Down the Shore on a Stakeout

When a bird is in an area where you don't expect it, it is considered an "accidental." If it hangs around an area long enough for birders to come from far and wide to see it, it is an "event."

But if it hangs around and only comes out into the open for very short periods during the day, and there are lots of people who still want to see it, that becomes a "stakeout."

Here is the difference between an event and a stakeout. Years ago I learned several northern lapwings, a bird usually found in Europe and Asia, showed up at a farm in New Egypt, New Jersey. These birds caused quite a stir. In their usual territory they like mudflats, open country and, notably, farm land. Based on what I read on the eBird lists, quite a lot of people came to the south Jersey farm to see these birds and had to be reminded to stay in the road and not to block the farm equipment.

Cormorant watching over the oyster reefs in Barnegat Bay
 (the lighthouse can be seen on the far right.)
(Margo D. Beller)

Also in New Egypt is a used bookstore my husband (MH) likes to visit, so it was not very hard to get him to agree to drive down there a few weeks after these birds had been reported. Amazingly, the three birds were still around and there were no people other than another couple and us. We saw, we noted, we left.

That was an event.

Meanwhile, in 2019 I was underemployed. I had a lot of time to go chasing after rarities, especially if they were close to home. So it was that a black-headed grosbeak, a western relative of the more common (to me) rose-breasted grosbeak, was coming to a feeder in the backyard of a house not far from Jockey Hollow in Morristown. The homeowners were nice enough to allow people to come to their driveway and watch for the bird at their feeder.

Sign explaining the Forked River Beach project (RE Berg-Andersson)

In hindsight, I should've brought a chair because this bird was nowhere to be seen, at first. A man who drove with his wife to NJ from Ohio, as I recall, was nice enough to let me sit in his chair. They'd been there for hours by the time I arrived. We were soon joined by others in chairs or standing behind tripods holding their long-lensed cameras, ready to "shoot" this rarity.

I was lucky. Besides the man letting me sit it was only 30 minutes in that I saw the bird, pointed it out and the cameras started clicking. The bird allowed me to see its handsome black head and orange breast (it was a male) and then I gave the man his chair, thanked him and left.

That was a stakeout.

This is a longwinded introduction to the second stakeout I've ever attended, this one with MH the other week down the New Jersey shore.

Green heron (RE Berg-Andersson)

I don't know if it was the weather pattern or global warming but recently there have been many roseate spoonbills found far from their usual breeding territory in the Florida Everglades and along the Gulf of Mexico. The bird, as the name implies, is pink and has a spoon-like bill to scoop up its meal. MH and I have seen one twice - a mature captive bird at Pittsburgh's National Aviary and a juvenile that in 2018 was found by the side of a rain-created pond at a quarry in northwestern New Jersey. More recently these birds have been found in Maine, Connecticut and Minnesota.

Three juveniles were found in Forked River Beach, NJ, earlier this month and that prompted a stakeout. Incredibly, MH was into the idea of traveling to a shore area in summer (on a weekday) to see these birds.

Semipalmated plover (RE Berg-Andersson)

It is a long drive from our town to Forked River Beach, especially taking the back roads MH prefers to drive rather than superhighways (me, too) and making pit stops. Once we got to the area we parked near a playground by Barnegat Bay. We could see the lighthouse across the water. In front of us were poles atop which were double-crested cormorants standing guard over oyster reefs.

If the insatiable desire for eating oysters at fashionable New York restaurants, as detailed by Mark Kurlansky in his book "The Big Oyster", didn't kill off the area's oysters, water pollution did. According to the New Jersey Department of Environmental Protection, oysters are a "keystone" species "meaning they are an integral part of a healthy marine ecosystem. Oyster reefs provide vital habitat for many of the commercial and recreational species that fishermen, boaters, and naturalists enjoy in New Jersey’s waters. Oyster reefs are home to a host of species including striped bass, blue crab, and summer flounder, among many others. Additionally, a single adult oyster can filter and clear significant volumes of water each day, helping to improve water quality by cycling excess nutrients."

