Small Delights

Posted on October 22, 2014 by Kim

The beauty of the natural world lies in the details.

– Natalie Angier

It’s a big world out there, and sometimes overwhelming. Serenity can be found in tiny treasures. Spend time looking closely at the form of a flower, the lacy veins of a leaf, the tiny grains of sand, and feel the wider world melting away.

Notice the small things. The rewards are inversely proportional.

– Liz Vassey

Regular readers of the Wild Edge may notice that I am drawn to small subjects: dragonflies, snails, lizards, flowers, seeds. While I enjoy landscape photography, it usually isn’t long before I’m isolating part of a scene, or zooming in close on some little detail.

So it was inevitable; I recently purchased a macro lens. For the uninitiated, macro lenses take extreme close-up photos, often of very small subjects. I took it for a walk along the bay beach at Corson’s Inlet State Park, at the southern tip of Ocean City.

Now I will readily admit I violated the First Law of Macro Photography: I didn’t use a tripod. This was just a trial run, and I didn’t expect anything of the session. To my surprise, a few photos seemed worthy of sharing here. If only to inspire you with the beauty to be found if you take a really close look at the small details of Nature around you.

Notice not just the flowers, but the wasp. Not just the wasp, but the grains of pollen on the wasp. Pollen hitching a ride on flying insects is one way plants reproduce.

Details create the big picture.

– Sanford I. Weill

A tiny Ghost Crab stares down a leaf. His mottled coloration camouflages him against the sand. We’ll meet his kind again soon.

Hairs for catching pollen. Spikes for – what? Protection against being eaten?

Another seed pod sports the punk-rock spiky look.

To see a world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wild flower

Hold infinity in the palms of your hand and eternity in an hour.

– William Blake

Grains of sand on a clam shell. Sand is nothing less than teeny-tiny rocks and minerals, many grains as translucent as glass.

Sand and shell on an autumn leaf. The lacy veins carry vital materials in and out of the leaf, including chlorophyll, a green pigment critical to the energy production of photosynthesis. When chlorophyll production ceases in fall, the green fades away and the red and yellow pigments already present in the leaf are revealed.

I still get wildly enthusiastic about little things… I play with leaves. I skip down the street and run against the wind.

– Leo Buscaglia

A closer look at a crab leg, dressed in the colors of a sunset.

When it all feels too much, take time for a walk, and lose yourself in the tiny details of life at the wild edge.

In all things of nature there is something of the marvelous.

– Aristotle

Tern, Tern, Tern

Posted on October 13, 2014 by Kim

All across the Jersey Shore, dainty dancers are on the wing. These elegant ballerinas in crisp black, gray and white dart and pirouette effortlessly. At times they hover almost motionlessly high above the stage, then plummet to the surface and back up in one smooth motion. Who are these dazzling performers taking a turn around the dance floor? Why, Terns of course!

This September, the Cape May birding community was abuzz with the arrival of a rare bird. A Whiskered Tern, which breeds in Eastern Europe and winters in Africa, had somehow found its way across the Atlantic Ocean. This is only the third appearance of this species in North America. The bird split its time between Bunker Pond and the beach for a number of days, giving lots of birders a thrill. Of course, I wanted to see it too.

I arrived just in time for the performance. The Whiskered Tern was only there a short while, and never stopped flying. Unlike terns that dive into the water to feed, Whiskered Terns swoop low along the water’s surface where they pick up bugs. The movement is distinctive.

Lots of people got great images of the Whiskered Tern; I wasn’t one of them. Here’s why it was so hard to photograph – the Tern was very far away and in constant motion. Click on this wide-angle photo and try to find it; the arrow points to it in the inset at top right.

Another uncommon bird was the Black Tern, above. Again, always flying and always far away. It shares the same swoop-and-pluck feeding style as the Whiskered Tern, and they were often seen together.

On a sliver of sand in the middle of the bay a cluster of Terns waits to take the stage. There are three different species here. The small birds are Forster’s Terns, the supporting players of the company. The large bird on the left with the orange bill is a Royal Tern. At the other end of the island, from left to right, we have a red-billed Caspian Tern, a Royal just behind him, and two more Caspians.

Farther north at Edwin B. Forsythe National Wildlife Refuge, the theater is an intake where the tidal water flows into and out of the impoundment.

The fishing here is great, and the Forster’s Terns take full advantage of it.

Photographing them is simply a matter of pointing your camera at them and letting them fly in and out of the frame. And they do.

