Trail Wood#10.09 by Earl Plato
Edwin May Teale continued on with his observations of the six female Pine crossbeams: “ As we watch. We see the birds tear apart and toss about the brown lumps of the fallen fruit. Apple seeds form one of their favorite foods in the years when they come south. As they feed, their movements appear deliberate. And as we work closer, advancing cautiously a slow step at a time. We learn something else about them. This is their exceptional tameness. Nellie, making no abrupt movements, walks among their midst. I, with my camera, move within three feet of one of the feeding birds. It looks up, alert but unalarmed. I lean even closer and it takes wing. But it merely flutters up onto one of the lower limbs almost above my head.”
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
Bird Time Feb.26 Trail Wood
Trail Wood Teale’s Feb.26th
Writer’s Note: I have walked some of the trails of Teale’s Trail Wood a few years ago. It is an excellent location for birds. The following is a winter’s day in late February:
“ Toward mid-morning today with the air still mild and the kevel and roar of the high water receding rapidly. A new source of excitement appears under the apple tree near the north wall. Six strangers, visitors we have never seen at Trail Wood before. They drop down on the wet ground and begin pecking among the over wintering fallen apples, now shrivelled and decaying and brown. All six birds have stout bills and long tails and are about the size of robins. Other detils come sharply into focus as wd look through our field glasses through our bird glasses and tick off the field marks - gray bodies, two wing bars, heads and rumps tinged with an old gold or dull yellow hue. What e are seeing are those largest of the finches, the pine grosbeaks from the mountin forests of upper New England. Al are females. None exhibit an tinging of the rosy red of adult male pine grosbeaks.”
Writer’s Note: I have walked some of the trails of Teale’s Trail Wood a few years ago. It is an excellent location for birds. The following is a winter’s day in late February:
“ Toward mid-morning today with the air still mild and the kevel and roar of the high water receding rapidly. A new source of excitement appears under the apple tree near the north wall. Six strangers, visitors we have never seen at Trail Wood before. They drop down on the wet ground and begin pecking among the over wintering fallen apples, now shrivelled and decaying and brown. All six birds have stout bills and long tails and are about the size of robins. Other detils come sharply into focus as wd look through our field glasses through our bird glasses and tick off the field marks - gray bodies, two wing bars, heads and rumps tinged with an old gold or dull yellow hue. What e are seeing are those largest of the finches, the pine grosbeaks from the mountin forests of upper New England. Al are females. None exhibit an tinging of the rosy red of adult male pine grosbeaks.”
Red Tail
Tracks End! By Earl Plato
It was a relatively mild February days. My dog “King“, a beautiful pointer lead the way. We were in the back fields of our Plato property. King picked up the trail of a cottontail. Slowly we followed the meandering foot prints. Under a small thorn bush we found where the rabbit had deposited several little round pellets of excrement. They appeared fresh. King strained at the leash, We were now in the far northwest fields. The cottontail was bounding as shown by he track patterns. Then we heard the “Krrr! Krrr! cries of a Red tail hawk. Normally this hawk feeds on mice and voles. Yet I had seen this largest of our Buteos try to kill a cottontail unsuccessfully. Not this iime. The Red tail was successful for the tracks had ended. The hawk flew away and King and I had a large cottontail to take home. Grandma Anderson liked rabbit stew!
It was a relatively mild February days. My dog “King“, a beautiful pointer lead the way. We were in the back fields of our Plato property. King picked up the trail of a cottontail. Slowly we followed the meandering foot prints. Under a small thorn bush we found where the rabbit had deposited several little round pellets of excrement. They appeared fresh. King strained at the leash, We were now in the far northwest fields. The cottontail was bounding as shown by he track patterns. Then we heard the “Krrr! Krrr! cries of a Red tail hawk. Normally this hawk feeds on mice and voles. Yet I had seen this largest of our Buteos try to kill a cottontail unsuccessfully. Not this iime. The Red tail was successful for the tracks had ended. The hawk flew away and King and I had a large cottontail to take home. Grandma Anderson liked rabbit stew!
Thursday, January 29, 2009
The Red Fox of Trail Wood #10
The Fox of Trail Wood
Teale’s Comments on the Red Fox
“ I turn away recalling the varying viewpoints of the past on this animal whose nocturnal adventures I have been following over my fields. John Burroughs referred to the fox variously as a “rogue” and a “villain” - reflecting the general outlook of his day. But Thoreau, at an even earlier time saw the fox in the modern concept - as an individual endowment of abilities, a unit in nature’s interlocking whole. He took animals as they are, not as “good” or “bad” or even as “little brothers“ as St. Francis of Assisi did but as fellow dwellers on the earth, to be observed and respected and understood.”
Writer’s note: Have you read Ernest Thompson Seton;s book, Wild Animal I Have Known? Read about the red fox - “Raggy-Lug” Teale appreciated his Trail Wood wildlife. We should do so.
Teale’s Comments on the Red Fox
“ I turn away recalling the varying viewpoints of the past on this animal whose nocturnal adventures I have been following over my fields. John Burroughs referred to the fox variously as a “rogue” and a “villain” - reflecting the general outlook of his day. But Thoreau, at an even earlier time saw the fox in the modern concept - as an individual endowment of abilities, a unit in nature’s interlocking whole. He took animals as they are, not as “good” or “bad” or even as “little brothers“ as St. Francis of Assisi did but as fellow dwellers on the earth, to be observed and respected and understood.”
Writer’s note: Have you read Ernest Thompson Seton;s book, Wild Animal I Have Known? Read about the red fox - “Raggy-Lug” Teale appreciated his Trail Wood wildlife. We should do so.
The end of Edwin Teale's Tracking
That February 23rd at Trail Wood - Teale and the Fox
“Circling around and coming back on the Mulberry Meadow side of the wall, I pick up the trail again. For long stretches of its twisting, looping progress, I notice how the fox has thrust its nose into almost every grass clump. It has made sudden stops. It has turned aside in quick detours. Once it circled around and around and then pushed part way into a snow-covered mound of juniper. Twice its leaps into the middle of grass clumps appear to have yielded it other mice.
Reading this story written in tracks in the snow, I descend the slope of Monument Pasture to the brook - in and out among the prickly maze of barberry tangle, under a wild apple tree, beside a wall, from stone to stone across the stream. Beyond I see the fox’s trail ascending a snow-covered rock and a snow-covered log and then - with prints bunched together, recording a series of leaps - mounting a high embankment to disappear on neighbor’s land.
How many miles farther had its feet carried it before the dawn has come?”
“Circling around and coming back on the Mulberry Meadow side of the wall, I pick up the trail again. For long stretches of its twisting, looping progress, I notice how the fox has thrust its nose into almost every grass clump. It has made sudden stops. It has turned aside in quick detours. Once it circled around and around and then pushed part way into a snow-covered mound of juniper. Twice its leaps into the middle of grass clumps appear to have yielded it other mice.
Reading this story written in tracks in the snow, I descend the slope of Monument Pasture to the brook - in and out among the prickly maze of barberry tangle, under a wild apple tree, beside a wall, from stone to stone across the stream. Beyond I see the fox’s trail ascending a snow-covered rock and a snow-covered log and then - with prints bunched together, recording a series of leaps - mounting a high embankment to disappear on neighbor’s land.
How many miles farther had its feet carried it before the dawn has come?”
#8 Trail Wood
Trail Wood #8.09 by Earl Plato
Trail Wood and the Fox
Teale continued his observing the trail of the fox. “ The feet of he fox have made part of the prints, the feet of a cottontail rabbit at rest. Although I search carefully I can find no bloodstains on the snow. The hunter in the night apparently went supperless in his maze near the edge of the pasture. Guided by sight or scent or sound or perhaps by memories the fox continued its quest for food. On its trail I push through a dense stand of dry goldenrod, cross the frozen lowland of Pussy Willow Corner. I accompany for a time little ice-covered Wet Weather Brook and climb up onto the wide cleared pathway of the lane. I expect the tracks will lead to the Fox’s Door, that rectangular opening in the wall beneath the mulberry tree. But they continue on to the little hollow where the evergreen ferns are massed. Here the wall, rising as high as my head above the depression presents the greatest obstacle. Yet it is precisely here that the fox mounts up and over the barrier. I see where it has made one bound part way up the bank and hen, in an almost vertical leap, a second bound that has carried it to the top of he snow-covered wall. Later I bring a steel tape to the spot and find he straight-up distance between the lower and upper footprints in the second leap is almost four feet!”
Trail Wood and the Fox
Teale continued his observing the trail of the fox. “ The feet of he fox have made part of the prints, the feet of a cottontail rabbit at rest. Although I search carefully I can find no bloodstains on the snow. The hunter in the night apparently went supperless in his maze near the edge of the pasture. Guided by sight or scent or sound or perhaps by memories the fox continued its quest for food. On its trail I push through a dense stand of dry goldenrod, cross the frozen lowland of Pussy Willow Corner. I accompany for a time little ice-covered Wet Weather Brook and climb up onto the wide cleared pathway of the lane. I expect the tracks will lead to the Fox’s Door, that rectangular opening in the wall beneath the mulberry tree. But they continue on to the little hollow where the evergreen ferns are massed. Here the wall, rising as high as my head above the depression presents the greatest obstacle. Yet it is precisely here that the fox mounts up and over the barrier. I see where it has made one bound part way up the bank and hen, in an almost vertical leap, a second bound that has carried it to the top of he snow-covered wall. Later I bring a steel tape to the spot and find he straight-up distance between the lower and upper footprints in the second leap is almost four feet!”
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Teale and the Tral continues
Trail Wood #7.09 by Earl Plato
The Trail of the Fox and Teale continues;
“Up the steep bank and over the stone wall beyond the brook, the fox has ascended with the greatest of ease. I scramble up slipping and floundering and leaving a wide trail of my own in the snow beside the precise line of its paw prints. At the top, endlessly winding, the tracks unroll across the rise and fall of Monument Pasture. They change directions in response to some sound or scent among the snow-covered grass clumps. Close to the stone mound of the hired man’s monument I see where the more recent tracks of a ruffed grouse have crossed those of the hunting fox.”
Writer’s note: Do you get the picture? I hope you do.
“Around one grass clump, a hundred feet away, the snow is trampled by a series of quick pounces, and here tiny drops of blood record that the fox has caught a meadow mouse. It is not long after this that the trail enters a tangled maze of wild raspberries and clumps of juniper. Here in a puzzling interlacing of two kinds of footprints I find tracks upon tracks crisscrossing, dodging, zigzagging with swift reversals of direction. What occurred here under cover of the darkness?”
The Trail of the Fox and Teale continues;
“Up the steep bank and over the stone wall beyond the brook, the fox has ascended with the greatest of ease. I scramble up slipping and floundering and leaving a wide trail of my own in the snow beside the precise line of its paw prints. At the top, endlessly winding, the tracks unroll across the rise and fall of Monument Pasture. They change directions in response to some sound or scent among the snow-covered grass clumps. Close to the stone mound of the hired man’s monument I see where the more recent tracks of a ruffed grouse have crossed those of the hunting fox.”
Writer’s note: Do you get the picture? I hope you do.
“Around one grass clump, a hundred feet away, the snow is trampled by a series of quick pounces, and here tiny drops of blood record that the fox has caught a meadow mouse. It is not long after this that the trail enters a tangled maze of wild raspberries and clumps of juniper. Here in a puzzling interlacing of two kinds of footprints I find tracks upon tracks crisscrossing, dodging, zigzagging with swift reversals of direction. What occurred here under cover of the darkness?”
Tracking the Red Fox at Trail Wood
Trail Wood6.09 by Earl Plato
Trail of the Red Fox with Edwin Teale
Writer’s note: Now is the time to do some animal tracking.
in our Niagara area. I have three tracking Guides - The big Peterson Guide, the small Track Finder and my third loaned to a friend. I know the tracks of several local animals including the opossum. Tracking can be fun but watch your steps.
Let’s follow Ed Teale now.
“ I first pick up the trail where it leaves the crisscrossing tracks on the terrace and descends toward the brook along one of the paths of my Insect Garden. It circles the sundial and turns aside where the animal investigated a hole in an old apple tree and thrust its nose into a little cavern among the roos of an ash tree. It takes a shortcut under the spicebushes and crosses Hampton Brook. I see where the fox has crossed the stream and halted at a small opening, eight or ten inches across, where the snow and ice are melted and sunshine blinks in bright little flashes on water bubbling from a diminutive spring. Here the tracks of the fox and the tracks of birds intermingle. Both have paused at the spring to drink.
Trail of the Red Fox with Edwin Teale
Writer’s note: Now is the time to do some animal tracking.
in our Niagara area. I have three tracking Guides - The big Peterson Guide, the small Track Finder and my third loaned to a friend. I know the tracks of several local animals including the opossum. Tracking can be fun but watch your steps.
Let’s follow Ed Teale now.
“ I first pick up the trail where it leaves the crisscrossing tracks on the terrace and descends toward the brook along one of the paths of my Insect Garden. It circles the sundial and turns aside where the animal investigated a hole in an old apple tree and thrust its nose into a little cavern among the roos of an ash tree. It takes a shortcut under the spicebushes and crosses Hampton Brook. I see where the fox has crossed the stream and halted at a small opening, eight or ten inches across, where the snow and ice are melted and sunshine blinks in bright little flashes on water bubbling from a diminutive spring. Here the tracks of the fox and the tracks of birds intermingle. Both have paused at the spring to drink.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Fox Trot1
Trail Wood5.09 Earl Plato
Edwin Way Teale and wife Nellie were in love with Trail Wood. He quoted the famous Ralph Waldo Emerson who expressed in the words: “Thank God I live in the country!”
From his log of February 22 Teale wrote as follows: “ New snow covers the frozen slush this morning in another of those abrupt reversals of the February weather. The birds are waiting for me when I shovel out open patches and scatter seed densely across them….”
February 23 “ The night of the fox. What did it do? What adventures did it have? About half past nine on this clear winter morning, I set out over the snowy fields on a little adventure of my own. I begin following the shifts and windings of the fox’s trail, reading as I go the story of activity that was hidden by the night but is recorded by paw prints in the snow.”
Writer’s note: I will share Teale’s walk as he follows the tracks of the fox. It will be several articles in total
Edwin Way Teale and wife Nellie were in love with Trail Wood. He quoted the famous Ralph Waldo Emerson who expressed in the words: “Thank God I live in the country!”
From his log of February 22 Teale wrote as follows: “ New snow covers the frozen slush this morning in another of those abrupt reversals of the February weather. The birds are waiting for me when I shovel out open patches and scatter seed densely across them….”
