Babies

Look what's going on at the pond now!

I know I've been writing about the geese a lot, but for good reason: look at the new addition to "Things to See at Strawberry Hill"!

Six baby goslings, all in a row, between mom and dad.  If I can get closer, there are more pictures to come!

Model Citizen (Hooray!)

Nothing beats being a camp counselor.

If ever a person were to choose a time to truly be a role model, being a camp counselor is one of the best ways.  When you're in charge of a group of kids for a couple of days, the best person inside you comes forward: your concern about the environment is at the forefront of your actions, you begin to guide small people in the right direction, you teach.  You model.

Camp counselors help kids understand what "community" really means and how we can support each other while working together.  Camp counselors encourage understanding, acceptance, and inclusion.  Camp counselors work 24-hour days to keep kids safe, happy, and excited.

Hooray for the camp counselor!  Hooray for the counselor who comforts a homesick child; hooray for the counselor that compliments kids when they do a good job.  Hooray!

Hooray for being the best person you can be.

Good News for Gooses

At 7:30 this morning, I'm standing on the side of the pond, watching two geese.  But which two?

I have no idea.

A male goose flies overhead, honking, circling, honking, and circling again before retreating away over the grove of pine trees behind the pink cabin.  Both geese on the ground are standing on the shoreline; since neither is on the nest, I assume the worst: the old couple has been kicked out.

So, I get this bright idea.  She hasn't been off the nest for more than 12 hours... maybe the eggs can still make it?  I circle the pond, tramping down the rushes to find a nice pile of downy feathers.  However, as I come closer to the nest, these two geese glide into the water and swim straight at me.  As I push my way down the bank, the smaller of the two gets out of the water right in front of me, waddles upward, and hisses loudly.

An angry mother.  Hooray!  They made it!  Hopefully baby geese are on their way.

Gooses

There are two geese at Strawberry Hill--a pair--male and female.  I've heard stories that if another goose were to come to the pond, they would get chased out immediately.

However, there are now four geese in the pond.  Granted, the two new geese keep a good distance from the usual pair, always on the shore at the furthest distance possible.  They arrived this morning or sometime late last night.

I kept hearing these weird calls coming from across the street while I was working in the office and each time, I hurried out the door to see what was going on.  Every time, nothing was going on.  I kept expecting to sneak up on them and see them tearing each other apart, but the mama stayed on her nest all day and papa swam back and forth in front of her, diligently keeping watch.

It was just a lot of noise.

I don't really expect the new pair to stay.  I felt for the old couple--I wanted to chase the new ones away and let them have their space, uninhibited, but who am I to interfere?  It's better that whatever nature intends to happen, happens.  Til then, I'll keep my eyes (and ears) open.

The new couple

Three-legged Race

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A single deer stands on the bank off to the right side of the road, looking back over its shoulder like more deer may be on their way.  I come to a complete stop.  Looking down off to the left, I see three white tails bounding off across the stream, leaving this one deer in the dust, alone.  I turn off the engine.

Popping my door open slowly, I lower my feet to the ground.  The deer turns broadside to me, ears pointed in my direction, licking its lips and wiggling its nostrils.  Her eyes shine.  I take a step.

"Go!  They're not waiting for you.  Go!" I call out gently.  Still she stands and stares at me.  As I take a step up the bank toward her, she turns to go and I realize: one of her front legs is missing.  There's a stub about 8 inches down from the shoulder, but from there on its only empty space.  I only notice because she still walks with this phantom limb, her head dropping low to compensate for each off-step, balancing as she hobbles slowly through the leaves.

It's pity that I feel--curiosity as to how she lost the leg, but pity for her situation.  Each careful step I take toward her, she takes one careful step away from me, keeping use at an equal distance.  My stomach starts to turn for her, even though in my mind I'm thinking how impressed I am that she's even alive.

Suddenly, a twig snaps underneath my foot and it must startle her, because she takes off like a rocket, white tail flipped upward in a wave goodbye; before I know it, she's disappeared up the mountain, ducking through trees like she wouldn't have needed that fourth leg even if she still had it.

Going on a Bear Hunt

Even hiking up Baker's Knob, I knew in my heart that I expected to just happen upon a bear.  I pictured myself coming around a bend quietly enough to see one sitting on its rump, tearing into a log, stuffing its happy face with crawling things.  If it was that easy, I'd have seen hundreds of bears by this point in my life.  I knew what to look for, but not where to look for it.  The best way to make discoveries is to explore.

