Stretching along the Gulf Coast, 25 miles south of Tallahassee, Florida, St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge was established in 1931 to protect natural habitat for wintering birds. Its vast realm of saltwater marshes, riverine woodlands, tidal creeks, pine flatwoods, swamp forest and man-made wetlands is fed by seven rivers, including the St. Marks River; this stream rises in eastern Leon County and is fed by discharge from Wakulla Springs on its journey to the Gulf of Mexico. At the mouth of the river, on the north shore of Apalachee Bay, is the St. Marks Lighthouse; built in 1932, this structure is a National Historic Landmark.
On our visit to the Refuge this evening, we headed south on Lighthouse Road from U.S. 98 at Newport, Florida; within 3 miles, this road enters the refuge, passes its Visitor Center and winds for 7 miles through the heart of the preserve, providing access to a number of trails, boardwalks and viewing sites before ending at the lighthouse. Passing both freshwater and saltwater wetlands, we saw a fabulous diversity of birdlife, including anhingas, great blue and little blue herons, common egrets, white ibis, black vultures, ospreys, brown pelicans, double-crested cormorants, least terns, laughing gulls, killdeer and belted kingfishers. Other nesting species of note include least bitterns, bald eagles, swallow-tailed and Mississippi kites, clapper rails, purple gallinules, American oystercatchers, black-necked stilts, common ground doves, barn owls, red-cockaded woodpeckers, gray kingbirds, fish crows, marsh wrens, prothonotary warblers, blue grosbeaks and both Bachman's and seaside sparrows.
To the delight of our grandson, we observed four large American alligators in the roadside wetlands. Among the other non-avian residents at St. Marks NWR are white-tailed deer, river otters, black bear and a wide variety of reptiles and amphibians. As at all nature preserves, wildlife viewing is most productive early and late in the day and this spectacular refuge is open from dawn to dusk; a modest entry fee is charged per vehicle.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Friday, May 17, 2013
Florida's Great Bend
While the majority of Florida's coast is renowned for its fabulous beaches, they are nearly absent from Tarpon Bay, on the west coast of the peninsula, to Ochlockonee Bay, along the eastern panhandle. This Great Bend region is characterized by coastal marshes, swamp forest, pine flatwoods, meandering rivers and rich estuaries, all vital to the Gulf of Mexico ecosystem.
Home to black bear, American alligators, bald eagles, ospreys, a wide variety of waders (herons, egrets, spoonbills, ibis, limpkins) and a host of other birds, mammals, reptiles and amphibians, this vast coastal wetland is relatively inaccessible and generally ignored by most visitors to the Sunshine State; on the other hand, fishermen, birders and naturalists appreciate its natural diversity as did the first humans to colonize the region.
Last evening, standing on a small beach at Bald Point State Park (just south of Ochlockonee Bay), it was easy to appreciate the serenity that the Great Bend affords in an increasingly populated State. As the sun set beyond the pines to our west, lines of brown pelicans cruised above Apalachee Bay, shorebirds foraged among the gentle waves, ghost crabs scurried across the darkening sand and evidence of human habitation was nowhere in sight. Only the occasional deer fly disturbed the serenity.
Home to black bear, American alligators, bald eagles, ospreys, a wide variety of waders (herons, egrets, spoonbills, ibis, limpkins) and a host of other birds, mammals, reptiles and amphibians, this vast coastal wetland is relatively inaccessible and generally ignored by most visitors to the Sunshine State; on the other hand, fishermen, birders and naturalists appreciate its natural diversity as did the first humans to colonize the region.
Last evening, standing on a small beach at Bald Point State Park (just south of Ochlockonee Bay), it was easy to appreciate the serenity that the Great Bend affords in an increasingly populated State. As the sun set beyond the pines to our west, lines of brown pelicans cruised above Apalachee Bay, shorebirds foraged among the gentle waves, ghost crabs scurried across the darkening sand and evidence of human habitation was nowhere in sight. Only the occasional deer fly disturbed the serenity.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
The Southern Vulture
Driving southeastward from Missouri today, I encountered the first flock of black vultures in southern Kentucky. Unlike their larger cousin, the turkey vulture, black vultures are primarily found across the southeastern quadrant of the U.S. and southward through Mexico, Central America and much of South America; in summer, they may be seen as far north as the Ohio Valley and Mid-Atlantic region.
