Atop Hawk Mountain, Pa., 2010

Atop Hawk Mountain, Pa., 2010
Photo by R.E. Berg-Andersson

Saturday, March 9, 2024

March Madness (Margo's Version)

March Madness means different things to different people. For most, it means collegiate basketball. For me, it is the start of the spring cleaning period when I must get my garden cleared of leaves, pods and other winter debris before the bulk of the flowers start blooming.

This year, however, was especially mad because instead of mid-month the unusual February warmth started the daffodils in my front yard blooming two weeks early and the plants were surrounded by, or growing through, leaves. Another problem: Periods of rain expected in the coming days meant I had only two consecutive dry days to get as much done as I could.

And so it began:

Day 1

I got out later than I should've to cut back the ornamental grasses on what turned out to be a sunny, April-like March morning. These grasses, maiden grass as I recall, I planted at the same time the garden center guys planted Spruce. They are in a plot not protected by deer netting because deer don't eat these grasses with their knife-like foliage. Ornamental grasses come in various colors and grow to various heights. Mine are somewhat stunted because of the network of roots the now-departed ash tree put under them. 

One of the ornamental grasses flowering last year, at its peak.
(Margo D. Beller)

In late summer these grasses throw up plumes of reddish seed heads; in autumn, if conditions are right, the leaves go from green to gold (last autumn was one such year because of all the rain we got, and maybe because those ash roots are no longer growing).

About the only problem with these grasses is they eventually become piles of dry straw and have to be cut back in the spring so the new shoots can come up and allow the process to begin again.

The same grass, far from its peak,
before its haircut. (Margo D. Beller)

I started with the smallest of the grasses, the one closest to the edge of the property and which takes the brunt of the cold northwest winds each winter. Lawn services have the tools to cut a nice even edge. I use my long-handled lopper. The results are not the neatest but it gets the job done. As I worked I had to make sure my bench was not resting on one of the daffodils or other plants just starting to come up. (The daffodils in this area always bloom later than the ones in front, which get more of the sun.) 

The next two grasses were progressively larger and thus took longer to cut, but eventually it all got done with a minimum of damage to the green shoots coming up or the flowers growing near them as I moved my work bench or my feet around to get at the straw.

The day ended with my cutting back the butterfly bush in the front yard, which had already started leafing out. My upper back needed a good rest.

Day 2

Day 1 was a Sunday - sunny and warm, bringing out a host of neighbors, their kids and, unfortunately, their barking dogs. Usually I go inside when it gets too noisy but I had a time constraint and work to do Sunday, so I ignored them and hoped to outlast them.

Leafy liriope and the pink flowers of sedum.
(Margo D. Beller)

By contrast Day 2 was a Monday - cloudy, cooler and a work/school day. I got out by 6:20 a.m. to start raking leaves out of one of the front garden plots where there were spent liriope and sedum foliage to cut back. Both plants flower in autumn. Bees love the sedum. Unfortunately, so do the deer. That's why I had to pull down the netting as far as I could without ripping it or breaking the support poles and lean over it to do my work. As usual there is always one pole where the netting won't move smoothly either up or down. Also as usual, I wished I didn't have to do my gardening this way.

Monday turned out to be a busy day after all, but with a particular type of bird.

Cleared front area, allowing the daffodils to be seen. There
will be many more types of flowers blooming here
as the season goes on.
(Margo D. Beller)

The singing birds I expected - robins, cardinal, Carolina wren, among others. What I didn't expect were the waves of migrant Canada geese taking off from ponds or fields and heading north over my yard to their breeding grounds. They were so loud I could hear them coming long before I saw the skeins, some of which had hundreds of birds. I always stop to watch for them because the large, uneven Vs look so impressive as these families make their way, calling constantly and shifting positions every so often so a different bird could lead from the V's point. The last skein I saw must've had at least 300 birds.

(One woman coming along my street as the geese flew over was doing what must've been her morning power walk. She was talking on the phone as she walked. That must've been an important conversation for so early in the morning. She missed a fine show.) 

My work station as I cut back the grasses.
(Margo D. Beller)

I finished my chores by removing burlap and clearing debris in the backyard plot where yews are protected by netting. The geese must've known something because the first of several expected rainy days began Tuesday.