No, this story does not end with me happening upon a bear, but wouldn't that be some pleasant irony?  Birds and insects are everywhere, so we see them all the time; we feel mammals should be the same.  Mammals, however, are secretive.  To track an animal is to become that animal--imagine its footfalls, dream its intentions, see what it saw.  "Tracking" misleads beginners, I think, since it seems to imply exactly what you should be looking for: tracks.  However, oftentimes tracks are impossible to see because of leaf litter, moss, or just dry soil.  It isn't always muddy or snowy.  Some other things you can look for include scat (poop), markings on trees, burrows, trails, and a variety of other things depending on species.  You'll find that once you really become mindful of nature's details, you begin to see signs everywhere.  Literally, everywhere, to the point that you may need to reel yourself in because you imagine signs that aren't really there.  I didn't give up looking for bears, but I saw no definite signs today.  Here are some photos (captions included) of what I did find.

(Note: all of these photos were taken within a three-quarter mile area on preserve property.)

Owl pellet, complete with thigh bone of a small rodent.

I suspect that there are two different types of scat in this photo.  The white scat is older, the dark scat newer. However, based on size (length and diameter), I'm inclined to say the white scat is coyote and the dark is fox.  Notice the amount of fur in this scat--these doggies are eating well!

Torn log.  I found some that were from woodpeckers (thus misleading, because they can appear similar until closer inspection), but because of the claw marks, I say mammal.  I'm afraid to say bear because of the thinness of the claw marks, but if you have an idea, please let me know.  Sometimes raccoons will tear, too, but not as often.

The sun going down across the valley (and my awesome binoculars).

Every Horse is an Island

The rain from all day yesterday has certainly had its effect.  Large portions of Swamp Creek Lane are almost entirely washed out.  Flooded areas follow along Mount Hope Road, including in some of the farms, where horses stand on high ground, grazing as usual.

I can't help but wonder how all this recent erosion and extra particulate in the streams are affecting the fish.

Something interesting?  There's a new spring in my backyard!  I looked out the window this morning to see water literally gushing out of the ground.  I walked out in my bare feet to check it out and took some photos.  Enjoy!

My driveway

 The new spring in my yard

The old bridge to Glatfelter tree farm

Washed Up

It's true, Live Green was cut short due to rain--more rain that we anticipated.  We prepared for inclement weather, but the downpour was too much for us to work with and we ended up scrapping all the afternoon activities.  It was a shame to see Joe's hard work not come to fruition.  He spent a lot of time putting this all together and if the weather had cooperated, the event would have been spectacular.  Rumor has it we may end up pushing for a rain date toward the beginning of May, so keep your eyes and ears open for upcoming information.

Despite the rain, the yard sale went on.  We did manage to make some money today and despite the cold and damp, we had a really good time.  It amazes me how sometimes bad weather can bring people together; having a burger under the pavilion with the employees and volunteers was a nice way for us to just get together, hang out, and talk, without having to worry about everything happening without a hitch. 

All in all, it wasn't what we expected, but we did enjoy ourselves.  If you did come out today, we appreciate your support today (as always!) and we were happy to see you.  Enjoy your reused yard sale items, and thanks again!

The Woodpeckers

To my left, a robin sing-songs merrily to signal the fading of another day into velvet dusk.  Beyond it, the drumming of a woodpecker echoes through the tulip poplars.  Tap tap tap tap tap.  It's amazing how it carries.  This unique form of communication puts this bird into an entirely different category for me--birds without a song; true, woodpeckers each have a particular "laugh" that they belly out as they shop from tree to tree for the best produce, but it's far from the melodic prowess of, say, anything in the thrush family.  I keep waiting to hear a mate respond, but this lone woodpecker knocks at the door of an empty home.

I stop to admire the perfect holes in a perfect line in a gentle spiral up the side of one of the poplars.  Signs of a yellow-bellied sap sucker, one woodpecker I've seen least often in my life (and most of those sightings, sadly, involved someone discovering a dead one at the base of a tree somewhere).  They do have somewhat of a yellow belly, so unlike the red-bellied woodpecker, this one resembles its name.  I run my fingers along the old holes, tracing upward.  I can picture the bird with its special feet (two toes in the front and two in the back, unlike most birds with three in front and one in back) clutching the furrowed bark, then shuffling up and over a few centimeters to try again.  Over and over, until this pattern emerged, like viewing slits in a defense tower. 

