January 18

With temperatures in the mid 30’s and a brisk wind at my back, I’m hiking east along a 12- ft. wide berm in a massive cattail marsh of the Maple River State Game Area, 30 miles south of Alma. Overhead, a leafless tree reveals a vacant Baltimore Oriole nest among branches sprouting catkins. These nests consist of tightly woven plant fibers, strips of bark, grapevines, grass, yarn, string, lined with fine grass, plant down and hair.  The only reason there aren't more old nests hanging from trees is because often times the female will use material from her old nest to make a new one. Orioles don't reuse an old nest, but they certainly will recycle one. On another tree nearby, I observe a Bald-face hornets’ nest. In the fall, hornet males and new queens are produced. These leave the nest, mate, and the fertilized queens hibernate. The remainder of the workers, the old queen, and the males die of old age or freezing temperatures. Nearby, I come upon some squirrel tracks as well as rope-like, hairy, leafless vines of poison ivy clinging to a tree trunk. Further ahead, I pause as the westerly wind blows through a mix of Reed Canary grass and Teasel. Among the hundreds of acres of dead cattails, I notice several snow-capped mounds of plant material made by Muskrats. The larger ones, called lodges are built by first heaping plant material and mud to form a mound. A burrow is then dug into the mound from below the water level and a chamber is fashioned for them to shelter from freezing temperatures, avoid predation and sleep. The smaller ones, called push-ups are built away from the main lodge. When the ice is still very thin, muskrats push plant materials up through holes in the ice, thus the name push-up. The plant material of the push-up creates a hidden platform on the ice where the muskrat can rest and feed. Turning south, I notice a dense stand of leafless pussy willows displaying their red winter branches while some of them also have dense clumps of twigs known as Witches' Brooms. Caused by a type of bacteria known as a phytoplasma, this abnormal growth does not harm the plant. Turning around and heading back to the car, I discover, among this stark winter landscape, some chlorophyll green including duck weed and sedge as well as shoots of wild Iris, an early sign of the season to come. 

 

Birds of the cold

Quest to survive

Searching for food

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 11

Under cloudy skies and temperatures in the mid 30’s, I find myself 10 miles southwest of Alma in the village of Sumner hiking a snowy path close to the Pine River. Sumner’s first settlers came to Gratiot County in the mid 1850s, establishing a sawmill and a store in the location that would become the village. The settlement was first known as “Belltown” after George S. Bell, who took possession of 400 acres of land in Sumner Township. Another of the first immigrants, Titus Stover, ran the store, and his customers took to calling the settlement “Stoverville.” The village that would eventually be Sumner was laid out in 1868 and named “Estella”. (stock photo) When the post office was established in 1869, it was named Sumner because it was the first post office in Sumner Township. In 1913, Sumner’s school had two teachers and ten grades. There were churches in town for Free Methodists, Adventists and Church of Christ. Businesses included a flour mill, a hotel, and a blacksmith shop. There was also a resident physician and several stores that sold general merchandise. Up in the canopy, I notice a tall Oak tree with dead leaves still attached and a tall Maple sprouting leaf buds in preparation for spring. On the path, I spot a deer track in the snow stained slightly yellow due to tannic acid seepage from the underlying, decaying leaf litter. Approaching the riverbank, I pause in the quietude of this winter landscape to look and listen as the water flows gently from north to south. Walking along the bank, I notice squirrel tracks as well as Goldenrod blossoms seeding out. Blossoms begin forming in mid-August and continues through October. Plants usually do not flower until the second year of growth at which time they produce an average of 3000 seeds per plant. A pappus (stock photo) at the tip of each seed aids in wind dispersal; goldenrod seeds released 3 feet off the ground traveled an average of 2 feet in a 5-mph wind. Goldenrod plants also reproduce by way of short rhizomes (stock photo) emerging from the base of aerial stems. Rhizomes are usually not produced until after the first year of growth at which time several grow outward from the same root crown resulting in a circular cluster of stems between 2 to 5 inches apart. Patches of shoots produced by rhizomes arising from a single root system were observed growing up to 8 feet wide. Finally, up ahead, I turn north to view the river and think about a similar view from last spring. 