As you might expect, this annual madness took a toll on my body, but it couldn't be helped. Too-early-blooming flowers and an expected week of rain were beyond my control, so I had to work within the time I had. My reward, once this long and tedious job is done, is being able to enjoy the flowers in my garden without leaves or overgrown old foliage getting in the way.

Which reminds me, I need a haircut.

Saturday, March 2, 2024

Oh, Deer!

My brother-in-law lives in a rural part of New Hampshire. When we visit in winter his feeders draw a number of birds. Winter can be harsh up there, climate change notwithstanding. Sometimes the feeders draw something unusual - common redpolls or a flock of wild turkeys, for instance.

(Margo D. Beller)

Recently he announced the feeders had drawn something really unusual, at least to his yard - deer.

Welcome to my world.

In the past, hunting or natural predators have been very efficient in keeping down the deer population in his area. But now there are more homes being built on his road, and those neat parcels of lawn are very enticing for deer. Hunting season is apparently no longer enough up there.

All this, including hunting in restricted areas, has been going on in my suburban New Jersey neighborhood for decades. I've learned the hard way what happens when you grow plants that are not only attractive to you but to wildlife.

First it was the rabbits that nibbled at the asters. I put in a small fence that discouraged them. But it did nothing to stop the deer eating the asters or the euonymous shrubs or the lilies or the sedums. So I put in metal fence posts and hung deer netting. The fence posts would not stay in the ground so eventually they were replaced by thin, plastic-coated metal posts I could more easily hammer in, and on which I tied the netting. 

Protecting the evergreen euonymous
(Margo D. Beller)

Then I learned a hungry deer that was desperate enough would grab the netting with its teeth or use the strength of its hoof to rip a big hole. At first I used burlap to cover the netting on two front plots in winter, but the flapping and tearing caused by the wind had a neighbor complaining. Now I double a piece of netting to make it that much thicker, and I cut back the evergreen euonymous plants as winter approaches to make them harder to reach.

Like my brother-in-law I learned a deer will knock feeders around and eat the spilled seeds. One morning I saw an 8-point buck eating from the house feeder. Not wanting to be gored I banged on the enclosed porch's glass. It looked at me and ambled away. Another reason to take in the feeders at night. (I'd been taking the feeders in at night ever since the first bear attack, except when we've had heavy snow.) 

I learned a fawn could get behind the netting from around the corner if I didn't block the space with folded metal fencing. I learned there are plants deer are less likely to eat, though a hungry deer will always take a bite out of something (such as a canna leaf or a hot pepper) and then learn not to eat it again. (Of course, if enough deer take a bite, you have a dead plant.) 

(Margo D. Beller)

If I had known about deer over 25 years ago when I put in the plants what I have since learned, my garden would look very different. No azaleas and more daffodils, for instance. More ornamental grasses, fewer sedum. 

With Spring coming on I am already dreading the annual hassle of pulling the netting down so I can position myself as close as possible and then lean over the net to remove leaves or stray locust pods and get the beds ready for the season. Every few years I have to pull out the posts and replace the netting. (Last year I did this with the two front beds in a marathon session. Once netting comes down it can't be left that way because of the deer threat.)

Backyard burlap protecting yew plants I learned are
particularly attractive to deer. The backyard
neighbor doesn't seem bothered by the burlap. (Margo D. Beller)

Every year I say to hell with it, I'm taking down all this damned fencing. Then a herd of two to eight deer passes through and I remember why I struggle with this damned fencing.

My brother-in-law doesn't have to worry about this in his rural Eden, at least not yet. For now he'll be taking the feeders in at night, until the bears come out of their dens and he stops feeding the birds for the season anyway. 

Thursday, February 29, 2024

Leap Day Thoughts

One year ago, on February 28, 2023, the last day of meteorological winter, my area of New Jersey got significant snow for the first time all season, so much snow that Spruce Bringsgreen got a thick white coat.

First daffodils, Feb. 29, 2024
(Margo D. Beller)
Yesterday, February 28, 2024, the temperature in my area came close to 60 degrees Fahrenheit for the second time this month. February is usually the coldest month of the winter. After the first very warm day a few weeks before, the early flowers - snowdrops and crocus - in my yard came up and the flowers were close to opening. So were the daffodils. The next day we had cold and snow. The daffodils stopped growing but the crocus and snowdrop flowers continued to form, because this is their usual growing time.