Leaving the tree behind and cresting the hill, new drumming finds my ears.  Ah, there was a response, I just couldn't hear it.  I position myself so that I can hear one bird out of each ear, interrupting each other, and am surprised when I hear yet a third woodpecker drumming uphill in front of me.  So, someone was home after all.

Yellow-bellied Sapsucker

Photo courtesy of monarchbfly.com

Woodpecker feet

Photo courtesy of burdr.com

(I highly recommend this link if you're interested in more information about bird feet!  It's very cool!) 

Tales Along This Road

The eyes of the beech trees gaze down at me, unblinking, as I meander the trails.  The fibrous muscles of the ironwoods flex in the breeze, poses twisting out over the saturated soil.  A Louisiana water thrush flits from branch to branch along the creek.  I come to a stop because I thought I heard voices; I'm not alone, but I'm the only person out here.  More and more often I hear something like muffled chatter floating on the hillsides in the silent spaces between the churrr of the toads in the evening, just as the sun settles deep into the next valley, or maybe it's the next valley, or the next...

Darkness comes slowly and my eyes adjust.  I hardly notice.  I creep along the banks of Swamp Creek looking for signs of anything at all--animals, mostly--disturbances in the mud, torn logs.  I'm just settling quietly over a vernal pool when the wind picks up; a backlash of winter slices through my sweatshirt.  Peepers peep all around me and yet I see none, so I whisper out loud my fascination with their ability to survive, turn tail and head home, the moon watching all the way.

Some Photos

During an afternoon jog to the mailbox last week, I ran into a couple out to hike the trails.  They introduced themselves as Laurie and Kevin and asked if I would be interested in photos to post on the blog or Facebook site for Strawberry Hill, so I gave them the email address.  I have to share with you some of the photos that Kevin sent me, especially since I've been posting photos the last few days of things springing forth thanks to all this rain.  These pictures are fantastic, and were taken on Strawberry Hill property!  You can see these things in person if you come out, too.

Wood frog eggs at the Quarry

Flower of the skunk cabbage--these are almost gone now, devoured by its giant leaves.

Thanks to Kevin Trostle for these beautiful photos!  Photos of the trout lily will be coming from me soon, as I found several up today, but not open since it's so overcast.  Thursday, though, I expect them to start blooming in full in some spots.

Mini Trail Finds

(Before I get into my post: beware of the geese!  The female HAS started sitting on the nest at the far side of the pond.  Geese can be very aggressive!)

Still taking the time to put the nature center together before the big revealing at LiveGreen.  We've got several new displays in the process that are going to make the room look even more amazing than it did with the new floors/cabinets/counter tops.  I was able to sneak away for a few minutes to set up for an upcoming program, and I took a few photos out on the trail.  I can only identify one of them, so if you know what these are, feel free to comment.

The first is the leaves of Trout Lily, which will bloom yellow and curly (and I'll be sure to post pictures when it does).  I think they call it trout lily because it's shaped like a fish and has those spots on the leaf.

Then a little fungus...

And finally, another flower!

Spring is Springing, All Right!

Thanks to the volunteers who brought their green thumbs to the preserve for the sake of our gardens!  As always, we appreciate your hard work.

As for me, I was stuck inside the nature center most of the day, rearranging props, gathering teaching materials, and putting things away to get ready for LiveGreen next weekend.  Joe's been working hard on this event and it's sure to be a hootin', hollerin' good time--live music, vendors, food, you name it--so be sure to stop out on the 16th between 8am and 6pm to check it out!

During my travels today (setting up Second Sunday, which seemed to be enjoyed by those who participated), I managed to catch these two little clusters of wildflowers on the trail.  They're extremely tiny and I'm lucky to have been looking down at that particular moment, because I didn't find them anywhere else.

We also had a visit from some Gettysburg students out with their telemetry equipment searching for turtles.  They brought this little guy back to replace his transmitter.  This is a wood turtle; his eyes have a golden element to them like Bumpy's, but in a more "four leaf clover" sort of pattern.  I also love the orange speckling on his skin.  Remember, always leave turtles in the woods, but for now we're keeping this one for a night or two until they can get the proper equipment out to reattach and let him go back in his home territory.

It's always an adventure at Strawberry Hill!

