Wet Feet

I'm going to cheat again today.  Last night, I attended the Kawartha Field Naturalists' Annual General Meeting and had a grand time.  Today, though, I'm not in the mood to create something new so I'm going to give you this story that has just been published in both the KFN and Carden Field Naturalists' newsletters.


The Summer of the Wet Feet

Here it is, mid March and it feels like summer already.  While I’m not quite ready for the winter to end, the warm weather does have me wondering what new experiences will arise this summer.  I’m also thinking about last summer - the summer of the wet feet.

The memories start with late April.  It had already been an exciting year with daily visitors to see the birds coming to my feeders, finding a Yellow Rail at Sedge Wren Marsh in Carden and an owl survey where 21 owls were seen or heard including eight pairs of barred owls doing their spring routine.  How could the summer months possibly beat these earlier months of 2011?

It turned out to be a good year.  I remember doing plant surveys with the CKL Flora Project, I remember the Carden Nature Festival where I dared to actually lead an event and I remember working on trying to control the dreaded patch of Dog-Strangling Vine discovered near Cameron Ranch.  But it seems my most vivid recollection is that of having wet feet.  And that should be surprising because the summer was the dryest I’d experienced since moving to the area in 2008 and there were times when I had worried that my well would not hold up.

The first wet foot event was the Carden Blitz, the annual point counts carried out on Cameron and Windmill Ranches where we get to walk on land normally unavailable to the public, enumerating bird species along the way.  This year I was signed up to do an area that was completely new to me.  As we traversed across the fields behind the cabin on Wylie Road, I found myself hopping from one hummock of grass to another in an attempt to keep my boots dry.  After a while, I realized it was pointless as my socks were drenched and the water had wicked up my pants right up to my thighs.  As I slogged through water that was inches deep, I looked down and noticed that my boots looked a little unusual.  Turns out that at the end of the previous year, I’d walked through poison ivy and, thinking to ensure that the oils would not remain on my boots, I had drenched them with dish soap.  Now they were foaming.  Sigh.  I was wet and I was polluting the environment.

Next was my first ever plant inventory with the CKL Flora Project.  One of the two leaders had announced at an earlier meeting that there was a very exciting location that was going to be inventoried.  It was exciting because there were wetlands so lots of interesting plants were possible.  I thought it could be fun.  Who knew!

In the days leading up to the inventory, I asked Leader One what I should wear.  Oh, rubber boots if you’ve got them (I didn’t) or you could just wear swamp shoes - old running shoes that you don’t mind getting dirty.

Dirty! We ended up in muck that went half way up my shins.  I had a shoe pulled off by the mud.  My pants were black with swamp slime.

To this day, Leader Two still chuckles (somewhat evilly, I might add) and says, I can’t believe you came back for another (survey) after that experience.

On the next survey, we were on dry land, walking through woods and former grazing pastures.  But it was the swamp just a bit further down the trail where both Leaders were most alert.  Without hesitation, they plowed into the water, shouting with glee (that may be a slight exaggeration but it became clearly evident that these two botanists live for wetlands).  Fortunately, I was able to skirt the edges and managed to keep my feet dry but only barely.

Shortly after this event, I received an email from Leader One to see if I was interested in joining her for an unscheduled inventory.  The location choices were: 1) return to the swamp of the previous location, 2) explore a swamp near Fenelon Falls or 3) explore the Rail Trail in Coboconk.  I opted for location 3.

Wouldn’t you know it - there had been a big wind recently and much of the trail was blocked by trees that had blown down.  The only way around was........walking through the swamp on either side.

So now it was time to try a Carden Field Naturalists outing - the stewardship walk on the Little Blue Stem property.  This was on July 30, we’d had three weeks without rain and one of the characteristics of alvars is that they go into drought state in the summer.  This was going to be a dry walk.  At least it would have been if not for the eight hour downpour that happened on July 29.  Did you know that alvars flood in spring because there’s no quick way for the melt water to seep into the ground?  Did you also know that alvars flood after eight hour downpours for the very same reason?  Again, I found myself walking in water that was up to my ankles.