February 23 “ The night of the fox. What did it do? What adventures did it have? About half past nine on this clear winter morning, I set out over the snowy fields on a little adventure of my own. I begin following the shifts and windings of the fox’s trail, reading as I go the story of activity that was hidden by the night but is recorded by paw prints in the snow.”
Writer’s note: I will share Teale’s walk as he follows the tracks of the fox. It will be several articles in total
Monday, January 26, 2009
Trail Wood4
Trail Wood4.09 by Earl Plato
Writer’s Note: I have visited David Thoreau’s Walden Pond and cabin on three occasions over 40 years, Sadly from my first visit there in 1953 I have seen that pristine area disappear. New buildings decimate the Thoreau site now. Here’s some of Teale’s reflections on Trail Wood. He referred to Thoreau, the great naturalist.
“Henry David Thoreau thought that it would be pleasant to write the history of one hillside for one year. It has been pleasant to record our daily walks, reliving the events of the shifting seasons on this uneven land set amid these tranquil hills. … The pages of this book ( A Walk Through the Year) record that part of our lives when we were free to wander as we desired in the out-of-doors on Trail Wood paths.”
Here is part of his February 21st entry. “ One month until spring! But spring seems all around us as Nellie and I follow the narrow path beside Hampton Brook on this day of temporary thaw. Our booted feet splash through puddles and slush. Beneath us the water of melted snow rushes down the stream. Daily now the sun rides a little higher. Daily its rays are a little more direct.
Coming from near and far we hear the clear calls of cardinals and titmice. To right and left and overhead chickadees repeat their clear, whistled ‘Phee-beee” notes.
… assurance - the “spring soon” call of the waning period of winter.
Writer’s Note: I have visited David Thoreau’s Walden Pond and cabin on three occasions over 40 years, Sadly from my first visit there in 1953 I have seen that pristine area disappear. New buildings decimate the Thoreau site now. Here’s some of Teale’s reflections on Trail Wood. He referred to Thoreau, the great naturalist.
“Henry David Thoreau thought that it would be pleasant to write the history of one hillside for one year. It has been pleasant to record our daily walks, reliving the events of the shifting seasons on this uneven land set amid these tranquil hills. … The pages of this book ( A Walk Through the Year) record that part of our lives when we were free to wander as we desired in the out-of-doors on Trail Wood paths.”
Here is part of his February 21st entry. “ One month until spring! But spring seems all around us as Nellie and I follow the narrow path beside Hampton Brook on this day of temporary thaw. Our booted feet splash through puddles and slush. Beneath us the water of melted snow rushes down the stream. Daily now the sun rides a little higher. Daily its rays are a little more direct.
Coming from near and far we hear the clear calls of cardinals and titmice. To right and left and overhead chickadees repeat their clear, whistled ‘Phee-beee” notes.
… assurance - the “spring soon” call of the waning period of winter.
Trail Woods3
Trail Wood3.09 by Earl Plato
Trail Wood Revisited 3
“Seven paths winding away, radiating different points of the
Compass. They cross the fields that surround the house.”
Writer’s note: We walked out from the back door toward the pond. No Teale and wife to keep the paths from being grown over. Watch out for he rocks, Earl! Those gimpy knees make me go slowly but I still revel in the sights see - Woodcock Pasture, Firefly Meadow, The Pond. Dreams being fulfilled.
“They become trails that thread their way through the woods and into swamps, along brooks. They wend across boulder fields, over ridges and into ravines. We continue among ferns and wild flowers. Beside a pond and a waterfall. We ramble up juniper-clad hillsides, by the stagnant water compounded by a beaver dam. We pass my log writing cabin nestled among the aspens.”
Writer’s note: I stood in Teale’s writing cabin. The screened front looked over the big pond. A peaceful setting for a writer.
Trail Wood Revisited 3
“Seven paths winding away, radiating different points of the
Compass. They cross the fields that surround the house.”
Writer’s note: We walked out from the back door toward the pond. No Teale and wife to keep the paths from being grown over. Watch out for he rocks, Earl! Those gimpy knees make me go slowly but I still revel in the sights see - Woodcock Pasture, Firefly Meadow, The Pond. Dreams being fulfilled.
“They become trails that thread their way through the woods and into swamps, along brooks. They wend across boulder fields, over ridges and into ravines. We continue among ferns and wild flowers. Beside a pond and a waterfall. We ramble up juniper-clad hillsides, by the stagnant water compounded by a beaver dam. We pass my log writing cabin nestled among the aspens.”
Writer’s note: I stood in Teale’s writing cabin. The screened front looked over the big pond. A peaceful setting for a writer.
Teale series Through the Year
Trail Wood 2.09 Earl Plato
It’s over two years that we walked the paths of Trail Wood,
the nature home of Edwin Teale, nature writer Pulitzer Prize winner. We were there in eastern central Connecticut on a beautiful summer day. I had read over and over his Walk Through the Year and now in a series of articles I want to share some of Teale’s observations. I quote the following:
“ Seven paths lead away from the white cottage with black shutters under the hickory trees. With its pegged beams and great blocks of foundation stone it stands on its knoll above the flow of Hampton Brook unchanged by blizzard and hurricane. A hundred and seventy years have passed since the first fire was kindled in the great fireplace in the living room. How many drifting summer clouds have passed above it; how many winter winter winds have pounded it; how many meadow flowers have bloomed and laded around it; how many times has it seen the year of the seasons complete its circle and begin again!”
Writer’s note: We stood in the cottage that day and peered at the great stone crafted fireplace Teal and his wife Nellie had photos on its mantle. Here in January, 2009 I still can recall that scene. Sweet memories, eh.
It’s over two years that we walked the paths of Trail Wood,
the nature home of Edwin Teale, nature writer Pulitzer Prize winner. We were there in eastern central Connecticut on a beautiful summer day. I had read over and over his Walk Through the Year and now in a series of articles I want to share some of Teale’s observations. I quote the following:
“ Seven paths lead away from the white cottage with black shutters under the hickory trees. With its pegged beams and great blocks of foundation stone it stands on its knoll above the flow of Hampton Brook unchanged by blizzard and hurricane. A hundred and seventy years have passed since the first fire was kindled in the great fireplace in the living room. How many drifting summer clouds have passed above it; how many winter winter winds have pounded it; how many meadow flowers have bloomed and laded around it; how many times has it seen the year of the seasons complete its circle and begin again!”
Writer’s note: We stood in the cottage that day and peered at the great stone crafted fireplace Teal and his wife Nellie had photos on its mantle. Here in January, 2009 I still can recall that scene. Sweet memories, eh.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Never Too Old
Never Too Old Earl Plato
How old is old? In nature there are always exceptions. Some animals seem to live actively much longer than their specie’s normal average life span. This so-called anomaly occurs in humans too. The late Fort Erie naturalist, Bert Miller, died at 91. When he was 86 He went with me and my Grade Eight class to Point Abino. Back then we had permission to enter the Baird property. We walked the west coast to the Abino lighthouse. Along the way this remarkably alert senior would stop to share with us something from the natural surroundings. An amazing man! On Wednesday, October 27th I took a 87 year old Buffalo naturalist, John Lessle, to Short Hills Provincial Park. John was a life-long friend of the late Dr. George Marcy and walked Marcy Woods for over more than 60 decades! That is where I first met John deep in Marcy Woods in 1984. John is an excellent nature photographer. I have learned from him. Both men, Bert and John, were and are excellent walkers and at 86 and 87 years of age respectively they could put many of us to shame on a hike. I know for I have experienced their hiking prowess. Regular walking, good weather and bad, seemed to be one of their secrets to longevity. How old is old? Get walking this week on a regular basis. You’re never too old!
***
Spiders anyone? Daughter Diane called me in mid-November from her Wainfleet home. “Dad, you have to see our front fields.” Her description of the large front fields were of a blanket of spider webs glistening in the morning light. Its fall and spider time. What Order of Aranceae? We think that they are in the Orb family and specifically Grass spiders. If there are we would see two dark bands on the thorax and lighter bans on the edges. They are found in grassy areas throughout North America. Grass spiders are funnel-web weavers. There is a characteristic funnel extending off from the centre to one edge. The spider hides within. Note the web is not sticky but threads hand down over the opening. Flying insects hit one of the threads and fall down. He is an insect eater. This quick running spider depends on speed to capture its prey. The Grass spider is just one of many species of Orb spiders. Yes, Diane bought me an Audubon Field Guide to Spiders for my birthday. It’s a whole new world to explore.
How old is old? In nature there are always exceptions. Some animals seem to live actively much longer than their specie’s normal average life span. This so-called anomaly occurs in humans too. The late Fort Erie naturalist, Bert Miller, died at 91. When he was 86 He went with me and my Grade Eight class to Point Abino. Back then we had permission to enter the Baird property. We walked the west coast to the Abino lighthouse. Along the way this remarkably alert senior would stop to share with us something from the natural surroundings. An amazing man! On Wednesday, October 27th I took a 87 year old Buffalo naturalist, John Lessle, to Short Hills Provincial Park. John was a life-long friend of the late Dr. George Marcy and walked Marcy Woods for over more than 60 decades! That is where I first met John deep in Marcy Woods in 1984. John is an excellent nature photographer. I have learned from him. Both men, Bert and John, were and are excellent walkers and at 86 and 87 years of age respectively they could put many of us to shame on a hike. I know for I have experienced their hiking prowess. Regular walking, good weather and bad, seemed to be one of their secrets to longevity. How old is old? Get walking this week on a regular basis. You’re never too old!
***
Spiders anyone? Daughter Diane called me in mid-November from her Wainfleet home. “Dad, you have to see our front fields.” Her description of the large front fields were of a blanket of spider webs glistening in the morning light. Its fall and spider time. What Order of Aranceae? We think that they are in the Orb family and specifically Grass spiders. If there are we would see two dark bands on the thorax and lighter bans on the edges. They are found in grassy areas throughout North America. Grass spiders are funnel-web weavers. There is a characteristic funnel extending off from the centre to one edge. The spider hides within. Note the web is not sticky but threads hand down over the opening. Flying insects hit one of the threads and fall down. He is an insect eater. This quick running spider depends on speed to capture its prey. The Grass spider is just one of many species of Orb spiders. Yes, Diane bought me an Audubon Field Guide to Spiders for my birthday. It’s a whole new world to explore.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Fox Trot Trail
Fox Trot Trail by Earl Plato
Track time at Marcy Woods with former area naturalist Ernie Giles on the most eastern trail there. On my map I drew a trail and called it Fox Trot Trail. Why? That early spring Ernie pointed out the tracks of Red foxes leading into the wetlands to the north. Numerous fox feces lay on the trail. That was my cue and this narrow path that lead by the other Marcy pond, I labelled Fox Trot Trail.
Later that year in a vale on the Upper Trail at Marcy Woods I saw a beautiful red fox vixen with her two young ones frolicking. It was a memorable sight. The ground was clear so no visible tracks. Here is an account of Ed teale’s nature log dated February 23rd. “ The night of the fox. Where did it go? What did it do? What adventures did it have? About half past nine on this clear winter morning I set out on on a little adventure of my own. I begin following all the shifts and windings of the fox’s trail. I read as I go the story that was hidden by the night but is recorded by paw prints in the snow.” : Writer’s Note: Teale wrote hundreds of more words describing his fox tracking activities. He ends saying, “How many many miles farther had its feet carried it before the dawn had come?”
Writer’s note Teale walked several miles that day following the fox prints. I spent a good part of a morning following the tracks of a cottontail in our back fields on Garrison Road. That day I eventually caught up to te little guy. He bounded away but his traks in te light snow had given h[m away. Try animal tracking this year. Remember no cougar tracks.
Track time at Marcy Woods with former area naturalist Ernie Giles on the most eastern trail there. On my map I drew a trail and called it Fox Trot Trail. Why? That early spring Ernie pointed out the tracks of Red foxes leading into the wetlands to the north. Numerous fox feces lay on the trail. That was my cue and this narrow path that lead by the other Marcy pond, I labelled Fox Trot Trail.
Later that year in a vale on the Upper Trail at Marcy Woods I saw a beautiful red fox vixen with her two young ones frolicking. It was a memorable sight. The ground was clear so no visible tracks. Here is an account of Ed teale’s nature log dated February 23rd. “ The night of the fox. Where did it go? What did it do? What adventures did it have? About half past nine on this clear winter morning I set out on on a little adventure of my own. I begin following all the shifts and windings of the fox’s trail. I read as I go the story that was hidden by the night but is recorded by paw prints in the snow.” : Writer’s Note: Teale wrote hundreds of more words describing his fox tracking activities. He ends saying, “How many many miles farther had its feet carried it before the dawn had come?”
Writer’s note Teale walked several miles that day following the fox prints. I spent a good part of a morning following the tracks of a cottontail in our back fields on Garrison Road. That day I eventually caught up to te little guy. He bounded away but his traks in te light snow had given h[m away. Try animal tracking this year. Remember no cougar tracks.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Rusty with Unusual Eyes
When Nature Calls Earl Plato
Love nature? Why not record your observations? My mentor in nature writing was the late Ed Teale. From his Trail Wood Nature Sanctuary he wrote the following on a cold February day. “ The new birds are four in number. The size of robins, their plumage is black, washed with reddish brown over the foreparts of their bodies. They look about them with eyes so pale yellow they appear almost white. When they call their voices are unmusical like the creaking of a rusty hinge. On two counts- plumage hue and voice quality- this quartet of male birds that arrived in our yard soon after daybreak yesterday deserves the name bestowed upon them: Rusty blackbirds.
***
Writer’s note: On an early spring day in 2002 I saw on the Lower Lane leading into Marcy Woods five rusty blackbirds. With my bird glasses I remember seeing their pale irises. Even without binoculars they attracted my attention. Teale made this comment that same day in February. “ We watch them as they turn from side to side on feeding on scattered seeds. The sun catches their pale eyes and again we notice how unpleasant is the impression such eyes make upon us, We feel repelled by their coldness. We miss the warmth and responsiveness we find in more deeply coloured irises of the other birds.” Observe well, eh.
Love nature? Why not record your observations? My mentor in nature writing was the late Ed Teale. From his Trail Wood Nature Sanctuary he wrote the following on a cold February day. “ The new birds are four in number. The size of robins, their plumage is black, washed with reddish brown over the foreparts of their bodies. They look about them with eyes so pale yellow they appear almost white. When they call their voices are unmusical like the creaking of a rusty hinge. On two counts- plumage hue and voice quality- this quartet of male birds that arrived in our yard soon after daybreak yesterday deserves the name bestowed upon them: Rusty blackbirds.
