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pameladeanOn Tuesday, Raphael and I went to Elm Creek Park Reserve. After a generally lovely hiking season, we'd missed three weeks in a row: one because it was too hot, one because of a dental appointment and Cats Laughing concert, one for reasons I can't recall, but that probably included inertia.
Tuesday was forecast to have a high of 83 F and to be sunny but very windy. We don't normally go hiking when the wind is gusting to 30 mph because it makes photography difficult or impossible. But summer is ending and our weekly hikes with it, so we went. We had gone to Elm Creek in the spring to see ephemerals and the wild plum blooming, and on the pond by the Nature Center we had seen a pair of trumpeter swans.
When we went out onto the boardwalk, there were a lot more than two swans on the pond. A woman who had been observing them through binoculars came and talked to us. "There are eight cygnets," she said, "And there's the male, on the left." There was another large all-white swan on the right. The rest were a mottled gray, though almost as large as their parents. She told us that Lake Rebecca (I think; another Three Rivers Park District park) had four cygnets and that there had been a sandhill crane with offspring on Goose Lake, though they had disappeared sometime in July. We expressed pleasure at all the good swan news, and she wished us a beautiful day and left.
The adult swans were stationed on either side of the mass of young ones, which mostly moved as a group. Looking at one adult through binoculars, we saw that there was quite a large group of ducks on the bank behind it. It was very shady over there, and at first all I could see were some of their orange feet. Raphael, with better vision and better binoculars, said some of them were wood ducks, and once I had that clue, I could see their markings. A couple of them eventually slid into the water and swam around into the sunshine. A parent swan swam by, dipping its large black feet in and out of the water like oars, followed by one young one, the wind ruffling its mottled feathers until some of them stood straight up. There was a partially-submerged log full of painted turtles of various sizes, with their heads all pointed in the same direction. A green darner swooped over the reflection of sky and clouds. All around the pond, small yellow flowers bloomed profusely. I think they were Nodding Bur Marigold. I've seen them near water for years but never looked them up before.
As we were leaving the boardwalk, Raphael pointed out an Eastern phoebe in a dead tree.
We had a sandwich, refilled our water bottles, and head out to the prairie restoration. On the way there, abundant stands of goldenrod (possibly showy, but anyway one of the kinds with a feathery flower head) and clouds of blue and white asters lined the path, with a few larger purple ones for contrast. The leaves of sumac were beginning to turn candy-red. Once we got to the prairie proper, there was stiff goldenrod with its flat flowerheads, and more asters, including one large pink one that looked a little unsure of its welcome. The liatris had mostly gone to seed, but we found one or two plants still blooming.
At the top of the hill is a bench beside a red-stemmed dogwood bush, with a small oak tree across from it. We sat down for a while. Blue asters were growing up through the red branches and red-spotted leaves of the dogwood. Everything rushed and rustled in the wind. The bluestem was turning golden brown at the top, and if you looked across the hills, at first they seemed all grass. Within the grass, held upright by it, were goldenrod and asters and the dull green of leadplant with its seedheads very dull purple.
The restored prairie runs downhill to a bike path, on the other side of which is a shrubby meadow backed by woods. As I remarked to Raphael, I have probably a dozen photos of that view from later in the autumn. Today most of the trees were still green, but there was one on the horizon with a puff of orange at the top, and some poplars far off to the left that were turning pale gold. We got up and walked down the hill. Just short of the bike path was what used to be a river of goldenrod, now being infiltrated by bluestem, with islands of aster and red clover. Raphael said it was the quintessential Three Rivers Park meadow, on what used to be farmland and hasn't yet been completely restored as prairie. We reminisced about our first visit to the park, when we had hiked the meadows on the other side of the pond. They had contained almost no native grasses or plants, but reminded me of the floral background of a medieval tapestry in their variety and precision.
It smelled like autumn, though most of the leaves were still on the trees and green.
Because it was September, I said to Raphael as we crossed the bike path, "Let's get a ring and take it to Mordor, shall we?" Raphael suggested that it would be easier to sell the ring on Craigslist. "Some might consider that irresponsible," I said. Raphael noddd. "Wizards, what are you going to do." "Really. Making marks on people's doors and ruining their paint jobs." "You could sell it as scrap," suggested Raphael. "Yes, then somebody else would melt it down for you." "It might end up as a filling, though." "That would be bad." "Chips have gold in them. You might end up with a secret computer."