Delicate little terns swirl, twirl and whirl continuously. In turn they dive straight downward and plunge under the water, to come up in a burst of spray, circle around and dive again. It’s an aerial ballet.

Entrée.

En pointe.

Pas de deux.

Pas de trois.

The corps de ballet.

Common Tern takes a bow, as the curtain falls on today’s performance.

Storm Morning

Posted on October 6, 2014 by Kim

Sometimes a day at the beach isn’t “a Day at the Beach”…

For two days the Jersey Shore was buffeted by high winds and draped with ominous gray clouds. The heavy rains came at night.

Great Black-backed Gulls have the bulk to cope with the wind. The tiny Sanderlings were blown this way and that.

Sea foam at the water’s edge jiggled in its best Jell-o impression, trembling violently before breaking loose to dance up the beach. Small dollops skimmed just above the sand’s surface like pucks on an air hockey table.

FUN FACT: A scientifically-minded friend saw sea foam and burdened it with the moniker of “surfactant”. Unromantic, but partially correct. Foam is formed of air, water and a surfactant. Surfactants are compounds that reduce the surface tension of water, allowing air bubbles to form. Each surfactant molecule has a hydrophobic (water-repellent) end and a hydrophilic (water-loving) end. In a group, they line up in such a way that a thin layer of water is between the hydrophilic ends and takes the shape of a sphere – a bubble. Put lots of bubbles together, throw in wind-agitated wave action, and you’ve got foam.

Surfactants can be man-made, like fertilizers, emulsifiers and detergents; that’s why soap lathers into bubbles when you take a bath. In the ocean, the surfactants are usually dissolved organic matter such as algae, seaweed, and other tiny marine organisms. That organic matter is a vital part of the marine food web that would otherwise go unnoticed. In a way, sea foam is microscopic life made visible in quivering, dancing morsels of bubbles.

A Tempestuous Tanka
Or, The Downside of Scientific Correctness

Tempest-tossed waves crash
Wind-blown surfactant dances
‘Neath scudding gray skies.
Surfactant? No! On my beach,
Wind-blown sea-foam dances by.

A creamy mist hovered inches above the ground. Creamy, by appearance. The sensation was of being pelted with a thousand stinging little grains of sand.

…Which didn’t dissuade these two beach goers. There’s always someone who will sit on the beach, no matter what the weather.

A bad day at the beach is better than a good day anywhere else!

Frogger

Posted on September 30, 2014 by Kim

Once upon a time, there was a handsome frog. He sat upon the edge of a pond, waiting. But not for the kiss of a human lassie to change him into a human prince, for he was happy and proud to be a bullfrog. So proud that he soon burst into robust song. His skillful bellowing quickly drew a pretty female frog to him. All around him that spring, frogs and toads were staging similar little romantic dramas in ponds and bogs throughout the land.

Not long after, little clumps of clear jelly filled with dark spots began to appear. Eggs! Thousands of them. This is the frogspawn of the wood frog, and the tadpoles-to-be are already visible.

Toads lay their eggs not in round masses, but long strings. When the tadpoles emerge, they will consume the gelatinous casing for the nutrients it holds.

In spring and early summer, tadpoles are everywhere, swimming above the leaves left behind the prior fall…

Harassing a fish who has no interest in them as a snack…

And just doing what tadpoles do, eating and growing. Tadpoles are exclusively aquatic, and breathe through gills like fish. Dinner is algae and water plants. The length of time frogs and toads spend in the tadpole stage varies according to the species; in bullfrogs it may be up to two years. Eventually tadpoles begin the amazing transformation from aquatic larvae to terrestrial adult. Legs appear, and then arms. Their bodies change shape, the tail shortens, and gills are replaced by lungs.

Behold the froglet. Not yet fully mature, but no longer a tadpole, this youngster can breathe air and move about on land. He’s still got that tail, though.

Young bullfrog, finding shade from the hot August sun in the lily pads. The tail has been absorbed into his body, and he’s fully mature, but he will continue to grow in size. Adult bullfrogs rest during the day, and hunt at night. Anything they can catch becomes prey – insects, fish, birds, even small mammals.

The small pond is home to a surprisingly tame group of young bullfrogs. The presence of humans with cameras doesn’t seem to bother them much. Bullfrogs will remain near water much of the time, as they must keep their skin moist.