At the same time the oysters were being depleted, coastlines were being eroded by the constant wave action intensified whenever a major storm or hurricane occurred. And we've had some major hurricanes affecting the shoreline in recent years. Beaches are big business in New Jersey. The Forked River Beach beds were an effort to help the shoreline in this area.

Great egret, as seen from behind the stakeout. The
roseate spoonbills would later be seen in this
area. (RE Berg-Andersson)

There was a paved path to walk past beach houses large and small with lovely gardens. There were benches, monarch butterflies at the flowers and even some birds but no spoonbills and, tellingly, no people looking for them. We were in the wrong place.

Luckily, someone had put a map on Facebook and by comparing that map to our map we found our way to another part of Forked River Beach. This time we found the stakeout. This time we had our chairs and sat a while. MH took pictures as I scanned the mudflats with my binoculars.

There were green herons. There were semipalmated sandpipers and semipalmated plovers. There were Forster's terns and a great egret. There were laughing gulls and herring gulls and very nice people who pointed out birds as they found them.

Sometimes it is a good thing to have a spotting scope, but I don't have one.
As best as I can tell the birds in this picture include semipalmated sandpiper (the 
small one), Forster's tern (the smaller blackheaded one), laughing gull (the larger
blackheaded one) and immature herring gull (the dark one in the back). I
can't identify the others. I've always been weak on shorebird IDs.
(RE Berg-Andersson)

What there weren't were roseate spoonbills.

That these birds were here at all was an amazing thing. This wetland along the bay was across the street from a massive development of expensive houses, many of which faced or were within walking distance of the water. (Hurricane Sandy's devastation of the Jersey shore in 2012 has not stopped housing development. If anything, it has gotten worse.) The main streets were named for Florida areas. Cross streets were named for birds. (As it happened, the closest cross street to the stakeout was Spoonbill Court.) Thankfully, this wetland had been left alone. 

We did not stay more than a half-hour. Seeing these birds would've been nice but they weren't my main reason for us to come here. It was very pleasant to get out of the house, sit by water on a sunny summer day, get a breeze in my face and look for birds. We left to explore areas nearby and eventually started the long trip back. As I later learned, the spoonbills briefly showed themselves about 30 minutes afterwards. The air must've been loud with camera clicks.

As of Aug. 15, they are still around, according to a Facebook post from the area.

Global warming has pushed many birds north. There was a time someone from New Jersey would be lucky to find a Carolina wren, a redbellied woodpecker or a northern cardinal. Now they are common. White ibis, another Everglades bird, has been coming to Ocean City, NJ, for years to breed and now white ibis are being seen in other northeastern areas. Mississippi kites have bred in New Hampshire for years.

There was a time you'd never see a Carolina wren in the north, especially
in winter. But that has changed. (Margo D. Beller)

I expect the ibises and the spoonbills to head south when winter comes. But what if winters remain so warm there is no cold and no snow to prompt them to leave? I would say there would be no migration but there would be a lot of competition for limited resources between birds that should've migrated south and those that remain all year or are only found in winter.

For the moment, the New Jersey spoonbills are an accidental that created an event that became a stakeout. But they could be a harbinger of things to come. 

Then and Now

Nature abhors a vacuum. Clear land and do nothing with it and soon things will grow. If they are plants you don't want, they are considered "invasives" and "weeds." If they are plants you do want, they are considered "natives."

The same is true if you have an area prone to flooding. It fills with water after heavy rains. If there are no trees around to shade the area, the area dries out and things start to grow.

Ice pond, 2017 (Margo D. Beller)

A perfect example of this is along the linear park near me known as Patriots Path.

In 2018, the county parks people were cutting down trees infested by emerald ash borers. As I discovered, a lot of ash trees were growing along Patriots Path and those trees were soon cut and strewn around like trash. (Eventually they were removed.)

When the spring rains were heavy, the nearby Whippany River would overflow its banks and spread through the woods, across the path and into this area that acted like a bowl. Even after the waters receded and the path was walkable again there would be water for weeks afterwards.

