Signs of Destruction, Signs of Life (Updated)

(Updated with a postscript at 9:30 a.m. on Monday, April 2, 2018)

The weather people say March 1 is the beginning of meteorological spring. The calendar says spring begins around March 20.

Flowering maple, March 31, 2018 (Margo D. Beller)

This year, for me, spring began on March 30 when it was mild enough for me to sit outside on my patio in my robe and listen to the dawn chorus of robins, cardinals, two types of crows, titmouse, mourning dove and Canada geese. Except for where the snow had been piled the highest, all of it was gone, I could see the flowers on the maple trees and Ifelt as though winter was finally over.

But that mildness meant something else -- migrating birds.

It seems like a lifetime ago that we had warm weather, but it was only the end of February when MH and I went down to Barnegat Light to take pictures, walk the beach and celebrate an unusually warm day. Then March came and with it four nor'easters. The first brought the strongest winds since Hurricane Sandy in 2012, toppling trees and taking out power lines. The second brought about 20 inches of snow, pummeling my fence posts and burying the snowdrops and crocus that had begun to blossom. The next two were glancing blows, giving us "only" about six inches.

In the last week, however, the temperatures, while still below normal for March, were above freezing and the snow slowly melted. The winds started blowing up from the south. I could see the winter damage to be repaired. The snowdrops and crocus reappeared and continued blooming, now joined by an assortment of daffodils. The iris showed signs of life. The feeder birds were joined by others I only see when they pass through in spring or autumn.

Damage from the second nor'easter (Margo D. Beller)

I sat on my patio and heard a golden-crowned kinglet's call as it followed the chickadees through the yard. Then came the soft "seeees" from a flock of cedar waxwings up in one of my trees. (I could not see them until they took off in a group.) A phoebe flew to a lower branch in the apple tree looking for insects. It flicked its tail a couple of times and then took off. I rarely get phoebes in my yard because they prefer areas near water. But a hungry phoebe that has just arrived and not picked a nesting territory yet is not choosy.

For many people, phoebes are the first migrant of spring, soon followed by tree and barn swallows, chipping sparrows and palm warblers.

The mild air coming from the south opened the floodgates for northbound migrants unable to head to their breeding grounds because of the persistent cold blasts that had pummeled us up until that moment.

Sewer line, across from dog park (Margo D. Beller)

So on Saturday I went for a walk. I started on the fringes of what I still call Greystone, even though it is now officially the Central Park of Morris County. There were 27 cars parked at the dog park, which meant at least 27 people and 27 dogs. But of course there were more because people were bringing their spouses and/or their children and many had more than one dog.

As they enjoyed their time outside my attention was drawn to the other side of the road, where it was obvious there had been a lot of destruction, all of it man-made. During the winter I had seen pipes laid out along the road. Now they were all buried underground and a sewer manhole had been put in near the brook. The trees closest to the road, the brush that once hid birds, the dead stump where I saw a pileated woodpecker hunting for carpenter ants, gone.

Worse, the little tree that had been struggling to grow on its small hillside for years was gone, buried under rubble or uprooted. Despite the birds chirping around me, I was saddened. I do not know why this sewer was put in by this town (next to mine) but I do know roads are being put in to expand the park's use. Perhaps a larger bathroom facility is planned? As usual, when there is development even in a park something goes by the wayside. Farther up the road there were woods where I once found a variety of birds including bluebirds and several types of flycatcher. They are gone now, replaced by a large field for soccer.

March 31, 2018. A tree once stood here (Margo D. Beller)

February 2018. (Margo D. Beller)

More people and dogs, fewer trees. More soccer fields, fewer places to walk in quiet. Parks don't pay taxes so to pay their way they must offer a range of activities. Even the most famous Central Park, the one in New York City, does that. But that Central Park is far larger than this one, and this expansion closer to home rankles.

I continued on. A pair of mourning cloak butterflies flew by as I watched the cowbirds, which will soon be dropping eggs in other birds' nests, to the detriment of the nests. Once I left the shade of the trees and the calls of song sparrows and cardinals the sun beat down from a cloudless sky. I was not the only one out. People running, people walking dogs, people raking or blowing last year's leaves off their lawns, kids playing in the yard. Men in long shorts and women in sweatshirts while I, not quite believing it could be so warm at last, was in my light parka, small binoculars in the big pocket. Turkey vultures and fish crows flew overhead. The first forsythia flowers were blooming.

Spring is here. The signs are everywhere from the birdsong to the heightened outdoor activity and the noise that goes with it. The days are getting longer and at some point the temperatures will go from below average to where they are supposed to be.  Each year at this time I am amazed that winter or my lack of care didn't kill off my garden plants.

It is time to start planning on repairing fences, putting down wood chips, pulling weeds and moving the pots of peppers and tomato outside. Time to plan on rising and traveling to the nearby hot spots early to listen for arriving migrant birds. Planning is conditional, however. I plan to do this and other things but I know nothing is certain, including the warmer weather.