Spruce (at right), Feb. 13, 2024 
(Margo D. Beller)
Now that snow is gone and those flowers are open. That is not unusual. What was unusual was the daffodils that had been rising from the cold ground, then forming flowers when the temperature warmed and then, yesterday, those flowers starting to open at least two weeks early.

More unusual: Today is February 29, known as Leap Day. This occurs once every four years. If today had been March 1 the old saying of March coming in like a lion and leaving like a lamb would've been true. Early this Feb. 29 morning the wind was howling, bringing down many dead tree limbs all over my yard. The temperature is not expected above 40 degrees F, a drop of nearly 20 degrees from yesterday.

Snowdrops, February 2024
(Margo D. Beller)
For weeks I have heard territorial birdsong in the early morning. I have heard cardinal, Carolina wren and white-breasted nuthatch. Canada geese in the nearby community garden have been fighting each other for breeding space. Geese and flocks of robins have been feeding on any large area of green, be it house yard, office park or farm field. The days are now noticeably longer and that longer light is triggering the beginning of mating season.

This morning a flock of grackles flew to the trees over my yard soon after I put out feeders. I went out and stood by the feeders. After communication of some sort (I heard nothing, of course) they all flew off. Yesterday they had soft, wet ground to pick at for food. Today the ground is frozen, and sunflower seeds would be better than nothing. But not in my yard today.

Grackles, from February 2020. The flock today was
not nearly this big. (Margo D. Beller)
Back to Leap Day. By coincidence I am reading a book by Rebecca Boyle, "Our Moon." It explains, in highly readable style, how the Moon (and Earth) was created, its influence on tides and crops, and how it was used to create calendars, among many other things. But due to a difference between the calendar we now use thanks to Julius Caesar and Pope Gregory based on the sun, and the lunar calendar, a day is added every four years to February, the shortest month of the year. (Boyle's book has a very clear explanation of why the leap day and the short month happened.)

(Margo D. Beller)
The Moon has been known to do funny things when it comes to weather and the human mind (and not just for "lunatics"). So I guess I should not be surprised that one year after a snowstorm it should be 60 degrees, and one day after it feels like Spring it should feel like Winter again.

At least the sun is shining, and tomorrow the temperature will rebound for the start of meteorological Spring.



Sunday, January 7, 2024

The Study of Nature

Do schools teach earth science anymore? Is there discussion in the classroom about nature and all the things one sees when outdoors?

"Anna Botsford Comstock 1854-1930" by USDAgov is licensed under CC BY 2.0.

Nowadays, it seems we hear more about what CAN'T be taught in schools or what should not be allowed to be taught in schools than about what IS taught in schools. (I am not a teacher and do not have children, so I don't know.)

During the administration of George W. Bush, in 2002, the U.S. enacted the "No Child Left Behind" law. At that time Bush was quoted as saying:

"We're gonna spend more money, more resources, but they'll be directed at methods that work. Not feel-good methods. Not sound-good methods. But methods that actually work." (emphasis mine)

According to Brittanica, that meant "states were required to administer yearly tests of the reading and mathematics skills of public school students and to demonstrate adequate progress toward raising the scores of all students to a level defined as 'proficient' or higher by 2014. Teachers were also required to meet higher standards for certification. Schools that failed to meet their goals would be subject to gradually increasing sanctions, eventually including replacement of staff or closure."

Rather than helping students, the rules forced teachers to concentrate more on offering enough learning to live up to the testing standards than to actually educate the primary and secondary school kids. (Earth science was not considered worthy of mention.) The rules were eventually eased during the Obama administration.

Back around the turn of the last century, the concerns were different. There was no TV or internet to distract children and keep them indoors. The people at Cornell University's agricultural college thought teachers should have a guide to explain how children should see the outdoors - basically everything animal, vegetable or mineral except humans. 

Another difference: Back then it was much more common to see farms, and agriculture was a major part of the U.S. economy. According to Statistica, in 2022 there were just over 2 million farms in the U.S., compared with 2.2 million in 2007, and the average size has been steadily decreasing. 