Pond once the trees started coming down, 2018.
(Margo D. Beller)

One spring I walked the path after it had dried and came upon nearly two dozen mallards (plus pairs of wood ducks and Canada geese) that were in the water that remained on either side. At my approach the water fowl slowly moved off toward the Whippany River.

This area I'm mentioning had been shaded by trees, many of which, as I learned, were ash trees. When the trees came down the area was more exposed to the sun. And then a very interesting thing happened.

The water was replaced by plants.

There were weeds, yes, including wild grape vines, Virginia creeper, the inevitable poison ivy and others I can't identify. But there were also things growing that I can identify - joe-pye weed, cardinal flowers and cattails. Joe-pye and cardinal bloom in the fall. They are very popular with pollenators including bees and hummingbirds, the latter of which have already begun migrating south for the winter. Unlike the invasive phragmites, cattails also provide pollen and are important to some species of birds. 

The former pond, 2025 (Margo D. Beller)

According to The Nature Conservancy: Yellow-headed and red-winged blackbirds, and marsh wrens perch and build their nests on them. Waterfowl, such as Mallards and Canada Geese, nest among them. Frogs and salamanders lay their eggs in the water on and between them. Fish hide or nest among them. Many birds use the seed fluff to line their nests. Muskrats use rhizomes for food and the foliage to build their houses. This then provides resting and nesting sites for water birds. Deer, raccoons, cottontails and turkeys use them as cover. Insects eat and live on them. 

In addition, I learned, all of the cattail is edible. 

Cattails (Margo D. Beller)

These are different from phragmites, which, according to the U.S. Geological Survey, form highly dense stands that quickly outcompete native plants, degrade large areas of highly productive wetlands, drastically reduce habitat diversity and function, impair human use of beaches and recreational areas, and negatively impacts dependent wildlife and a multi-billion-dollar regional fishery.

Thanks to the plants, any rainwater has been sucked up far faster than before. I have seen no ice ponds in years. 

Cardinal flower (Margo D. Beller)

For all I know, the county park commission had people put these native plants in the ground. Or the plants could've come from someone's nearby garden. Or the seeds, floating around in the air we breathe, fell in the right place at the right time.

However they got to this place they have made this walking path a much more colorful place.

A Second Chance

Some people fall in love. Some fall from grace.

I just fall.

My glasses - frame and lens - survived the fall by flying off...
(Margo D. Beller)

I was on a cindered trail in the woods near my town's community garden yesterday morning when I left the trail to walk closer to the bordering marsh. I stepped over a small, downed tree. At least I thought I did. I conjecture my trailing foot caught the trunk and I suddenly found myself falling forward.

Glasses flew. So did my hat, stick and the phone. My binoculars were on me thanks to its harness. My notebook was in an overshirt pocket and held in place by a harness strap. It stayed in the pocket tho' the pen bent some of the pages.

First order of business - sit up. Wiggle toes and fingers. Raise arms. No broken bones though the little finger of my right hand had abrasions and hurt. No head pain, no blurred vision.

Next - find the glasses. No breakage. None on the phone or the binoculars.

So I'm OK. Now collect everything and stand up.

...but not before gashing the bridge of my nose.
(Margo D. Beller)

Once standing I walked a few steps, found my legs could work and I continued around the short path and back to the car. The bruising started to show up at home once I started icing my right hand, then my left knee, then my left wrist. I found a mosquito had taken advantage and bit my right hand, so anti-itch cream was applied. The glasses had gashed the bridge of my nose before flying off. The wound was washed and covered with a bandage.

This morning the pains are virtually gone thanks to eight hours of rest and an Advil. I can put my glasses, thankfully not bent, on my nose again.

The psychic pain will take a little longer to heal.

I was lucky the fall was on ground, which gives a bit more than cement. I was lucky no bones broke, that I could get home. I've had other falls, and I feel blessed to have yet another second chance at life. The older you get, the less that is a given. 

Things could've been a whole lot worse and I was happy to rise early this morning and sit on my patio, listening to the dawn chorus with Merlin.