Since they hold their broad wings in a horizontal position and take to the air with powerful wing beats, black vultures may initially be mistaken for eagles; their bare gray heads, black plumage and the prominent white patches beneath their wing tips aid identification. Highly social, these scavengers soar above open woodlands to search for carrion; since their sense of smell is inferior to that of turkey vultures, they often join their larger, leaner cousins, sharing if not stealing the carcasses that they locate. Black vultures may also scavenge at landfills and are commonly encountered at coastal ports where they dine on fish scraps.
Monogamous, black vultures may live for 25 years in the wild and tend to remain in family groups. While they prefer to roost in trees, these vultures nest on the ground, often beneath the cover of dense foliage, a rock ledge, a cave entrance or an abandoned structure. One to three chicks are generally produced each spring and are fed by both parents throughout their first summer.
Since they hold their broad wings in a horizontal position and take to the air with powerful wing beats, black vultures may initially be mistaken for eagles; their bare gray heads, black plumage and the prominent white patches beneath their wing tips aid identification. Highly social, these scavengers soar above open woodlands to search for carrion; since their sense of smell is inferior to that of turkey vultures, they often join their larger, leaner cousins, sharing if not stealing the carcasses that they locate. Black vultures may also scavenge at landfills and are commonly encountered at coastal ports where they dine on fish scraps.
Monogamous, black vultures may live for 25 years in the wild and tend to remain in family groups. While they prefer to roost in trees, these vultures nest on the ground, often beneath the cover of dense foliage, a rock ledge, a cave entrance or an abandoned structure. One to three chicks are generally produced each spring and are fed by both parents throughout their first summer.
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
First Wave of Summer
Two months into this cool, wet spring, the first wave of summer has pushed across the American Heartland. Thanks to high pressure over the Southern Plains and a low pressure trough over the Northeast, southwesterly winds are raking the Great Plains and Midwest, producing clear skies and afternoon highs well above average.
This injection of heat should allow our vegetation to catch up with the season, combating the cool soil temperature that has slowed the growth of crops and the leafing of trees; indeed, the azaleas along the north side of our house are finally in bloom, a good month behind schedule. Wild birds and mammals, governed by the daylight cycle rather than the weather, have gone about their business as usual but this wave of summer will surely invigorate the turtles, snakes, lizards and amphibians which, to date, have been relatively inactive.
Our summer interlude is forecast to continue for the next few days; by then, a Pacific storm front will invade the region and the emplaced heat will likely fuel severe thunderstorms. In nature, the good and the bad are often linked; in this case, our dose of summer will prime the atmosphere for violent weather which, in turn, will bring welcome rains to the drought-ridden Plains. We will escape that show, heading south for our son's medical school graduation; reports from the Gulf Coast in the coming days.
This injection of heat should allow our vegetation to catch up with the season, combating the cool soil temperature that has slowed the growth of crops and the leafing of trees; indeed, the azaleas along the north side of our house are finally in bloom, a good month behind schedule. Wild birds and mammals, governed by the daylight cycle rather than the weather, have gone about their business as usual but this wave of summer will surely invigorate the turtles, snakes, lizards and amphibians which, to date, have been relatively inactive.
Our summer interlude is forecast to continue for the next few days; by then, a Pacific storm front will invade the region and the emplaced heat will likely fuel severe thunderstorms. In nature, the good and the bad are often linked; in this case, our dose of summer will prime the atmosphere for violent weather which, in turn, will bring welcome rains to the drought-ridden Plains. We will escape that show, heading south for our son's medical school graduation; reports from the Gulf Coast in the coming days.
Monday, May 13, 2013
The Potomac River
The North Branch of the Potomac River rises on the Appalachian Plateau of West Virginia, within the boundaries of Fairfax Stone State Park. Flowing northeastward, it forms the border between Maryland and West Virginia; about halfway to Cumberland, it was dammed to create Jennings Randolph Lake in 1981. From Cumberland, the Potomac makes a broad dip to the south, where it is joined by its South Branch, and then continues northeastward to Hancock, Maryland, where it reaches its most northerly point.