We went through small oaks and leftover fruit trees, around a corner dense with reddening sumac, and onto the wooded creek path. We had taken it in the spring when all budding shrubs and trees were full of fantastical half-open leaves in many shapes and colors. There was blue wood phlox blooming. Now it was dense greenery and goldenrod. All the time the wind whooped and roared and swooped and all the leaves rustled and the grasses and goldenrod bent and rippled. We saw a bird riding the wind like a child on a scooter. It was small but very raptor-like, with a pale underbelly. We couldn't get a clear look at it, but it was lovely to see how the wind was its element.
In the deeper parts of the woods, the wind died a little and mosquitoes started trying to eat me. I moved along as fast as I could, but it seemed very hot. Eventually I got out my phone and was affronted to see that it was 88 degrees. At least the humidity had dropped a great deal. We were glad of the wind.
We went down to the bridge over the creek and along to a clearing that has a vault toilet and a couple of picnic benches, because I needed to sit down. The clearing has the creek on two sides; you can't see it when things are so lush, but you can hear it, and the light over it is different. There are maple, basswood, and birch trees in the clearing, and a tumble-down stone oven. Bluejays yelled over our heads, and chickadees explained things to one another. Eventually the mosquitoes found us, and we went back over the creek, past the dense sumac hedge and the river of goldenrod islanded with its asters, up the steep hill to the bench and the tiny oak. We sat for a while, and then came gently downhill, looking at the backlit golden grasses and the leaves on the oaks and lindens.
Pamela
Tuesday was forecast to have a high of 83 F and to be sunny but very windy. We don't normally go hiking when the wind is gusting to 30 mph because it makes photography difficult or impossible. But summer is ending and our weekly hikes with it, so we went. We had gone to Elm Creek in the spring to see ephemerals and the wild plum blooming, and on the pond by the Nature Center we had seen a pair of trumpeter swans.
When we went out onto the boardwalk, there were a lot more than two swans on the pond. A woman who had been observing them through binoculars came and talked to us. "There are eight cygnets," she said, "And there's the male, on the left." There was another large all-white swan on the right. The rest were a mottled gray, though almost as large as their parents. She told us that Lake Rebecca (I think; another Three Rivers Park District park) had four cygnets and that there had been a sandhill crane with offspring on Goose Lake, though they had disappeared sometime in July. We expressed pleasure at all the good swan news, and she wished us a beautiful day and left.
The adult swans were stationed on either side of the mass of young ones, which mostly moved as a group. Looking at one adult through binoculars, we saw that there was quite a large group of ducks on the bank behind it. It was very shady over there, and at first all I could see were some of their orange feet. Raphael, with better vision and better binoculars, said some of them were wood ducks, and once I had that clue, I could see their markings. A couple of them eventually slid into the water and swam around into the sunshine. A parent swan swam by, dipping its large black feet in and out of the water like oars, followed by one young one, the wind ruffling its mottled feathers until some of them stood straight up. There was a partially-submerged log full of painted turtles of various sizes, with their heads all pointed in the same direction. A green darner swooped over the reflection of sky and clouds. All around the pond, small yellow flowers bloomed profusely. I think they were Nodding Bur Marigold. I've seen them near water for years but never looked them up before.
As we were leaving the boardwalk, Raphael pointed out an Eastern phoebe in a dead tree.
We had a sandwich, refilled our water bottles, and head out to the prairie restoration. On the way there, abundant stands of goldenrod (possibly showy, but anyway one of the kinds with a feathery flower head) and clouds of blue and white asters lined the path, with a few larger purple ones for contrast. The leaves of sumac were beginning to turn candy-red. Once we got to the prairie proper, there was stiff goldenrod with its flat flowerheads, and more asters, including one large pink one that looked a little unsure of its welcome. The liatris had mostly gone to seed, but we found one or two plants still blooming.
At the top of the hill is a bench beside a red-stemmed dogwood bush, with a small oak tree across from it. We sat down for a while. Blue asters were growing up through the red branches and red-spotted leaves of the dogwood. Everything rushed and rustled in the wind. The bluestem was turning golden brown at the top, and if you looked across the hills, at first they seemed all grass. Within the grass, held upright by it, were goldenrod and asters and the dull green of leadplant with its seedheads very dull purple.
The restored prairie runs downhill to a bike path, on the other side of which is a shrubby meadow backed by woods. As I remarked to Raphael, I have probably a dozen photos of that view from later in the autumn. Today most of the trees were still green, but there was one on the horizon with a puff of orange at the top, and some poplars far off to the left that were turning pale gold. We got up and walked down the hill. Just short of the bike path was what used to be a river of goldenrod, now being infiltrated by bluestem, with islands of aster and red clover. Raphael said it was the quintessential Three Rivers Park meadow, on what used to be farmland and hasn't yet been completely restored as prairie. We reminisced about our first visit to the park, when we had hiked the meadows on the other side of the pond. They had contained almost no native grasses or plants, but reminded me of the floral background of a medieval tapestry in their variety and precision.
