March 15

Arriving at Hall’s Lake Natural Area, 15 miles west of Mt. Pleasant, I begin hiking through a stand of leafless broadleaf trees where patches of snow still linger, even after last week’s 40–50-degree temperatures. After noticing the leaf litter consists mostly Aspen and Oak, I come upon a small tree stump recently shredded by a hungry Pileated Woodpecker (stock photo). While the sunrises through the forest behind me, I head west to the edge of ice-covered Halls Lake. Based on the geologic history of central Michigan, this 50-acre body of water is most likely a “kettle lake”. The basin of this lake was formed thousands of years ago during the most recent ice age as a receding glacier deposited a large block of ice here that slowly melted away and turned into a depression that later filled with rainwater, melting snow and groundwater flowing from springs. Making my way along a bluff above the lake, I can’t help but notice several white birch tree trunks on the ground in various stages of decomposition. Looking more closely, I can see that many are like tubes where the insides have rotted away leaving only the bark. Turns out birch wood is soft, open-grained and very susceptible to invasion by water and various fungi which cause rapid decay. The bark, on the other hand is highly resistant to decay. The cells in the outer layers of bark contain betulin crystals that are arranged in such a way as to reflect light and appear white, protecting it from solar radiation and freeze/thaw cycles. This chemical also protects the bark from fungal decomposers. Also, betulin is a hydrophobic molecule - giving birch bark its superior waterproofing abilities. Glancing once again at the leaf litter, I’m impressed by a collage of oak, maple, beech and bracken fern. Up ahead, sticking out of the leaf litter are several Club Moss plants. Sometimes called “ground pines” because they can resemble pine trees, they are neither pines nor moss. While they’re only a few inches tall, 300 million years ago during the Carboniferous period they were the dominant land plant growing as tall as modern trees. Much of the coal we use today formed from these fossilized plants. Continuing to loop back eastward toward the trailhead, I welcome the morning sun illuminating the saplings of white pine and the mossy green path.  

 

Morning in March

Old man winter won’t let go

Mother Nature still asleep

Trail with patches of snow

Walking a silent forest

Naked maples in my sight

Squirrel tracks to my left

Deer tracks to my right

Facing a stiff north wind

Hands cold, cheeks numb

Few sounds of singing birds

Few clues of spring to come

 

D. DeGraaf

March 8

It’s a sunny, frigid morning in the village of Riverdale as I head southeast on the snow-covered Meijer Bike trail along the edge of Stearns Preserve, a 14-acre property owned by the Chippewa Watershed Conservancy. Today, as a volunteer for the conservancy, I’m checking out the land to make sure it’s maintaining the agency’s standards for wildlife preservation. First, I spot a few1/8 inch frozen Stoneflies on the ground and then I pause on the footbridge to watch the swiftly flowing water of the Pine River carry small chunks of ice downstream. Across the bridge, I turn more southerly and move along the snowy riverbank noticing the ebb and flow of water under a thin layer of ice.  Just ahead at my feet, I come upon a collapsed tunnel of a meadow Vole and a pair of Mallards barely visible afar as they retreat from my noisy presence. Next, I pause to hear the drumming sound of a distant woodpecker. After locating the boundary stake at the southern-most tip of the preserve, I head due north along the property line where some trees are marked with the CWC boundary marker. Along the way, I notice the fresh wood chips at the base of a tree where a Pileated Woodpecker was recently foraging. Nearing the bike trail, I spot some fecal pellets of a cottontail rabbit. Similar to mice and rats, these mammals practice coprophagy, re-ingesting their own feces to absorb more of the vitamins and nutrients contained in them. For these animals, one pass through their digestive system is not sufficient to extract everything they need from their food. Crossing the bike trail, I continue due north into a soggy, lush cedar swamp. More common in the northern lower and upper peninsula, this ecosystem is a groundwater-influenced, forested wetland dominated by northern white-cedar growing on peat-like soils. The water supply comes mainly from streams that flow over or through rocks often acquiring dissolved chemicals which raise the nutrient levels and reduce the acidity, which in turn leads to unique vegetation. As a prime source of winter food and shelter, cedar swamps are great places for deer to gather as seen by this area peppered with their scat. Coming to the northern boundary line, I turn southwesterly and cut diagonally across a frozen flood plain, transected by a gently flowing creek. Finally, I reach the footbridge again and make my way back to the car.