A week later, it was another stewardship walk but this time it was on the Prospect Marsh property.  Hmm, there’s that word Marsh and yup, we got wet.

And so the summer continued, and the snow fell in early November and the water became colder.  More stewardship walks meant wet, and numb, feet.

In December, I finally found a pair of rubber boots that fit.  And this past weekend I wore them, happily and comfortably tramping across muddy streams and dipping into flooded valleys.

Maybe wet isn’t so bad after all.

In Search of the Wild.....

Wow!  What a week!

It all started last Friday when I decided I wanted to pick some wild leeks.  I've known for three years that they grow in the area.  Last year I actually did a whole lot of research to see what could be done with them.  And then, suddenly, leek season was over and I hadn't tried a single one.

So on Friday, I bit the bullet, pulled on the hiking boots and headed for the wild leek pastures.  First I crossed the neighbour's fields, spooking Canada geese, wild turkeys and sandhill cranes along the way.  Then I headed along the path to The Patch.  Flickers and pileated woodpeckers serenaded me, a green-winged teal peeped at me and chickadees flitted from tree to tree above my head.  And the path went on and on and on.  Finally I realized that The Patch I was thinking of was actually on someone else's property so I decided to turn around to go to The Other Patch.  Just before reaching the fields I had crossed previously, I took a right hand turn into the spruce plantation, preferring the natural woods over the flat and open fields.

As so often happens to me when I'm in the forest, I got turned around.  Suddenly, around that bunch of trees I discovered that I was actually entering someone's backyard.  Go back, go back.

Once again thinking that I travelling in the right direction, I ended up in The Juniper Field.  This is one monster of a juniper field;  junipers don't just dot the landscape, they fill it entirely.

Still I forged on, thinking I could actually see a path through the junipers.  It may not seem possible but the junipers were actually getting thicker........and taller.  Before long, I was up to my chin in juniper.  My shins were barked from juniper stems.  My clothes were covered in juniper needles.  I think you probably get the idea......I was swimming in juniper.

And so a decision had to be made - turn around, hoping to find my way back out, to take the fields I had come out through OR push on, having no clue how much further I needed to go before I hit the road.  I went on, flushed a ruffed grouse resting under a juniper, snapping over broken branches (something must have been through here before me!), wondering what on earth possessed me to decide to go for leeks in this direction.

Lo and behold, there was a hydro line.  I still had to push through several more feet of junipers before I reached the road but at least I was no longer completely lost.  Sadly, the hydro line was actually right beside the road and I still had some bushwhacking to do before hitting roadside.  Yippee!

So I crossed the road - why did the chicken cross the road? - and entered the forest where The Other Patch could be found.  All I found were trout lilies.  And blue cohosh.  And trilliums.  Nice finds but not wild leeks.

Further in, I finally found The Other Patch.  I bent over and pulled, expecting the leek to come meekly out of the soil.  It didn't.  The leaves popped off, the bulb remained deeply embedded in the earth.

Sigh.....I needed a shovel.

And so began the long trudge home.  Now this journey home is not normally that long.  But I was tired from fighting juniper and blisters were starting to develop on my feet.  I was seriously reconsidering my need for leeks.

Home sweet home - the bathroom never looked so good as I voided my full bladder.  And then the next decision - do I walk back with spade or do I be incredibly lazy and drive around the corner?  I drove.

Half an hour later, I had a bag full of wild leeks.  They are definitely not an easy get.  Even without wandering through The Juniper Patch, wild leeks are work.  Those roots hold on hard.  And then there's the cleaning.  It's really not so onerous unless one's eyes were too large and one has harvested far too many of the little gems.

Did I learn anything profound from this experience?  Maybe.

Why was it that I chose the harder path through the forest rather than the easy path across the fields?  Will I ever find my way to the pond again (did I mention the great pond that I'd like to explore some day?)?  What does it say about me that I decided to go forward instead of turning around?

Ah, heck, I'm too tired to ponder these questions.
See ya next time.

Salad, anyone?

Ah, satisfaction!

I have been battling garlic mustard on my property since I moved here in 2008.  In my first year, the task looked overwhelming.

