A Day In the Life of H. Wren

About 10 days from the end of April, I read several reports of house wrens returning to areas of New Jersey close, as the wren flies, to where I live. I had been avidly awaiting this news for weeks. Two days later, with my husband steadying the ladder, I hung the nest box in the dogwood tree, which had beat the odds and come back to flowering life after I had the dead wood removed.

The nest box in the dogwood
(Margo D. Beller)

Hanging a nest is an annual ritual. It started when a friend gave me a small, decorative bird house that I hung in one of the apple trees. It soon drew a house wren, perhaps the only bird that could have fit through the small opening. I hung that bird house out every year until it fell apart. I've used a sturdier (and slightly larger) nest box ever since, first hung in the one apple tree I didn't take down and then in the dogwood so I could see it more easily from my seat on the enclosed porch.

I hung the box and waited. And waited.

Seemingly the day after hanging it the weather turned winter-like. Northbound migration was altered as birds avoided the north winds of the northeast and traveled up through the midwest. Seedllings were left on window sills because it was too cold to plant them. The down quilt stayed on the bed.

Finally, at the very end of April the winds turned around, the temperatures warmed dramatically and the migration floodgates were opened in my region. One early walk I heard house wrens calling. On May 1 I heard the same call from my yard. A bird checked out the nest box, my feeders, the immediate area. Would he find a mate and would she want to nest in my box?

Yes and yes, a day later. Hooray.

Thanks to having more time to spend on the porch, I could see details I'd missed in previous years.

House wren from a previous year. I haven't tried to take
a picture of this year's pair yet. (Margo D. Beller)

On May 3 the pair took turns bringing large sticks to the box to create the nest where they will likely raise two to three chicks. (The Cornell Ornithology Lab people say it could be as many as 10, but that would be too many for this box.) Each bird came back with sticks too large to fit in the doorway as held in its beak. Each bird had to re-learn that if he or she turned his or her head, the sticks could be put inside. Or, if the stick was thin enough, the bird could just ram it through the hole. Both birds had to do this many times. It became comical to watch.

But they kept at it. The next day, May 4, it was only the female working on the nest, bringing in smaller sticks to put on the finishing touches. As far as I could see the male did not go into the box. I could tell which bird was which because he sang from another branch. She did not.

On May 5 it rained. There was some movement in and out of the box by the female and singing at dawn by the male. However, I was inside for most of the day and so do not know when or where any mating took place. Because that is the next step - the female has to lay eggs and she has to sit on them on the nest they made. 

Once again I regretted not buying one of those minuscule cameras I could have put inside the box and get an entirely different view. If they do what I've seen other wrens do over the years, the female will be in the box much of the time and the male will be singing nearby. If a larger bird it considers a threat - such as a house sparrow interested in taking the box for itself (it can't fit through the opening but that doesn't mean it won't try and destroy the eggs) - the wren will drive it off, if I don't first. When the female needs to get a meal he will stay close to the box until she returns.

Feeding the young from the outside. (Margo D. Beller -
From 2020 when I hung the box in the apple tree.)

Once the chicks hatch their mother won't leave them unless she has to eat. At that point the male will sit close by. Then she'll return to feed them and keep them warm. When they get bigger both parents will only go into the nest to feed them. As the young get even bigger they will get noisier and will be fed by both parents from outside the box. 

The whole incubation/nesting process will only last a few weeks. At some point I've yet to catch the parents will stop feeding them but will call the young from nearby - you have to leave the nest to get a meal, kids. The young will fly out and the nest stay empty. The family will hang out around the yard for a time, maybe a week or so, and then disperse.

If I am lucky, another wren - or maybe the same male - will find the box, bring a female that approves of it and they'll use the sticks I'll leave in there for their nest. At the end of the year the house wrens will head south and the box will be taken down, emptied, cleaned and stowed away until next spring.

It is an annual ritual that brings me closer to the life of a tiny, plain, brown bird that graces my yard for a few weeks. 

Catching Up (Again)

It has been over two months since my last blog post because it is only now, with the rain coming down as I write, that I can sit still and try to make sense of the annual madness known as birding during spring migration. 