 

I look to the heavens

When maples are bare

A wide-open canopy

Leaflessness there

Curves and lines

Rectangles and squares

Limbs of all lengths

Capture my stares

Criss-cross branches

Blacks and grays

Nature’s geometrics

On winter days

 

D. DeGraaf

March 1

It’s early morning as I trudge on a snow-covered trail in Isabella County’s Deerfield Nature Park. Under partly cloudy skies and temperatures in the mid 30’s, I head southwest on the Lewis Pontiac trail where I’m surprised to see a few fresh beaver stumps. Apparently, a food shortage in their winter lodge resulted in some needing to activate, come ashore and resupply.  Up ahead. I pause on a footbridge to look west and listen as the Chippewa River flows through the scenic winter landscape. Looking east, I watch a Robin feeding along the river ice, a mating pair of Mallards plodding through the snow while the tracks of one of them is noticed near shore. Over the bridge, I follow the trail eastward as the clouds break up to reveal a hint of sunlight and blue skies. Barely visible on the snow-covered ground in front of me are several tiny ¼ inch insects called Little Black Stoneflies. Also called Winter Stoneflies, they have anti-freeze compounds in their body fluids to help them stay active during the cold snowy months. Their lifecycle involves incomplete metamorphosis that includes egg, nymph and adult stages. After being deposited in water, eggs go through several stages of nymph development including formation of wings. When nymphs reach their last instar, they crawl out of the water and molt one last time, becoming adults. During their brief adult life on land of 1-4 weeks, they fly a short distance, eat very little, mate and die. Facing the river, my ears perk up to the “cheer-cheer-cheer” of a Northern Cardinal calling from the far bank. Turning around, I begin to retrace my steps back across the river and eastward toward the car where I spot last year’s sac-like nest of a Baltimore Oriole hanging among leafless branches as well as hear the call of a White-Breasted Nuthatch. Almost back to the trailhead, I notice the trunk of a pine tree dotted with small holes made by bark beetles. These tiny, 1/8-inch insects are brown and cylinder shaped with spines on the back end. (stock photo). Male beetles enter the tree, bore to the phloem and release chemicals that travel through the air to attract females. These females arrive, mate, complete gallery construction with the male and lay eggs in the gallery.  Larvae (stock photo) feed in the phloem and exit the tree when development is complete. These beetles generally do not attack healthy trees – rather, they are attracted to trees that are already stressed, weakened, injured, or dying.  

 

Let me float like flakes

In the forest deep

Let me run like a deer

O’er drifts I leap

Let me beam as the sun

Through leafless trees

Let me flow like fluid

‘Neath river freeze

Let me soar as an eagle

O’er earth to see

If only an hour

I wish I could be

 

D. DeGraaf

February 22

Five inches of overnight snow cover the path I trudge along the frozen Pine River mill pond in Alma’s Conservation Park. Under mostly sunny skies and temperatures in the single digits, I proceed west where I notice a beautiful feature of the winter landscape called “sastrugi” Also spelled zastrugi, this type of wind-blasted snow resembles frozen waves. It forms in open areas where the wind’s velocity is unimpeded by vegetation. Snowflakes are blown off course a bit by surface irregularities and molded into these dune-like patterns. Continuing west, I spot a set of fresh deer tracks crossing lengthy tree shadows from a mid-day sun. Turning inland, I come upon a few leafless broad-leaf trees with dark blobs clinging to branches that turn out to be deteriorating nests of webworms. These loosely woven webs (stock photo) are constructed in the summer and fall by webworm caterpillars. Unlike springtime tent caterpillars which feed outside their dense webs (stock photo) and retreat to them when not feeding, these caterpillars enclose whole clusters of leaves at the ends of branches and feed on the leaves within their tent. When fully grown, they drop to the ground, pupate in leaf litter and remain for the winter. Perching in another nearby leafless tree is my first Robin sighting of the new year. Glancing north into a wooded area, I watch a young doe run past and head for cover. Working my way east on the crunchy snow, I pause to watch a male Downy woodpecker most likely probing for beetle larvae. He will also eat ants and other insects moving about on warmer winter days. However, the sex of the bird determines where it will most often search for these protein-rich critters. Males, like this one, seem to prefer feeding higher in trees among smaller branches. Females are more likely to search for food along the trunk and larger branches. Entering the Eyer Bird Observation Hut, I spend 10 minutes watching birds come and go, including a: Red-breasted Nuthatch, White-Breasted Nuthatch, female Downy Woodpecker along with a Chickadee and Junco as well as a sneaky Fox Squirrel. Moving next to the Eyer Learning Circle, I’m not surprised the benches are hibernating for another month or so until park patrons arrive to enjoy the sights and sounds of nature.