Another pond finds a green frog amidst the cattails. Green frogs are also primarily aquatic. See the ridges running along the frog’s back? That’s the best way to tell green frogs from bullfrogs; the latter lack these dorsolateral ridges.

FUN FACT: The roundish circle behind the frog’s eye is the tympanum, an external “ear” of sorts. It transmits sound to the frog’s inner ear. In females, the tympanum is about the same size as the eye; in males it’s twice as big. An easy way to tell the boys from the girls!

A wood frog sports a robber’s mask as he lingers on the leaves scattered across the forest floor. Wood frogs live in low moist woodlands and forested swamps. In the winter they migrate to nearby uplands, returning in the spring to the vernal pools, to search out a mate and begin the cycle anew.

Last of the Summer Wine

Posted on September 22, 2014 by Kim

Skipper butterfly, John Heinz National Wildlife Refuge at Tinicum, PA

Wild rice, Heinz NWR

Osprey, Heinz NWR

Cabbage white butterflies, Heinz NWR

Queen Anne’s lace, Heinz NWR

Red-eyed Vireo, Heinz NWR

Zebra swallowtail, Elk Neck State Park, MD

Passion vine flower, Bartram’s Garden, PA

Skipper butterfly, Heinz NWR

Great Blue Heron, Heinz NWR

Black swallowtail, Heinz NWR

Great Egrets, Heinz NWR

Skyline and marsh view, Heinz NWR

Blue dasher dragonfly, Heinz NWR

Watery New Horizons

Posted on September 17, 2014 by Kim

The first river you paddle runs through the rest of your life. It bubbles up in pools and eddies to remind you who you are. –Lynn Noel

My first river was the Upper Delaware, in the Pocono Mountains in 1976. I was a teenager at Girl Scout camp and I fell in love with paddling right away. Memories of the river come floating back – blue skies, dark green hills, drifting quietly down the calm sections. The fun of running the rapids – Mongaup, the Eel Trap, Skinner’s Falls – and the frustration when we hit a rock or got stuck. Grey misty afternoons, and the one bright morning when the early sun bedazzled us with a myriad of sparkling diamonds on the river’s surface. I lived in canoes for four wonderful summers and paddling has coursed through my veins ever since. (The photo above was taken at an overnight campsite along the Delaware in 1978 with a Kodak Instamatic camera. Gotta love that ‘70s film look!)

Don started paddling in the 90s, on Darby Creek in a folding kayak. “I think that first time out in my folding kayak was a lot of fun and a big relief once I realized that my watercraft floated! Pine Barrens river trips came later… and I might have thought how peaceful and quiet it was and how isolated the spot was though it was all so near a major metropolitan area.”

Robb just started paddling recently, and his first kayak trip, to a rain-swollen Batsto River, left him cold. Being separated from your boat and stuck in a tree can do that. “[My first river] was Batsto and I remember being in a tree because of Don’s advice.” Later trips have gone more smoothly than that first experience, and Don and I are crossing our fingers that Robb comes to enjoy the sport as much as we do.

Don’s the only one with a kayak (an inflatable one, no less) so he coaxed Robb into the purchase of his own small inflatable boat called the Firefly. The Firefly took her maiden voyage on a cloudy and cool day at Marsh Creek Lake; she and her captain were a sight to behold. Once the boat was ready, that is.

Pumpa-pumpa-pumpa!

Puffa-Puffa-Puffa!

Napoleon at Waterloo, in his snazzy new vest.

Are you sure this thing will float?

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single paddle stroke.

The boat goes faster if you stick out your tongue.

Boys and their bitty blow-up tub toys. For some reason Don wears a rain hat when he paddles, no matter what the weather.

One week later, the sun was out and the heat nigh unbearable. Nonetheless, the guys were back at it on Darby Creek in Heinz National Wildlife Refuge.

Darby Creek is tidal, and the water level varies greatly. This is the boat launch near high tide. At low tide it’s all mud flats.

Don tells Robb where to go. As always.

Trash is a constant problem along Darby Creek, and it all washes downstream to Heinz NWR. Every April there’s a watershed-wide cleanup, but by September, that’s just a distant memory. Please, folks, put your trash in trash cans. Better yet, recycle it!

The synchronicity of the paddle strokes is frightening. Click on the image to get a closer look.

Oh, the power in the stroke. The concentration on the face. The wake behind the boat. No question, Captain Robb is a stud.

You may be wondering why I have been left behind on dry land. It’s not all that uncommon. Actually, I have my eye on a hard-shell kayak, and hope to test paddle it sometime soon. Never let it be said that I rushed into any decision impulsively.

