OUT!! #7: Bugs of the Sun

You can hear them now. They starting coming out about two weeks ago and their ever present whining in the treetops is more commonly noted than their haggard appearance. More persistent than the hungriest mosquito, but more subtle and expected, the cicadas have returned for another summer of heat and humidity. This is only the second week I've worked at camp and I've already found several of these alien bugs in the bushes around Drumlin Farm. With their dark bodies, window pane wings, and hooked legs, they look weird even by bug standards, but are key indicators of summer in Massachusetts for as long as I've been here. The edginess that one feels in the heat is smoothed by the pleasant, but constant drone of these hidden musicians.

Upon first coming to the United States, my parents thought that the houses had electrical problems due to the constant buzzing in the trees around them. However, they were quickly assured that they were nothing more than whirring insects in the trees above. Despite their initial skepticism, they quickly came to accept these buzzing creatures as just another part of the American summer. The true beauty of these creatures is not found in their looks, but instead within their whining music played in those hot summer months. As inviting as a breeze on a humid day, their simple melodies are too precious to live without.

The Japanese, observant to the ways of nature, associate cicadas with rejuvenation and renewal and their renewed presence each summer illustrates this revitalization felt by those upon hearing of the relaxing buzz of the cicadas in the treetops. The life cycle of cicadas compared to many insects is lengthy, but dependent on the presence of trees. Without trees, cicadas are woefully unprepared for life above the soil's surface. Starting out as eggs in slits carved into tree branches by the females, the nymphs hatch out and drop to the ground where they promptly bury themselves into the soil. They remain here for up to 17 years, but often for much shorter periods. After emerging, their alien shells appear on branches, bushes, and any structure they can hold onto. They molt from these shells into their adult forms in a similar fashion to dragonflies and mayflies when they emerge from their watery homes. After climbing into the trees, the males start their buzzing serenade to females, all the while sipping on the sap found the xylem of the trees they sit on. So much like Jimmy Buffet himself "nibbling on sponge cake" and relaxing in the summer sun, cicadas provide the vocal backdrop to the essence of summer in Massachusetts and around the country.

OUT!! #6: Lessons from a Muskrat

A few days ago I visited the gem of the Metrowest wildlife areas of interest. Don't get me wrong, I love our other wild spaces like Heard Conservation Land, Drumlin Farm, and Walden Pond, but this is one of the few places where I can walk through one of my favorite places to walk, relax, and watch the natural world be. After going through job searches and looking for work for the summer (even this late in the game I know!), I was feeling particularly stressed about where life was going and what I should be doing about it.
This stress was immediately noticeable while I was walking the the main trail between the two marshes. My pace was quick and agitated. I wasn't really looking, but hurrying! It was almost as if I expected nature to show me the way immediately and just accept my presence and dare to calm me down. But then I stopped and thought "What am I doing?! You might get attention thrashing around looking for calm, but that way you ruin the calm that everyone else has come to seek. I looked up and down and breathed deeply. I was approaching this place the wrong way, as a harried adult looking for jobs would with stress on the brain and in the heart.

After I calmed myself down, I looked around at the world that I have visited for wisdom, solace, and insight. I love marshes because they embrace that element so important for life that exists here so beautifully. Here water is king and the water-loving plants know it with the marsh being dominated by cattails (Typha spp.), pickerelweed (Pontederia spp.) , and the ever-loathed purple loosestrife (Lythrum salicaria). Despite the water being controlled by a single set of drains and locks, the water remains most of the year attracting the host of birds it's famous for. I witnessed three Great Blue Herons (Ardea herodias) squawk and chase each other around the pickerelweed, vying for the best spots. They are a peculiar bird with their long necks and pointed beaks. So tall and perfectly designed for spearing fish and other aquatic creatures and yet so rail thin. They eat some pretty big fish and it's a wonder that they don't pack on more pounds.

One thing that's noticeable when trekking through this wonderland are the amount of business and cargo and personal aircraft that buzz like mechanical mosquitoes over the landscape. The nearby airport that they report from is busy enough on this day that in the two hours I spent there I counted almost 20 planes that flew over in a northerly direction. Even with this intrusion, life goes on. The birds, who have probably lived under this barrage of aircraft-generated noise. The Marsh Wrens that make their summer territories here certainly weren't bothered as they song their rattling song in the cattails bordering the main walkway. Their plucky presence is such a delight to see and one wonders whether their tail that stands upright so resolutely ever bows. I giggled as I thought of a wren with a stuck-up tail trying to fly and tumbling while doing so.

As I walked further, other signs of summer were making themselves known. A northern water snake (Nerodia sipedon) sunning itself on a muskrat house. Families of Canada Geese (Branta canadensis) and Wood Ducks (Aix sponsa) roamed the area looking for grass and roosting in the late afternoon sunshine that beckoned from the threatening storm clouds in the distance. Though it threatened to rain a few times, the clouds eventually kept their distance and brought for radiant sunshine for the world below.

Perhaps the most significant moment that made me realize I make my problems bigger than me and therefore let them get to me was when I happened upon a muskrat (Ondatra zibethicus). Muskrats aren't particularly well known for promoting philosophical thought about everyday life, but the muskrat pictured above did so for me. I took the right trail towards the woods that ringed the upper marsh. Before I'd gotten further down the trail I saw movement. The movement came from a brown patch of fur resembling a tribble (Star Trek fans will remember this as the fluffy, asexually-reproducing creature that nearly overflowed the Starship Enterprise that one episode). But it had the small eyes and ears of a rodent, as well as the trademark scaly, laterally-flattened tail that characterize this unique species. As I loomed over it, I noticed that it didn't pay me any attention and kept on nibbling at the grass and cattails. I pished and whistled at it, and loomed over it even more. It didn't react. It didn't acknowledge me at all and continued eating. I stared, amazed that this little creature so often seen as a prey animal and less impressive than other creatures was ignoring one of the most successful species on the face of the planet. The critter made no attempts to escape and continued about its day.

Upon my walk back, I pondered the muskrat and its habits. I've been able to walk up to muskrats before with them having little reaction. Have they simply gotten used to people or are they less persecuted here than they would be in other states. What amazed me most was how the muskrat didn't seem to trifle with me as I had loomed over him so menacingly. If I had done the same to a squirrel or a cottontail, they would have fled immediately. It was then that I realized that I could apply this to my own problems. I had come to the marsh with looming problems about future employment and my future as a student of wildlife management. I left feeling lighter than air and much calmer for what I'd seen. I thought of the herons, and the waterfowl I'd seen, the swallows that had swooped over the marsh, the tenacity of the wrens on their territories. I marveled at the diversity of life I'd witnessed in the marsh and each of the creatures preforming their roles with apparent ease and grace. Finally I thought of the muskrat who in my enormous presence kept going, doing, being. Keeping at the grindstone and moving forward and eventually your current crop of troubles will be whittled away. Fearing the looming cloud will not make it go away, but actively clearing the air will destroy the cloud. I'll try to keep that in mind from now on as I go. Forget "busy as a beaver" and go for a muskrat!