***
Writer’s note: On an early spring day in 2002 I saw on the Lower Lane leading into Marcy Woods five rusty blackbirds. With my bird glasses I remember seeing their pale irises. Even without binoculars they attracted my attention. Teale made this comment that same day in February. “ We watch them as they turn from side to side on feeding on scattered seeds. The sun catches their pale eyes and again we notice how unpleasant is the impression such eyes make upon us, We feel repelled by their coldness. We miss the warmth and responsiveness we find in more deeply coloured irises of the other birds.” Observe well, eh.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Memories
Memories Earl Plato
Memories of past Father’s Days - I thought about two men who had a lasting influence on my life. My father, Perc, stands out as a caring father. As a quarantined eight year old who had just survived crippling polio I started sketching. I tried to draw a horse but not very well. My father took my pencil and quickly sketched a horse. It was perfect in my young mind. I replicated that drawing many times until I thought that I could compare it favourably with his. I have been sketching in nature ever since. His friend, Bert Miller, encouraged me to make a bird book with sketches of what I saw. Bert became a father-figure to me in the years of my youth that followed. This article is about Bert Miller.
***
Albert (Bert) Weatherstone Miller was born in 1882 on the old homestead at Miller’s Creek on the Niagara River. We had erected in his memory a small granite stone and a plaque near that site. It’s still there. Bert was one of God’s athletes. He kept himself in shape. Day after day following retirement from Horton Steel he would venture out into the natural environment. In all kinds of inclement weather he would visit nature locations in the Niagara peninsula. My father and I were fortunate to go with him on many occasions. This I know - Bert was not a self-seeking man. He loved nothing more than to share many of his finds and knowledge of our natural world. Bert needed to have his body in top shape for many of his excursions were not easy. He would scale cliff walls and enter caves in quest of some rare plant. He ate healthful food much of it naturally grown. As a child I remember his nutty snacks. Even his inevitable cookies were wholesome. As far as I know he didn’t smoke or drink alcohol. He was like an athlete in training - lean and supple - a tall man. At age 86 he travelled with my Grade 8 class to Point Abino. He was full of enthusiasm. He was continually observing things around him. He still possessed great endurance as we walked the Abino sand hills. He was an amazing man! Bert died at age 91. Year after year when many of us were too tired or full of apathy Bert, God’s natural athlete, kept on. Be thankful for your fathers both biologically or by relational choice. Love them. Happy Father‘s Day. Do some good act in memory of them. Planting a good tree is one way.
Memories of past Father’s Days - I thought about two men who had a lasting influence on my life. My father, Perc, stands out as a caring father. As a quarantined eight year old who had just survived crippling polio I started sketching. I tried to draw a horse but not very well. My father took my pencil and quickly sketched a horse. It was perfect in my young mind. I replicated that drawing many times until I thought that I could compare it favourably with his. I have been sketching in nature ever since. His friend, Bert Miller, encouraged me to make a bird book with sketches of what I saw. Bert became a father-figure to me in the years of my youth that followed. This article is about Bert Miller.
***
Albert (Bert) Weatherstone Miller was born in 1882 on the old homestead at Miller’s Creek on the Niagara River. We had erected in his memory a small granite stone and a plaque near that site. It’s still there. Bert was one of God’s athletes. He kept himself in shape. Day after day following retirement from Horton Steel he would venture out into the natural environment. In all kinds of inclement weather he would visit nature locations in the Niagara peninsula. My father and I were fortunate to go with him on many occasions. This I know - Bert was not a self-seeking man. He loved nothing more than to share many of his finds and knowledge of our natural world. Bert needed to have his body in top shape for many of his excursions were not easy. He would scale cliff walls and enter caves in quest of some rare plant. He ate healthful food much of it naturally grown. As a child I remember his nutty snacks. Even his inevitable cookies were wholesome. As far as I know he didn’t smoke or drink alcohol. He was like an athlete in training - lean and supple - a tall man. At age 86 he travelled with my Grade 8 class to Point Abino. He was full of enthusiasm. He was continually observing things around him. He still possessed great endurance as we walked the Abino sand hills. He was an amazing man! Bert died at age 91. Year after year when many of us were too tired or full of apathy Bert, God’s natural athlete, kept on. Be thankful for your fathers both biologically or by relational choice. Love them. Happy Father‘s Day. Do some good act in memory of them. Planting a good tree is one way.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Aliens
Aliens Earl Plato
This nature lover inherited the coloured slides of the late Bert Miller, noted naturalist. One slide taken in 1954 was that of a great stand of Purple loosestrife somewhere in Niagara. When did this evasive plant come to Niagara? I don’t know. For almost ten years I paced off a field on Gorham Road to the west the growing extent of this evasive ALIEN plant. Did I say ALIEN? Of course, I capitalized the word. Now I am not against aliens coming to North America. My German, Welsh and Norwegian ancestors from Europe were aliens at one time. However, some bird aliens from Europe have caused and continue to cause problems for our indigenous bird populations. Those who read my column know I am no lover of House/English sparrows and starlings. They are both ALIENS. The House/English sparrows were first introduced to North America in the winter of 1850-51 and in little time they covered North America. Likewise the starlings in 1890 and they have even multiplied more rapidly. Notice the word “introduce”. This was a deliberate attempt by scientists to have these two bird species do some good deeds. You know the story. Good intentions - bad results. We had two colonies and two large Purple martin houses at the family farm in Sherkston. One year house sparrows settled in the west martin house. What could we do? I am not a killer of birds but we wanted our long time residents, the Purple martins, back in their homes. We had up to 22 pairs of these beautiful birds in the east martin house. We knew about when the martins would arrive from the south in mid-spring. At first we lowered the support pole to the ground. We had both houses on poles that were hinged. We removed any sparrow nests and placed a plastic bag over the box. Cruel? The message was - ALIENS move on!. At the first sighting of some martin scouts we lowered the boxes and removed the covering bags. It worked. The house sparrows moved on. If we had done nothing the aggressive House sparrows with established nests would have probably driven the martins away.
Starlings, a much larger bird than our Purple martins, can bully their way and take over a martin house. I am not familiar with this starling behaviour with martins. Are you? What can you do to move these ALIENS on and away from our natural songbirds and their quest for a peaceful life?
This nature lover inherited the coloured slides of the late Bert Miller, noted naturalist. One slide taken in 1954 was that of a great stand of Purple loosestrife somewhere in Niagara. When did this evasive plant come to Niagara? I don’t know. For almost ten years I paced off a field on Gorham Road to the west the growing extent of this evasive ALIEN plant. Did I say ALIEN? Of course, I capitalized the word. Now I am not against aliens coming to North America. My German, Welsh and Norwegian ancestors from Europe were aliens at one time. However, some bird aliens from Europe have caused and continue to cause problems for our indigenous bird populations. Those who read my column know I am no lover of House/English sparrows and starlings. They are both ALIENS. The House/English sparrows were first introduced to North America in the winter of 1850-51 and in little time they covered North America. Likewise the starlings in 1890 and they have even multiplied more rapidly. Notice the word “introduce”. This was a deliberate attempt by scientists to have these two bird species do some good deeds. You know the story. Good intentions - bad results. We had two colonies and two large Purple martin houses at the family farm in Sherkston. One year house sparrows settled in the west martin house. What could we do? I am not a killer of birds but we wanted our long time residents, the Purple martins, back in their homes. We had up to 22 pairs of these beautiful birds in the east martin house. We knew about when the martins would arrive from the south in mid-spring. At first we lowered the support pole to the ground. We had both houses on poles that were hinged. We removed any sparrow nests and placed a plastic bag over the box. Cruel? The message was - ALIENS move on!. At the first sighting of some martin scouts we lowered the boxes and removed the covering bags. It worked. The house sparrows moved on. If we had done nothing the aggressive House sparrows with established nests would have probably driven the martins away.
Starlings, a much larger bird than our Purple martins, can bully their way and take over a martin house. I am not familiar with this starling behaviour with martins. Are you? What can you do to move these ALIENS on and away from our natural songbirds and their quest for a peaceful life?
You May Agree
You May Not Agree Earl Plato
So I am a loner at times. At the Wings of Paradise Butterfly Conservatory in Cambridge I preceded my wife and friends and wandered into the two collection rooms all alone and got lost. Lost in thought that is. In museum settings I like to ramble at my own speed and level of thought. The strange looking insects and marvellous butterflies made me think. Did these insects with their unusual structure and brilliant colour patterns just happen? Every so often I contemplate who we are and where we came from. Many friends give me a simple answer. “Plato, we’ve just evolved. That’s it.” Do you know about the basis of evolution? Where did life, human life, come from if not from God, the Creator? Charles Darwin in 1859 gave us an idea that God was not needed to explain the diversity of life on earth. Life could spring up from non-living sludge seemed to be the way. Ancient Greek philosophers likewise had preached “spontaneous generation.” Not this Plato. One I am not Greek or a philosopher. Two - I know I am not a scientist but I prefer to believe “life comes from life.” Three. I believe in a God Creator, Father of the universe. That faith gives me a reason to believe in a Saviour who cares about us. Sludge doesn’t. The more I observe nature the more convinced I become of pre-existing intelligence. The late naturalist Bert Miller once said to us youths. “Lads, look at this masterpiece.” There under the magnyfying glass were the delicate patterns of unique snowflakes. He added, “No two alike. Amazing!” Bert believed in the Genesis concept that man is created in the image of God. The concepts of Good and Evil for us human beings didn’t just evolve from primordial sludge, did they? Visit our Butterfly Conservatories in Niagara Falls or Cambridge and be amazed at the diversity of creation.
So I am a loner at times. At the Wings of Paradise Butterfly Conservatory in Cambridge I preceded my wife and friends and wandered into the two collection rooms all alone and got lost. Lost in thought that is. In museum settings I like to ramble at my own speed and level of thought. The strange looking insects and marvellous butterflies made me think. Did these insects with their unusual structure and brilliant colour patterns just happen? Every so often I contemplate who we are and where we came from. Many friends give me a simple answer. “Plato, we’ve just evolved. That’s it.” Do you know about the basis of evolution? Where did life, human life, come from if not from God, the Creator? Charles Darwin in 1859 gave us an idea that God was not needed to explain the diversity of life on earth. Life could spring up from non-living sludge seemed to be the way. Ancient Greek philosophers likewise had preached “spontaneous generation.” Not this Plato. One I am not Greek or a philosopher. Two - I know I am not a scientist but I prefer to believe “life comes from life.” Three. I believe in a God Creator, Father of the universe. That faith gives me a reason to believe in a Saviour who cares about us. Sludge doesn’t. The more I observe nature the more convinced I become of pre-existing intelligence. The late naturalist Bert Miller once said to us youths. “Lads, look at this masterpiece.” There under the magnyfying glass were the delicate patterns of unique snowflakes. He added, “No two alike. Amazing!” Bert believed in the Genesis concept that man is created in the image of God. The concepts of Good and Evil for us human beings didn’t just evolve from primordial sludge, did they? Visit our Butterfly Conservatories in Niagara Falls or Cambridge and be amazed at the diversity of creation.
Wing Time
Wing Time Earl Plato
My homemade movie at Marcy's Abino Woods many years ago showed naturalist, Ernie Giles, pursuing butterflies with his large homemade net. Yes, Ernie is a butterfly collector. He's always looking for perfect specimens. On my wall encased in glass are two fine specimens of the Silver-spangled Fritillary. I am thankful for the gift from my friend. However, I am not a collector of butterflies. Ernie is a natural scientist and has collected butterfly specimens over the years for examination. Sorry Ernie, I just can't appreciate catching butterflies and ending their lives. I agree with nature photographer, Phil Schappert, who says, "The current trend towards watching and photographing butterflies instead of capturing them and ki lling them is long overdue. ...a good mix might include careful netting of a specimen for close examination, then releasing it unharmed." If we learn just to enjoy watching butterflies, then there will always be more of them for us, our children and grandchildren. I have been on some great butterfly hunts with Ernie Giles at Marcy Woods, Short Hills Provincial Park and many other areas. However, local naturalist, Tim Seburn, had inspired me years ago to look for butterflies every year. Tim, I believe, is not a collector but a strongly interested observer. It was he who took me to the area where I first saw the Spicebush Swallowtail butterflies at Marcy Woods. With him I also saw there the Tiger Swallowtails that feed on the wild cherry leaves. These are two beautiful butterflies. There are many, many more species if you arrive at certain times of the year. From our Fort Erie Centennial library I took out the Peterson field guide, Eastern Butterflies and the Audubon Handbook for Butterfly Watchers. I am serious again this year as I turn the pages and read the accounts. I want to see new species in our Niagara Peninsula How about you?
***
Thanks to Teresa Forte, Niagara’s garden expert, I had cut back my butterfly bushes about six inches each spring. I now have two beautiful bushes in full bloom. Sulphurs and Whites are showing up and yesterday a Red Admiral appeared. Today Monarchs and two beautiful Tiger swallowtail landed on the bushes! More will be coming to feed on the lavender-coloured blossoms, I am sure.
My homemade movie at Marcy's Abino Woods many years ago showed naturalist, Ernie Giles, pursuing butterflies with his large homemade net. Yes, Ernie is a butterfly collector. He's always looking for perfect specimens. On my wall encased in glass are two fine specimens of the Silver-spangled Fritillary. I am thankful for the gift from my friend. However, I am not a collector of butterflies. Ernie is a natural scientist and has collected butterfly specimens over the years for examination. Sorry Ernie, I just can't appreciate catching butterflies and ending their lives. I agree with nature photographer, Phil Schappert, who says, "The current trend towards watching and photographing butterflies instead of capturing them and ki lling them is long overdue. ...a good mix might include careful netting of a specimen for close examination, then releasing it unharmed." If we learn just to enjoy watching butterflies, then there will always be more of them for us, our children and grandchildren. I have been on some great butterfly hunts with Ernie Giles at Marcy Woods, Short Hills Provincial Park and many other areas. However, local naturalist, Tim Seburn, had inspired me years ago to look for butterflies every year. Tim, I believe, is not a collector but a strongly interested observer. It was he who took me to the area where I first saw the Spicebush Swallowtail butterflies at Marcy Woods. With him I also saw there the Tiger Swallowtails that feed on the wild cherry leaves. These are two beautiful butterflies. There are many, many more species if you arrive at certain times of the year. From our Fort Erie Centennial library I took out the Peterson field guide, Eastern Butterflies and the Audubon Handbook for Butterfly Watchers. I am serious again this year as I turn the pages and read the accounts. I want to see new species in our Niagara Peninsula How about you?