 

Crystalline white fell overnight

Closing doors of hibernators

Crowning heads of cattails

Revealing paws of predators

Blanketing layers of leaf litter

Draping needles of green

Insulating muskrat mounds

Drifting against pillars of pine

Settling on winter’s wonderland

Crystalline white fell overnight

 

D. DeGraaf

January 4

Five inches of fresh snow covers the trail before me as I make my way along the north side of Forest Hill Nature Area. Under cloudy skies and a temperature in the mid 20’s, I pause on the dock at Mallard Marsh to notice an unusual neuron-shaped hole in the ice. In the 1850’s, Henry David Thoreau, when writing about Walden Pond in Massachusetts described “dark figures, shaped somewhat like a spider’s web, what you may call ice rosettes” in that pond’s frozen surface. Apparently, this pattern is formed when a hole (perhaps a Muskrat’s airhole) in a recently frozen pond allows water to swell up from beneath and spread over the snow-covered surface, leaving dark “fingers” of melted ice stemming from a central point. Subsequently, the surface re-freezes and the pattern sets up. Continuing through Bobolink Meadow, I come upon a 2 ft. diameter dome, home to a colony of Allegheny mound ants. While not hibernating, members of the colony retreat well below ground and slow their metabolism. Proceeding through North Woods, I’m not surprised to see a few Beech trees still retaining their leaves, as well as some tracks of Whitetail deer and Fox squirrel. Making my way across Succession Field, I stop at a Crab Apple tree loaded with fruit. A few more episodes of freezing/thawing will soften and ripen the fruit enough for it to become a winter food source for birds like Cedar Waxwings. The crab apple is actually the wild apple, source of all domestic apples grown today. However, what about the origin of the word “crab”? One thought is it’s related to someone being disagreeable and ill-tempered as the fruit is not pleasant and ill-flavored. Another thought is the tree branches resemble the legs of a crab. Hiking along the edge of Willow Wallow, I couldn’t help but notice the rotating blades of a wind turbine far to the east. Exploring the top of Reflection Hill, I come across a patch of native grasses as well as few Milkweed pods that still retain seeds. Also, I take in the pastoral view of Raske barn and ice-covered Grebe Pond. Circling counterclockwise around the pond, I spot tracks of Ring-necked Pheasant as well as domestic cat. Arriving at the north end of the pond, I notice a muskrat lodge out on the ice, tracks of Canada geese near shore as well as tracks of Cottontail rabbit near the barn. 

Nature sounds muted

Pond fast asleep

Ice seals the surface 

No Spring Peepers peep

No Bull Frogs croak

Or Green Herons shriek

No Mallards quack

Or Wood Ducks squeak

Redwings have left

Tree Swallows too

Winter’s hush

Right on cue

 

D. DeGraaf

December 28

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

 

Senses and seasons of nature

Through the months, through the mind

Waves that crashed, rivers that flowed

Sun that shined, skies that snowed

Through the meadow, through the woods

O’er fields of summer flowers

Blooming in the daylight hours

Through the fog, through the rain

Paths of dirt, trails of sod

Up and down slopes to trod

Through the wind, through the wild

Memories held, far and near

Grateful for another year

 

D. DeGraaf

December 21

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

 

Earth slumbers

Winter draws nigh

Sun of the season

Low in the sky

Deep in December

First snowy days

Sun of the season

Cooler your rays

Wildlife in waiting

Nature’s content

Sun of the season

Begin your ascent

 

D. DeGraaf

December 14

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

 

Deep in the woods    

Noises cease              

Sounds subdued

Nature at peace

Mid of December

End of the year

Mother prepares

Slumber is near

Tucks her children

Turns down the light

Covers them up

With a blanket of white

 

D, DeGraaf

December 7

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

 

Dawn of December

Pulse of nature slows

Decaying leaf litter 

Dusted by early snows

Down earthen tunnels

Retreat meadow mice

Over the vacant pond

Brittle layer of ice

Creature sounds are few

No buzzing of bees

Only a Chickadee’s call

Heard among the trees

 

D. DeGraaf