OUT!! #11: I Don't Like Your Dog('s Crap)

I'm sorry. I just had to be blunt about it.

I just returned a few hours ago from Callahan State Park in Framingham and am happy to report that I've added two more bird species to my life list. It was a lovely excursion through thickets and woods that yielded many common species such as Blue Jays (Cyanocitta cristata), Black-capped Chickadees (Poecile atricapillus), a Belted Kingfisher (Ceryle alcyon), and the two new species, a well-hidden, but calling Northern Waterthrush (Parkesia novaboracensis) and a juvenile Tennessee Warbler (Oreothlypis peregrina) foraging with some titmice near the southern end of park.

It was a lovely experience overall, but something just bothered me as I was leaving.

A present? For me? You shouldn't have!

At the start of each trail, there are a multitude of signs that indicate that not only should dogs be on the leash at all times, but that thine owners should clean up their crap as well. I have a problem with the doggy bag theory to begin with, but what bothered me more is that even though the park provides these bags free of charge, whoever came through here with their canine companion either forgot that their beloved, furry friend had just shat in the woods and they had left it there unintentionally, or (and I hope this isn't true) they truly didn't give a crap about the crap that had been left there. You'll be glad to know, I disposed of it in the trash upon my return to the parking lot.

Earlier in my travels, I arrived at the southern parking lot of Callahan where an open meadow leads to an earthen dam that overlooks the surrounding woods and fields, as well as a nearby golf course. I would have been able to enjoy this walk further when I saw something I rarely find pleasing. A large group of dogs that were off the leash. It seems it doesn't matter that there are signs everywhere that say "Keep dogs on leash at all times." because unless people are enforcing the rules, it really doesn't matter. I find this particularly troubling because I have a slight anxiety towards large groups of dogs (usually four or more) and want to stay the hell away from them when I'm alone. Especially when I'm alone. This stems mainly from bad experiences with Doberman Pinchers and larger groups of dogs when walking afield, but I digress.

Even when something can spoil your day, you can always find something to end it on a good note.
In my haste to get away from this group of canine botherers, I went up a forested side trail and found to my surprise, a bevy of small songbirds just waiting to be watched and counted. There were Tufted Titmice (Baeolophus bicolor) everywhere, as well as a few White-breasted Nuthatches (Sitta carolinensis) and even more Black-capped Chickadees. The biggest surprise however came when I looked up into a pine sapling in front of me to see a small, yellow warbler. Not a Yellow Warbler (Setophaga petechia) mind you. I've seen enough of them to know what they are. What struck me was its yellow supercilium, white outlining the wings, olive back, and yellowish underparts. I wrote down these details and looked them up on my iTouch version of the Sibley Guide. I smiled as I recognized the features that pointed to either a juvenile or dull female Tennessee Warbler. Another life bird for me! Despite the canine marauders and a lowly bag of dog crap, I still managed to enjoy myself and picked up two more for the list.

OUT!! #10: Tenkara Doom!

Judging from the title, one might suspect I've come up with a new novel or indie film. While just as likely, I'm actually referring to my brief stint with tenkara (a form of Japanese fly-fishing) that most likely has concluded this September day. It started off earlier in the day when I escaped the confines of my parent's house in Sudbury to go fishing at Puffer Pond in Assabet River National Wildlife Refuge. I have been a life long fisherman, but in recent years have slacked off because of either my own laziness or having a social life that distracts me from the need to taunt the underwater denizens with hook and line. I'm not in anyway implying that fisherman, especially fly-fisherman have no social life, but one does have to realize that once hopelessly addicted to something you cannot adequately explain to the unbaptized members of society, why you find the sport so damn interesting. I went a step further by pursuing a sport very few had even heard of, save for a few Pacific Coast stream fisherman who'd become enamored with combining the simplicity of cane poling with the grace and patience of fly-casting