 

Blanket of brawny ice

Banks of overnight white

Water babbles beneath

River flow, river snow

Birdsongs are bygones

Tracks of hungry deer

Cloudless sunny blue

River crow, river doe

Whatever’s of winter

Flurries and flakes fall

Channel of frozen fluid

River go, river show

 

D. DeGraaf

February 15

Under partly sunny skies and temperatures in the single digits, I trudge west along a snow-covered Meijer Heartland Trail in the Vestaburg State Game Area, 3000 acres of hunting land just west of Montcalm County’s village of Vestaburg. Soon, I pass one of several Tag Alder trees with its frost-ladened flowers and then pause to listen to the song of a Black-capped Chickadee. This “fee bee” song is not as common as others and obviously not used in winter for mating purposes but rather to establish territorial boundaries with rival flocks. Another sound that catches my attention is the drumming of a Red-bellied Woodpecker.  Just ahead, I come upon a tree with bark chewed off by a hungry porcupine. These mammals do not hibernate but might den in hollow logs or abandoned burrows in bad weather. Due to their heavy bodies and short legs, they cannot easily navigate deep snow, therefore wintertime adds extra pressure on them to find accessible and nutritionally dense food. Like beavers, porcupines prefer to eat the nutritious inner tree bark or phloem. To get to it they have to remove the bark all the way down to the cambium layer. If this happens all the way around the trunk (girdling it), the tree will die. Continuing west, I spot a few spore stalks of ferns poking out of an 8-inch snow cover, a few dried seedpods of Tiger Lilies and Milkweed. While following deer tracks that continue laterally down the trail in front of me, I spot a set of least weasel tracks that cross the trail, north to south. Also crossing the trail nearby are a set of running deer tracks that have a leaping span of about 8 feet. Still heading west, I pause again as a light south breeze moves through a stand of Phragmites. Approaching a frozen creek bed, I spot a couple of Tree Sparrows feeding on Goldenrod seeds. Despite the name, these birds are not really associated with trees. In winter, flocks of them are common in open country rather than wooded areas while in summer they migrate and nest far north on the tundra, above the tree line.  After 1.3 miles, I turn around to begin my trek back to the trailhead where I come upon wing prints in the snow most likely made by a raptor such as a hawk or owl swooping in to snatch its prey such as a rodent or songbird. Continuing east, I watch the morning sun rise to produce lengthy tree shadows. Finally, I make it back to the car, turn on the heat and head for home.

 

Season of cold

Leafy lairs appear

Darts among branches

Displays little fear

Snowy tracks

Between the trees

Chatters on high

Stash in the leaves

Creature of winter

Worthy of praise

Squirrel of the woods

I admire your ways

 