(RE Berg-Andersson)

Yes, Merlin is getting a second chance, too.

Besides not knowing where my legs were when I stepped over the tree, I might've been distracted by my phone. Last week I was at the Great Swamp very early and was frustrated at hearing things I could not identify. I decided to try Merlin again, for the first time since May. I found there had been some changes to the app and it seems to run much better, tho' I have not downloaded the database that would be necessary if I was birding in an area with no cellphone connection. 

On the trail Merlin was finding an Eastern peewee, a bird whose very high, thin call I can't hear unless I am literally under the bird. I was trying to find where the bird was to hear it. Eventually, I did. But that was after the fall. I don't remember if I was looking at the phone when I fell but it was definitely in my hand, not a pocket, which might've saved it from damage.

Merlin and I will be birding the backyard, carefully, for the foreseeable future.

Midsummer Flowering Weeds

On a recent less-humid morning I took a long walk around what I call Greystone and the maps now call the Central Park of Morris County. I was walking on the cross-country running track created in the back fields of what was once a psychiatric hospital. I was looking and listening for birds, as usual, and managed to find a few.

But after a while I started looking at the plants. In the area where saplings had been planted a few years ago there are now small trees - tulip poplar, sweetgum, sumac, among others - as well as fields of weeds I once thought were ragweed but I now know have the lovely name of common mugwort, which sounds like something out of Harry Potter. I like the mugwort because last year a drainage ditch filled with the stuff offered protection to at least four types of migrating sparrows, goldfinches and at least two types of warblers.

Back in September of 2019 I wrote about walking among the autumn weeds. It is now July of 2025 and the same weeds are already out thanks to a combination of warmer than usual temperatures and more than usual amounts of rain. Maybe they were always out in July, or maybe it's another sign of global warming.

So while I hate the weeds in my backyard with a passion, I enjoy the park weeds' flowers, fruits and seeds because they help pollenators and birds, migrating and those that hang around all year.

Here are some of my photos.

This is a wild grape vine. The fruits are now white but they will turn blue. They are enjoyed by sparrows, robins and other fruit-eating birds. The vine will engulf anything nearby. 

There is goldenrod that blooms in the middle of summer, and goldenrod that blooms near the end of summer. I grow the midsummer type. I presume this is the same type. 

This is called teasel. It is about four feet tall and has spiky, blue flowers that are favored by bees. Every time I see these I consider taking off a seed head or two for my garden. Maybe I will do it this year.

This poison ivy was growing along the walls of what used to be the hospital dance hall. Unless cut down the ivy will completely cover the building. Obviously the Parks Dept. doesn't want to touch it.

Trees can be weeds, too. This is tree of heaven, growing along the same building as the poison ivy. Unless you get it when small it will put its long taproot into the ground and be very difficult to remove, as I learned when I tried to dig out one from my in-laws' front yard years ago. 

A field of mugwort provides hiding spaces for birds, deer and rabbits, as I saw during my walk.

I once had one of these inkweed plants growing in my yard but I quickly dug it up before the taproot went too deep. In this picture the berries are not ripe yet. When they are they'll be deep purple. Catbirds love these berries, as do robins and cardinals, among others. 

In front are the white wild carrot (Queen Anne's lace) and the blue chicory, whose roots can be made into a type of coffee. They are surrounded by mugwort and other weeds. Some of the growing saplings are behind them.

Milkweed is very important to the survival of monarch butterflies. The caterpillars feed on the plant and bees pollenate the pink flowers. As I have learned in my yard, they spread by an underground root system. In a field they look lovely. In my backyard they have popped up in the wrong place and do not flower. Except for one that popped up in the ornamental grass garden, the rest are mowed down. But then more pop up.

Ah, bee balm! This is another plant that will get everywhere because of its spreading roots. I grew it once but years of digging and weeding in that particular area eventually killed all of it. Now I look at large fields of bee balm and wish I still grew some in a bigger, preferably fenced, backyard.

This weed with its yellow and orange flowers is known as the common toadflax, but I prefer its colloquial name of butter-and-eggs. It looks like a wild snapdragon.