For all intents and purposes, tenkara pursues the same goal all fly-fisherman have of catching a fish using a lure that best imitates the food a fish is used to seeing in their environment, in the most delicate and natural way possible. The difference with tenkara is that in order to make it even simpler they took away the reel and attach the line to the tip of the rod. They also use mono line as opposed to the white and green fly lines most modern fly casters are used to having in their arsenals. This makes the fly lighter and less "artificial" looking as it slowly sinks to the bottom of where ever one is fishing from. In fact, that's what they generally recommend doing as the main way of fishing. This is done by using a fly that can best be described as a plain hook with a single ruff of hackle feathers that's bobbed gently up and down in the stream or pond to entice a bite. The flies I'm used to using were clearly designed either to be floated (dries), sunk (wets), or streaked through the water like grease lightening (streamer flies) in the vain hope that one of the more sporty and "manlier" game fish would partake. The overall impression this has left me with is that, while a unique contribution and spin on the typical view of "what fly-fishing is", it is quite annoying to have only the one casting style and lure to your availability. The diversity within fly-fishing itself leaves much to be enjoyed, but by trying to simplify something that I feel is best left complicated, you in turn make it more complicated than it needs to be. But enough of the technical aspects, we must return to the story.

As I got to the pond, I extended the pole, attached the line to the end and launched the fly on the end into the air in a series of pirouettes above my head. Back and forth, back and forth. The fly went back and came forward several times hitting the water, surely causing alarm to whatever lay below in the weedy depths of the pond. I wasn't getting into the rhythm, so I slowed down in my casting. It was at this point that the wind decided to blow onshore which all but ensured a failure to cast it (the fly) appropriately onto the water. I tried for several more minutes to cast but either the fly wouldn't cast far enough or the wind would cause the worst sort of tangle: the mid-air line collision tangle. The mid-air line collision tangle is caused when the wind pushes back on the line upon the back cast causing the line to collide with the line nearer to the end of the pole. This then causes the worst part of the tangle to form whereby the fly decides it wants to play too and knots itself around both lines. The resulting tangle leaves the user irate and abusive to the wind obliging line that you had so causally tossed into the wind in the most strained of hopes wouldn't do what you were currently struggling with.

This by far was bad, but the day of tenkara doom wasn't finished with me yet. I decided to try another spot and hopped into the car for the 15 minute journey from ARNWR to Heard's Conservation Land. Along this beautiful spot mainly used by dog-walkers and birders, the Sudbury River sidles lazily around a wooded bend making perfect fishing for panfish such as Brown Bullheads (Ameiurus nebulosis), Bluegills (Lepomis macrochirus), and Yellow Perch (Perca flavascens), as well as some of the larger Largemouth Bass (Micropterus salmoides) and White Suckers (Catostomus commersonii) I'd seen in the river. I walked down the bank, took out my tackle and started waving the rod in the same back and forth manner as before. In my haste to catch the easiest fish in the world however, I failed to realize that my casting backdrop was a Silver Maple tree (Acer saccharinum)and cattail reeds (Typha spp.) and subsequently caught not the panfish I was seeking, but instead the leaves and branches of the aforementioned maple.

After two more tangles and nearly uprooting the entire marsh of leaves and reeds, I safely concluded that it wasn't working. While I'm sad it hasn't worked out, I'm still a fisherman. I can still go bait, spin, and fly fishing (I might even give surf fishing a try one day), but my time with this venture is over. What I won't say is that tenkara isn't worth trying. It certainly is. If you're into fly-fishing and want to simplify your efforts by doing the same activity with a whippy cane pole that's more prone to wind than an errant feather and requires the delicate touch that I cannot muster even if I wanted to, be my guest. The next time I cast a line, it'll have a worm on it.

OUT!! #9: Of Catalpas and Hedge-Apples

You've seen them at least once this summer or at some point in life. The weird, lumpy fruits that bounce off of your lawn from that tree or bush of spurious origin or the long, bean-like fruits of the one with the heart-shaped leaves. These trees are some of my favorites because of their appearance and how little people seem to know about them or where they came from. I am of course referring to Catalpa (Catalpa spp.) and Osage-Orange (Maclura pomifera) trees. Far from being foreign and unknown, these trees are uniquely American species and while not closely related, are at least well recognized for their unique appearance on the New England landscape.