So I decided to take it one small step at a time.  With the use of sticks indicating the boundaries of cleared areas, I worked on 6 inch patches, removing every garlic mustard I could find.  Sometimes, clearing one patch would take most of the day; sometimes the pace was much quicker.

By June, I had filled numerous garbage bags with plants that were going to degrade into a soupy mess in the heat of the summer.  Also by then, the rest of the plant species growing in the area had come up, making it much more difficult to catch the smaller garlic mustard plants.

The rest of my summer was taken up with daily patrols of the infested areas, pulling off the flower heads so that at least the plants could not set more seed and spread further.

Early the next year, I got out as soon as the snow had gone.  The good thing about garlic mustard is that it is the first plant to green up in the spring so it is very easy to see - until everything else catches up.  Once again, the sticks came in handy and bags of the plants were removed and degraded to soup.  Once again, the hot summer months were spent pulling flowering plants.

And so on, and so on.

Thanks to the early spring this year, I have already been able to pull enough to fill a garbage bag.  I was actually out in March and was able to clear three of the four infested areas as well as a good part of the fourth area.

Since then, regular patrols have had me pulling freshly germinated plants, again and again and again.  I'd been hoping that the supply of seeds left in the soil would have been depleted by now but obviously, over the past three years, I've missed a flowering plant or two and they have successfully replenished the seed stock.

And so the battle continues.

But the first real satisfaction comes today.  Thanks to the glorious weather today I was actually able to clear all new plants in the previously cleared areas as well as finish pulling the plants in the one small patch that hadn't yet been cleared.

As of today, my property has no garlic mustard plants.

Okay, okay, I'm not so foolish as to think the battle is over or that my property really is garlic mustard-free.  I'm sure more will come up and I fear that there may be something growing in an area I have yet to discover.

And yet, when I look out my kitchen window and see that that one last patch is garlic mustard free, I smile and sigh and say to myself, "Job well done."

So now, I ask, should I start growing a controlled patch of garlic mustard for use in salads?  The leaves are said to make an excellent addition with their peppery mustard and garlic flavour.  NO!

I will continue to patrol the known areas and to keep eyes peeled for any unknown infested areas and.......sigh, I will now move my focus to the #%$# goutweed and the persistent Japanese knotweed and the Norway maple and.....and.....and.  So many invasives and so much work.

The Year of the Grosbeak

I have to go out soon so I'm going to cheat and post a story I'd written previously.  If you have received the newsletters for either the Kawartha or Carden Field Naturalists, you may have read this story before as it was published in the fall 2011 issues for both clubs.  When I return, I will let you know about the fabulous evening I had yesterday but was too tired to write about last night.


The Year of the Grosbeak

I am the Evening Grosbeak Lady.

For much of my life, I have been the invisible one, the one whose name and face are forgotten, the wallflower.  I really would have made a good spy.

All that changed early in 2011.

The story really starts on November 15, 2010.  It was on that date that I recorded the presence of nine evening grosbeaks for my first day of Project FeederWatch.  By Dec. 6, the number had risen to 30 and had doubled to 62 by Jan. 3.  I was thrilled every day to see them despite the incredible amount of seed that they were eating.  But it never dawned on me to report their presence to anyone.

Around that time, there was a report on OntBirds about a northern hawk-owl in the Lake Dalrymple area of Carden.  It had been around for over a week and still I had not made the 20 minute drive to the area to find it.  I admit that I am pretty much a lazy birder - if it doesn’t come to my yard, I’m not going to make much effort to go see it.  Not for me the trips to southwestern Ontario to see the fork-tailed flycatcher or to eastern Ontario to see the impossibly massive numbers of snow geese gathering in the spring.

Finally, one Saturday morning I decided that it was ridiculous that here was an owl just down the road and I had not yet seen it.  So I headed outside, broom in hand to wipe the snow off the car.  And there, parked at the bottom of my driveway was a fellow sitting in his car, camera lens sticking out the passenger side window.  We chatted briefly about the beauty of these grosbeaks and how we both had yet to see the owl.  Then off he went and I returned to brushing the snow off my car.

