This page contains observations and pictures of my great outdoors. For thoughts about readings, writings and the human condition, go to the Main Blog page.

Heaps of Snow

February 8, 2010

The heaps of snow that were dumped on us during the "Blizzard of 2010" don't seem to be going anywhere fast. We've shoveled the driveway and the sidewalk, but we wonder when (if) a plow will come to our street. We've been enjoying the visitors to our backyard bird feeder. There seem to be lots more juncos this year, but fewer mourning doves than usual. I saw as many as eight cardinals at once, which I believe is our all-time high. The usual collection of song sparrows, house sparrows, white-throated sparrows come and go, as well as the occasional tufted titmouse and white-breasted nuthatch. Even though they are old friends by now, the red-bellied woodpecker and the downy woodpecker are lots of fun to watch. Even the blue jays seem to be willing to share without threatening the more regular visitors. As many as four goldfinches at a time have been visiting the thistle feeder. Today I was surprised to see an Eastern towhee at the feeder. I suppose pickings were slim at his usual venue--there's not much leaf litter to scratch around in this week. He didn't seem to have the same understanding of backyard feeding etiquette as the others, flying at a mourning dove on the feeder instead of waiting his turn. The dove ignored him. He found some seeds on the ground and then tried to dislodge the dove again. The implaccable dove wouldn't budge. I hope the towhee learns that he doesn't have to fight when there's enough for everybody to share. In the shelter of the holly tree, a robin looked quite satisfied as he puffed out his feathers for warmth and turned toward the westering sun. I wonder where those berries went. When we trekked around the neighborhood, we saw a pileated woodpecker tapping at a dead branch, about two miles away from his usual post in the park. A house finch called from a tree, reminding me that I hadn't seen any of his brethren at my feeder. In the next block, a quartet of cedar waxwings shared the dried fruit on a cherry tree with a bunch of robins while a group of humans rocked a stuck car back and forth in a snowy rut. Can we, like the trees, learn to bend without breaking under the weight? More snow is expected tomorrow.

Nutty acorns

November 5, 2009

While out enjoying the spectacular fall foliage this week, I came across some very peculiar acorns. I've seen little acorns with caps down over their equators, but I've always thought that was because they didn't have time to grow big enough before they fell off the tree. But today here were hundreds of full sized acorns under two adjacent trees, all with their caps almost completely covering them. I wondered why. Why are they like that, and why haven't I ever seen them before? Is there something unusual about those two trees? Are they a different species or has there been something different about this growing season? A little investigation reveals that these trees must be overcup oaks. You never know when you might find something you've never seen before, right in the parking lot before you even get into the woods! Learn something every day.

Nestlings

June 28, 2009

Today it was overcast, warm and damp. We stopped at the frog pond for our usual count--only nine frogs, down from seventeen at the last visit. Where were they all hiding? A pile of detritus on the deck up against the wall of the Nature Center made me look up to the phoebe nest that I'd seen there last time. Sure enough, there were at least three little ones poking out their beaks saying "Feed me! Feed me!" Nearby, one of the parents downed a big bug and watched us warily. We've seen a phoebe, or sometimes even two, flitting around on that deck for weeks. Finally we got a peek at the fruits of their labors! In the woods, we saw lots of damselflies with bright green bodies and black wings, which must be ebony jewelwings. If I'm not mistaken, there were some discarded ebony wings in that pile under the phoebe nest.

Down at the beaver pond, I saw at least four herons in flight from the pond to the trees and back. One seemed like it didn't quite know how to tuck its head between its shoulders as it flew. It teetered awkwardly as it landed on a high branch. Perhaps that was a fledgling. In addition to the intermittent machine-like krankrankrank we've heard from the rookery, we heard a very assertive, not to say aggressive, KRRAAAWWWWNNK arising from the greenery. A belted kingfisher perched above the flowering buttonbushes. It was a great day for a walk. I hope we didn't tread on any of those toadlets.

Flower Follow-up

June 16, 2009

Some people have no patience for reruns. Suggest that they retrace a trail they've already trod and they say, "Nah. Been there, done that." Sure, it can be lots of fun to go new places and explore terrain that you've never seen before. Still, there's a special joy that comes from watching what happens in a spot that you know well. Watching for changes through the seasons, you can see the life stories of wild things unfold. Now, spring is turning into summer. Most of those flowers that poked through the leaf litter of the forest floor in April are gone now. What became of them?