It smelled like autumn, though most of the leaves were still on the trees and green.
Because it was September, I said to Raphael as we crossed the bike path, "Let's get a ring and take it to Mordor, shall we?" Raphael suggested that it would be easier to sell the ring on Craigslist. "Some might consider that irresponsible," I said. Raphael noddd. "Wizards, what are you going to do." "Really. Making marks on people's doors and ruining their paint jobs." "You could sell it as scrap," suggested Raphael. "Yes, then somebody else would melt it down for you." "It might end up as a filling, though." "That would be bad." "Chips have gold in them. You might end up with a secret computer."
We went through small oaks and leftover fruit trees, around a corner dense with reddening sumac, and onto the wooded creek path. We had taken it in the spring when all budding shrubs and trees were full of fantastical half-open leaves in many shapes and colors. There was blue wood phlox blooming. Now it was dense greenery and goldenrod. All the time the wind whooped and roared and swooped and all the leaves rustled and the grasses and goldenrod bent and rippled. We saw a bird riding the wind like a child on a scooter. It was small but very raptor-like, with a pale underbelly. We couldn't get a clear look at it, but it was lovely to see how the wind was its element.
In the deeper parts of the woods, the wind died a little and mosquitoes started trying to eat me. I moved along as fast as I could, but it seemed very hot. Eventually I got out my phone and was affronted to see that it was 88 degrees. At least the humidity had dropped a great deal. We were glad of the wind.
We went down to the bridge over the creek and along to a clearing that has a vault toilet and a couple of picnic benches, because I needed to sit down. The clearing has the creek on two sides; you can't see it when things are so lush, but you can hear it, and the light over it is different. There are maple, basswood, and birch trees in the clearing, and a tumble-down stone oven. Bluejays yelled over our heads, and chickadees explained things to one another. Eventually the mosquitoes found us, and we went back over the creek, past the dense sumac hedge and the river of goldenrod islanded with its asters, up the steep hill to the bench and the tiny oak. We sat for a while, and then came gently downhill, looking at the backlit golden grasses and the leaves on the oaks and lindens.
Pamela
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no subject
Date: 2015-09-18 03:25 am (UTC)I have not been anywhere nearly so lovely, but there were (on different evenings) a passing night-heron, querulously kronking to itself, and a kingfisher, high and hastening so that it seemed at first glance some small duck that got over the hill and dove away to the west, where the water is and presumably whence the kingfisher meant to go before it got a bit bewildered by all those trees. (The north east of High Park is still nearly black oak savannah. This year it is full of squirrels, and the resident redtails look plump and contented.)
no subject
Date: 2015-09-18 04:26 am (UTC)I'm glad the entry worked to convey the flavor of things. We've had many hikes as lovely or better, and I would come home with the phrases forming in my head but just never write the entry.
We have two night herons in Minnesota, but I've only seen the black-crowned ones. I've never seen one flying. Kingfishers, until the last few years, I have only seen flying away very rapidly, making annoyed squawks. But in mating season they ignore human intrusions and do amazing dives and displays for one another.
I love your capsule description of the black oak savanna. Oak savanna is one of my favorite environments.
P.
no subject
Date: 2015-09-19 04:39 am (UTC)There are supposedly two night herons here, too, but I may have seen a yellow-crowned once and I've seen lots of black-crowned. There have been breeding colonies a few places inside Toronto, so they're locally plentiful. There was one by a pond at the zoo some years ago, perched on a sort of veranda thing beside a zoo building, completely out in the open in the blazing light of mid-afternoon, and obviously, obviously, sulking.
Most have been sitting; flying is a surprise. It's a bit like rails and bitterns, the flight is usually shorter than the "what is that?" thoughts.
Best kingfisher I ever got was recognizing the shadow on the creek I was bicycling beside and looking up. A brief look, but vivid.
Thank you! I like oak savannah; there isn't much of it anywhere, but the High Park people have started trying to make what there is better. It was quite something a couple years back the first time they did a controlled burn of the understory. (Stately old brick houses, residential street, autumnal wall of fire between the black boles of trees. Definite "wait, what?" moment.) It seems to be helping, though; the red-bellied woodpecker numbers are up, which I'm told is an indicator for insect diversity.
no subject
Date: 2015-09-24 09:55 pm (UTC)The black-crowned, at least, is often referred to as a "sedentary heron," and Wikipedia, I think, said that night herons were widespread but their main evolutionary difficulty is to lapse into flightlessness. There are days when I feel just like that.