By the time I had arrived in the area for the owl, there were, naturally, a number of cars already there.  After all, it was Saturday and those who had had to be at work all week were free to drive miles to see this bird.  With all these eyes searching, we did manage to see the owl though it was well back from the road and could be seen clearly only through a scope.

At some point during this gathering of birders, I happened to mention that I had evening grosbeaks at my feeders.  Every head in the group whirled in my direction.  I could literally see ears being perked.

“Oh, really!”  The interest was palpable and I offered that anyone interested in seeing them could follow me home.  I left the owl area with a cavalcade of four cars behind me.  Upon arriving home, we found two more cars sitting at the side of the road looking at the birds.

Of course, the grosbeaks were spooked by the cars and it was then that the weight of responsibility settled on my shoulders and didn’t leave for nearly three months.  It was a weight that would never have occurred to me to feel before this point.  It was the weight of wanting “my” birds to perform (show up) for the visitors.

So we all stood around for a while until a few birds showed up.  I was disappointed that there were so few when usually there were so many but these few birds seemed to satisfy.

After a while, everyone had had their fill of the birds and I returned inside, immediately firing up the computer.  Heart pounding, I posted to OntBirds for the very first time.  It was mid afternoon on Saturday,  Jan. 8, 2011 and it was the start of a real eye-opening experience.

Sunday, Jan. 9 came in clear and bright with pretty pleasant winter temperatures.  The evening grosbeaks woke me up with their chattering.  I had just settled in front of the computer, Coronation Street playing on the TV beside me, when I noticed a car parked at the side of the road.  People came and went for much of the day.  A few arrived later in the afternoon when there was not a single grosbeak in sight.  It was then that I realized that they had a tendency to disappear around 2 pm. - a habit they maintained all winter.

On Monday, I expected to have no visitors.  After all, most birders would be at work.  Right?  Wrong!  Who should show up but two very good birders from Toronto.  I’d heard of one of them but never met her or seen her digiscoping techniques.  They enjoyed the grosbeaks but it was the flock of over 50 redpolls that seemed to most interest them and they spent quite some time looking for a hoary in amongst the commons.  Alas, they all appeared to be commons but a few hoaries did show up later in February.

Okay, these two are pretty avid birders.  So when Tuesday arrived, I again expected that the rush would be over and my grosbeaks, redpolls and I would have an ordinary day.  Wrong again!  The day was made extraordinary when a group of birders from Collingwood arrived.

I was away from the house on Wednesday but when I arrived home, I noticed fresh tire tracks and unknown footprints.  My birds had been appreciated even while I was away.

I guess by now you are getting the picture.  Or perhaps you saw this coming when I first reported the birds on OntBirds.  From that day, there was someone coming by every day in January and every other day in February.

One day, it was a father and son from Connecticut; on another a group from Pennsylania.  A couple of guys who’d been owling on Amherst Island before coming up to my place were from Maryland.  And there were lots and lots of birders from Toronto.

For some birders, including the 14 year old son from Connecticut, this was a chance to see a life bird.  For many, it was an opportunity to catch up on a bird that used to be seen in great numbers when they were kids but hadn’t been seen in a long long time.  For most, it was the thrill of getting an outstanding photograph.  And for both Saturday and Sunday for two weekends in a row, the paparazzi stood for hours in bitterly cold winds, each one with camera gear that likely cost more than my entire house.

Some folks came by just once; others came by multiple times.  I made some good acquaintances out of these guests.

By March, the numbers of visitors dropped to almost zero.  Other birds had arrived and pulled the interest away from my grosbeaks and life became dully ordinary.  The redpolls, which topped out with a count of about 300, were last seen on April 22.  A small flock of nine grosbeaks stayed around until May 8.  The highest count for them was 82 in February.

So while it was a relief to have the feed bill go down, I was sorry to see the excitement end.

But it hadn’t ended.  I am still reaping the dividends of that exciting winter.