But farmland was decreasing long before 2007 as post-World War II population increases prompted an explosion in housing on what used to be crop-growing fields, such as the famous Levittown development in Garden City, Long Island, NY.

Back before suburbs took over farmland, Cornell wanted a "Handbook of Nature Study" to be available for teachers. To write it, the university turned to the only woman on staff, Anna Botsford Comstock. She had been a student at Cornell - one of the first - and met her husband, John Henry Comstock, there. She eventually made engravings for illustrative plates for her husband's books on insects and butterflies, as well as for her own books on nature studies, including bees.

It was when she was appointed to the New York State Committee for the Promotion of Agriculture in 1895 that she planned and conducted an experimental course of nature study for public schools, which resulted in her "Handbook."

The book has never gone out of print. The used copy my husband recently bought was the 22nd edition of the 1974 printing, with a new introduction written in 1986. It is even available for download.

You could say Anna Botsford Comstock was the original ecologist, though the word was not in existence in 1911. 

The first part of her guide explains teaching nature study, why such learning is important and what to do (and not do) to get a child interested. The next sections cover animals (including mammals, fishes and birds), plants (including wildflowers and weeds) and earth and sky (including soil, rocks, water and, most interesting to me, climate and weather).

(Margo D. Beller)

Nature study gives a child "practical and helpful knowledge. It makes him familiar with nature's ways and forces, so that he is not so helpless in the presence of natural misfortune and disasters," she writes. "Nature-study cultivates the child's imagination, since there are so many wonderful and true stories that he may read with his own eyes, which affects his imagination as much as does fairy lore..."

And here's something to consider in these days of social media, artificial intelligence and not being able to tell what is true from what isn't: "Perhaps half the falsehood in the world is due to lack of power to detect the truth and to express it. Nature-study aids both in discernment and in expression of things as they are."

Think about that the next time you read an article about how children are spending more time inside on TikTok than they are on their studies.

Within each section are lessons for teachers, and sometimes interesting quotations. For instance, in the section on the woodchuck, the teacher is encouraged to take students outside to find a woodchuck burrow and, if the animal appears, study it. The teacher can discuss such things as when young woodchucks are born, how many can live in the same burrow and the animal's physical characteristics.

At the end of that section was a long excerpt from Henry David Thoreau's Journal, including: "I think I might learn some wisdom of him," he says of a woodchuck he encountered during a walk and stayed to study. "His ancestors have lived here longer than mine. He is more thoroughly acclimated and naturalized than I."

Thoreau spent his life being outside as much as he could, observing nature and writing down his findings. He did not need a handbook to tell him what he could see around him, but not everyone is a Thoreau.

In the urbanized, suburbanized, commercialized, technology-driven world we now live in, where climate change is altering the way we interact with the world, it is heartening when we read of young people who are angry about what is happening in the world they've inherited, and are trying to do something about it.

But they may be the exception. You have to have an interest in the outside world to care anything about it. Which brings me back to my original question: Is earth science (or ecology or whatever you want to call it) taught in school anymore?

Anna Comstock gets the last word: "When it is properly taught, the child is unconscious of mental effort or that he is suffering the act of teaching. As soon as nature-study becomes a task, it should be dropped; but how could it ever be a task to see that the sky is blue, or the dandelion golden or to listen to the oriole in the elm!"

Baltimore oriole (Margo D. Beller)


Monday, January 1, 2024

Once Around the White Oak

Back in November I wrote a post about my dismay at finding another trail at the Great Swamp, the 7800-square-foot national wildlife refuge, was being boardwalked so that more people can walk through a variety of habitats without the danger of slipping on icy or muddy ground.

That was then. (RE Berg-Andersson)

This "managed" part of the Swamp has been slowly but surely planking paths to get more people walking, and perhaps limit where they walk. Too many people have a habit of walking wherever they feel like, with or without dogs and children, thus disturbing wildlife and eroding sensitive areas.

My husband (MH) and I need our exercise and I wanted to get us out of the house. So on the last Saturday of 2023 we decided to check out the finished pathway and compare it to when we last walked the 1-mile White Oak Trail, as it is called, in January 2016. At that time it was cold and the path was icy. We wore boots and carried our walking sticks. 