From Hancock, the Potomac River flows southeastward and receives the waters of the Shenandoah at Harper's Ferry, West Virginia. There it becomes the border between Maryland and Virginia, passing through a double water gap in the Blue Ridge Mountains and then angling more sharply to the SSE. Fourteen miles north of Washington, D.C., the Potomac drops through its Great Falls, a point on the Fall Line of the American Southeast, marking the boundary between the resistant bedrock of the Piedmont and the softer sediments of the Coastal Plain. The spectacular falls drop 76 feet through Mather Gorge, the major impetus for constructing the Chesapeake & Ohio Canal between Georgetown, D.C., and Cumberland, Maryland; used from 1831 to 1924, the canal and its corridor along the Potomac are now protected as a National Historic Park.
Beyond Washington, the Potomac River broadens into an ever-widening estuary, reaching a maximum width of 11 miles as it enters the Chesapeake Bay, more than 400 miles from its headwaters. Before the end of the Pleistocene Ice Age, the Potomac was a tributary of the lower Susquehanna River, now flooded by rising seawater to form the broad, shallow Bay.
From Hancock, the Potomac River flows southeastward and receives the waters of the Shenandoah at Harper's Ferry, West Virginia. There it becomes the border between Maryland and Virginia, passing through a double water gap in the Blue Ridge Mountains and then angling more sharply to the SSE. Fourteen miles north of Washington, D.C., the Potomac drops through its Great Falls, a point on the Fall Line of the American Southeast, marking the boundary between the resistant bedrock of the Piedmont and the softer sediments of the Coastal Plain. The spectacular falls drop 76 feet through Mather Gorge, the major impetus for constructing the Chesapeake & Ohio Canal between Georgetown, D.C., and Cumberland, Maryland; used from 1831 to 1924, the canal and its corridor along the Potomac are now protected as a National Historic Park.
Beyond Washington, the Potomac River broadens into an ever-widening estuary, reaching a maximum width of 11 miles as it enters the Chesapeake Bay, more than 400 miles from its headwaters. Before the end of the Pleistocene Ice Age, the Potomac was a tributary of the lower Susquehanna River, now flooded by rising seawater to form the broad, shallow Bay.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
The Choice of Motherhood
Women who choose the joys, trials and responsibilities of motherhood are, to say the least, vital to the welfare of human society; yet, the physical capacity to conceive should not be the sole factor in that decision. Indeed, many women who are unable to bear children prove to be wonderful mothers via adoption or surrogate pregnancy while some endowed with fertility choose not to have children.
One would hope that all children are blessed with a loving mother who wants them and who has the intellectual capacity, emotional stability and economic means to care for them; unfortunately, that is not always the case. Unwanted or unloved children and those raised by dysfunctional parents are prone to a wide range of mental, physical and behavioral disorders, stemming from neglect, malnutrition, lack of proper medical care or outright abuse. Though many are rescued by social support networks, including orphanages, foster care, teen homes and adoption, the damage is done early in life.
For a variety of political and religious reasons, some want to deny the role that choice should play in motherhood; beyond sexual abstinence, they oppose any effort to prevent or abort pregnancy, even in cases of rape or mental incapacity. Included in this group are those willing to produce numerous offspring while lacking the economic means to provide for them. In the end, the children and the rest of human society must deal with the consequences of forbidden choice and misguided policies.
One would hope that all children are blessed with a loving mother who wants them and who has the intellectual capacity, emotional stability and economic means to care for them; unfortunately, that is not always the case. Unwanted or unloved children and those raised by dysfunctional parents are prone to a wide range of mental, physical and behavioral disorders, stemming from neglect, malnutrition, lack of proper medical care or outright abuse. Though many are rescued by social support networks, including orphanages, foster care, teen homes and adoption, the damage is done early in life.
For a variety of political and religious reasons, some want to deny the role that choice should play in motherhood; beyond sexual abstinence, they oppose any effort to prevent or abort pregnancy, even in cases of rape or mental incapacity. Included in this group are those willing to produce numerous offspring while lacking the economic means to provide for them. In the end, the children and the rest of human society must deal with the consequences of forbidden choice and misguided policies.
Saturday, May 11, 2013
The Sounds of May
We naturalists tend to associate certain natural sounds with specific times of the year. For example, while the call of a white-breasted nuthatch is heard throughout the year, I associate that nasal yank with mid autumn, a time when fall colors paint the forest and when the cool, dry air is tinted with the scents of black walnuts and wood smoke.