***
Thanks to Teresa Forte, Niagara’s garden expert, I had cut back my butterfly bushes about six inches each spring. I now have two beautiful bushes in full bloom. Sulphurs and Whites are showing up and yesterday a Red Admiral appeared. Today Monarchs and two beautiful Tiger swallowtail landed on the bushes! More will be coming to feed on the lavender-coloured blossoms, I am sure.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Albino/melanistic
Cheevers.Post.09
Remember Fort Erie’s famous white deer of a few winters ago? We learned that it was a piebald buck and not a true albino (all white). Many of us looked for sightings of this unusual looking deer. I still receive calls about albino animals in Niagara. I have reported on the white crow of Pelham, the white squirrel of Dufferin Islands and now recently a white robin. Pink eyes and white feathers or fur - hat’s a true albino. Call me at 905-894-2417 or E-mail me at Plato1@cogeco.ca if you see an albino animal.
Let’s change the subject. Two summers ago we visited Trail Wood Nature Sanctuary in Connecticut. It was the home of Edwin Teale, Pulitzer Prize nature writer. In his log dated January 29th many years ago we read Teale‘s words: “Twice this winter a melanistic buck has been seen disappearing into the woodland close to Trail Wood.”
Melanistic? It is at the opposite end of the colour scale from an albino deer. Teale‘s deer was reported to be almost coal black. Keep observing nature this winter. Be curious.
Remember Fort Erie’s famous white deer of a few winters ago? We learned that it was a piebald buck and not a true albino (all white). Many of us looked for sightings of this unusual looking deer. I still receive calls about albino animals in Niagara. I have reported on the white crow of Pelham, the white squirrel of Dufferin Islands and now recently a white robin. Pink eyes and white feathers or fur - hat’s a true albino. Call me at 905-894-2417 or E-mail me at Plato1@cogeco.ca if you see an albino animal.
Let’s change the subject. Two summers ago we visited Trail Wood Nature Sanctuary in Connecticut. It was the home of Edwin Teale, Pulitzer Prize nature writer. In his log dated January 29th many years ago we read Teale‘s words: “Twice this winter a melanistic buck has been seen disappearing into the woodland close to Trail Wood.”
Melanistic? It is at the opposite end of the colour scale from an albino deer. Teale‘s deer was reported to be almost coal black. Keep observing nature this winter. Be curious.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Butterfly Memories
Wing Time Earl Plato
My homemade movie at Marcy's Abino Woods many years ago showed naturalist, Ernie Giles, pursuing butterflies with his large homemade net. Yes, Ernie is a butterfly collector. He's always looking for perfect specimens. On my wall encased in glass are two fine specimens of the Silver-spangled Fritillary. I am thankful for the gift from my friend. However, I am not a collector of butterflies. Ernie is a natural scientist and has collected butterfly specimens over the years for examination. Sorry Ernie, I just can't appreciate catching butterflies and ending their lives. I agree with nature photographer, Phil Schappert, who says, "The current trend towards watching and photographing butterflies instead of capturing them and ki lling them is long overdue. ...a good mix might include careful netting of a specimen for close examination, then releasing it unharmed." If we learn just to enjoy watching butterflies, then there will always be more of them for us, our children and grandchildren. I have been on some great butterfly hunts with Ernie Giles at Marcy Woods, Short Hills Provincial Park and many other areas. However, local naturalist, Tim Seburn, had inspired me years ago to look for butterflies every year. Tim, I believe, is not a collector but a strongly interested observer. It was he who took me to the area where I first saw the Spicebush Swallowtail butterflies at Marcy Woods. With him I also saw there the Tiger Swallowtails that feed on the wild cherry leaves. These are two beautiful butterflies. There are many, many more species if you arrive at certain times of the year. From our Fort Erie Centennial library I took out the Peterson field guide, Eastern Butterflies and the Audubon Handbook for Butterfly Watchers. I am serious again this year as I turn the pages and read the accounts. I want to see new species in our Niagara Peninsula How about you?
***
Thanks to Teresa Forte, Niagara’s garden expert, I had cut back my butterfly bushes about six inches each spring. I now have two beautiful bushes in full bloom. Sulphurs and Whites are showing up and yesterday a Red Admiral appeared. Today Monarchs and two beautiful Tiger swallowtail landed on the bushes! More will be coming to feed on the lavender-coloured blossoms, I am sure.
My homemade movie at Marcy's Abino Woods many years ago showed naturalist, Ernie Giles, pursuing butterflies with his large homemade net. Yes, Ernie is a butterfly collector. He's always looking for perfect specimens. On my wall encased in glass are two fine specimens of the Silver-spangled Fritillary. I am thankful for the gift from my friend. However, I am not a collector of butterflies. Ernie is a natural scientist and has collected butterfly specimens over the years for examination. Sorry Ernie, I just can't appreciate catching butterflies and ending their lives. I agree with nature photographer, Phil Schappert, who says, "The current trend towards watching and photographing butterflies instead of capturing them and ki lling them is long overdue. ...a good mix might include careful netting of a specimen for close examination, then releasing it unharmed." If we learn just to enjoy watching butterflies, then there will always be more of them for us, our children and grandchildren. I have been on some great butterfly hunts with Ernie Giles at Marcy Woods, Short Hills Provincial Park and many other areas. However, local naturalist, Tim Seburn, had inspired me years ago to look for butterflies every year. Tim, I believe, is not a collector but a strongly interested observer. It was he who took me to the area where I first saw the Spicebush Swallowtail butterflies at Marcy Woods. With him I also saw there the Tiger Swallowtails that feed on the wild cherry leaves. These are two beautiful butterflies. There are many, many more species if you arrive at certain times of the year. From our Fort Erie Centennial library I took out the Peterson field guide, Eastern Butterflies and the Audubon Handbook for Butterfly Watchers. I am serious again this year as I turn the pages and read the accounts. I want to see new species in our Niagara Peninsula How about you?
***
Thanks to Teresa Forte, Niagara’s garden expert, I had cut back my butterfly bushes about six inches each spring. I now have two beautiful bushes in full bloom. Sulphurs and Whites are showing up and yesterday a Red Admiral appeared. Today Monarchs and two beautiful Tiger swallowtail landed on the bushes! More will be coming to feed on the lavender-coloured blossoms, I am sure.
Last Fall
Fox Trot Trail Last Fall Earl Plato
It’s been at least four years since I walked Fox Trot Trail at Marcy Woods. Bud and I rediscovered this old pathway this November. I wanted to update my map of the DiCienzo’s property made by Neil Reichelt . I had forgotten that it was beyond the eastern gate of the boundary of Marcy Woods but still part of the Woods. We did not enter the grown over path. We had spent two hours already. We would return another day. Good memories of this trail with naturalist Ernie Giles. Memories of Giant swallowtail and Spicebush butterflies, of young Tulip trees, and a pond with a different growth of duckweed. Beyond to the north was a trail leading into the wetlands and who knows where. We named the trail “Fox Trot” because of the numerous fox feces on the trail. The map has been redrawn by Neil.
***
We were away for two weeks out west. Did we have an Indian Summer while away? No one I asked seemed to know. At Marcy Woods this past week I saw chipmunks still scampering up and down fallen trees. To my right a gray squirrel launched itself from limb to limb and peered down at us. Were these the last days of a departing Indian Summer? It was a bright crisp morning in the Woods. I reflected on the Marcy family. The late Dr. George Marcy and his wife Elizabeth could have been enjoying American Thanksgiving at their Abino Hills farm. I can picture roast turkey - light meat and dark- the dressing, gravy, the sweet potatoes, the cranberry sauce, and the pumpkin pie. Back to reality, eh. What is your definition of Indian Summer? Some say that those few sunny days after a heavy killing frost is an Indian Summer? Let me know if we already had it.
***
My nature writer mentor, Ed Teale, asked the question. Have you ever seen a red squirrel scampering on the ground? Gray and black squirrels I have seen often on the ground but the smaller red guys always seem to be up in the trees. Teale said that except at the time when nuts are ripening at their peak do you see the red squirrel in awe-inspiring nervous energy racing up and down the trunk of a home nest. He’s only on the ground briefly as he is collecting food for the winter. He is always on defence of his territory. Grays and blacks look out!
It’s been at least four years since I walked Fox Trot Trail at Marcy Woods. Bud and I rediscovered this old pathway this November. I wanted to update my map of the DiCienzo’s property made by Neil Reichelt . I had forgotten that it was beyond the eastern gate of the boundary of Marcy Woods but still part of the Woods. We did not enter the grown over path. We had spent two hours already. We would return another day. Good memories of this trail with naturalist Ernie Giles. Memories of Giant swallowtail and Spicebush butterflies, of young Tulip trees, and a pond with a different growth of duckweed. Beyond to the north was a trail leading into the wetlands and who knows where. We named the trail “Fox Trot” because of the numerous fox feces on the trail. The map has been redrawn by Neil.
***
We were away for two weeks out west. Did we have an Indian Summer while away? No one I asked seemed to know. At Marcy Woods this past week I saw chipmunks still scampering up and down fallen trees. To my right a gray squirrel launched itself from limb to limb and peered down at us. Were these the last days of a departing Indian Summer? It was a bright crisp morning in the Woods. I reflected on the Marcy family. The late Dr. George Marcy and his wife Elizabeth could have been enjoying American Thanksgiving at their Abino Hills farm. I can picture roast turkey - light meat and dark- the dressing, gravy, the sweet potatoes, the cranberry sauce, and the pumpkin pie. Back to reality, eh. What is your definition of Indian Summer? Some say that those few sunny days after a heavy killing frost is an Indian Summer? Let me know if we already had it.
***
My nature writer mentor, Ed Teale, asked the question. Have you ever seen a red squirrel scampering on the ground? Gray and black squirrels I have seen often on the ground but the smaller red guys always seem to be up in the trees. Teale said that except at the time when nuts are ripening at their peak do you see the red squirrel in awe-inspiring nervous energy racing up and down the trunk of a home nest. He’s only on the ground briefly as he is collecting food for the winter. He is always on defence of his territory. Grays and blacks look out!
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Note Time in 2009
Nature Notes.09 Earl Plato
Keep nature notes! The late naturalist Bert Miller showed me how he kept records in nature, I was almost nine years old. I was recovering from that terrible disease poliomyelitis. I would sit at the living room window and watch purple martins, Baltimore orioles, and many other species. Bert said, “Write down the name if you know it. The date when seem and the location. If you can sketch the bird that helps. Check the colours.” I drew on my little pad what birds I saw from the window. I kept that record pad and added to it. I learned to sketch and colour birds Record keeping of trips became a habit. I still have many of those log pads
Love nature? Take some time to record what you have observed. Why? It’s good exercise and helps to keep you sharp in 2009.
***
I rambled many times with Bert Miller on Saturday walks. He would stop often and take out his little pad and pencil and write something down. Bert was an accomplished amateur biologist. So was my favourite nature writer, Edwin Teale. From the introduction to his lengthy novel, Wandering Through Winter, we read as follows: “Edwin Way Teale sits in the stern of his canoe… A small spiral notebook rests on his right knee, stubby pencil in hand, recording the immediate details of what he had just seen. This picture is indelible for me… because it catches the quintessence as the ultimate meticulous nature writer.” So wrote fellow naturalist Ann Haymond Zwinger.
Want to be a nature writer? I have done it twenty plus years.
Yes, I keep notes.
Keep nature notes! The late naturalist Bert Miller showed me how he kept records in nature, I was almost nine years old. I was recovering from that terrible disease poliomyelitis. I would sit at the living room window and watch purple martins, Baltimore orioles, and many other species. Bert said, “Write down the name if you know it. The date when seem and the location. If you can sketch the bird that helps. Check the colours.” I drew on my little pad what birds I saw from the window. I kept that record pad and added to it. I learned to sketch and colour birds Record keeping of trips became a habit. I still have many of those log pads
Love nature? Take some time to record what you have observed. Why? It’s good exercise and helps to keep you sharp in 2009.
***
I rambled many times with Bert Miller on Saturday walks. He would stop often and take out his little pad and pencil and write something down. Bert was an accomplished amateur biologist. So was my favourite nature writer, Edwin Teale. From the introduction to his lengthy novel, Wandering Through Winter, we read as follows: “Edwin Way Teale sits in the stern of his canoe… A small spiral notebook rests on his right knee, stubby pencil in hand, recording the immediate details of what he had just seen. This picture is indelible for me… because it catches the quintessence as the ultimate meticulous nature writer.” So wrote fellow naturalist Ann Haymond Zwinger.
Want to be a nature writer? I have done it twenty plus years.
Yes, I keep notes.
Note Time in 2009
Nature Notes.09 Earl Plato
Keep nature notes! The late naturalist Bert Miller showed me how he kept records in nature, I was almost nine years old. I was recovering from that terrible disease poliomyelitis. I would sit at the living room window and watch purple martins, Baltimore orioles, and many other species. Bert said, “Write down the name if you know it. The date when seem and the location. If you can sketch the bird that helps. Check the colours.” I drew on my little pad what birds I saw from the window. I kept that record pad and added to it. I learned to sketch and colour birds Record keeping of trips became a habit. I still have many of those log pads
Love nature? Take some time to record what you have observed. Why? It’s good exercise and helps to keep you sharp in 2009.
***
I rambled many times with Bert Miller on Saturday walks. He would stop often and take out his little pad and pencil and write something down. Bert was an accomplished amateur biologist. So was my favourite nature writer, Edwin Teale. From the introduction to his lengthy novel, Wandering Through Winter, we read as follows: “Edwin Way Teale sits in the stern of his canoe… A small spiral notebook rests on his right knee, stubby pencil in hand, recording the immediate details of what he had just seen. This picture is indelible for me… because it catches the quintessence as the ultimate meticulous nature writer.” So wrote fellow naturalist Ann Haymond Zwinger.
Want to be a nature writer? I have done it twenty plus years.
Yes, I keep notes.
Keep nature notes! The late naturalist Bert Miller showed me how he kept records in nature, I was almost nine years old. I was recovering from that terrible disease poliomyelitis. I would sit at the living room window and watch purple martins, Baltimore orioles, and many other species. Bert said, “Write down the name if you know it. The date when seem and the location. If you can sketch the bird that helps. Check the colours.” I drew on my little pad what birds I saw from the window. I kept that record pad and added to it. I learned to sketch and colour birds Record keeping of trips became a habit. I still have many of those log pads
Love nature? Take some time to record what you have observed. Why? It’s good exercise and helps to keep you sharp in 2009.