Environmental Interp

The rain held off most of the morning while we traipsed along the mountainside, through the tall trees (descending for a while into the quarry-turned-wetland) and back again, pausing to scoop critters out of the pond for closer inspection.  As we round the bend to the cabin, from behind my shoulder a chaperone asks, "So, how long have you been doing this?"

"Doing what?" I ask him.  "Doing this," I say, sweeping my arm across the group of kids in front of me that I've spent the better part of a morning teaching, "or doing this here?"  Then again, if he means how long have I been loving the outdoors, I hope he's in for a long story.

The conversation is short, but it gets me thinking.  Several times already in the two months I've been with Strawberry Hill, parents approached me with a proud arm around the shoulders of a smaller version of themselves, explaining that their child loves to be outside.  They want to encourage careers stemming from their child's innate interests in nature; I would assume this is so that their children may pursue something that not only grants income, but that makes them happy.  There are many ways to nurture this, including volunteering for nature centers, wildlife rehabilitation centers, wildlife preserves, or state and national parks.  Not only can this teach them valuable skills, but it can connect them with new mentors that can help guide them into educational programs or jobs, both during and after high school.  So, find a place you love and volunteer! 

High Beams

I keep reminding myself how conduction works: the heat drawn from my warm hand gets sucked into the tiny cold body, but it's a dead, endless cold that keeps pulling and pulling and pulling.  It never gets warm.  I clasp him the whole way home in my bare hand, resting on a bunched up sweatshirt in my lap, steering with my left hand and only letting go of him to shift gears.  I'm crying.  In some irrational place in my mind, I think he'll start moving again if only I can get him warm, even though when I found him on the pavement, he was already freezing, surrounded by a sprinkling of siblings all across the highway.  Sometimes, one of my fingers accidentally twitches and his little nose hits my thumb.  My heart jumps hopefully every time.  He was the only one I could reach before a car threatened to turn me into the spitting image of his mother, guts spilling over the white line as I dragged her to the side of the road by her tail, prodding her open belly with a plastic bag, hoping for one still inside.  But, it looks as though when the car hit her, her womb exploded, and tiny bodies lay around her like flower petals on a lake.

It's springtime, and in the spirit of biodiversity, I urge you to use caution when driving at night as animals are moving about in order to mate and find shelter to bear their babies.  Below is a photo of the one baby I could get my hands on.  He didn't make it; nor did his siblings or his mother.  When you see a dead opossum on the side of the road, (if and ONLY IF it is SAFE for you to be on the road--be mindful of traffic and use common sense, especially at night) remember that it may be carrying babies in the pouch that could still be alive even though the mother is dead.  If you have the ability to retrieve them, put them in a box, keep them warm, do not feed or give them water.  Call a wildlife rehabilitation center or someone who can direct you to one.  Remember, these animals are not pets.  People do consider them to be a nuisance animal, but they are misunderstood.  (As a side note, I did NOT hit the opossum carrying these, but I did stop to see if I could help.)

Slow down: save a life!  Or several!

Use a Nature Center

I open my email to find the following subject: “we found eggs in the vernal pond!”  I’ve been corresponding with a friend about things to do outside in the spring with her two young girls, and of course I suggested Herp Hunting.  In the email, she guiltily admits that they scooped up three little unidentified eggs to take home and watch grow.  She asks, “Should I take them back?”

I’m conflicted.  You don’t have to tell me how important it is to use experiential education to get a child excited about nature—what better way than to teach than letting them watch these eggs hatch right in front of their very eyes?  I tell her exactly how to take care of them, and then explain the downside of keeping them: their reproductive chances may be significantly lower if they aren’t actually born in the pool, it’s illegal to take wildlife without the proper permits, a synthetic habitat will never equal the real thing, amphibians are a keystone species in wetland habitats, and although they were born in the water, they may need other habitats to complete their life cycle.

While this began my philosophical gears turning (over the projection of human emotions onto nature’s organisms, if it could be a positive thing, what the world would be like without us, how much the public actually knows, and if conservation can really work), the conclusion I came to was simple.  More environmental education.  More opportunities to learn about nature in nature.  Get to your local nature center!  We’ll secure the permits, we’ll take you to the best places to see things, and (if we can acquire the funding) we’ll even supply what you need to do the things you want to do.  Please use us—we’re here for you and your children.  Nature’s splendor shouldn’t go unobserved and unloved by this generation, or any generation.