The path is a loop. You walk a bit and then can either go to the left into the woods, or to the right toward the many old white oaks. At that time there were more things growing in the area of the path, including trees, which is why we were surprised when we suddenly came upon the large trees.

THE White Oak, the one for which the trail is named, is a massive tree reckoned to be several centuries old. The tree was around when the road we drove up had a neighborhood along it. The tree was around when the federal government planned an airport on the property, and it was around when Helen Fenske and other activists got that plan blocked. The trail begins across the road from the education center named for her.  

This is now. THE White Oak is
to the left. (Berg-Andersson)

I have stood at the base of the redwoods in California's Muir Woods north of San Francisco and been impressed by the sheer size and majesty of the trees. I was similarly impressed by the White Oak, though it is not nearly as tall. 

I walked over to the tree and MH took my picture. I look puny, but I like the picture because it reminds me of my - and humankind's - place in the general sphere of things. Stand next to a mighty tree and you will gain some perspective. (At least I hope so.)

We continued on the trail, entered woods, walked through and around and eventually came back to the road and our car.

Fast forward eight years.

View from the boardwalk back towards the
Fenske center. (RE Berg-Andersson)

The boardwalking certainly kept our feet safe from the cold mud of the old trail, which we could see as we walked. I wore sneakers. MH used his cane for his balky knees. It was chilly from a breeze but in the 40s, normal for the time. However, for the previous two weeks temperatures had been above normal and it was very wet for December, so it felt colder by comparison. (Of course, had the temperature been normal all month we would've been walking in several inches of snow.)

We forked right, heading to the oak. Unlike last time we could see it quite clearly because where we were walking had had a controlled burn a few years ago to make a habitat conducive to woodcock. (This was before the boardwalk went in, of course.) The wide openness unnerved me, for some reason.

Another difference: When you stay on the boardwalk you can't get close to the White Oak. Perhaps that was by design. Weeds and other plants have grown in the area where I stood next to the tree. I suppose this was just as well because the old tree was showing signs of damage, either from age or from this autumn's major wind and rain storms. (I have a sizable brush pile at home thanks to those storms.) 

As MH took pictures I wondered how much longer the tree would last. 

We pushed on into the woods, where I felt more comfortable. By now the boardwalk gave over to cinders. Here were the birds, starting with a calling redshouldered hawk. The trees blocked much of the wind and we could see water everywhere from the last major storm less than a week before. This is what a swamp does - it collects water. However, on paved areas water runs off, flooding streets and backing up sewers, damaging the many residential areas now built on former barrier islands or meadowlands. (Ironically, the paved road in the Swamp where there were once houses was closed this day to car traffic because of flooding.)

Vernal pool (RE Berg-Andersson)

We then entered another cleared area I didn't remember being so clear, but this one was smaller and led back to woods that were again boardwalked and featured some benches. One bench was near a vernal pool. Vernal pools fill with spring rains and are essential to the lives of salamanders and wood frogs. What should've been empty was filled to overflowing from all the rain. I wondered if this would have an effect next spring but I leave the explanations to the experts

A woman at the Fenske center said that while many areas had been cleared for the boardwalk, the route of the trail had not been changed and it was still a mile long. It had seemed much longer.

We were lucky there had not been many people walking this trail when we were, either because of the cold or because they were doing other things in other places in the week between Christmas and New Year's, when schools are closed. I do not like noise when I am trying to look at a bird. Nor do I like having to get out of the way of a large group of people approaching. But MH, who has become very careful about where he hikes, said he'd be willing to walk this trail again in the spring when the migrating birds pass through. I hope my luck will hold at that time.

So maybe I was too hard on the boardwalking of this trail. However, I still believe my concern to be valid that too many natural areas "opened up" to all are being overrun by people who learned during the Covid pandemic that being outside can be therapeutic for them, if not for the land they walk upon.

Sunday, December 3, 2023

Canary In A Coal Mine

There are things we see every day and take for granted. Birds, for instance. 

When I was growing up not far from the southern Brooklyn shore, I did not pay much attention to the birds. There were "sparrows," "pigeons" and "seagulls." In my immediate area the "park" was a large, concrete area with swings, basketball hoops, benches and a wall for playing handball. There was no greenery beyond some trees. My house had a postage stamp-sized backyard just big enough for some rose bushes, hydrangeas and small bit of grass.