There are several sounds that I have come to associate with the a Midwestern May. One is the sharp "peent" of a common nighthawk in the evening sky, a welcome sign that he has safely returned from his winter home in South America. Another is the loud "wrheep" of the great crested flycatcher, often delivered repeatedly from the top of a large shade tree. A third is the "ker-plunk" of the male cowbird, a warning that he and his mate will soon parasitize the nest of a hapless songbird. Finally, while the calls of peepers and chorus frogs peak in March and both the duck-like chortle of leopard frogs and the trill of American toads dominate April wetlands, the deep grumble of the bullfrog and the broken-banjo-string tune of the green frog serenade visitors to the marsh in May.
Though a Midwestern May is traditionally associated with colorful flowers, verdant foliage and severe thunderstorms (it is the peak month for tornadoes in the American Midwest), I often think of the above sounds when the month is mentioned. Of course, in some years (as will occur in the Northeast this May), a brood of periodic cicadas commandeers the month , their shrill, deafening calls ringing through our parks and neighborhoods and their carcasses collecting on our roads, decks, cars and lawns; in those years, other sounds of the season are lost in the din of their frenzied orgy.
There are several sounds that I have come to associate with the a Midwestern May. One is the sharp "peent" of a common nighthawk in the evening sky, a welcome sign that he has safely returned from his winter home in South America. Another is the loud "wrheep" of the great crested flycatcher, often delivered repeatedly from the top of a large shade tree. A third is the "ker-plunk" of the male cowbird, a warning that he and his mate will soon parasitize the nest of a hapless songbird. Finally, while the calls of peepers and chorus frogs peak in March and both the duck-like chortle of leopard frogs and the trill of American toads dominate April wetlands, the deep grumble of the bullfrog and the broken-banjo-string tune of the green frog serenade visitors to the marsh in May.
Though a Midwestern May is traditionally associated with colorful flowers, verdant foliage and severe thunderstorms (it is the peak month for tornadoes in the American Midwest), I often think of the above sounds when the month is mentioned. Of course, in some years (as will occur in the Northeast this May), a brood of periodic cicadas commandeers the month , their shrill, deafening calls ringing through our parks and neighborhoods and their carcasses collecting on our roads, decks, cars and lawns; in those years, other sounds of the season are lost in the din of their frenzied orgy.
Friday, May 10, 2013
Spring Envelops Eagle Bluffs
Despite its slow and erratic progression, spring has finally taken control at Eagle Bluffs Conservation Area, southwest of Columbia. Though the weather remained cool and cloudy this morning, the Missouri River floodplain is now adorned with the rich greenery of May and most summer residents have returned to nest in its woods and wetlands.
Shorebirds, on their way to breeding grounds across the Northern Plains and Arctic tundra, were especially abundant, represented by yellowlegs, stilt sandpipers, short-billed dowitchers, western sandpipers and Wilson's phalaropes, among other species. Encouraged to leave their secluded haunts by the gray overcast, a group of soras foraged along a marsh-lined stream. Out on the open pools, blue-winged teal, American coot and pied-billed grebes were found while Canada geese nested along the grassy shores and great-blue herons stalked the shallows. Of special interest was a small flock of white-faced ibis, the first that I have ever encountered at Eagle Bluffs.
Checking the riparian woodlands along the Missouri River, I found indigo buntings, yellow and prothonotary warblers, common yellowthroats, American redstarts, northern orioles, house wrens and gray catbirds, joining mixed flocks of permanent residents. Red-tailed hawks soared above the refuge, a variety of swallows strafed the open waters and turkey vultures lounged on the roadways, playing chicken as my pickup approached. A few box turtles also took their chances on the graveled roads, attracted by their warmth on this cool spring morning.
Shorebirds, on their way to breeding grounds across the Northern Plains and Arctic tundra, were especially abundant, represented by yellowlegs, stilt sandpipers, short-billed dowitchers, western sandpipers and Wilson's phalaropes, among other species. Encouraged to leave their secluded haunts by the gray overcast, a group of soras foraged along a marsh-lined stream. Out on the open pools, blue-winged teal, American coot and pied-billed grebes were found while Canada geese nested along the grassy shores and great-blue herons stalked the shallows. Of special interest was a small flock of white-faced ibis, the first that I have ever encountered at Eagle Bluffs.