 Photo courtesy of Strawberry Hill

Straight from the Horse's Mouth

It's true, if you ask any naturalist what the first wildflower of spring really is in this region of Pennsylvania, they'll tell you it's skunk cabbage.  Skunk cabbage does deserve its place in the sun, since it radiates heat in the late winter to melt the snow around it, helping it pop out of the ground well before anything else.  The only problem with skunk cabbage?  (Not that it stinks, but I guess that, too.)  It doesn't scream "flower".  Mostly, it screams "little curly purple and green thing".

However, all along the lane, more colorful wildflowers are starting to peek out of the leaf litter.  In the morning, you'd never be able to tell; in late evening, Colt's Foot draws their shy petals back over their pretty faces, like a goose tucking its head under wing.  Only when they feel the warmth of the sun nudging them awake do they explode into little round stars sitting atop a shaggy stalk that looks almost like the head of asparagus.  Keep your eyes peeled for these tiny clustered wonders, and be careful not to step on them!

Photo by Emily

Man as Mountain

Some tall and difficult to scale, split the sky with oppressive shards of gray.  Some, a landscape of rumpled blankets after a night of tossing and turning in uneasy sleep.  Groundwater beats under the surface, filling the veins of streams and rivers, running down into the heart of brackish river deltas and away into the sea.  Animals harbor the seasons deep in nooks and crevices, mere shades in the morning fog, like an idea just out of reach.

The mountain takes a breath in at dawn and sighs slowly at the end of the day, letting the exhalation tumble down through the trees, carrying the scent of fresh wildflowers and decaying leaves.  It freezes and thaws.  Green, living roots break through hardened boulders to teem new life on what was once barren ground; where no one thought anything of beauty could ever grow, living things persevere.  The mountain persists.

Photo courtesy of Destination360.com

A Snail of a Tale

Oh, sure, I've seen snails before, but none as exciting as this one.

After bringing in all the critters we'd found in the pond, we gathered around the microprojector in the pink cabin as Mr. Eddy gave each "bug" its 15 minutes of fame on the white screen at the front of the room.  One by one, diving water beetles, dragonfly nymphs, and damselfly nymphs dance and skitter across the screen.  Finally, he places the little round shell on its side under the scope, and predicts the future!

"This little snail is going to come out of its shell.  Snails are called 'gastropods' which basically means 'foot mouth' because they have this one foot they use to propel themselves forward.  Oh!  There it comes, and you can see its eyestalk popping out, as well!" he cheers, interpreting the slow, ballet-like motions happening on screen.

He explains, "Imagine laying down, having 200 pounds on top of you, and trying to stand up!  That's what it's like for this snail to get that shell upright again.  Can he do it?!"

The snail's foot-mouth spreads across the screen like a clover leaf, and the shell slowly begins to move.  The whole room is holding their breath!  As the shell begins to creep slowly into an upright position, the kids, the adults, (even I) begin to cheer for it.

"Ooh, come on, snail!" I accidentally call out.  My stomach burns, hoping with all my might that this little snail overcomes the seeming unlikelihood of hauling that miniature--but giant--shell up and into its righted position.  But as it drops gently into place, we all clap, congratulating the snail for something we thought impossible.

Photo courtesy of Mr, Rudy's Goods

Dull Brilliance

First thing this morning, as we're setting up for the day's programs, I stumble upon something quite surprising in the pavilion: a female cardinal, dead on the ground.  People can almost always identify a male cardinal with ease--the bright red coloring, the familiar crest at the top of the head--but I've always thought the females, though more muted, captured just enough color to be truly mesmerizing.  They still have the crest, barely tipped with red, and though their back is the gentle gray of an overcast sky, the fronts of the wing feathers look as though she flew through a sea of peach-colored roses, picking up color along the edges.  Soft, yellow feathers run along the breast and up through the cheek, concealing the heavy gray of the downy feathers that trap her body heat.  A tiny red eyebrow curves above the eye and, as always, the bright orange beak adds an extra blaze of intense color.

I don't know how this bird died, or why it ended up in the pavilion.  There were no noticeable marks of predation that I could see; the only thing that seemed of consequence is that her neck may have been broken, though she was near no windows.  Never one to dismiss something like this so easily, I brought her home for a few pictures before nestling her against the root of a tree off in the woods, to rest and be absorbed back into the environment however Mother Nature sees fit.  For your viewing pleasure: