7 December 2014: In to Winter

Early evening, 30 November 2014.

It would not be entirely accurate to say I have not been writing because I have had to spend all my time shoveling snow. But it wouldn’t be far from the truth, either.

Since my last post, lamenting the storage of my canoe for the winter, the seasons have shifted drastically. Just three days after putting the canoe up in the rafters, I had to pull out the snow blower and fire it up to cut through the 12 inches of snow that blew into town early in November. Though there hasn’t been much new snow since then, we have been through a wicked cold snap, and there is no sign that it was an early vision of things to come and that winter will withdraw. No, winter is here to stay. As if to confirm the fact, my brother sent this photo taken soon after that November storm. It’s a little hard to make out, but on the roof of his office is a snowy owl, resting between the chimneys and probably grumbling that he must be harassed by the crow and raven.

Snowy Owl (Nyctea scandiaca), Marquette, MI. November, 2014

So here we are again. Closing doors and windows, turning up the heat or stoking the fire, and waiting for enough snow to begin cross-country skiing (which a friend of mine did just after the November storm).

8 November 2014: Another season comes to an end

Oy, it is a sad day when it’s time to put the canoe up for the year. There is still open water; we could still get out. But I know we won’t. And with snow having already fallen and more in the forecast, it’s more likely than not that winter will overcome us before I find the time.

5 November 2014: And what about these Snow Buntings?

Good question.

Snow Buntings are a bird of the very far north. They spend their summers nesting on the Arctic tundra, but they move south for the winter, which is when they appear here in the northern U.S. They are a little harbinger of winter.

Snow Bunting range map. From Cornell Lab of Ornithology, http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/snow_bunting/lifehistory.

25 October 2014: Snow Buntings have arrived

I saw Snow Buntings outside the office window yesterday. There was a flock of them in the parking lot across the road. They were working the gravel then would take flight—a small cloud of white in motion—then settle back down. Unfortunately I wasn’t in my office at the time. I was talking to someone in his office, and my attention was occasionally distracted from him to this scene out the window over his shoulder. Probably a bit disconcerting for him.

Winter is on the way.

Snow Bunting (Plectrophenax nivalis) by Drew Avery, Wikimedia Commons

September 11, 2014: A Day of Remembrance

…in honor of the individuals who lost their lives on September 11, 2001.

I call upon the people of the United States to participate in community service in honor of those our Nation lost, …

(Presidential Proclamation––Patriot Day and National Day of Service and Remembrance, 2014, http://www.whitehouse.gov/the-press-office/2014/09/10/presidential-proclamation-patriot-day-and-national-day-service-and-remem)

26 August 2014: The latest view from the wheelhouse

We’ve been mapping the bottom of Lake Superior at Isle Royale National Park (Michigan) over the past week. This is a scene from my seat this past Sunday.

This is the Rock Harbor Light. It is no longer active as a lighthouse, but it now houses a wonderful little museum on the history of lighthouses on Isle Royale.

You can also see the computer screen that I am watching (well, not as I took this picture, but usually!). The screen shows me what area we have covered with our multi-beam sonar, which is extended down below the hull of the boat.

Rock Harbor Lighthouse, Isle Royale National Park, Michigan.

14 July 2014: Summer’s perfume

It’s mid-summer, and the milkweed is blooming. Next to spring’s lilacs, I don’t know of another flower that fills the air with such a sweet perfume. You don’t even have to stand close by or bury your nose in its petals to take in its effervescence. It’s just on the breeze, wafting through the air and calling insects, lovers, and people who find peace in such a wonderful experience. And who wouldn’t? It’s genus name–Asclepias–comes from Asklepios, the Greek god of healing. Shouldn’t we all feel better after filling every pore of our beings with such a wonderful perfume?

Common milkweed, Asclepias syriaca.

Still-life with milkweed and beetle.

Working down in the very urban St. Paul, Minnesota, last week, I noticed the butterfly milkweed (Asclepias tuberosa) is also in bloom. What a striking flower! I first learned of it years ago while working to restore remnant prairie and savanna in lower Michigan. It is one of my favorites now; I need to find some to move into our yard.

Butterfly milkweed, Asclepias tuberosa.

Also common in our area, though I haven’t seen any yet, is swamp milkweed. It’s a “thinner” plant than the more robust common milkweed, but it is simply beautiful. Like common milkweed, though, it seems to be a favorite food plant for Monarch butterfly caterpillars.

Swamp milkweed, Asclepias incarnata.

 

Monarch butterfly caterpillar (Danaus plexippus)on swamp milkweed.

29 June 2014: The busy month continues. Bird surveys and other fun.

“Why don’t you take that fence down around the memorial garden?” my wife asks me every once in a while.

The memorial garden began as a native plant seed cooperative organized by a friend of ours. We grew the plants–big bluestem, black-eyed susans, blazing-star, milkweed–then we gathered the seeds and gave them to the cooperative who would use them for native plant restoration efforts. Unfortunately, our friend passed away before the cooperative really took off, and the idea sort of fell off her employer’s list of priorities. So now, the native plants we grow are restoring our own yard, and I fenced it off to keep out rabbits and deer looking for a free salad bar. Why don’t I take the fence down? Here’s why.

The green posts to the left and right of this young buck’s head hold up the fencing. The deer is laying right next to the outside edge of the fence (not within it, fortunately). This was the second time he came in the yard and lay down there.

Eagle banding in the Apostle Islands National Lakeshore

We call it eagle banding because it’s easier than saying “eagle sampling” or “blood and feather collection.” That’s what we are really doing, though. Collecting blood and feathers from 5-to-9-week-old eaglets that we can test for chemical contaminants. It’s part of a long-term contaminants monitoring program in Great Lakes national parks. The young eagles do get a leg-band, though. (To learn a little more about this project and see some video footage from the climber’s perspective, take a look at our YouTube video — http://bit.ly/1z0dNYP.)

Our tree climber is a contractor from California. He’s used to climbing redwoods, so our towering white pines, aspens, and cottonwoods don’t worry him. Watching him freaks me out, though.

Eagle nest in a white pine. Basswood Island, Wisconsin.

The morning’s view from the wheelhouse. Fog on the horizon.

Jim, the climber, is berated by a pair of eaglets before he steps into the nest with them, bags them up and brings them to the ground for sampling.

A view from the Mainland Trail–a songbird survey transect in the Apostle Islands National Lakeshore, Wisconsin.

Twisted.

19 June 2014: A busy month, with some great moments

The High Falls on the Pigeon River, Minnesota.

Planting sweetgrass (Hierchloe odorata in Latin, wiingashk in Ojibwe), Grand Portage National Monument, Minnesota.

That day the bear came nearly to the front door…

…went around the house to the chickadee’s front door….

…then moved on.

The very cool Dragonhunter (Hagenius brevistylus) I found clinging to a swaying branch in the backyard.

Hey! Where’s the food!?

Apparently I shouldn’t let the rain stop me from filling the hummingbird feeder when it’s empty. I was amazed to see him stretch his neck so far up to look over the windowsill at me.

Hey! Gigantor! Where’s the damn food!?