***
I rambled many times with Bert Miller on Saturday walks. He would stop often and take out his little pad and pencil and write something down. Bert was an accomplished amateur biologist. So was my favourite nature writer, Edwin Teale. From the introduction to his lengthy novel, Wandering Through Winter, we read as follows: “Edwin Way Teale sits in the stern of his canoe… A small spiral notebook rests on his right knee, stubby pencil in hand, recording the immediate details of what he had just seen. This picture is indelible for me… because it catches the quintessence as the ultimate meticulous nature writer.” So wrote fellow naturalist Ann Haymond Zwinger.
Want to be a nature writer? I have done it twenty plus years.
Yes, I keep notes.
A Spring Spin
A Spring Drive Earl Plato
Took a spin with Pastor Dan this first day of Spring. Just a drive on a beautiful day. Saw a few snow geese on the west side of Port Colborne. Robins were here and there. We drove past Morgan’s Point. This is where we have seen bluebirds in past years. Not yet. On to Highway #3 and back east to Biederman Road. Hey, this is where we used to head into Wainfleet Marsh. We drove in. Yes, I’ve been lost in the marsh despite my claim “I know where I am going.” We turned around and headed a little further east to Erie Peat Road. This was it. Here the road ends at the N.P.C.A.’s sign: WAINFLEET MARSH. This where I’ll walk north this spring. Pastor Dan saw it as a place where he and his wife, Nancy, could find a peaceful place.
Heading out this afternoon to the Short Hills Provincial Park. Camera in hand you know where Elaine and I are going. That’s right, the waterfalls. A great day let’s hope for some good shots.
***
Unbelievable weather. We asked the saleslady about the sudden change in the weather. From a balmy Friday to a snowy Saturday. We were in Stratford, Ontario.
“Look where we live,” was her reply. “This snow is from Lake Huron. We are in the ‘Snow Belt.’ But there’s Lake Erie to the south and Lake Ontario to the north east.
Stratford weather, you never know.”
The cost of accommodation was right at the well appointed Festival Inn. A week later when April arrives the cost of a night more than doubles. John drove the four of us along the great Lakeside Drive past the Avon Theatre and along the Avon River. Lakeside Drive? Yes, they call this part of the Avon - Lake Victoria. Mallards and Canadas were there in the river. Swans? Not so. We were a week too early. Next week they would take them out of winter’s quarters. They have a colourful ceremony accompanied by the Perth County Pipe Band. They will be given the freedom of the Avon River. What beautiful, graceful birds.
Despite the abrupt change in the weather I convinced John to drive 60 km to Bayfield on Lake Huron. I wanted to show them the giant windmill there. Then we would head north to Goderich for a neat lunch place.
Hey, it snowed 4-5 inches over night. We headed northwest on Highway 8. No real problem so far. Drifts inched their way on to the highway. Then we turned off at Seaforth on to County Rd. 3. Mistake. John is a good driver. Now the encroaching drifts, several inches high, crossed the road. The road disappeared at times and there was an occasional ‘white out.’ Elaine said, “Let’s turn back!”
We didn’t but we didn’t see the windmill. It was located in the back roads. We didn’t stop to see the shops at Bayfield. The Blue Water Highway was clear. We did have our lunch at the shop on the circle. I had a salmon quiche and a Caesar salad. I was happy but I am afraid I had upset my wife. We headed quietly back to Stratford on Highway 8. All was clear.
There are things - nature wise I want to see in the Stratford area. Maybe in the late Fall when the price at the Festival Inn is suitable.
***
Apologies to Bill Morkem of Ridgeway. I spelled his name wrong. I was principal of Ridgeway School and had his children. No excuse.
***
Marcy Wood? I have promised various people that I would take them for a ramble in these beautiful woods this spring. Hopefully, the Bert Miller Nature Club, will still be able to lead nature-loving people through this private setting. If it’s eventually sold to private interests, that’s a bridge we will have to cross.
Took a spin with Pastor Dan this first day of Spring. Just a drive on a beautiful day. Saw a few snow geese on the west side of Port Colborne. Robins were here and there. We drove past Morgan’s Point. This is where we have seen bluebirds in past years. Not yet. On to Highway #3 and back east to Biederman Road. Hey, this is where we used to head into Wainfleet Marsh. We drove in. Yes, I’ve been lost in the marsh despite my claim “I know where I am going.” We turned around and headed a little further east to Erie Peat Road. This was it. Here the road ends at the N.P.C.A.’s sign: WAINFLEET MARSH. This where I’ll walk north this spring. Pastor Dan saw it as a place where he and his wife, Nancy, could find a peaceful place.
Heading out this afternoon to the Short Hills Provincial Park. Camera in hand you know where Elaine and I are going. That’s right, the waterfalls. A great day let’s hope for some good shots.
***
Unbelievable weather. We asked the saleslady about the sudden change in the weather. From a balmy Friday to a snowy Saturday. We were in Stratford, Ontario.
“Look where we live,” was her reply. “This snow is from Lake Huron. We are in the ‘Snow Belt.’ But there’s Lake Erie to the south and Lake Ontario to the north east.
Stratford weather, you never know.”
The cost of accommodation was right at the well appointed Festival Inn. A week later when April arrives the cost of a night more than doubles. John drove the four of us along the great Lakeside Drive past the Avon Theatre and along the Avon River. Lakeside Drive? Yes, they call this part of the Avon - Lake Victoria. Mallards and Canadas were there in the river. Swans? Not so. We were a week too early. Next week they would take them out of winter’s quarters. They have a colourful ceremony accompanied by the Perth County Pipe Band. They will be given the freedom of the Avon River. What beautiful, graceful birds.
Despite the abrupt change in the weather I convinced John to drive 60 km to Bayfield on Lake Huron. I wanted to show them the giant windmill there. Then we would head north to Goderich for a neat lunch place.
Hey, it snowed 4-5 inches over night. We headed northwest on Highway 8. No real problem so far. Drifts inched their way on to the highway. Then we turned off at Seaforth on to County Rd. 3. Mistake. John is a good driver. Now the encroaching drifts, several inches high, crossed the road. The road disappeared at times and there was an occasional ‘white out.’ Elaine said, “Let’s turn back!”
We didn’t but we didn’t see the windmill. It was located in the back roads. We didn’t stop to see the shops at Bayfield. The Blue Water Highway was clear. We did have our lunch at the shop on the circle. I had a salmon quiche and a Caesar salad. I was happy but I am afraid I had upset my wife. We headed quietly back to Stratford on Highway 8. All was clear.
There are things - nature wise I want to see in the Stratford area. Maybe in the late Fall when the price at the Festival Inn is suitable.
***
Apologies to Bill Morkem of Ridgeway. I spelled his name wrong. I was principal of Ridgeway School and had his children. No excuse.
***
Marcy Wood? I have promised various people that I would take them for a ramble in these beautiful woods this spring. Hopefully, the Bert Miller Nature Club, will still be able to lead nature-loving people through this private setting. If it’s eventually sold to private interests, that’s a bridge we will have to cross.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Snakes Anyone!
Snakes Anyone? Earl Plato
When will I see a snake at Marcy Woods? The fall and lowering temperatures have sent them under ground. How do you feel about snakes?
Jerome had found a snake in the backfield of the Garrison Road school playground. He had reached under the Frost fence and caught a garter snake by the tail. What to do with it? Jerome was a Grade Four pupil as I was and he did what he thought the natural thing to do. He chased the younger girls. Brandishing his foot long reptile he pursued them. They screamed as they headed headlong for the girls’ entrance at the back of the school. We boys laughed. Back then there was little playground supervision. Bring back memories?
I had no sisters but I have four daughters. Fear of snakes in our family? 40/60 I would say. Two of them abhor snakes the other two are not afraid and are interested in serpents. So they say. Wife, Elaine, has little fear and tips the scale.
From a Federation of Ontario Naturalist booklet I raise some viewpoints.
It appears that being a snake is a thankless existence. Snakes are often disliked simply for being snakes. Although they play a vital role in rodent and insect control, this is seldom recognized. While you personally may never like snakes, I think that you can try to appreciate the part they play in the “balance of nature.”
Here’s what some of the F.O.N. booklet said:
Myth: Snakes can sting with their tongues.
Fact: The snake’s tongue is really used to “smell” the ground and air. The tongue picks up the articles in the air and brings them to a special organ on the roof of the snake’s mouth. The tongue itself is soft and sensitive.
Myth: Snakes have an hypnotic stare.
Fact: Snakes do not stare. They just do not blink. Instead of eyelids to protect their eyes snakes have transparent, immobile scales. While their unblinking stare can be unsettling. they are really just looking - minus the blinking.
Myth: Fear of snakes is instinctive.
Fact: I didn’t mention that my four daughters had an older brother, Paul. He was and is a science enthusiast. Did he frighten his two older sisters as he brought home various animals? I saw my younger two daughters handle and even play with snakes. I see with my Junior naturalists, boys and girls) show unabashed curiosity when a snake is found. However, often adults will react with fear and disgust and this can be contagious. Snake hysteria is contagious especially for impressionable children. I remember all of the younger girls running and yes, some of the older ones too from Jerome’s harmless garter snakes.
To you adults, men and women, who have a fear of snakes exercise self control when around children, otherwise, the fear will be passed on.
Myth: Snakes are slimy and cold.
Fact: Snakes are dry and smooth to the touch. Being cold-blooded the body temperature of snakes depends on the temperature of the environment. If a snake has been sunning itself it will be warm to the touch. I once held a three foot Black rat snake. It was remarkably warm. If a snake has been hiding under a stone or log expect it to feel cold.
Myth: Snakes are dangerous.
Fact: Like any wild animal snakes will defend themselves if captured or cornered. Yes, a garter snake coiled itself and struck at my finger with its “teeth.” It drew a little blood. Dangerous? I had cornered it and had not expected a garter snake to attack. Lesson learned.
Only one species of Ontario’s fifteen different snakes is venomous. You know which one - the Massasauga rattlesnake. Given the opportunity this lethargic snake will flee if disturbed.
Fact: In the past 100 years in Ontario only two deaths have resulted from a rattlesnake bite.
Feel better about snakes? Next spring go looking for some, eh.
When will I see a snake at Marcy Woods? The fall and lowering temperatures have sent them under ground. How do you feel about snakes?
Jerome had found a snake in the backfield of the Garrison Road school playground. He had reached under the Frost fence and caught a garter snake by the tail. What to do with it? Jerome was a Grade Four pupil as I was and he did what he thought the natural thing to do. He chased the younger girls. Brandishing his foot long reptile he pursued them. They screamed as they headed headlong for the girls’ entrance at the back of the school. We boys laughed. Back then there was little playground supervision. Bring back memories?
I had no sisters but I have four daughters. Fear of snakes in our family? 40/60 I would say. Two of them abhor snakes the other two are not afraid and are interested in serpents. So they say. Wife, Elaine, has little fear and tips the scale.
From a Federation of Ontario Naturalist booklet I raise some viewpoints.
It appears that being a snake is a thankless existence. Snakes are often disliked simply for being snakes. Although they play a vital role in rodent and insect control, this is seldom recognized. While you personally may never like snakes, I think that you can try to appreciate the part they play in the “balance of nature.”
Here’s what some of the F.O.N. booklet said:
Myth: Snakes can sting with their tongues.
Fact: The snake’s tongue is really used to “smell” the ground and air. The tongue picks up the articles in the air and brings them to a special organ on the roof of the snake’s mouth. The tongue itself is soft and sensitive.
Myth: Snakes have an hypnotic stare.
Fact: Snakes do not stare. They just do not blink. Instead of eyelids to protect their eyes snakes have transparent, immobile scales. While their unblinking stare can be unsettling. they are really just looking - minus the blinking.
Myth: Fear of snakes is instinctive.
Fact: I didn’t mention that my four daughters had an older brother, Paul. He was and is a science enthusiast. Did he frighten his two older sisters as he brought home various animals? I saw my younger two daughters handle and even play with snakes. I see with my Junior naturalists, boys and girls) show unabashed curiosity when a snake is found. However, often adults will react with fear and disgust and this can be contagious. Snake hysteria is contagious especially for impressionable children. I remember all of the younger girls running and yes, some of the older ones too from Jerome’s harmless garter snakes.
To you adults, men and women, who have a fear of snakes exercise self control when around children, otherwise, the fear will be passed on.
Myth: Snakes are slimy and cold.
Fact: Snakes are dry and smooth to the touch. Being cold-blooded the body temperature of snakes depends on the temperature of the environment. If a snake has been sunning itself it will be warm to the touch. I once held a three foot Black rat snake. It was remarkably warm. If a snake has been hiding under a stone or log expect it to feel cold.
Myth: Snakes are dangerous.
Fact: Like any wild animal snakes will defend themselves if captured or cornered. Yes, a garter snake coiled itself and struck at my finger with its “teeth.” It drew a little blood. Dangerous? I had cornered it and had not expected a garter snake to attack. Lesson learned.
Only one species of Ontario’s fifteen different snakes is venomous. You know which one - the Massasauga rattlesnake. Given the opportunity this lethargic snake will flee if disturbed.
Fact: In the past 100 years in Ontario only two deaths have resulted from a rattlesnake bite.
Feel better about snakes? Next spring go looking for some, eh.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Duck Drive
Annual Duck Drive Earl Plato
It was early in the New Year , 2009. Elaine and I had not done one of our Niagara Duck Drives. Today, December 28th we started out from Fort Erie to Niagara-on-the-Lake. With bird glasses and camera we drove on an overcast day. The Niagara was glassy and peaceful. Canada geese and mallards in Fort Erie/ Then we saw them near Black Creek. It was not what I call a ‘raft” but a great multitude of ducks with swans and Canada geese mingled in. Thousands - no exaggeration. Canvas backs. common mergansers, buffleheads, scaups and did I see a harlequin duck? Elaine says “no.”Gulls at Niagara and Sir Adam Beck. Plenty of ring-bills, black backs and others. On to Niagara-on-the-Lake. River waters unusually calm. Car windows down. Would we hear the piercing call of the Long tails (Old Squaws)? Not a sound - not one in sight! More ducks? Yes. Last year traveling the Niagara parkway heading north we came upon an impressive sight. I photographed a raft of canvasbacks. We estimated at least 500 stretching in a long line on the edge of our Canadian shore line. There interspersed in smaller numbers in that raft were other ducks, the redhead. The redhead is a first-cousin to the canvasback. The redhead is an exceptional diver and flyer we are told. Short legs set to the rear of its body and its webbed feet mean that it is somewhat ungainly on land but in water or in air it’s a speedster. Why the Niagara? Redheads feed by diving as deep as 4 metres (14 feet). This capacity for diving depths allows it to fill its diet with 90% aquatic plant material. The Niagara river shoreland has an abundance of water plant food. The redhead consumes more such plant material well above the average for ducks. My question: Why don’t we see more redheads on the Niagara? In the air the redhead can reach speeds in excess of 80 kilometres per hour. That’s over 50 miles an hour! So? Listen, it’s an obvious asset for a duck that migrates such distances. “Survival of the faster,” I say. Hunters have to react in an instance. Then I recalled some of these colourful birds taking off. Know what I mean? On takeoffs they seem to literally run across the water surface for several metres before gaining the necessary momentum to take flight. Susceptible to the hunter’s gun? I would say so. Travel the Niagara and look and listen for our wintering ducks.