While originally from Texas, I saw my first Osage-Orange tree while working as a camp counselor at Drumlin Farm Day Camp in the summer of 2011. As I handled one of those lumpy fruits I could recall having read about such trees and their unusual fruits in a Golden Guide to Trees I'd read as a child. The guide states the following:

"Osage-Orange like Catalpa is planted widely outside its original range. It was used as one of the first "living fences" to bound prairie farms. Indians prized the tough wood for bows and war clubs; we use it to a limited extent for posts and ties. Osage-orange is a relative of the Mulberries and the Fig. It is easily identified by its shiny leaves, thorny twigs, bright orange inner bark. The unusual, wrinkled, orange-like fruit, 4 to 5 in. in diameter, has a typical citrus odor, but the inside is dry and pulpy, with a milky juice. It grows from a ball of small green flowers. Height: 15 to 50ft"

Photograph of leaves and fruit courtesy of Wikipedia

I remember that description well and was delighted to find several of the trees at Drumlin. Why they had been planted there is anyone's guess because they seemed to be scattered throughout the property. I have seen only three trees myself and hope that there are others of this one-of-a-kind tree elsewhere. Their scatter shot plantings didn't seem to have a fence post or enclosure in mind so perhaps, they were used for folk remedies when they were planted with the hope that the fruit they produced could be used to ward of various insects and spiders that hid in the home. According to a Wikipedia article on the plant, while it was used as a natural fence, its fruit, often called "hedge-apples", were used as insect repellant. This was possibly due to the citrus smell given off by the fruit and in some instances was strong enough the keep certain insects away permanently.

A Catalpa that resides on the Heard's Conservation Land.

While the Osage is unique in its own right, it is certainly less familiar than the Catalpa. One cannot drive anywhere along a main road in Sudbury or Wayland without seeing one of these distinctive trees. They're are the archetypical shade tree with their broad, green leaves and enormous canopies. I initially was only aware that there were trees by such a name due to a type of fishing bait I'd heard of called catalpa worms. The worms themselves are actually misnomers. They are actually the larvae of the Catalpa Sphinx Moth (Ceratomia catalpae) which feed on the leaves of the plant that they're named for. Originally of the Missouri River Valley, the Northern Catalpa (Catalpa speciosa) has been introduced widely as fast-growing tree for timber production by farmers, but also for its aesthetic and shade providing qualities.

The unusual, yet intriguing aspects of these trees make them pop out to those who are paying attention. But to those who puzzle over a lumpy green fruit from that monster tree in the yard or that beautiful shade tree planted 100 years ago, you can be assured that if its either one of these trees, you will be thrilled.

OUT!! #8: The Natural Child

This summer has quite possibly been one of my most productive in terms of personal growth and learning about what truly makes me happy as an individual. The joy of being able to teach children about the natural world is a wonderful occupation and having the ability to be outside and interacting with nature fills my heart with unadulterated glee! Being able to show these young people these beautiful places that have been set aside for their benefit and education is one of the reasons I'm interested in becoming a teacher. Perhaps not a classroom teacher, but a teacher of nature and how it works.

For the past four summers ('08, '09, '11, and '12) I have been a summer camp counselor at Drumlin Farm Day Camp and have taught kids from 1st to 5th grade about the natural world, local wildlife, the state of the environment, and sustainable farming practices. With such a range of subjects, it almost seems daunting that anyone could cover such a diverse range of topics, but the degree of professionalism and knowledge shown by the Drumlin Farm camp staff is simply phenomenal. So many people from so many backgrounds all come together to produce (I'm quite biased as you can guess) one of the best summer camp experiences possible. However, as the title suggests this posting is less about praise and more about my perceptions about what children should be able to experience in the outside world.

I'm currently working from Assabet River National Wildlife Refuge Mini-Camp, which is a satellite location from Drumlin Farm that offers shorter camp sessions (three days) in exchange for more specialized curricula and activities to take place than would be possible at the main camp. For example, last week was themed "Nature Exploration" and focused on the three habitats found at the refuge: fields or woodland openings, the surrounding forest, and the kettle pond (Puffer Pond) in the center. For anyone to suggest that all kids are interested in these days are video games, electronics, and the latest androgynous pop stars has never seen a group of first graders crowded under a tree, quietly watching a Blue Jay (Cyanocitta cristata) that was right above our heads. The bird seemed unperturbed by our presence and sat peacefully in the pine sapling above our heads, occasionally turning its head to survey the surrounding area. Another example to contradict this idea of bored children with little regard for the natural world was last week on the last day of the "Nature Exploration" camp we had to ask the campers several times to STOP ponding so that they could hike back to eat lunch. They had been ponding* for over an hour already and if it weren't for their need to consume food in order to remain happy and agreeable for the remainder of the day, we would have let them continue to do so.