Where pollinators visited the yellow flowers of the wild strawberry, berries formed by the end of May. Who do you think ate this berry and left behind a pretty star?

In April, yellow violets scattered the Upland Trail. In June, I found these fuzzy white seedpods. A week later, the pods had opened to reveal the seeds.

Even though I thought I recognized these leaves as violet leaves, the pods had me stumped. Through all the years I've had a profusion of violets growing in my yard, I'd never seen violet seed pods. Is that because the purple ones don't make these pods, or because the right kind of pollinators don't visit my yard? After searching through a zillion results for my google images "seed pod" search, I found these similar pictures of viola eriocarpa. Who knew? There's no end to the new stuff you can notice in the same old places.

June babies

June 12, 2009

Today the warm air practically dripped with the exhalations of the thick foliage and amphibians are everywhere. At the Nature Center, we counted nineteen frogs in the frog ponds. The pond lilies were in full bloom.

Along the Upland Trail this week there were hundreds of tiny toadlets. I've seen them here before but never in such great numbers. When I got home, I had to look them up. I found a very nice description at Animal Diversity Web. There, I learned that the American toad starts out as an egg in a pond that hatches into a tiny tadpole, that morphs into a tiny toad (as big as your thumbnail), that then grows into a toad about three inches tall. You might think those tiny hoppers were crickets if you didn't look closely, but they shouldn't be confused with cricket frogs, which you are more likely to find by the water than out here on the forest floor. We saw them in a spectrum of browns from reddish to almost black. It was hard to get pictures of the little critters because they move so fast. As soon as I'd compose a portrait, they'd hop out of my field of view. Do you think this more sedate toad sitting quietly at the foot of a tree might be their parent?

Approaching the Beaver Pond, I could hear the baby herons making their machine-like noise, but there seemed to be less activity at the rookery than in previous years. The nests most visible from my usual spotting site seemed to be unoccupied. The noise and flapping came from a second tree which is now obscured by lush greenery. There's clearly at least one nest that is still active. A few days ago, there were at least three. I wonder how this week of torrential rains and thunderstorms may have affected those tree-top nurseries. On June 7, this heron in silhouette posed for me on this perch above the pond prior to flying back to the rookery.

April Flowers

April 17, 2009

The flowers in Watkins Park have been spectacular this week. Every day there is more green emerging through the brown. My April flower adventure is described in The Forest Floor in April. I have a lot to learn about plants. I hope I've identified them properly. It took me forever to find a name for that blue star-shaped "scilla." I can't find anything in my book or online that looks like the brown one, or the red and green variegated leaves. If you can enlighten me about these, or any of the plants in my pictures, I hope you'll contact me. This booklet started out as a gift for my mother for her eighty-third birthday because she can't get out into the woods as much as she'd like to these days, but perhaps others might enjoy it. How's the weather where you are today? Isn't it time to get out and breathe some outside air?

A Definite Maybe

February 15, 2009

As we walked counterclockwise along the Loop Trail, with hands pocketed and shoulders hunched against the cold, I noticed a squirrel in a tree. So? Don't we always see squirrels in the trees? Sure, but usually they are running up and down the trunk, or leaping from here to there. I wondered what on earth this one was doing, sitting there so far out on a delicate branch. I trained my binoculars on him. What was he eating? Buds! I watched as he grabbed another twig and munched away on its tender tips. As we continued our perambulation, I could see that many of the trees sport new growth at the ends of their twigs, so small that I wouldn't have notice if the squirrel hadn't shown me where to look.

Behind the Nature Center, the snow drops have sprouted--the large patch we have enjoyed for years, and new patches scattered through the woods, just beginning to flower.

In the depths of February, a whisper. Dare we believe it?

Nesters Welcome

February 14, 2009

Two mockingbirds chased each other around our backyard today, trading monotonous harsh calls so unlike their usual diverse treetop solos. I never could get them both in the same picture as they flitted from holly to dogwood to beech. Maybe they're looking for a nesting place.