In spring, looking for the yellow rail at Sedge Wren Marsh in Carden, I was identified as The Evening Grosbeak Lady.  At the Loggerhead Shrike Appreciation dinner in August, I again encountered “strangers” who hadn’t recognized me outside of my winter clothing but who came up to me to thank me for allowing them to come see my birds.  In September, on a trip to Cranberry Marsh to watch the hawk migration, I was lucky enough to encounter more folks who had been up to my place in the winter.  Perhaps most fun, though, was during this trip.  We had carpooled from Fenelon Falls and transferred to another vehicle in Lindsay.  The driver of that vehicle, once she realized who I was, did a little jig of excitement and exclaimed, “I can’t believe I have the Evening Grosbeak Lady in my car!”  How’s that for a head-swelling experience!

Sadly, here it is, not a single evening grosbeak showed up during the winter of 2012.

I will, however, be eternally grateful to these birds who made my winter of 2011 so exciting and who opened me up to the birding world.

I'm not so invisible any more!

Great Expectations

Well, today certainly didn't go as expected.

I had planned to watch Coronation Street (did it) and then the Blue Jays game against Baltimore (started to).  Then I received a phone call - was I free to help with the new trail?

Since my expectations for the day simply consisted of watching the Jays win so as to avoid being swept by the Orioles, I was, essentially, free.  And working on the trail would be much more healthy and social than sitting on the couch or in front of the computer, watching the game.

Off I went, chainsaw gassed up and oiled and binoculars in hand.

Arrived earlier than my cohort - and here is the question I've been wrestling with since I decided to start writing here.......should I name names?  Should I change names to protect the privacy of the people I'm talking about? If I change the names, will I be able to keep track of what I've called whom?

Still haven't decided what to do with that yet so my cohort shall remain unnamed though those who know Carden will surely be able to figure out who it is.

So there I was, waiting for my cohort to arrive.  I'd already noticed that the leopards frogs were snoring and there was a pair of mallards and a Canada goose just on the other side of the stream.  Then I flushed a couple of birds from the reeds and discovered a pair of ducks swimming further along the stream.  Up with the binoculars to verify that the "ducks" were hooded mergansers and the flush victims were snipe.

Further along the trail, I startled a great blue heron which scolded me from a branch high in a tree.  Robins and song sparrows were filling the air with their melodies.  And then I could hear the distinctive sound of a trailer full of lumber being driven across the field to our meeting spot.  My cohort had arrived.

First we settled into cutting the lumber into three foot lengths.  That done, we headed deeper into the trail, chainsaw in hand, cutting up the trees that had fallen across the path at some time during the winter.  Hot and sweaty - can this really be just April 15 with these temperatures? - we continued, spraying white paint on trees, trying to mark the path so that others can find it easily.

And along the way, I pumped my cohort about where certain bird species could be found in Carden, if at all.  Started with the warblers, hoping to narrow down the list of birds that I had to learn for the upcoming birdathon.  No such luck - all of the birds on my list either nest here or could be migrating through at the time of the birdathon.  Blast!

Moved onto swallows, sparrows, sandpipers, hawks, flycatchers, woodpeckers - same thing.  If anything, it is possible that my list is now longer instead of shorter.  Sigh.  Only five short weeks to nail down all these bird songs.

Back to the entrance of the trail, we sit and talk more about Carden and books and possible employment this summer.  As we talk, a beautiful silver harrier male swoops over the shrubs of Sedge Wren Marsh, a turtle pokes it head out of the water and two blue-winged teals land on the water before us.  The spring peepers load the air with peeps, the wood frogs occasionally quack and the leopard frogs continue to snore.

Isn't this so much better than watching a baseball game?
Isn't it great to be able to alter the expectations you have and leave yourself open to even greater expectations?

Oh, yeah, and the Blue Jays won the game!

Day Two

Well, I made my first post yesterday and the Earth did not go spinning off its axis, the internet did not grind to a halt and my life did not change for the worse.

So I guess it's safe to try another post.

Yesterday was a perfect spring day in Carden.  The temperature was warm enough to not need a coat but not so warm as to bring out the blackflies.  We were able to sit, bug-free, by a babbling brook, leaning against the granite of The Land Between and checking out the lichens and liverworts around us.  Birds were singing, trilliums were getting ready to flower and the bugs stayed away.