More than a few times I have carefully picked the wild raspberries along the path while I've hiked. As you can see here, other people as well as birds also help themselves. The stem is full of large, very sharp thorns. I have found seedlings all over my backyard. If they are behind the floodwall I leave them but if they are in the garden plots or the lawn, they have to go.

Unfortunately, the jewelweed was not flowering at the time. Hummingbirds really like this late summer weed's orange or yellow trumpet flowers, especially when the birds need fuel to help them migrate south.

As I discovered last year, the county Parks Department mows down the fields of mugwort and the other weeds, including the ones I photographed, in October. But like all seeding, fruiting and spreading weeds, they'll be back next year. Of that I've no doubt.

At Midsummer

If you consider summer to start on June 1 rather than May's Memorial Day weekend, we are currently in midsummer. Today, a rare not-so-humid day, I took a walk around my yard to see how things are doing.

The early spring flowers are a distant memory. The azaleas, irises and rhododendron have bloomed and busted, the lily flowers gone while the stems remain.

I put seeds from three different types of plants into a pot, and only the zinnias are growing. I had collected the seeds from a friend's plant last fall, and will do it again this fall with these flowers once they are done.

Hummingbird-attracting canna flower (Margo D. Beller)

The purple coneflowers have finally started to open. The midseason goldenrod is in flower. Rose of sharon shrubs are blooming purple in neighbor yards but the pale pink flowering type I have are just starting to bud, as are the succulent sedums protected by the deer fencing. Some of the potted cannas have put up long spikes of red flowers that, witnessed at least once by my husband, attracted a female ruby-throated hummingbird. (I hope she gets to the backyard where the feeder hangs waiting for her.)

The house wren young are now so noisy when a parent comes to feed them that I can hear their begging through the closed windows of the porch, even with the fan on. They are so big the parents feed them from outside the box, except when they squeeze in to remove poop. I expect that, like the brood earlier this summer, there are three birds in the box and they will soon be enticed to leave and follow their parents, learning to feed themselves. If they survive they'll head south and the box will come down for the year.

The humidity has affected me more than usual this year, starting with the heavy spring rains. I used to wonder how those living in New Orleans could survive the humidity. Now I know - you close the windows, put on the air conditioner, close the curtains against the sun and stay inside as the air dries along with my skin, just as it does in the winter when the furnace is continually running. And don't look at the electric bill until absolutely necessary.

But at least the gnats are gone from my porch. Unlike last year when I didn't start noticing them until August and found they had infested the open bag of bird seed, they have nothing to breed on. The seed is in a locked container. Old plastic pots are gone. Soil is off the porch. What ceramic pots I've kept are covered with plastic. If a gnat was desperate enough it would visit the yellow sticky strip, where there are already a number of corpses. My hope is the wrens and other baby birds are eating the overflow.

This month the cicadas started calling during the day, the fireflies have been out in the evenings and soon there will be night choruses of katydids and crickets.

In the cooler early morning I have been hearing a number of different types of birds, besides the resident house wrens. I hear families of titmice and chickadees. Mockingbirds harried a pair of fish crows that seemed interested in nesting in my trees. (They left.) A catbird sang for the longest time atop my yew hedge in the mornings, but now its young are gone and the bird has moved on. It is not yet August but already some birds are heading south for the winter feeding grounds, such as the shorebirds that stop off at some of New Jersey's shore empoundments (along with the nasty, biting, greenhead flies). 

From 2020, a house wren feeding young from outside the box.
(Margo D. Beller)

Warblers are starting to move south. They won't be as colorful as in spring and won't be singing their territorial songs. They will be harder to find.

Leaves are already falling from some of the trees, but not the apple tree. Cutting off that rotted limb seems to have done it some good. The dogwood I saved two years ago is showing green fruits that will eventually redden and, I hope, draw robins and cedar waxwings before the squirrels can get at them.

Back-to-school ads on TV tell me it will soon be time for the kids currently on vacation to hit the books (and their after-school activities) again. It is already darker in the early morning. Soon enough it will be dark in the early evening, too.