D. DeGraaf

February 8

Under mostly sunny skies, temperatures in the mid-teens and a moderate north wind, I find myself 14 miles southeast of Ithaca, hiking the White Pine trail in the Gratiot-Saginaw State Game Area, 17,000 acres of hunting land spanning the southeastern section of Gratiot County and the southwestern section of Saginaw County. Proceeding south over 6 inches of snow, I watch the morning sun beam its light past leafless oaks and maples. Along the way, I notice disturbances of the leaf litter including: a scrape where deer pawed for food, a hole where a squirrel retrieved its stash and a large bedding area where a herd of deer spent the night. Moving ahead, I spot a tiny meandering stream and a classic 10-ft tall snag. Hard to believe, but trees can actually provide more habitats for wildlife dead than when they are alive. These dead and dying “snags” or “wildlife trees” are important to woodland creatures. Birds, small mammals and insects use them for nests, nurseries, storage areas, foraging, roosting, and perching. Nearby, I spot a snow tunnel of a Meadow Vole (stock photo) as well as a few of its surface tracks. In late winter, these tiny mammals venture to the surface in order for their brains to get updated information on the lengthening of daylight that in turn stimulate their appetite and increase their search for food. Coming to the edge of a small, ice-covered lake, I pause to gaze at a gibbous moon barely visible in the blue sky high above the tree line. Stepping out onto the thick ice, I make my way across the snow-covered lake where I spot tracks of deer as well as coyote. Even though dog and coyote have similar paw prints in snow, a dog’s gait pattern (stock photo) is less linear than a coyote’s. Also, my attention is drawn to how the low-angled winter sunlight casts lengthy shadows of tree trunks across the white surface. While these shadows were the longest at the last Winter Solstice (December 21, 2020), they will be the shortest at the upcoming summer solstice (June 20, 2021). Near shore, I notice dried seed heads of Buttonbush and Nut sedge. Next, I pause as a gust of frigid air blows through a stand of Phragmites. Finally, attempting to retrace my steps back to the start, I lose the trail and wander through the forest in the general direction of the car only to find it after an extra hour of trudging through this remote winter wilderness.

 

What lies beneath

My forest way

My trail of snow

On winter’s day

A dormant seed

A tunneling vole

A squirrel’s stash

A chipmunk’s hole

Carpet of white

O’er black and gray

O’er layer of leaves

O’er death and decay

D. DeGraaf

 

February 1

Under mostly cloudy skies, temperatures in the upper teens and a fresh snow cover, I trudge my way east into Camp Cutler, 160 acres of semi-wilderness land located in Montcalm County, 12 miles northwest of Alma. This scout camp was established in 1960 when the Cutler family donated 120 acres to the St Louis Boy Scouts. In 1975, the camp property expanded when the Leppien family donated an adjoining 40 acres. Just ahead, I pass a towering White Oak with its dead leaves still attached and then pause to hear the distant faint drumming of a Downy Woodpecker. Drumming, which is also called tattooing, tapping, and rapping, is a woodpecker's act of rapidly pecking on a tree to create a pattern of sound. It’s a communication signal that helps define territory, attract a mate and maintain the pair bond. In addition, mated woodpeckers may use drumming to let one another know about a food source, summon help at the nest or raise an alarm about a predator lurking nearby. Also, these birds have special adaptations that allow them to peck quickly and repeatedly on hard objects without hurting themselves. Thicker skulls cushion the birds' brains and heads from hard impacts and strong neck muscles allow them to drum for long periods of time without strain. Continuing east, I come to the edge of the North Branch of the Pine River to take in the sights and sounds of this peaceful winter landscape. This watercourse begins its journey 3 miles northwest of here at the confluence of Thatcher Creek and Cedar Drain. From here it flows southeast another 1½ miles into Gratiot County where it empties into the main branch of the Pine River, just north Lumberjack Park. Following the trail as it turns north, I spot a 6- inch diameter Foliose Lichen growing on an oak trunk as well as a decaying maple trunk displaying woodpecker holes and decomposing fungi. Next, I pass through a corridor of Red and White Pines before veering to my left to follow a deer trail into a clearing. Turning around and heading back, I cross the river again while passing a leafless Osier dogwood shrub with its colorful burgundy branches. Upon reaching the car, I gaze overhead through a stand of Aspen trees as the sun finally breaks through the overcast sky.

 

Drifting snow grips the meadow

Old man winter here today

Silence sweeps the river’s edge

All redwings have gone away

North wind blows in frigid air

Ice conceals a verdant pond

Muskrats huddle under mounds

Crows call from far beyond

In the midst of a cedar swamp

Sheltered from the bitter chill

Her eyes and ears on alert

A Whitetail doe stands still

 

D. DeGraaf