A part of the Brooklyn shore I didn't appreciate when
I was growing up in the area. (RE Berg-Andersson)

Luckily for me, I could walk the quarter-mile or so under a highway underpass to the bay. If I wanted to walk farther, I'd go to Plumb Beach and look at the Atlantic Ocean. At the time this beach was dirty and not really a place to go alone, especially at night. (Now it is part of the Gateway National Park system.) At the time I lived here I did not appreciate the variety of habitats and birds available to me, if only my second-generation American parents had had more of an interest in things beyond making a living to raise their family.

I now know the presence of birds can tell you a lot about an area. So can their absence.

At the time I grew up there my neighborhood was mainly white. Several miles down Nostrand Ave. an apartment complex was decidedly not mainly white. I don't know if it had a park, concrete or otherwise.

What prompts these thoughts is an article the New York Times reported in November about a study by Nature Human Behavior, published online in September. The Times put on a headline that seems rather silly considering the content of the report, but it would be the type of thing to appeal to its upscale (or wannabe upscale) audience: "Why Warblers Flock To Tonier Neighborhoods."

I don't know why there was a two-month lag between study and article, and I did not care to set up an account to read the full Times article. But I did read a similar article in Mongabay.com, where the headline took the report much more seriously:

Discriminatory U.S. housing policies still affect bird sightings 90 years later

In a way, this should be obvious. In the areas where nonwhite people had to live because of the institutionalized banking process known as redlining, parks were not a high priority. 

From the report:

Historic segregation and inequality are critical to understanding modern environmental conditions. Race-based zoning policies, such as redlining in the United States during the 1930s, are associated with racial inequity and adverse multigenerational socioeconomic levels in income and education, and disparate environmental characteristics including tree canopy cover across urban neighbourhoods. 

Here we quantify the association between redlining and bird biodiversity sampling density and completeness—two critical metrics of biodiversity knowledge—across 195 cities in the United States. We show that historically redlined neighbourhoods remain the most undersampled urban areas for bird biodiversity today, potentially impacting conservation priorities and propagating urban environmental inequities. 

The disparity in sampling across redlined neighbourhood grades increased by 35.6% over the past 20 years. We identify specific urban areas in need of increased bird biodiversity sampling and discuss possible strategies for reducing uncertainty and increasing equity of sampling of biodiversity in urban areas. Our findings highlight how human behaviour and past social, economic and political conditions not just segregate our built environment but may also leave a lasting mark on the digital information we have about urban biodiversity.

Here's another reason this should be obvious. When the Cornell Ornithology Lab and the Audubon Society urge "citizen scientists" to report what they are seeing in their hikes and at their feeders, either through the eBird database or for the annual Christmas Bird Count (which has a fee) or the Presidents Day weekend Great Backyard Bird Count (which doesn't), the majority of participants are people who live near parks or have backyards where they can hang feeders. In a gritty urban neighborhood, feeding birds may not be the highest priority when there are so many other things you must do to survive when money is tight. 

The people who DO report are generally people like me: white, older, with enough money to buy a house with some land in an area near a variety of habitats suitable for hiking, fishing and, if we have an interest in it, looking for birds. To draw these birds to us, we hang feeders filled with various types of seed or suet. It has only been in recent years that a serious effort has been made to encourage nonwhite people to get involved with birding specifically and nature in general.

From the Mongabay article:

“We’re starting to untangle the environmental effects, because segregation did not just shape where highways and wastewater facilities were built,” said [study] lead author Diego Ellis-Soto, an ecologist at Yale University, “but also where national parks and urban recreation areas were built.” Those green spaces, he noted, attract wildlife.

Is it any wonder historic birding references are written by mainly wealthy white men and lack data from redlined neighborhoods? In a way it is similar to why women have suffered because research into such things as cardiovascular disease has centered on men, thus ignoring how women react in similar circumstances.

Redlining was officially outlawed in 1968, although some would say the practice continues in a less obvious way.