I'll put the garden to bed and the seed feeders out for the cardinals and other birds hanging around my yard during the winter. Then another year will end, as it inevitably does.

 

An Exercise in Futility

Few tasks are more like the torture of Sisyphus than housework, with its endless repetition: the clean becomes soiled, the soiled is made clean, over and over, day after day.

--Simone de Beauvoir

The author of "The Second Sex" was not a gardener. If she was she would've said "weeding" instead of housework.

I, however, am a gardener. With a three-day holiday weekend all but assuring me of lots of people on the trails I walk to listen for birds, I took one of those days to bring my pail, bench and spade to the ornamental grass garden to get at the weeds that have run rampant thanks to heat, rain and lack of attention from me.

An assortment of weeds including milkweed, wild strawberry, 
ground ivy, oxalis and others I can't identify.
(Margo D. Beller)

Weeding is the last thing I want to do on a hot summer morning, but this holiday weekend was blessedly less humid and a tad cooler, allowing me to gird myself for battle. And battle I did.

I can identify many, but far from all, of the weeds I was pulling. There are strawberry vines, a clover-like plant called oxalis, my old nemesis the ground ivy, wild violets, dandelions. There is also lawn grass that has gone feral and moved into the plant area. 

On another cool morning I had spent several hours pulling oxalis that had grown so tall it was obscuring the plants in the sunny front plots. This time, however, the oxalis was more spread out, in some areas almost like a vine, somehow growing behind the tall ornamental grasses in much less sun.

Milkweed has shown up in this area, but because it doesn't get much sun it hasn't grown the flowers that benefit monarch butterflies. But the plant spreads through underground runners, so pulling up what is above the ground doesn't stop what is below.

The sharp blades of ornamental grass.
(Margo D. Beller)

I have to tip my hat to weeds and their methods of survival. Oxalis and the other weeds I was pulling from behind and beneath the ornamental grasses get only a small bit of sun, usually in the early morning and late afternoon, but it is enough for them. With a spade oxalis comes up easily but it is also fragile and will break. You grab a handful, pull it out, then see you left some behind. Even if you get these there may be more under the soil surface.

Some of the weeds I pulled were growing next to stones, which makes the plants hard to get with the spade. They also grow next to plants I don't want to uproot, which means I have to be careful with the spade not to take out a lily of the valley, for instance.

If the weed has a taproot, like the dandelion, I can dig down but rarely pull up the entire root. Usually some is left behind, assuring more to come later. One of the weeds I can't identify could grow into a small tree if left alone, so I try to pull it out or at least take off the foliage to slow the growth.

Ornamental grass (right) and prickly yew (Margo D. Beller)

In this particular plot, there is no netting. That is because I put in plants deer don't tend to browse, in this case three large ornamental grasses that grow after the daffodils are finished and shelter some smaller plants including a bleeding heart. So the weeds grow among the grasses and get wonderful protection. I have to be careful not to get cut by the knife-like blades as I move next to and beneath the grasses.

Also, there is a yew - taxonomy unknown - that sprang up from someplace else, filling a space when several scotch broom shrubs died from the effects of too much snow and too much cold wind one winter. Deer don't eat this yew, unlike the yew hedge nearby, because the leaves of this particular yew are prickly and have a strong scent. I can tell you these leaves scratch as much as the grasses.

Perhaps the greatest protection the weeds have is their sheer number. Eventually, they wear me down. I fill two loads in my large pink pail for the compost pile, and then I look at what is left and feel despair. 

I try to comfort myself by thinking, well, I heard lots of nice birds - house wren, catbird, chipping sparrow - and spent time outdoors in nice weather. I tell myself that at least I made a dent in the weeds - though deep down I know that by disturbing the soil I have created space for more of them to later take root.

And in the end, it's all compost. (Margo D. Beller)

It is only later I feel the mental and physical exhaustion and find the bites from insects that didn't like having their homes uprooted.

Saving the Apple Tree

I hope she forgives me.