*For the uninitiated, "ponding" refers to an activity centering around active nature exploration where the campers use sieves on the end of broom poles to scoop and sample the depths of ponds for the organisms that dwell within them. Common catches include, but are by no means limited to, diving beetles (Dytiscidae), water striders (Gerridae), dragon and damselfly larvae (Odonata), crayfish (Cambarus bartonii bartonii is the commonest), and frogs (typically consisting of Green and Bullfrogs (Rana clamitans and R. caresbeiana)).

While I understand that not all children can be let free in the wilds and expected to enjoy it as much as the person teaching them about it, for the most part, the kids that come are excited to be here. For those who aren't as enthused, while I'll be glad to show the kids a gall left behind by a wasp or other plant-molesting insect or point out the difference between a White Pine (Pinus strobus) and a Red Pine (P. resinosa), there are those few that seem to have been sent to camp as a way for the parents to get their kids outside for the summer and to have a place to look after them while they are at work. In those cases, few benefit and often the child is bored as they seem more interested in playing games that resemble school sports and causing wanton destruction to the surrounding plant life. Regardless of a given child's level of interest in nature, these kids have a future ahead of them plagued with troubles that threaten the very wildlife and plant life that they are allowed to freely revel in today. It is my hope that through this current generations efforts to protect and further educate those interested in the natural world, we can start a movement similar to the "back to the earth" movements of the 1960s and 70s which focused in on the importance of outdoor education and advocacy with an emphasis on greening communities using more local materials and traditional methods of agriculture.

Perhaps this is a pipe dream. Perhaps wishful thinking for the future. But even if there is just one who truly believes in a cause, they will make it happen, no matter the obstacles. Such dreaming reminds me of the Lorax by Dr. Seuss where the Onceler's selfish actions cause such severe environmental degradation to the point of local wildlife leaving in a mass exodus and causing enough smog to block out the stars at night. The message left by the Lorax as he "lifted himself by the seat of his pants" is a hopeful, yet ominous "UNLESS" causing the Onceler to regret his actions and tell the story to a local boy in order to enlist him as a steward of the last of the Truffula trees. This story is truly inspirational to me and through its example I hope we can find that strength to fix our current problems and allow for those future generations to be as fortunate as we are now to have woods to frolic in, ponds to pond in, and wild areas that people can explore for years to come.

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!

OUT!! #5: Woodchucks of a Third Kind

Woodchucks. Whistle Pigs. Gophers. Groundhogs. Love 'em or hate 'em, they are one of the most recognizable rodents in North America. Just behind the beaver in charming wildness and just ahead of the squirrel in mischievousness, the woodchuck has garnered itself a mixed reputation, especially in our backyard. You see, in our yard we keep chickens. Two Buff Orpingtons that provide us with semiregular supply of eggs throughout the year providing they haven't laid them elsewhere in the yard or have, God forbid, gone broody!

But what, I hear you asking, do woodchucks and chickens have to do with one another? A mixture of shelter, food, and opportunity caused a woodchuck both this summer and the last to take up residence in our yard. The one this year has three young chucks with it and hopefully, unlike the one last year, won't start stealing my chickens food. The one last year dug under the shed and used it as a hidey hole when I ran at it trying to run it off and out of the yard. This tactic of course was doomed to failure since he would simply appear when we weren't looking and then vanish before we could properly realize that it had graced our presence once more. The summer ended and whether it left or went into hibernation was unknown to us. We did our best to try and bury its handiwork and plug the holes under the shed, but as we've learned this summer, burying the home of an animal that lives underground constitutes either the highest optimism or the lowest intellect.

The woodchuck (I don't particularly care if it was the same one or not) came back and is now raising its children in our nature haven of a back yard. I guess that's what we get for not trimming the grass more regularly, but it is truly a delight to see rabbits, chucks, squirrels, birds, and chickens mingling and living together in harmony. We've declared amnesty on the woodchucks now and it will stay that way so long as these ones don't touch the chicken feed. If they can avoid that, peace will be maintained and the lazy summer can continue.