It was early in the New Year , 2009. Elaine and I had not done one of our Niagara Duck Drives. Today, December 28th we started out from Fort Erie to Niagara-on-the-Lake. With bird glasses and camera we drove on an overcast day. The Niagara was glassy and peaceful. Canada geese and mallards in Fort Erie/ Then we saw them near Black Creek. It was not what I call a ‘raft” but a great multitude of ducks with swans and Canada geese mingled in. Thousands - no exaggeration. Canvas backs. common mergansers, buffleheads, scaups and did I see a harlequin duck? Elaine says “no.”Gulls at Niagara and Sir Adam Beck. Plenty of ring-bills, black backs and others. On to Niagara-on-the-Lake. River waters unusually calm. Car windows down. Would we hear the piercing call of the Long tails (Old Squaws)? Not a sound - not one in sight! More ducks? Yes. Last year traveling the Niagara parkway heading north we came upon an impressive sight. I photographed a raft of canvasbacks. We estimated at least 500 stretching in a long line on the edge of our Canadian shore line. There interspersed in smaller numbers in that raft were other ducks, the redhead. The redhead is a first-cousin to the canvasback. The redhead is an exceptional diver and flyer we are told. Short legs set to the rear of its body and its webbed feet mean that it is somewhat ungainly on land but in water or in air it’s a speedster. Why the Niagara? Redheads feed by diving as deep as 4 metres (14 feet). This capacity for diving depths allows it to fill its diet with 90% aquatic plant material. The Niagara river shoreland has an abundance of water plant food. The redhead consumes more such plant material well above the average for ducks. My question: Why don’t we see more redheads on the Niagara? In the air the redhead can reach speeds in excess of 80 kilometres per hour. That’s over 50 miles an hour! So? Listen, it’s an obvious asset for a duck that migrates such distances. “Survival of the faster,” I say. Hunters have to react in an instance. Then I recalled some of these colourful birds taking off. Know what I mean? On takeoffs they seem to literally run across the water surface for several metres before gaining the necessary momentum to take flight. Susceptible to the hunter’s gun? I would say so. Travel the Niagara and look and listen for our wintering ducks.
Skunk Cabbage
Nature Calls Earl Plato
It was over fifty years ago that the late Fort Erie naturalist Bert Miller wrote only two words down in his daily log book- Skunk Cabbage. He recorded the location of it on Halloway bay Road and the early spring date. Rob Eberly, president of the Bert Miller Nature Club, has seen that we have saved Bert’s great volume of records. Bert taught me as a youth to keep nature logs and I have over the years. Two words that I recorded in one of my little books were- martins return. the date - April 17th, 1987. Almost to the day our twenty or so Purple martins would return each year to our two large martin houses at the family farm. Amazing. Were they the same migrating colonies each year? I don’t know. Some research tells me that the males arrive first followed within a day or two by the females. Why? It makes sense that the male martins check the sites out first. Purple plumaged? Not really. Look closely, The male is not purple but uniformly blue-black throughout. They appear black from a distance. They have a moderately forked tail. Females are gray to white below. Their upperparts are mixed blue and gray. No purple there either. The late Art Box in Fort Erie sold many a martin house in his day. Art’s structures were such that you could lower them to the ground. You clean out the many nesting sites and prepare it for the martins’ arrival. But, as often happened, English sparrows would take advantage of the empty nesting sections. Art would demonstrate with his martin houses. Lower the house again and clean out the sparrow nests. That usually was enough to discourage any further pirating of the martin house until their mid-April arrival. I love Purple martins. They make a twittering sound as they ready their nests. They catch insects on the fly. This was mosquito country and the avaricious martins did a good job of controlling them at the farm. Interested in bringing martins to your property? Read up the literature on the Internet. Buy a good martin house and hope that the scouts will check yours out. I was told that a pond or body of water must be nearby, Not so. We had no water right there on the farm and we had Purple martins each year. Check out the literature at the library too. Best of all ask someone who has been successful in attracting this delightful member of the swallow family.
It was over fifty years ago that the late Fort Erie naturalist Bert Miller wrote only two words down in his daily log book- Skunk Cabbage. He recorded the location of it on Halloway bay Road and the early spring date. Rob Eberly, president of the Bert Miller Nature Club, has seen that we have saved Bert’s great volume of records. Bert taught me as a youth to keep nature logs and I have over the years. Two words that I recorded in one of my little books were- martins return. the date - April 17th, 1987. Almost to the day our twenty or so Purple martins would return each year to our two large martin houses at the family farm. Amazing. Were they the same migrating colonies each year? I don’t know. Some research tells me that the males arrive first followed within a day or two by the females. Why? It makes sense that the male martins check the sites out first. Purple plumaged? Not really. Look closely, The male is not purple but uniformly blue-black throughout. They appear black from a distance. They have a moderately forked tail. Females are gray to white below. Their upperparts are mixed blue and gray. No purple there either. The late Art Box in Fort Erie sold many a martin house in his day. Art’s structures were such that you could lower them to the ground. You clean out the many nesting sites and prepare it for the martins’ arrival. But, as often happened, English sparrows would take advantage of the empty nesting sections. Art would demonstrate with his martin houses. Lower the house again and clean out the sparrow nests. That usually was enough to discourage any further pirating of the martin house until their mid-April arrival. I love Purple martins. They make a twittering sound as they ready their nests. They catch insects on the fly. This was mosquito country and the avaricious martins did a good job of controlling them at the farm. Interested in bringing martins to your property? Read up the literature on the Internet. Buy a good martin house and hope that the scouts will check yours out. I was told that a pond or body of water must be nearby, Not so. We had no water right there on the farm and we had Purple martins each year. Check out the literature at the library too. Best of all ask someone who has been successful in attracting this delightful member of the swallow family.
Ospreys Anyone?
Ospreys Anyone? Earl Plato Part Two - Ding Darling Nature Refuge, Florida - We continued and on our left were a series of poles each topped with a small platform. I thought I knew what they were, nesting platforms for one of my favourite birds of prey, the Osprey. Again with the help of other visitors I learned that the refuge staff had built artificial osprey nesting sites. Did we see any? Not one. The nesting population we were told had numbered from 35 to 50 over the past five years. We were there at the wrong time. We saw several alligators along the way. One photo I took shows a Great Blue Heron less than ten feet from a good-sized "gator." The heron seemed to sense the potential danger and moved quickly away to a safer distance. The next stop was the Shell Mound Trail where the Calusa Indians once lived. We walked along a raised boardwalk through the red mangrove jungle. We had been told by one of the volunteers back at the Center to listen for the "Witchity-witchity-witchity" loud call of the Common Yellowthroat. It is a a small, delicate bird that sings anytime of the day unlike other birds. We saw flashes of yellow but did not hear any calls. We headed on to the Bailey Tract Trail where we were told several species of birds would be found. We were fascinated by Great Rgrets and White Ibises "foot raking" in search of food. It was a great sight. Overhead I saw a bird soaring and grabbed my g;asses. Was it an osprey? No, the markings on the wing told me that it was a Red-shouldered hawk, a medium size bird. Spindly-legged sandpipers were standing feeding in the shallows. We heard some beautiful song birds in the mangrove forest behind us. We returned to the Visitor Center with a car completely coated in dust. At the center on a display board was listed 291 species of birds, over 60 reptiles and amphibians and at least 32 different mammals. We would like to come again. It had been a good ramble in a different setting. Through the Internet this February 2005 I have learned that Ding Darling has recovered and is going strong in 2005. Love nature? You’ll love Ding Darling Nature Center on Sanibel Island.
Punk Time
Punk Time by Earl Plato
Punk. Remember punk sticks anyone? We used them to set off our firecrackers. Once lighted the sticks would glow on the end. No flame. It was a useful tool for us. The late naturalist Bert Miller showed us as he scraped the dried spores from a Horse shoe fungus. He collected the powder in a little glass jar. Later he threw some of this spore dust into the blazing campfire. Instantaneous bursts of blue-tinged light flared out. That’s what punk sticks were made of as I recall. I did a little research thanks to my nature writer mentor Ed Teale. One November day Ed and his wife while walking through their evergreen forests encountered little yellow clouds of living dust spurting ip around their feet. I have experienced this too during these November days. Life-producing spores are carried on the wind to replenish and spread the species. Ed was walking through Ground pine, Lycopdium complanatum. I remember them as small deep green, tree-like masses
covering a large area, Teale says, “It is one of the earliest plants to appear on earth. So primitive a plant that it is placed after Horsetails in botanical listings.” The wonders of Created nature continue to amaze me. So uiniform in size are the spores of the Ground pine that one time they were used as the standard in microscopic measurements. It was used as the source of illimination in the earliest flashlight photography. In the field of medicine the Ground pine dust was used for coating pills to prevent them from sticking together. An anazing plant with special properties. It is also known as festoon pine, creeping Jennie, Christmas green, hogbed, and crowfoot. Any names familiar? Now as Fall is here the plants turn from green to progressively more golden as the microscopic dust of the spores matures, Where do youn find these plants? I found mine in a dense forest of evergreens. Keep exploring in nature.-Be curious, eh.
Punk. Remember punk sticks anyone? We used them to set off our firecrackers. Once lighted the sticks would glow on the end. No flame. It was a useful tool for us. The late naturalist Bert Miller showed us as he scraped the dried spores from a Horse shoe fungus. He collected the powder in a little glass jar. Later he threw some of this spore dust into the blazing campfire. Instantaneous bursts of blue-tinged light flared out. That’s what punk sticks were made of as I recall. I did a little research thanks to my nature writer mentor Ed Teale. One November day Ed and his wife while walking through their evergreen forests encountered little yellow clouds of living dust spurting ip around their feet. I have experienced this too during these November days. Life-producing spores are carried on the wind to replenish and spread the species. Ed was walking through Ground pine, Lycopdium complanatum. I remember them as small deep green, tree-like masses
covering a large area, Teale says, “It is one of the earliest plants to appear on earth. So primitive a plant that it is placed after Horsetails in botanical listings.” The wonders of Created nature continue to amaze me. So uiniform in size are the spores of the Ground pine that one time they were used as the standard in microscopic measurements. It was used as the source of illimination in the earliest flashlight photography. In the field of medicine the Ground pine dust was used for coating pills to prevent them from sticking together. An anazing plant with special properties. It is also known as festoon pine, creeping Jennie, Christmas green, hogbed, and crowfoot. Any names familiar? Now as Fall is here the plants turn from green to progressively more golden as the microscopic dust of the spores matures, Where do youn find these plants? I found mine in a dense forest of evergreens. Keep exploring in nature.-Be curious, eh.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Love nature
A Bug in he Sun Earl Plato
A bug in the sun. A flat bug. A brownish bug. A longlegged bug. All the above were answers I once received from the Bert Miller Junior Naturalists. What did we have? A squash bug soaking up September’s morning rays after the chill of the night. We stood at Paonessa’s farm in Ridgeway on a Saturday looking down at it. We share the warmth together. The sunshine, the fresh air, the green of still growing plants are its, the squash bug’s, as well as ours. The world was made for it- and for our farm chipmunks, the purple martins there and the water striders in the pond - as well as for us. We share it all in common. Oh, that we could live more in harmony with nature. But in this real world lack of harmony seems to rule so often. Continue to seek for those instances that reflect the beauty of creation. ***
Four year old Ashlyn Kells is a curious girl. At Old Fort Erie during a recent Saturday night Christian Rock Concert she was looking around for something in nature. She found it. She called us to show us her find.
There grasping to the trunk of a white ash tree was a beetle-like insect. I knew what it was, I thought. However, its back had two eye-like spots. I carefully picked it up. It had its feet firmly attached to the tree’s bark and I gently pried it off for Ashlyn and the other children to see. There were the translucent wings. “Cicada” we pronounce it “sick-AH-dah.” This particular sucking bug was a Dog Day cicada (Tibicen canicularis). Remember “dog days” in August are associated with heat. That’s the time cicadas high up in our trees vibrate an organism in their abdomen. That’s what I describe as a “prolonged whining buzz.” Yes, it’s a mating call. This poor fellow Ashlyn had found was out of synch. First of all he should have been up higher and secondly difficult to find. Not this bug but we wish him well as we placed him back on the tree trunk. Be curious in nature.
A bug in the sun. A flat bug. A brownish bug. A longlegged bug. All the above were answers I once received from the Bert Miller Junior Naturalists. What did we have? A squash bug soaking up September’s morning rays after the chill of the night. We stood at Paonessa’s farm in Ridgeway on a Saturday looking down at it. We share the warmth together. The sunshine, the fresh air, the green of still growing plants are its, the squash bug’s, as well as ours. The world was made for it- and for our farm chipmunks, the purple martins there and the water striders in the pond - as well as for us. We share it all in common. Oh, that we could live more in harmony with nature. But in this real world lack of harmony seems to rule so often. Continue to seek for those instances that reflect the beauty of creation. ***
Four year old Ashlyn Kells is a curious girl. At Old Fort Erie during a recent Saturday night Christian Rock Concert she was looking around for something in nature. She found it. She called us to show us her find.
There grasping to the trunk of a white ash tree was a beetle-like insect. I knew what it was, I thought. However, its back had two eye-like spots. I carefully picked it up. It had its feet firmly attached to the tree’s bark and I gently pried it off for Ashlyn and the other children to see. There were the translucent wings. “Cicada” we pronounce it “sick-AH-dah.” This particular sucking bug was a Dog Day cicada (Tibicen canicularis). Remember “dog days” in August are associated with heat. That’s the time cicadas high up in our trees vibrate an organism in their abdomen. That’s what I describe as a “prolonged whining buzz.” Yes, it’s a mating call. This poor fellow Ashlyn had found was out of synch. First of all he should have been up higher and secondly difficult to find. Not this bug but we wish him well as we placed him back on the tree trunk. Be curious in nature.