As I said, in many urban neighborhoods I know a "park" is a concrete playground with basketball courts, maybe a few benches and a swing or slide for the smaller children. There are exceptions, of course. In the planned neighborhood of Sunnyside Gardens, the small houses were built in the English style, with a common, shared backyard that provides some needed space and a chance for neighbors to get together. (This area has become a preserved neighborhood to save it from being razed for more high-rise buildings.)

Most of New York is considered a concrete jungle, even though it contains Central [Manhattan], Prospect [Brooklyn] and Van Cortlandt [Bronx] parks, among others.  

But the majority of my home borough hasn't had farms or other large swaths of open space for centuries, not since Brooklyn was "developed" to handle the Manhattanites and others seeking to escape for more space. The people living near Prospect Park in Park Slope, along the near parts of Eastern Parkway and in Windsor Terrace spend a lot of money to live near this park, considered by landlords an offered "amenity." Maybe that will change in more of the nonwhite neighborhoods as they become "gentrified" by an influx of younger, richer, whiter people who demand more parks (and whose higher rents force out others, perpetuating the cycle).

You could say the absence of birds - whether through climate change or redlining - is like the canary in a coal mine, telling us things we might not want to know but ignore at our peril.
 

Sunday, November 19, 2023

Odds And Ends

Most of the leaves have come down, except for those of the white oaks in back and the walnut in front between my property and the neighbor's. The acorns finished coming down, at least on my porch roof and patio, weeks ago but there are still plenty of pods left in the locust tree. 

All the important plant work is done, the pots stowed away. With the exception of a couple of small jobs, I can rest for the winter. 

So now I'm looking through the pictures I took that didn't get used in a blog post. 

For instance, here is Speedwell Lake, located not far from where I live. It is stocked with trout, drawing fishermen and fishing birds, including great blue herons, double-crested cormorants and the occasional osprey. I liked the mirror effect in this picture taken in August.

(Margo D. Beller)

This next picture, meanwhile, was taken in October. I was walking along Patriots Path, a Morris County park near me I've written about many times. I was in an area where once heavy rains would create a lake. When many of the trees were removed because of emerald ash borer infestation, there was more light and so more grasses and weeds started filling in the space. On this day I noticed stands of cattails had suddenly (to me) appeared. Unlike phragmites, which are invasive and considered a biological threat, cattails are important for preserving wetlands. Finding these shows the environment is never static. 

(Margo D. Beller)
Sometimes I find things I can't identify, such as this flowering vine. 

(Margo D. Beller)
In October we had several mornings when I woke up to thick fog. This was the view out my front door one such morning.

(Margo D. Beller)
I enjoy the colorful autumn leaves, especially if I don't have to rake them. The camera does not do the scene justice, unfortunately.

Oct. 28, 2023, Patriots Path
(Margo D. Beller)
I like pathway pictures. This is another section of Patriots Path that, unlike the area where I took the picture of the leaves, is paved. It is popular with walkers, bikers and runners. It can also be very good for finding birds if you get there early, before it gets too crowded, but late enough for the sun to hit the tree tops and attract birds looking for food.

(Margo D. Beller)

Once in a while, you find a surprise. One area of Patriots Path I like to hike is along the Whippany River, which will eventually flow into Speedwell Lake. I have found many birds along this path including warblers in season, different types of ducks, great blue herons and Canada geese. But there have been oddities too, including over 20 turkey vultures roosting in a tree (with several black vultures below them on the ground) waiting for the sun to warm them. This time, in late October, my husband and I were walking along here when something noisily took off from a branch high above us. As it flew off I could see it was a mature bald eagle. But then it flew to a tree on the other side of the recycling center across the river. It stayed long enough for both of us to take some pictures. This picture is edited.

(Margo D. Beller)
Finally, here's a long view of the tow path along the Delaware & Raritan Canal, a state park. Canals were how you shipped goods, at least before the railroads came along and made canals obsolete. The two main New Jersey canals were the D&R, much of which remains as a linear park, and the Morris Canal, much of which was filled in for residential and commercial "development" throughout its route. (One of the exceptions is the Morris Canal Park in Jersey City, where the canal emptied into the Hudson River. I frequently visited this park when I worked in the area and, yes, found lots of interesting birds.)

D&R Canal Park, Kingston, NJ, November 2023
(Margo D. Beller)