Already I've seen reports there will be snow tonight. It's April, TS Eliot's cruelest month.  I've barely begun my garden cleanup.

Postscript: Yes, it snowed. Again.

April 2, 2018 (Margo D. Beller)

Hurricane Sandy and the Birds

When Hurricane Sandy struck just days before Halloween it flooded the coast and took down hundreds, if not thousands, of trees with extraordinary strong winds inland, putting buildings and people in the dark.

NJ Audubon's Scherman Hoffman center, NJ Audubon's main office and the nearby Great Swamp were hit particularly hard by the felling or shredding of trees (such as this one on Pleasant Plains Rd. in the Swamp). A friend of mine who lives not far from Scherman Hoffman had no power for nine days and refused to leave her increasingly chilly home without her animals. Luckily, they all survived.

In open areas, the devastation from Sandy doesn't look like much. But
in the forests and suburban yards, it's worse.

During this time -- once I got my power back -- I sent a lot of emails to friends and family affected by the hurricane including relatives in eastern Canada, where the storm was headed next. As it turned out, my relatives were not affected.

One of them, a budding birder, asked me in his response what happens to birds, particularly migrating birds, in a hurricane. He was not the only one who asked me that question. I guessed that, presuming the birds weren’t slammed into a building or tree, those stopped by the wind either hunkered down at the closest safe forest or pond until it was safe to proceed or traveled west to fly around the storm.

As it happened, New Jersey Audubon soon put out a press release on that very subject.

It says, in part:

The good news is that there is little evidence that the storm had a serious, direct impact on breeding or wintering bird populations. Late October falls right between that time when summer residents have migrated and most winter residents arrive.

(Well, that’s a relief.)

But it is almost certain that the flooding tides caused mortality among rodent populations, thus reducing the prey base for wintering birds of prey. New Jersey’s Atlantic and Delaware Bay marshes rank among the planet’s greatest winter raptor strongholds. This year, many Rough-legged Hawks, Northern Harrier, Short-eared and Long-eared Owls will be forced to move on and hope to find less affected areas to meet their food needs.

(So much for seeing Roughies or SEOs at the usual places this year.)

The storm also stripped much fruit and seed In woodlands, high winds stripped trees of fruit and seeds sending such wild bird staples as acorns, wild grape, poison ivy berries to for forest floor where snow or ice may put them out of reach. There may be an issue for cavity nesting species, like woodpeckers, if many of the dead standing trees went down in the storm. Importantly, if natural disasters become more frequent or are of greater magnitude, it may be beyond certain species ability to compensate and eventually recover.

I sent this press release to my relative, but I don’t know if it will comfort him all that much.

Sandy has upended everything. Weeks of leaves came down in a day. The irruption of winter finches from Canada that came over the border in search of food a month ago are now elsewhere in NJ, certainly not at my feeder, where the trees weren't felled and the seeds not destroyed. (Alot seem to be in center Jersey and points south, according to the reports.) Despite the NJ Audubon press release, I've had no problem finding raptors including redtails, harriers and accipiters, such as this Cooper's hawk that has been scaring birds away from my feeders.

This immature Cooper's hawk likes to scare the birds away
from the feeders but I've yet to see it catch anything.

The New York and New Jersey beaches where piping plovers, least terns and other endangered shorebirds nest are gone or vastly depleted. Like a shuffled deck of cards, birds normally found out at sea – scoters and pelagic birds, for instance – found temporary shelter in inland lakes and reservoirs – a delight for birders but a cause of concern for those of us who are noticing these “100-year storms” are becoming much more regular.

What is happening to the birds is dwarfed by what is happening to the people who live in New Jersey’s coastal communities, some of them for generations. I feel very sorry for these people (although not for those “summer people” who built their “cottages” on the dunes – an abomination in itself – and refused to allow protective dunes to block their view of the ocean. These towns, such as Holgate, were hit hardest.).

But as any sailor knows, the ocean giveth and the ocean taketh away. Towns are wondering how to rebuild in areas where no home should’ve been built in the first place. (There’s a reason they are called barrier islands.)

Will New Jersey heed Sandy’s warning? Will those who think they’ve “made it” by building a house with an ocean view understand that man is no match for Mother Nature? Will homes and roads on the overpopulated barrier islands be built to withstand the next Sandy?

Or will they be rebuilt the same as before in the name of expediency and getting things back to “normal”?

There’s always the option of not rebuilding and allowing nature to take its course. (That sound you just heard was the collective scream of every public official from Governor Christie on down.)

Won’t happen. Too much tourism and property tax money at stake.

But it will be a shame that the opportunity to rebuild smarter – or not at all – will likely be squandered. Until the next storm.

The birds don’t care. They never do. They will just go elsewhere to survive. New Jersey will be the poorer for it.