The apple tree and I go way back to when we moved into this house. I've been here over 30 years and I estimate that, based on the size of the tree, it was planted about decade before. So it is an old tree.

The apple tree now. You can see where
the cut was made on the right. (Margo D. Beller)

A few days ago the boss of the lawn service I use came over with his chainsaw and cut off the rotting branch of the apple tree. He also, on his own, took off two smaller dead branches, saving me climbing up my ladder with my handsaw.

The result does not look so bad ... from afar. Once I paid the man and he left, I went out to look at the cut. I was horrified to see a large hole, and carpenter ants coming to investigate - or scurrying around after being disturbed. If carpenter ants were in the tree it wouldn't have much of a chance. If the ants didn't dig it out from within a hungry pileated woodpecker would start excavating from the outside to get at the ants. Either way, the tree would soon die.

I immediately drove to the local big-box store and bought limb sealant to cover the wound. 

Once I cleared the sawdust I sprayed the cut and into the hole.
(Margo D. Beller)

When half the dogwood died a few years ago, I had it cut back. The cut was clean, there was no rot in the center of the wood. But I wrapped the bottom of the trunk where pieces were starting to fall off. I must've done the right thing because the tree has survived, leafed out and even blossomed. I have gotten used to the way it looks when I am sitting on the porch. It is only when you go out and look at what was cut that you can get an idea of how much more there used to be.

The apple tree situation is different in several ways. For one, there was that big hole. So I sprayed into that hole to protect what I could reach. 

Another difference - I had the dogwood planted in 2007 at the same time as Spruce Bringsgreen, the blue spruce. So both trees are teenagers compared with the apple tree. 

The apple has survived my cutting down three overgrown, deer-attracting apple trees on the property, and one small apple tree that was killed by too many young bucks rubbing the velvet off their antlers. This remaining apple tree has survived sapsucker drill holes, a gall at the bottom and a hole in the trunk big enough for a chipmunk to hide in. It has produced apples every year, especially after it has been pruned. It has abided the squirrels and the house wren nest box that hung there for 10 years until it was moved to the dogwood. It has forgiven me for walking around with my long pole to whack the branches and bring down enough apples to use.

But I'm not sure it will forgive me this time.

The apple tree in 2023. 
(Margo D. Beller)

Last year, thanks to climate change, we had a severe drought starting in the summer and lasting into spring of this year, at which point we were inundated with an overabundance of rain. The apple blossoms appeared as usual, and then suddenly one-third of the tree went black. The squirrels and I had apples but they tended to be smaller. The apples were done by June 30 and the rotting branch was cut off that day. I should not have been surprised by that hole in the tree, but I was.

"I felt her pain, even though I do not have the problems an apple tree can have," Spruce told me after it was done. "But it was hard to watch."

The apple tree has been stoic. Her leaves are still green and, even with one-third of her gone, she doesn't look misshapen. But she isn't talking to me at the moment.

I hope she lives.

Many Directions At Once

 ...[S]tarting a sentence in the middle, and then going to the beginning and the end of it at the same time... both directions at once.

--Liner note from the John Coltrane "lost" album "Both Directions At Once," recorded in 1963 but not released until 2018.

It is a warmish but quiet morning on the enclosed back porch, and I am catching up with the world after last week's heatwave kept me inside with the air conditioning for nearly a week, except for brief forays in the oppressive air to pick up apples dropped by the thirsty squirrels. I would hear birds but had no inclination to go looking for them until the day the heatwave ended, when it was wonderfully cool in the early morning and I could take a long walk.

Wren nest in what is now the diseased area
of the apple tree, back in 2020.
(Margo D. Beller)

This morning, however, I am sitting. In one direction I can see the house wren nest box. During the heatwave the male had been singing almost continually, and I wondered what had happened to its mate. I could not sit on the porch in the heat to watch for activity. 

Unlike the first wren brood, when it was unusually wet and cool during incubation, it must've been extremely hot in that little wooden box for this female. If there were eggs in there they wouldn't need her all the time to keep them warm. But when it turned cooler I did see her leaving the box to get food, then fly back inside for long periods of time.