You may note the theme of bugs....unfortunately, Carden is blessed with bugs.  I'd been pretty spoiled before I moved to Carden - very few bugs to spoil the day outside.  No incessant buzzing around the head.  No great gouges taken out of your skin.  No rising welts driving you crazy with their itchiness.

And then I moved to Carden.

It was early May when I moved; the blackflies hadn't yet come out.  Standing comfortably outside chatting with the new neighbour, it was suggested that I remove the lower branches of the large spruce tree beside the driveway.  "That way, you can sit under it", I was told.  What a brilliant idea!  And I had the perfect chair to put there.

And so, I started the process of removing the lower branches.  With an extendable pole saw, I reached higher and higher, sawing off the branches close to the trunk, getting only slightly scratched when the prickly branches fell on my head.

When the tree was finally ready for the perfect chair, when I was ready to sit out with a good book and a cup of tea, that was when the bugs showed up.  Blackflies - tiny black vehicles of destruction that like to gather in great clouds around your head, burrowing into your hair to attack your scalp, tiptoeing around the ear in search of the most delectable piece of ear lobe, driving you blind with their numbers.

Okay, so blackflies don't like the heat of summer.  They are a spring insect.  All I had to do was wait for it to get hotter, right?

Well, I waited.  And as the swarms of blackflies became smaller and smaller until only a single culprit would dare to land and gouge, the air became filled instead with the incessant buzzing whine of........the mosquito.  Truthfully, I dislike the mosquito far more than the blackfly simply for that horrid noise that it makes.  God forbid that one of these voracious creatures should get into the house where it will invariably find the bedroom.  There it will lurk until the depths of the night when you are soundly sleeping.  And then it will fill your ears with its song, somehow becoming both invisible and silent whenever you turn the light on to find, and kill, it.

Mosquito season lasts, well, the entire summer.  In the morning when I wake, I try to look out the window to check out the weather but my view is blocked by a thousand mosquitoes perched on the screen, hoping to find a way in to the room.

Once again, the perfect chair stays empty.  And I wonder what the heck my neighbour was thinking when he talked about pruning the spruce.

Finally, the perfect September weather seems to defeat the mosquito.

And so for a few brief weeks, I am able to sit under the spruce, revelling in bug-free sunshine.

Ah, life is good after all.

Why a Blog?

Here it is Friday the 13th - an auspicious day to start blogging for the first time in my life.

I had the great good fortune to discover the Carden area in 2007.  I had been searching for a house, planning to move back to the Lake Simcoe area after spending 15 years in the Ottawa area.  Given the proximity to the GTA, the more southerly locations were priced well outside my limit so I began searching a little further afield.  On my first drive up Victoria Road (County Rd. 35), I couldn’t help but notice the signs indicating that the area was an Important Birding Area.  Cool, I thought.  A little further north, a wild turkey crossed the road in front of my car.  Very cool, I thought.  Eventually I did buy the house that I saw that day and life in Carden began for me in May 2008.

I’ve been living in Carden for a few years now and enjoyed some very extraordinary events.  Hopefully I will be able to entertain you with the stories of these experiences.  Maybe I'll be posting daily, maybe not.  I haven't decided just how much time I want to commit to this new project.

And so to start:

Thursday morning started well with the blue jays yelling from the trees, telling me to get up and give them their peanuts.  Why was this so wonderful?  I've been wakened by blue jays pretty much every day for the nearly four years that I've lived in the house so why was Thursday so special?

I had stayed away overnight on Saturday, not returning home until noon on Sunday and I had missed the morning feeding - not for the first time since I moved here.  For some reason, this time the blue jays took great offence with my offence.

They did not come by for their late feeding on Sunday.  They didn't come by for their morning feeding on Monday.  They refused to rouse me with their raucous demands on Tuesday.  They refused to entertain me with their antics on Wednesday.  I was beginning to think they would never return.  While that would greatly reduce the bird feed bill but it would also remove a very enjoyable part of my day.

So when the raucous demands returned on Thursday, I was very relieved....and very entertained.

They seem to have forgiven me