They all look somewhat sulky to me because of the way they hunch up their necks. It's probably just a resting posture.
Ooo, some places within the city do controlled burns, but I have only seen the aftermath. That sounds amazing.
There are quite a lot of red-bellied woodpeckers in parks on the outskirts of Minneapols, and also at Eloise Butler, so I guess we are doing all right. I really love their call.
P.
no subject
Date: 2015-09-25 12:31 am (UTC)I have days like that too.
I can even sympathize with a bird that doesn't want to leave its nice safe mass of reeds and venture out into the much riskier sky. (It's a bit like wondering how sora ever migrate that far, given what they fly like when flushed from a swamp.)
The usual BCNH posture does indeed looked hunched and sulky, and the red eyes certainly don't help, but this particular bird looked like it had its head below the top of its wings, headed for cartoon-vulture territory, posture-wise. (Nothing dropped dead in a convenient position to test any other cartoon-vulture possibilities. :)
The other good night heron story I have was the four juvenile black-crowned in a pine tree from an angle where there was no beak to be seen; we (this was a bird walk with 20+ participants) had a mass excess of hope and thought they were owls. Then one moved its head and the beak became obvious. (All die! and O! the embarrassment.)
The burn was very impressive; I hadn't gone there intending to see it, and had forgotten it was planned. So there was a moment of alarm before recall kicked in. (Well, and recall was assisted by noticing the official vehicles and the complete lack of sprinting joggers, dog-walkers, and amateur naturalists.)
Red-bellied woodpeckers were something we didn't used to get at all; they're one of the species that has gone from rare through rare-but-regular into regular-breeder. Migratory ruddy ducks used to be "drive an hour for four" sorts of birds. There was a raft of five hundred last fall in Humber Bay East, it was quite startling. (I should make a point of checking for Shovelers soon-like.) Even after seeing bunches I can't get over thinking of ruddy ducks as rubber duckies. (Small, round, buoyant, and faintly implausible-looking.)
no subject
Date: 2015-09-18 05:02 am (UTC)"chickadees explained things to one another"
*chortle* Yes, that's it! They don't yell like jays, just explain, in reasonable tones. So very Minnesotan.
no subject
Date: 2015-09-18 04:14 pm (UTC)I gather from my reading that chickadees are very social and like to keep one another apprised of their presence and anything that might be happening. Some of that is warnings, but not all. And yes, very Minnesotan indeed.
P.
no subject
Date: 2015-09-18 11:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-09-18 04:46 pm (UTC)P.
no subject
Date: 2015-09-18 01:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-09-18 04:47 pm (UTC)P.
no subject
Date: 2015-09-18 04:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-09-18 04:47 pm (UTC)P.
no subject
Date: 2015-09-18 07:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-09-20 04:38 am (UTC)I just realized that I forgot about the leopard frogs; I might have to go back and put them in.
P.
no subject
Date: 2015-09-19 04:41 pm (UTC)Peterson has pages and pages of goldenrod. I decided long ago that I would be content to identify the plant as a goldenrod and leave it at that.
no subject
Date: 2015-09-19 05:12 pm (UTC)I can reliably identify stiff and spiral goldenrod, because their growth habits are different from the rest. The rest all blur together. For all I know, they hybridize.
P.
no subject
Date: 2015-09-22 03:32 am (UTC)I hear that goldenrod is allelopathic--it's one of those plants that make it hard for other plants to grow where it grows (black walnut is a famous example of this), which explains why a field with some goldenrod will end up a field with mainly goldenrod.
... But looking into it just now, I think the case isn't clearcut.
no subject
Date: 2015-09-22 03:51 am (UTC)I wonder if goldenrod is allelopathic only under certainly environmental conditions, or whether only some species are? I have some volunteer plants in with the asters in the front garden, and the asters have gradually crowded all but a few of the goldenrods out altogether. I'm not sure what kind of goldenrod it is, though.
P.
no subject
Date: 2015-09-20 03:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-09-20 08:57 pm (UTC)P.
no subject
Date: 2015-09-22 03:23 am (UTC)Imagining the ring ending up in a computer.... shudder. One computer to rule them all--has it maybe already happened??
It sounds like a gorgeous, gorgeous day.
no subject
Date: 2015-09-22 03:52 am (UTC)And yes, one computer to rule them all sounds terribly plausible.
P.