Ridgeway's Shagbark Trail
Shagbark Trail Earl Plato
Shagbark Trail Park in Ridgeway is a sizable piece of greenery. It needs help to develop it into a great nature setting. Guess what? The old Shagbark sign at the entrance has an added title. Routed recently into the wood sign it reads: STEWARDSHIP PROJECT OF THE BERT MILLER FORT ERIE NATURE CLUB .
For the hundreds of Niagarans each year who used to walk Marcy’s Woods, no, we still haven’t given up hope to ramble along those Carolinian Trails once again. The late Dr. George Marcy and his wife, Elizabeth, asked us, the Bert Miller Nature Club, to be stewards of their pristine property. That’s the truth. However, nature lovers must focus on other local natural sites and sights. Shagbark Trail continues to be enhanced by hard working members of the Bert Miller Nature Club. One Saturday, October 25th afrom morning into the afternoon they planted young, indigenous trees in hard to dig clay holes filled with good soil. They surrounded each tree with a ring of wood chips. My excuse - bad back.
I returned to Shagbark on October 30th with brother, Ed. With wheelbarrow and shovel he finished the job of ringing some twenty trees. I walked the gravel trails with sister-in-law, Rose Ann, while brother worked. Cyron Nurseries, who border the property on the north and east, have done a beautiful job of planting trees and shrubs on the entire length of the long berm separating the two properties. They supplied much equipment and time for our workday. Thank you Jan and Chris of Cyron. Thank you volunteers. Some of the Bert Miller Club organizers were Jim Willwerth, Rick Stockton, Rob Eberly, and Ray Willwerth. Thanks to Bob Chambers and his detailed plans for this ‘great-to-be’ nature park.
Shagbark Trail is named for the many Shagbark hickory trees found in the park. The parking lot is just north of Dominion Road off Burleigh Road. Look for the park sign near the gravel parking lot. Trails are not all connected yet but next year we hope final trails will be in place. Fort Erie nature sites are worth preserving for all of us not for just a few. The Town officials and their workers have been a great help. Enjoy Fort Erie’s Shagbark Trail in the years ahead. Look forward to 2009.
Shagbark Trail Park in Ridgeway is a sizable piece of greenery. It needs help to develop it into a great nature setting. Guess what? The old Shagbark sign at the entrance has an added title. Routed recently into the wood sign it reads: STEWARDSHIP PROJECT OF THE BERT MILLER FORT ERIE NATURE CLUB .
For the hundreds of Niagarans each year who used to walk Marcy’s Woods, no, we still haven’t given up hope to ramble along those Carolinian Trails once again. The late Dr. George Marcy and his wife, Elizabeth, asked us, the Bert Miller Nature Club, to be stewards of their pristine property. That’s the truth. However, nature lovers must focus on other local natural sites and sights. Shagbark Trail continues to be enhanced by hard working members of the Bert Miller Nature Club. One Saturday, October 25th afrom morning into the afternoon they planted young, indigenous trees in hard to dig clay holes filled with good soil. They surrounded each tree with a ring of wood chips. My excuse - bad back.
I returned to Shagbark on October 30th with brother, Ed. With wheelbarrow and shovel he finished the job of ringing some twenty trees. I walked the gravel trails with sister-in-law, Rose Ann, while brother worked. Cyron Nurseries, who border the property on the north and east, have done a beautiful job of planting trees and shrubs on the entire length of the long berm separating the two properties. They supplied much equipment and time for our workday. Thank you Jan and Chris of Cyron. Thank you volunteers. Some of the Bert Miller Club organizers were Jim Willwerth, Rick Stockton, Rob Eberly, and Ray Willwerth. Thanks to Bob Chambers and his detailed plans for this ‘great-to-be’ nature park.
Shagbark Trail is named for the many Shagbark hickory trees found in the park. The parking lot is just north of Dominion Road off Burleigh Road. Look for the park sign near the gravel parking lot. Trails are not all connected yet but next year we hope final trails will be in place. Fort Erie nature sites are worth preserving for all of us not for just a few. The Town officials and their workers have been a great help. Enjoy Fort Erie’s Shagbark Trail in the years ahead. Look forward to 2009.
Feathers
Feathers Earl Plato
The souvenir pewter drinking mug on my duck decoys shelf holds a variety of bird feathers. They are large specimens such as the tail feather of a Cooper’s hawk. I have no small songbird feathers though I have found many over the years. Nature writer Ed Teale shares this little excerpt. “The feather first catches our eye. No more than three-quarters of an inch long it is tipped with scarlet. Like a tiny perfect jewel resting on the rich green velvet of a jewellery case, it lies on a cushion of moss beside the trail - the body feather dropped by a molting Scarlet tanager.” Get a another cup only smaller and collect some small but colourful songbird feathers? Why not?
***
Hey, I am an animal lover but I agree with Gerry Riesing of the Buffalo News when he says that he disagrees with the animal rights folks who insist we simply “let nature take its course.” Few of us would want a black bear in our back yards as occurred in Hamilton recently. More of us would be willing to see the problems created by deer, Canada geese, and purple loosestrife addressed by our town and region. Bears and wild cats in urban areas should be caught and humanely removed to their more natural habitats.
***
To the bird lover, eye catching colours of certain songbirds are so appealing. I’ve said many times that I miss the family farm setting for many reasons - one main one was the colourful songbirds. Here in town I miss the myriad of coloured plumages. Wait! Last month we had a male Rose-breasted grosbeak at our feeders. A flood of colour images came to my mind’s eye after that viewing. Deep in Marcy’s Woods Ernie Giles and I took photos of a male Scarlet Tanager. Look it up in your bird guide. What a vivid recall of those deep black and powerful red colours captured in that slide. Ever think of a nature photography hobby?
The souvenir pewter drinking mug on my duck decoys shelf holds a variety of bird feathers. They are large specimens such as the tail feather of a Cooper’s hawk. I have no small songbird feathers though I have found many over the years. Nature writer Ed Teale shares this little excerpt. “The feather first catches our eye. No more than three-quarters of an inch long it is tipped with scarlet. Like a tiny perfect jewel resting on the rich green velvet of a jewellery case, it lies on a cushion of moss beside the trail - the body feather dropped by a molting Scarlet tanager.” Get a another cup only smaller and collect some small but colourful songbird feathers? Why not?
***
Hey, I am an animal lover but I agree with Gerry Riesing of the Buffalo News when he says that he disagrees with the animal rights folks who insist we simply “let nature take its course.” Few of us would want a black bear in our back yards as occurred in Hamilton recently. More of us would be willing to see the problems created by deer, Canada geese, and purple loosestrife addressed by our town and region. Bears and wild cats in urban areas should be caught and humanely removed to their more natural habitats.
***
To the bird lover, eye catching colours of certain songbirds are so appealing. I’ve said many times that I miss the family farm setting for many reasons - one main one was the colourful songbirds. Here in town I miss the myriad of coloured plumages. Wait! Last month we had a male Rose-breasted grosbeak at our feeders. A flood of colour images came to my mind’s eye after that viewing. Deep in Marcy’s Woods Ernie Giles and I took photos of a male Scarlet Tanager. Look it up in your bird guide. What a vivid recall of those deep black and powerful red colours captured in that slide. Ever think of a nature photography hobby?
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Black Flies
This is an article fro two springs ago.
I still remember those little black guys!
Black Flies Earl Plato
I run my fingers over the back of my neck along my hairline. I have just returned from an early June week in Algonquin Park. The numerous swellings that itch on my neck are from bites of black flies. Plato, didn’t you use Off with deet? Yes, but apparently not enough applications in certain areas! May and June are the main months for this vicious little insect. What do you know about them? Any of you who have followed my articles over the years know that I have a love for Algonquin Park. Let me qualify that statement. For years I have visited the Park in the summer and Fall. I avoided Spring. However, this year in June we had the opportunity to spend some time in Algonquin. Why not? No, I didn’t forget those veracious insects.
Early June saw us alone on the trails. We had tried to protect ourselves
with ample applications of Deet. No other venturers at Spruce Bog Trail or Peck Lake Trail, two of the shorter Algonquin trails. Swarms of blackflies were there ready to make life miserable for us Niagarans. I had made a study of the life cycle of these flies some years ago while staying on the west side of the Park. I had hiked down Whiskey Run Trail and was told by a Park ranger to look for the following: Whiskey Run is a fast flowing stream on the edge of the great Park. Look for the multitudinous larvae of the Simultidae, the blackflies, attached to the rocks in the fast flowing stream. The white water of cascades provides the larvae with the extra oxygen they needed. What happenened next was that the larvae spin boot-shaped underwater cocoons, open at the downstream end. Look for the hundreds of cocoons on the water covered rocks of the rapids. These I saw but wait a few days for each cocoon forms a bubble of air. Then something I did not stay to see was that the cocoon of the blackfly splitting with each insect riding within a bubble. Each bubble shoots upwards through the tumbling water of Whiskey Run and pops to the surface amid the flying spray. The blackfly instantaneously lifts itself into the air on its tiny wings. Thus is born an adult blackfly. Hikers beware! Visit Algonquin but pick the best month to miss blackflies.
Writer’s Note: Park rangers give daily talks and walks during the summer season. Mushrooms, wild flowers, ferns, song birds and many more informative topics are available. It was a ranger who told me about blackflies. Never stop learning in nature.
I still remember those little black guys!
Black Flies Earl Plato
I run my fingers over the back of my neck along my hairline. I have just returned from an early June week in Algonquin Park. The numerous swellings that itch on my neck are from bites of black flies. Plato, didn’t you use Off with deet? Yes, but apparently not enough applications in certain areas! May and June are the main months for this vicious little insect. What do you know about them? Any of you who have followed my articles over the years know that I have a love for Algonquin Park. Let me qualify that statement. For years I have visited the Park in the summer and Fall. I avoided Spring. However, this year in June we had the opportunity to spend some time in Algonquin. Why not? No, I didn’t forget those veracious insects.
Early June saw us alone on the trails. We had tried to protect ourselves
with ample applications of Deet. No other venturers at Spruce Bog Trail or Peck Lake Trail, two of the shorter Algonquin trails. Swarms of blackflies were there ready to make life miserable for us Niagarans. I had made a study of the life cycle of these flies some years ago while staying on the west side of the Park. I had hiked down Whiskey Run Trail and was told by a Park ranger to look for the following: Whiskey Run is a fast flowing stream on the edge of the great Park. Look for the multitudinous larvae of the Simultidae, the blackflies, attached to the rocks in the fast flowing stream. The white water of cascades provides the larvae with the extra oxygen they needed. What happenened next was that the larvae spin boot-shaped underwater cocoons, open at the downstream end. Look for the hundreds of cocoons on the water covered rocks of the rapids. These I saw but wait a few days for each cocoon forms a bubble of air. Then something I did not stay to see was that the cocoon of the blackfly splitting with each insect riding within a bubble. Each bubble shoots upwards through the tumbling water of Whiskey Run and pops to the surface amid the flying spray. The blackfly instantaneously lifts itself into the air on its tiny wings. Thus is born an adult blackfly. Hikers beware! Visit Algonquin but pick the best month to miss blackflies.
Writer’s Note: Park rangers give daily talks and walks during the summer season. Mushrooms, wild flowers, ferns, song birds and many more informative topics are available. It was a ranger who told me about blackflies. Never stop learning in nature.
Think Big!
Think Big! Earl Plato
Think big in Norway. Every 20 kilometres or so on major highway N6 a large sign greets you. On it is the head of a bull moose. Like our Ontario deer crossing signs a warning says, “Beware moose crossing.” I have learned that Norway is filled with these giant animals. “Don’t drive at dawn or dusk unless you have to,” cousin Erik said. “If you do, be alert.” Meeting a moose in a low lying sports car can be fatal. He told us of such an incident where the driver, an old friend, was killed as the antlered head of the bull moose crashed through her windshield.
I have stood next to a mounted moose at the Centre in Algonquin Park. It iowered over me. I experienced the same thing in the Trondheim museum this past May. Big? How big is big? Weight 635 kg. - 1400 lb. and at least 7 1/2 feet tall. What a giant animal! To meet such a bull moose on the highway or in the woods would be a memorable experience. I have been in a canoe close to a moose when she emerged from the lake. That image is still etched in my memory. In my workroom I have the framed print of the head of a bull moose and another less expensive print of a pair of moose entering a lake. I took a photo of a huge original painting in the Trondheim museum of an old Bull moose attacked by a pack of wolves. Yhree more recebt actual photos adorn my wall. Yes, I am hooked on the moose, the largest cervid in the world.
From my moose hunting friends and relatives I have learned that moose can be unpredictable during rutting season and therefore dangerous. It is normally a retiring animal and avoids humans.We drove over 1,000 miles through the heartland of Norway during the day, Alas no moose.
Yes, my Norwegian cousins served us moose. It tasted like beef and was delicious. A week before we arrived a cow moose and her young meandered through our cousin’s backyard in Asker only fifteen minutes from downtown Oslo! A beautiful country but think big when you drive. Big, meaning moose.
Think big in Norway. Every 20 kilometres or so on major highway N6 a large sign greets you. On it is the head of a bull moose. Like our Ontario deer crossing signs a warning says, “Beware moose crossing.” I have learned that Norway is filled with these giant animals. “Don’t drive at dawn or dusk unless you have to,” cousin Erik said. “If you do, be alert.” Meeting a moose in a low lying sports car can be fatal. He told us of such an incident where the driver, an old friend, was killed as the antlered head of the bull moose crashed through her windshield.
I have stood next to a mounted moose at the Centre in Algonquin Park. It iowered over me. I experienced the same thing in the Trondheim museum this past May. Big? How big is big? Weight 635 kg. - 1400 lb. and at least 7 1/2 feet tall. What a giant animal! To meet such a bull moose on the highway or in the woods would be a memorable experience. I have been in a canoe close to a moose when she emerged from the lake. That image is still etched in my memory. In my workroom I have the framed print of the head of a bull moose and another less expensive print of a pair of moose entering a lake. I took a photo of a huge original painting in the Trondheim museum of an old Bull moose attacked by a pack of wolves. Yhree more recebt actual photos adorn my wall. Yes, I am hooked on the moose, the largest cervid in the world.