For now, I have dreams, dreams of paddling…

Around the bend and out of sight, with a whole watery world shining on the horizon.

Everyone must believe in something. I believe I’ll go canoeing. – Henry David Thoreau

Baby Wrens

Posted on September 12, 2014 by Kim

April 1: FOR RENT – CHEEP!
One room condo, great location, close to schools, kind landlady. Perfect for growing family! House sparrows need not apply.

June 22: Move-in day!

July 21: I’m a baby bird hostess again! Finally there are baby wrens in the nest box. Can’t see them, but I hear their chatter when a parent comes in with food.

July 26: Feed me!

Feed me!

FEED ME!

July 27: No dessert until you eat your bees!

There are at least 3 baby wrens in my box.

July 28: It’s a big wide world out there, little one. Are you sure you’re ready?

Apparently so, my wren babies have left the nest box!

July 29: Meanwhile, back at the Refuge…other baby wrens are out of the nest and being fed by other harried parents.

The always amazing Circle of Life.

Last Call

Posted on September 1, 2014 by Kim

The sun is slowly setting on summer. The Fourth of July feels like yesterday. Now it is Labor Day, and autumn awaits.

One last glance at this summer’s Michigan memories.

Sand cliffs along Lake Michigan.

Kingfisher with fish.

Flowers in Buttersville Park, south of Ludington’s harbor.

Busy bee.

50 shades of green.

Barn in the mist.

US-31 overlook on a drizzly evening.

Sunset from the backyard.

Lake Michigan on fire.

The lights of Epworth Heights.

Club Mich at twilight. Time to bid farewell.

Sweet dreams!

Up North

Posted on August 22, 2014 by Kim

Up North: more than a location, it’s a distinctly Michigan state of mind. At once relaxed and adventurous, and in tune with the natural beauty of the land.

No time in Michigan would be complete without a road trip to Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore, the beating heart of Up North.

This year, however, I expanded my northern Michigan horizons beyond Sleeping Bear.

I traveled the scenic byway of M-22 from Manistee to Leland, covering 76 miles of its 116-mile length.

Just south of Leland, I crossed the 45^th parallel, which I can say without doubt is the farthest north I have ever been.

Along the mouth of the Leland River lies Fishtown, a collection of preserved rustic fishing shanties. Most now house quaint shops, but Fishtown remains an active working waterfront. The weathered walls of these shanties have withstood many years of Michigan’s brutally harsh winters, and they wear their tenacity proudly.

The Janice Sue is one of two vintage fish tugs still actively working among more modern vessels, while serving as a symbol of the village’s fishing heritage.

The main attraction Up North is Sleeping Bear Dunes. My first stop was the Platte River, just north of Point Betsie in the southern end of the National Lakeshore. Doesn’t this look like fun? These canoeists are close to the end of their journey, at the mouth of the river where it joins Lake Michigan.

There’s a lot of ground to cover Up North, and lots to see. My legs needed stretching after all that driving, and the Alligator Hill Trail fit the bill perfectly.

Sunflowers graced the small meadow at the trail head, and small bugs graced the sunflowers.

Early on, the trail wound through birches and white pines, underlain with a carpet of ferns. As the path climbed the hill, the forest grew darker and deeper, with beech and maple trees replacing the birches and pines.

At the top of the hill, the payoff: a stunning view of Lake Michigan. Looking south, with North Manitou Island on the horizon.

Looking north, Up North

FUN FACT: Lake Michigan is the sixth largest freshwater lake in the world, and the only one of the five Great Lakes that lies entirely within the United States. Its freshwater sand dunes, some of which are in Sleeping Bear, are the largest in the world.

A pastoral scene in the Port Oneida Rural Historic District.

With daylight waning, it was time to push on towards home.

A roadside sign said “Scenic Overlook”, so I stopped to overlook the scenery. I always do what I’m told.

Wow. This is Arcadia Bluff. What a view.

There are steps that scale the bluff, with landings every so often for rest and reflection. I climbed every one of those steps, and was glad I did.

At the top, I met a man who, having made the trek, was in no hurry to leave. He’d brought a chair and a beverage, and had been perched there for over an hour, happily smoking a cigar, chatting with travelers and watching the sun set. Now that’s the life. Laid back and soaking up the wonders of Michigan.

Up North. It’s more than a location; it’s a state of mind.