As I watched today she flew out and soon returned holding a bright green insect, maybe a katydid. She took it inside. So I'm sure the eggs have hatched and she is now feeding small young that will grow bigger. 

What the hummingbird saw, which may be why it didn't stay.
(Margo D. Beller)

That's one direction I can look. If I turn around in my chair I can see the hummingbird feeder. When it turned cool I had put fresh sugar water in and hoped something would be interested.

A couple of days ago, as I was at the back door before going out to collect dropped apples, a hummingbird did suddenly appear. It briefly investigated the pink coral bell flowers, flew up to look at the red lid of the feeder but did not fly over the netting. Instead, it headed for the apple tree but a squirrel in a lower branch must've spooked it because it disappeared. I hope it returns.

Hummingbirds used to be a common occurrence in my yard, usually during July. Last year I saw no hummingbirds at the feeder but one could've come by. Same with the one I saw this week. Did it come by when I had taken the feeder inside? Did it come by when the liquid had spoiled? Was it put off by the netting that protects the plants in the shade? No clue.

Years ago a yellow-bellied sapsucker drilled these holes in
the apple tree. I didn't think they had anything to do with
the current rot. Now I'm not sure. (Margo D. Beller)

So now I'm watching for hummingbirds when I'm on the porch. That is good, because the apple tree is done putting out fruit and I will soon have to do something about its diseased limb.

There was a time, early in our occupancy of this house, when apple season was during July. Little by little apple season has been earlier and earlier. This year the tree started dropping small apples at the end of May, not long after flowering. Then one-third of the tree suddenly went black. As apples got bigger in the rest of the tree the squirrels started coming. I took my long pole out to knock down what apples I could reach. Despite one-third of the tree being dead I managed to get enough fruit for two pints of sauce and two apple cakes. 

The fruit I could not reach I left for the squirrels. Yesterday, June 28, I picked up the last little apples from the ground. Today, June 29, there were no squirrels in the tree and a chipmunk was rummaging around looking for what apple bits it could find. 

Chipmunk hunting apple pieces. (Margo D. Beller)

Apple season is over for this year and it isn't even July. If cutting off the diseased limb doesn't save the tree it could be the last apple season. We've lived in this house for over 30 years and the tree was there when we moved in. It was planted by a previous owner maybe a decade before that.

According to one website I found, the average lifespan of an apple tree is 25 to 50 years, depending on the type. Years ago I showed one of the apples to the manager of the farmstand I buy from and he thought it was a MacIntosh type, even though the tree blooms in the spring rather than fall. MacIntosh trees live 30-45 years.

Factors affecting its life include exposure to sunlight (check), competition with other trees (it stands alone) and moisture. Too little is bad and so is too much. Last year we were in a severe drought, which lasted until this spring, when we had too much rain. This is an old tree. As with the dogwood a few years ago, my hope is cutting away the dead stuff will allow the apple tree to live. But it may not.

Besides apples ripening sooner than before thanks to increasing global warming the insect population is surging earlier, too.

That's why another distraction from my chair is watching for fungal gnats on the porch. Last year the gnats started bothering me in August, at which point I brought my house plants inside and put the infested bird seed bag outside. This year they started in the spring, when it was cold and wet. Maybe they were seeking shelter and warmth because during the heatwave there were very few of them on the porch. (And I don't have house plants on the porch this year.) What I found inside during the heatwave I am sure I brought in after dealing with the apples. 

Instead of spraying the porch, as I did last year, I tried old-fashioned flypaper. 

Hanging from the ceiling. (Margo D. Beller)

I hung it on a wall near the screen door, because that is where I'd see a gnat early in the morning. But all I caught was a spider. I don't want to catch spiders. Spiders are useful insects with their webs. So I changed the location and have the sticky paper hanging from the ceiling. But unlike flies, attracted by the color yellow, gnats could care less. They seem to prefer the white walls of the porch, which is where I've continued to kill them. The one fly that got onto the porch got caught in a spider web. 

The flypaper is something else to look at when I'm not watching the wrens.