In late April the unusual warmth prompted
the cherry blossoms at Greystone to open.
(Margo D. Beller)

Phoebes, redwinged blackbirds and chipping sparrows were among the early birds I found in such places as Greystone. The crowd of juncos that mobbed my feeders over the winter and roosted in Spruce, to his annoyance, disappeared as soon as winter's north winds were replaced by unusually (for April) warm winds from the south. White-throated sparrows that had been very scarce in my yard during the winter started showing up, the males flashing the bright white of their breeding colors. These will soon be gone, too.

In early March a deer got into my euonymous bushes by pulling down the netting. I reinforced the netting and hoped for the best. Thanks to the April rains and warmth many other plants started growing around the neighborhood, giving the deer much easier access to a meal than my yard. The leaves not eaten by the deer are now fully grown and there are new buds where there had been browsing. As usual, these shrubs will be fine.

There are times I wish my yard was a Quality
Deer Management Area. 
(Margo D. Beller)

When we had a long period of warmth in early April I and many, many other retirees or landscapers went to the local Agway and bought our plants. Mine were a pepper and what turned out to be four (not two) basil plants. But days later, when I was going to plant them and the cannas I had divided, it turned way too cold to put them outside. Frost and freeze warnings in April? Yes indeed.

So I waited and fussed until there was finally a good day to do the plantings. Once that was finally done I could concentrate on the birds.

For decades I would go to work, watch for what birds I could find during my commute or lunch hour, and then fuss that I could not be out there looking for more. I did not have that problem this year in my "retirement." When the winds shifted around to come from the south the floodgates opened and the birds passed through. 

Be careful what you wish for.

In late April we went to the Ocean City (NJ) Welcome Center built over a treed island that provides all types of shorebirds a place to breed. Hundreds of great and snowy egrets, black-crowned night-herons, yellow-crowned night-herons, glossy ibis, little blue heron and, not found in New Jersey until recently, white ibis everywhere. I took over 100 photos with my camera. Some of these birds were extremely close to the walkway where we humans stood gawking and photographing. We come here only once a year because Ocean City is quite some distance from our home.

Glossy ibises (Margo D. Beller)

Being retired means I can travel to places early on a weekday morning, mindful that there are plenty of people driving to work. Most of the time I bird alone, walking in areas that will later draw walkers (with or without dogs) and bike riders. I can walk at my own pace, faster than my husband's, and go into areas where he would balk. 

I was in one such place when I went down a steep, rocky incline and then had to lean hard on my walking stick to get me back up to my car. Unusual for me, it was Saturday afternoon and at that moment a man and his son drove up, got out their mountain bikes and plunged down the trail I had just left. A close call and a lesson learned about inclines and Saturday trips. 

An unusual picture. White Ibis has been extending its
breeding range northward, and this bird just sat here and
posed for me. Having a camera handy is unusual for me, too.
(Margo D. Beller)

I referred to this as madness, and it is. It is too easy to move into the realm of obsession. I look at the bird lists and I see people who drive to three or four places in a morning (to my one or two) or who go into restricted areas like a Superfund site or who bushwhack their own trails, all in the pursuit of recording birds on a list they'll file with eBird for others (like me) to see and be envious over. They use apps such as Merlin to identify (and perhaps draw out) birds they want to list and/or photograph. These people are out in all weather, at all times of the day. (I wonder how many of them are retired, too.) Or, they go on one of the many field trips held at this time of year, with a guide to find them as many birds as possible to justify the cost.

I was like this on a far lesser scale back when I worked five days in the city and could only bird as much as I wanted on weekends. Sadly, now that I am at home and my time is my own I find I tire more easily and feel the effects. But when I am not out there I feel something akin to withdrawal, and then I must go out as soon as I can.

I am very aware that spring migration will soon be over for the year. By the end of May there will be birds on nests and the forests will be quiet as the young are protected. It will get very hot, very humid and very buggy, even in the early morning. Walking won't be as interesting.

One of the quiet places where I like to walk - Patriots
Path. The spring rains created lots of standing water 
on both sides of the path. There will be lots
of mosquitoes soon enough.
(Margo D. Beller)

Birders, like many who live in NJ, will head to the shore and fight the heat and bugs to look at the water birds. The forest birds I'm trying to find now - not in their bright breeding colors and not fighting for territory using song - will be passing through on their way south in the fall. Another year will soon be over.

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.

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. 

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.

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)

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.