting in bright sunlight and around water. They can accurately judge the position of prey even through the distortion caused by the water's surface. Down at my feet, I notice an old 5-inch empty shell of a Painted Turtle. When alive, these reptile’s neck and legs are decorated with vivid yellow and red stripes, giving them their "painted" appearance (stock photo). Returning to the car, I realize this experience has offered far more than a list of species to record. I’m reminded once again that nature doesn't demand my attention with grand spectacles during every hike. Instead, it quietly rewards me for slowing down, looking a little closer, and remaining curious. It provides small gifts that transform an ordinary summer afternoon into something memorable. 

Peaceful forest

A motor ran

Sounds of nature

Sounds of man

Scent of Milkweed

Trash in the can

Smells of nature

Smells of man

Cardinal flower

A beat up van

Sights of nature

Sights of man

 

D. DeGraaf

July 20

The early morning skies are sunny with temperatures in the mid 70’s and a refreshing breeze at my back as begin my annual monitoring hike of a 37-acre conservation easement east of Alma under the jurisdiction of the Chippewa Watershed Conservancy. Soon, I come upon a ¼ inch Flea beetle resting on the receptacle of an Oxeye Daisy. These insects have enlarged hind legs that allow them to leap like fleas when disturbed. Up ahead, I pause by one of the many ponds on the property where the breeze sways a stand of Reed Canary grass while a few Redwing Blackbirds make their “check” calls upon my presents. Nearby, I spot a 1-inch Cherry-faced Meadow-hawk dragonfly perched on a blade of grass. Both the aquatic nymphs and the flying adults are voracious predators. Throughout their life cycle, these dragonflies consumes large numbers of mosquitoes and other nuisance insects, making them beneficial to people and ecosystems alike. Up ahead, I pause to observe a 1-inch female Eastern Forktail damselfly clinging to a stem. Unlike the bright blue-and-green males (stock photo), a female like this one displays a blend of colors. After mating, the male often remains attached to the female in the characteristic "tandem" position (stock photo) while she deposits eggs. This behavior helps prevent rival males from mating with her before egg-laying is complete. Looking down, my eyes are drawn to a 1-inch Familiar Bluet damselfly. Adults feed on tiny flying insects such as mosquitoes, midges, and gnats. Females lay eggs in aquatic vegetation, where the aquatic nymph (stock photo) develops before emerging as an adult. Next, I come upon the tiny nymph of a Red-legged Grasshopper perched on a Milkweed leaf. Nymphs pass through five or six molts, shedding their exoskeleton as they grow. Adults (stock photo) developed wings allowing them to fly and disperse. On the ground, I notice the purple bell flowers of Hairy Vetch. This plant is native to Europe and western Asia but has become widespread across North America. Farmers often plant it as a cover crop because it fixes nitrogen in the soil, improving fertility. Turning back toward the car, I gaze up at a blue sky while listening to the melodious song of a seldom-seen Warbling Vireo (stock photo). By the time I get to the car, I realize that this walk was much more than identifying flowers and insects. It is a reminder that every stage of summer has its own story—from fresh blossoms to birdsongs, from young grasshoppers beginning life to dragonflies patrolling the wetlands. On mornings like this, all I have to do is follow the trail, slow my pace, and let nature reveal another chapter of its ever-changing season.

In the depths of summer

Senses reach their peak

Taste of a milkweed pod

Sound of a flowing creek

From the forest glade

Smell of a Yarrow leaf

Touch of a thistle thorn

Glimpse of a finch is brief

Nature in her prime

Sources all around

From the clear blue sky

To the verdant ground

 

D. DeGraaf

July 13

With temperatures in the mid 70’s under sunny skies and a welcomed westerly breeze, I begin my annual monitoring hike on a 25-acre conservation easement, east of Alma owned by the Chippewa Watershed Conservancy.  Right away, my attention is drawn afar to two Sandhill Cranes, a parents and a colt striding through the meadow foraging for grains, seeds and berries as well as insects, earthworms and frogs. Next, I watch a moth land in the lush grass. Upon closer inspection, I determine it’s a 1-inch Chickweed Geometer. Its common name comes from one of its favorite host plants, Chickweed (stock photo). Further along, I watch a butterfly as it lands and perches in tall grass. Getting closer, I see it’s a Common Wood-Nymph. The circular "eyes" on the wings may startle birds or divert attacks away from the butterfly's body. Veering off the trail and proceeding across a large meadow, I first spot blossoms of Swamp Milkweed and then a 1-inch Calico Pennant dragonfly perched on a seed head. As an excellent aerial hunter, it can capture mosquitoes and tiny flies entirely in flight. Nearby, I come upon a male 1 ½-inch Ruby Meadow Hawk dragonfly. Males become increasingly red as they mature while females are much less conspicuous, usually yellowish-brown instead (stock photo). Continuing to explore the meadow, I observe a 1-inch Delaware Skipper Butterfly perched on a dead flowerhead. This species was first described from specimens collected near the Delaware River, which is how it got its common name. However, it’s not found in Delaware at all but found across much of the eastern and central United States. Hiking east, I come upon a large Milkweed colony comprised of at least 100 healthy plants. This area turns out to be one of the most biologically active places here. It provides nectar for butterflies and dozens of native bee species as well as food for Red Milkweed Beetles. Milkweeds produce sticky latex sap loaded with toxins. This beetle has evolved to tolerate these chemicals and store some of them in its body, making it distasteful to many predators. Birds often learn to avoid insects with these bold color patterns. As I head back to the car, I find myself appreciating not just the individual discoveries but the way they blend into one memorable hike. Observing flowers, insects, grasses and Sand Hill Cranes, reminds me that nature rarely relies on a single grand spectacle. Instead, it quietly gathers many small moments that reward anyone willing to walk slowly, look closely, and let the landscape tell its own story.

 

Height of summer

Nature at her best

Pollinators aplenty

No time to rest

Beetles on blossoms

Monarchs on Milkweeds

Swallowtails on Daisies

Beside the cattail reeds

Finding flowers

Dragonflies perch

Seeking nectar

Bees on a search

 

D. DeGraaf