A Birding Adventure

Here's a photodocumentation of a phenomenon that I've witnessed at least twice before and described in "My Adventure as a Birder." On December 24, 2009, I walked around Schoolhouse Pond in Upper Marlboro with my daughters. The pond was covered with ice which was covered with birds, mostly seagulls, with scattered Canada geese, mallards and Northern shovellers. Suddenly, the birds were in the air. This was nothing like the sudden flight of starlings who fly in formation, tilting and whirling at identical angles in a tightly choreographed display with audible wing beats. Instead, this crowd took to the air in silence, and separately, not together, much more like swirling snowflakes than well-rehearsed dancers. Watching them float in random loops and circles over our heads seemed so magical I almost forgot to look for what set them off.

In the quiet, a bald eagle winged its way over the pond and took a perch in a tall tree above the boardwalk. I know that local eagle populations have increased greatly in recent years, but I'd never one seen at this pond before. Even if they were as common as dirt, they'd still take your breath away.

The regular denizens of the pond knew better than to act like "sitting ducks" with that broad wingspan casting a shadow on the ice. Only the great blue heron stood his ground, unperturbed. After some watchful waiting in his perch, the eagle took off and looped around the pond again. Then, finding no easy pickings he alit in tree above the observation deck. There he sat, calmly surveying his kingdom. The ducks and geese gradually reappeared on the open water. The swan stayed on alert. The gulls stayed away.

Preparing for Winter

December 14, 2008

“Partly sunny, high of 52,” it says in the paper. However, in the park today, it’s bleak and oh-so December. Grey, grey, grey. The holly is a bright spot—still green, with more berries than usual. Last month, Brigid Schulte reported in the Washington Post that local oak trees haven’t produced many acorns this year. I wonder if the squirrels who can’t find acorns will eat those holly berries instead. Do cyclic changes in fruit and nut production contribute to biodiversity by providing checks and balances to population growth of the various species who share our neck of the woods? No sooner had this interesting question popped into my head than it was displaced by another: What does the park maintenance crew think they are accomplishing with that horrid leaf blower? Its grating scraping and whining blasts out through the woods disturbing the peace. I feel my soul cringe and my brow crease. There’s no escaping it. Forget about listening for the rustle of leaves or the drumming of woodpeckers. Even the Carolina wren can’t be heard through that racket. Pollen and mold spores that have silently rained down get dislodged from their resting places and hurled back into the air along with the carbon dioxide and assorted noxious gases emitted from the leaf blower. For what? Just to move a few errant leaves from the paved path a few feet over to the forest floor.

It's coming on Christmas. They're cutting down trees.
They're putting up reindeer, singing songs of joy and peace.
Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on. --Joni Mitchell

Close encounter in Harmon's Woods

February 24, 2008

As I walked home from the little park where Harmon threw sticks for Bud, a smallish brownish bird flew close overhead, leaving me wondering: What was that flash of yellow? Flicker? Too small, no white rump. Goldfinch? I've never seen one land on the ground like that, right between the sidewalk and the street? A mockingbird flew out of a dormant crabapple, landed next to the little bird, hopped twice and flew off. Why didn't the little bird fly off too? I approached quietly and stood right over it. It looked headless, and too still, but it breathed. The bright yellow tips of its tail feathers spread in a neat row on the greening grass. Its brown head was tucked under its wing, all but hiding its mask. A cedar waxwing, all alone and plum tuckered out. I stood guard for a few moments, wondering what would happen if one of those stray cats that prowl the neighborhood came by. I went home, got my camera, and returned to see it hopping on the grass. As I approached, it flew up to the branch of a cherry tree. Expecting it to fly off any second, I took a picture from too far away, and then crept forward. It returned to a different patch of grass between sidewalk and tree, breathing heavily. It opened its beak, panting. I could see the red inside its mouth. Then it hunched its head between its shoulders and let me take its picture before it flew across the street to take up a perch on the neighbors' flower box. Good luck, little guy. Get some rest. Hope you can find your flock. And watch out for those cats.

Notes from Harmon’s Woods: Sepia Tones

Sunday, December 9, 2007

Today the woods could be a sepia print. Most of the leaves are litter now. Just a few beeches and oaks still cling to their faded browns. After a few minutes awash in brown that blends into grey—grey trunks, grey mist, grey sky--eyes adapt. Green sensors detect those lichens that that won't let go of the tree trunks and mosses bright beside the asphalt. The Carolina wren shouts a welcome. The chickadees and nuthatches harmonize as a woodpecker adds a counterpoint. In a few hours, they'll turn on the Festival of Lights. Cars and carols will take possession. But now the woods is ours.

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