From my moose hunting friends and relatives I have learned that moose can be unpredictable during rutting season and therefore dangerous. It is normally a retiring animal and avoids humans.We drove over 1,000 miles through the heartland of Norway during the day, Alas no moose.
Yes, my Norwegian cousins served us moose. It tasted like beef and was delicious. A week before we arrived a cow moose and her young meandered through our cousin’s backyard in Asker only fifteen minutes from downtown Oslo! A beautiful country but think big when you drive. Big, meaning moose.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Moose Time
What better place than to experience Ontario nature than in Algonquin Park in 2004. We have spent over the years many days even weeks in the summer and fall in that great setting, This June Elaine and I spent close to a week at a resort at the east end of Algonquin. Perfect except for the vicious black flies. I should have known better - May and June are peak months for these biting insects. Armed with sprays and lotions containing Deet we survived. Spring is a beautiful month to be in the park. Very few people around in fact on two of the walking trails - Peck lake and Spruce Bog Boardwalk we were alone.
When you enter the Park and pay your entrance fee you are greeted by a sign warning about meeting moose for the next 60 kilometres! On our second day just west of the Lake of Two Rivers we met him. There to our right feeding on the succulent water lilies was a fair-sized bull moose. Three other cars had stopped. All of us were taking shots as the giant animal ambled along. Occasionally he would lift his giant head and stare at us humans. I approached more closely and have some good shots. Back in our car the others eventually drove off. Elaine said, “ Let’s see if he’ll cross the road.” We sat and waited. Then suddenly he emerged from below the embankment. I took two snaps through the windshield as he passed in front of us. Thankfully one turned out.
Back at the resort we were told that moose move out into the sunshine from their forested protection this time of year for at least two reasons as follows: less black flies in the sunshine and access to the roots of the lily pads and other aquatic plants.
Next day at almost the same area an even larger bullmoose with a huge dangling dewlap under its muzzle and budding antlers stood in the wetlands. This moose had huge ears as my photos show. This larger bull of the two we had seen looked at us each time he tore away some of the lily pad roots. Charge us? Not at this time of the year. Rutting time is in the fall and friends and relatives have told me some scary tales involving a giant amorous bull moose. We had experienced something I hadn’t accomplished in ten days in May in Norway - seeing two bullmooses! However, my Norwegian cousins did feed me roast moose. It tasted like beef. Warnings there and here - be on the lookout for these giant animals especially at dusk and dawn. Meeting a 1500 lb. moose - something has to give! Enjoy these giants as we did. It’s much safer.
When you enter the Park and pay your entrance fee you are greeted by a sign warning about meeting moose for the next 60 kilometres! On our second day just west of the Lake of Two Rivers we met him. There to our right feeding on the succulent water lilies was a fair-sized bull moose. Three other cars had stopped. All of us were taking shots as the giant animal ambled along. Occasionally he would lift his giant head and stare at us humans. I approached more closely and have some good shots. Back in our car the others eventually drove off. Elaine said, “ Let’s see if he’ll cross the road.” We sat and waited. Then suddenly he emerged from below the embankment. I took two snaps through the windshield as he passed in front of us. Thankfully one turned out.
Back at the resort we were told that moose move out into the sunshine from their forested protection this time of year for at least two reasons as follows: less black flies in the sunshine and access to the roots of the lily pads and other aquatic plants.
Next day at almost the same area an even larger bullmoose with a huge dangling dewlap under its muzzle and budding antlers stood in the wetlands. This moose had huge ears as my photos show. This larger bull of the two we had seen looked at us each time he tore away some of the lily pad roots. Charge us? Not at this time of the year. Rutting time is in the fall and friends and relatives have told me some scary tales involving a giant amorous bull moose. We had experienced something I hadn’t accomplished in ten days in May in Norway - seeing two bullmooses! However, my Norwegian cousins did feed me roast moose. It tasted like beef. Warnings there and here - be on the lookout for these giant animals especially at dusk and dawn. Meeting a 1500 lb. moose - something has to give! Enjoy these giants as we did. It’s much safer.
In Norway
NN3404 Earl Plato
To bird lovers - How many times have you sat at a roadside picnic table and watched the local birds? Plenty of times, I suspect. Ring-billed gulls, starlings. sparrows - we know them all. My recent experience was some what different. As a bird lover I was pleased to be resting at an outdoor restaurant in the middle of Norway on Highway N6 May 19, 2004. We had no sooner sat down with our burger and coke ($14 Can,) when the “typewriter” birds arrived. That’s the name daughter Diane gave to these members of the crow family. Their “clink-clink-clink” call is a ringing sound. Irritating to some. Magpies are common to Norway. They are a large black and white bird with a long black tail.
In our Canadian West the magpies are black-billed and so were these. As they meandered around the grassy knoll they seemed to be looking for insects. Close to me another bird arrived. My hamburger was excellent and expensive. Would I share it? He came quite close and I threw him a piece of my bun.The magpies seemed indifferent to this new comer. I made a quick sketch of this bird that was larger than our sparrows - black head and black vest and brown wings. When I returned to my cousin’s place near Oslo I looked in his bird book. Lapp wing fitted the description. It reminded me of Horned lark. Back in Oslo outside my cousin’s house I heard first then counted eight magpies as they descended on a large Norway spruce. Suddenly a bird that was probably a hawk exploded from its cover seeking safety. Yes, “mobbing” occurs in Norway too.
Gulls were present in the Oslo harbour. I recognized ring-bills, lesser black backs, and herring gulls. We ate at a beautiful outdoor restaurant near the Viking museum. It was a sunny bright day but the gulls had good manners. Not one bothered us. Norwegians are polite as even their wildlife did not harass us Canadians.
Next: The land of the moose.
To bird lovers - How many times have you sat at a roadside picnic table and watched the local birds? Plenty of times, I suspect. Ring-billed gulls, starlings. sparrows - we know them all. My recent experience was some what different. As a bird lover I was pleased to be resting at an outdoor restaurant in the middle of Norway on Highway N6 May 19, 2004. We had no sooner sat down with our burger and coke ($14 Can,) when the “typewriter” birds arrived. That’s the name daughter Diane gave to these members of the crow family. Their “clink-clink-clink” call is a ringing sound. Irritating to some. Magpies are common to Norway. They are a large black and white bird with a long black tail.
In our Canadian West the magpies are black-billed and so were these. As they meandered around the grassy knoll they seemed to be looking for insects. Close to me another bird arrived. My hamburger was excellent and expensive. Would I share it? He came quite close and I threw him a piece of my bun.The magpies seemed indifferent to this new comer. I made a quick sketch of this bird that was larger than our sparrows - black head and black vest and brown wings. When I returned to my cousin’s place near Oslo I looked in his bird book. Lapp wing fitted the description. It reminded me of Horned lark. Back in Oslo outside my cousin’s house I heard first then counted eight magpies as they descended on a large Norway spruce. Suddenly a bird that was probably a hawk exploded from its cover seeking safety. Yes, “mobbing” occurs in Norway too.
Gulls were present in the Oslo harbour. I recognized ring-bills, lesser black backs, and herring gulls. We ate at a beautiful outdoor restaurant near the Viking museum. It was a sunny bright day but the gulls had good manners. Not one bothered us. Norwegians are polite as even their wildlife did not harass us Canadians.
Next: The land of the moose.
Not Just A Tree
Sassafras - Not Just Another Tree Earl Plato
You never know. Since I have been writing the nature column for the Review for many years I still expect to be surprised. Jack Frazer who lives on St. Patrick Avenue in the Falls called the other day. Think big, Earl. In my recent article on the Sassafras tree I thought small. That’s based on my personal knowledge. Decidedly wrong. Jack has a sassafras tree some fifty feet tall and two feet in diameter! He invited me down to see it. “How old?” I asked. “Some fifty years old.” I believe he dug up a small sapling in the same area where we found some little paw paw shoots with Ernie Giles years ago. Jack, you surprised me. Weather permitting I’ll be down to see your great Carolinian tree.
A reader called to remind me when you crush a fresh sassafras leaf you get a delightful aroma. Good memories, eh? Again, sassafras tea any one?
***
What a cardinal fix! Over twenty cardinals feeding at the Henningham’s feeders on Bertie Road. The buff-brown females outnumbered the bright red males disproportionately. Why? I don’t know. Owner Bud had already fed the birds twice that day. He wasn’t finished. Pat and Bud are the epitome of wild bird lovers. Suet balls, tree feeders and ground trays in a sheltered area facing south. A downy woodpecker was at the suet ball, cardinals were swarming the tree feeders and four mourning doves scratching at the ground level on a very cold January afternoon.
Cardinal fix, yes. What do we know about cardinals? The Audubon Guide says, “Cardinals are aggressive birds.” Not this frigid day. They seemed to be all feeding amicably at the Henningham feeders. The Guide goes on to add, “They occupy their territory year-round.” Where did these birds go to after their afternoon feed. Each to his own territory we believe.
Cardinals are in the Finch family and feed mainly on seeds. I know that Bud and Pat spend a sizable amount yearly on bird seed. They understand that once you make the commitment to feeding songbirds you must be faithful. Cardinals sing all year around. Both sexes are good singers. The name origin you probably know. The species is named after the red robes of Roman Catholic cardinals.
Question to local senior citizens. Do you remember lots of cardinals around when you were young? I didn’t. Audubon Guide again says, “... into Southern Canada in recent decades.” The species is expanding its territory in the Northeast. That’s okay. Enjoy your feathered friends.
You never know. Since I have been writing the nature column for the Review for many years I still expect to be surprised. Jack Frazer who lives on St. Patrick Avenue in the Falls called the other day. Think big, Earl. In my recent article on the Sassafras tree I thought small. That’s based on my personal knowledge. Decidedly wrong. Jack has a sassafras tree some fifty feet tall and two feet in diameter! He invited me down to see it. “How old?” I asked. “Some fifty years old.” I believe he dug up a small sapling in the same area where we found some little paw paw shoots with Ernie Giles years ago. Jack, you surprised me. Weather permitting I’ll be down to see your great Carolinian tree.
A reader called to remind me when you crush a fresh sassafras leaf you get a delightful aroma. Good memories, eh? Again, sassafras tea any one?
***
What a cardinal fix! Over twenty cardinals feeding at the Henningham’s feeders on Bertie Road. The buff-brown females outnumbered the bright red males disproportionately. Why? I don’t know. Owner Bud had already fed the birds twice that day. He wasn’t finished. Pat and Bud are the epitome of wild bird lovers. Suet balls, tree feeders and ground trays in a sheltered area facing south. A downy woodpecker was at the suet ball, cardinals were swarming the tree feeders and four mourning doves scratching at the ground level on a very cold January afternoon.
Cardinal fix, yes. What do we know about cardinals? The Audubon Guide says, “Cardinals are aggressive birds.” Not this frigid day. They seemed to be all feeding amicably at the Henningham feeders. The Guide goes on to add, “They occupy their territory year-round.” Where did these birds go to after their afternoon feed. Each to his own territory we believe.
Cardinals are in the Finch family and feed mainly on seeds. I know that Bud and Pat spend a sizable amount yearly on bird seed. They understand that once you make the commitment to feeding songbirds you must be faithful. Cardinals sing all year around. Both sexes are good singers. The name origin you probably know. The species is named after the red robes of Roman Catholic cardinals.
Question to local senior citizens. Do you remember lots of cardinals around when you were young? I didn’t. Audubon Guide again says, “... into Southern Canada in recent decades.” The species is expanding its territory in the Northeast. That’s okay. Enjoy your feathered friends.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Repeat-Eagle Owl
Eagle Owl Earl Plato
I have been to Hell and back literally. My grandmother, Petra Andersen, and her two sisters were born in the little Norwegian village of Hell near the ancient capital of Trondheim. It was here on a mid-May day 2004 that two of my daughters, Elizabeth and Diane, and I found the Eagle owl.
Four days in Trondheim, a beautifully clean city, gave us time to explore. In the Natural History Museum at the University of Trondheim in walking distance we found Bubo bubo, the Eagle owl. English is Norway’s second language and the university student at the desk was most helpful. “On this floor to your left is a display of native birds, and downstairs is a special room.” The museum’s brochure had the Eagle owl as its logo! I was in Bubo country! We found three Eagle owls mounted and they were of impressive size. We recognized other raptors found back home. Then down the stairs to a special room. There greeting us was the face of the giant owl. It was an entire room devoted to the Eagle owl of Norway! In a diorama was a spectacular sight. An enormous Eagle owl with an eagle-like wing spread was suspended from the ceiling. In its powerful talons was a full grown red fox. Realistically frightening. Unfortunately all the writeups were in Norwegian. Shots of nests and young were portrayed in the displays including the prey of this largest of owls - lambs, fox, and small animals and old tales of human babies being carried away.
On our way back south to Oslo and my relatives’ homes we saw two nests. One was close to the N6 highway and I snapped it. It was a large nest but I think too small. Then daughter Elizabeth spied off in the distance an extremely huge nest. A home of Bubo bubo the great Norwegian Eagle owl? I think so. Thank you Pelham library for you started it all. My quest has ended. Enjoy nature while you can.
I have been to Hell and back literally. My grandmother, Petra Andersen, and her two sisters were born in the little Norwegian village of Hell near the ancient capital of Trondheim. It was here on a mid-May day 2004 that two of my daughters, Elizabeth and Diane, and I found the Eagle owl.
Four days in Trondheim, a beautifully clean city, gave us time to explore. In the Natural History Museum at the University of Trondheim in walking distance we found Bubo bubo, the Eagle owl. English is Norway’s second language and the university student at the desk was most helpful. “On this floor to your left is a display of native birds, and downstairs is a special room.” The museum’s brochure had the Eagle owl as its logo! I was in Bubo country! We found three Eagle owls mounted and they were of impressive size. We recognized other raptors found back home. Then down the stairs to a special room. There greeting us was the face of the giant owl. It was an entire room devoted to the Eagle owl of Norway! In a diorama was a spectacular sight. An enormous Eagle owl with an eagle-like wing spread was suspended from the ceiling. In its powerful talons was a full grown red fox. Realistically frightening. Unfortunately all the writeups were in Norwegian. Shots of nests and young were portrayed in the displays including the prey of this largest of owls - lambs, fox, and small animals and old tales of human babies being carried away.
On our way back south to Oslo and my relatives’ homes we saw two nests. One was close to the N6 highway and I snapped it. It was a large nest but I think too small. Then daughter Elizabeth spied off in the distance an extremely huge nest. A home of Bubo bubo the great Norwegian Eagle owl? I think so. Thank you Pelham library for you started it all. My quest has ended. Enjoy nature while you can.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