Checking the riparian woodlands along the Missouri River, I found indigo buntings, yellow and prothonotary warblers, common yellowthroats, American redstarts, northern orioles, house wrens and gray catbirds, joining mixed flocks of permanent residents. Red-tailed hawks soared above the refuge, a variety of swallows strafed the open waters and turkey vultures lounged on the roadways, playing chicken as my pickup approached. A few box turtles also took their chances on the graveled roads, attracted by their warmth on this cool spring morning.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
The Blood of Life
Yesterday, my drive from Columbia to Cincinnati crossed soggy terrain. Rivers and streams were out of their banks, crop fields were muddy (if not swamped) and sloughs along the highway were filled to the brim. Overhead, thick gray clouds, pregnant with moisture, dropped curtains of rain across the verdant landscape. While the flooding is a bit late this year, spring is the season of rebirth and water is the blood of all life on Earth.
Indeed, life evolved in Earth's primordial seas some 3.6 billion years ago, nourished by the effluent of surface streams and deep hydrothermal vents. Those initial cells and the cells of all bacteria, fungi, plants and animals throughout our plant's history have been dependent on the availability of water, a medium vital to the biochemical processes that sustain life.
Though water covers more than 70% of our planet's surface, only 3% of the water on Earth is freshwater; of that small amount, almost two-thirds is trapped within polar and mountain ice sheets and permanent snow fields (the great majority of which is on Antarctica). About half of liquid freshwater is in the form of groundwater while the combined freshwater in lakes and rivers accounts for only 0.5% of the water on Earth. While spring floods may be inconvenient and, in some cases, destructive, the above facts demonstrate how vital they are to the health of natural ecosystems and, by extension, to the welfare of human society. We cannot afford to waste or pollute what little freshwater is available.
Indeed, life evolved in Earth's primordial seas some 3.6 billion years ago, nourished by the effluent of surface streams and deep hydrothermal vents. Those initial cells and the cells of all bacteria, fungi, plants and animals throughout our plant's history have been dependent on the availability of water, a medium vital to the biochemical processes that sustain life.
Though water covers more than 70% of our planet's surface, only 3% of the water on Earth is freshwater; of that small amount, almost two-thirds is trapped within polar and mountain ice sheets and permanent snow fields (the great majority of which is on Antarctica). About half of liquid freshwater is in the form of groundwater while the combined freshwater in lakes and rivers accounts for only 0.5% of the water on Earth. While spring floods may be inconvenient and, in some cases, destructive, the above facts demonstrate how vital they are to the health of natural ecosystems and, by extension, to the welfare of human society. We cannot afford to waste or pollute what little freshwater is available.
Monday, May 6, 2013
Sierra Grande
The Clayton-Raton Volcanic Field stretches across northeastern New Mexico, extending into southern Colorado and extreme western Oklahoma. Produced by hotspot volcanism that began about 9 million years ago and ended just 40,000 years ago, the axis of the field is oriented NW-SE, extending from the vicinity of Trinidad, Colorado, to Clayton, New Mexico.
Among the many volcanic features that are scattered across the field, the largest is Sierra Grande, a massive shield volcano that rises to an elevation of 8720 feet, nearly 2000 feet above the surrounding High Plains. Shield volcanoes are produced by repeated flows of low-viscosity lava, often yielding a broad, symmetrical cone; Sierra Grande is thought to have formed less than 3 million years ago. Visible throughout northeastern New Mexico, this isolated mountain looms just SSW of Des Moines, where US 64/87 jogs past its northern and eastern flanks.
Though its summit is 4000 feet lower than the crest of the Sangre de Cristo Range, to its west, Sierra Grande's isolation, prominence and massive bulk endow this extinct volcano with a grandeur that range-bound peaks cannot match. I certainly recall my first glimpse of its majestic cone following a long journey across the Great Plains, an awe-inspiring preview of the mountain landscapes that lay ahead.
Among the many volcanic features that are scattered across the field, the largest is Sierra Grande, a massive shield volcano that rises to an elevation of 8720 feet, nearly 2000 feet above the surrounding High Plains. Shield volcanoes are produced by repeated flows of low-viscosity lava, often yielding a broad, symmetrical cone; Sierra Grande is thought to have formed less than 3 million years ago. Visible throughout northeastern New Mexico, this isolated mountain looms just SSW of Des Moines, where US 64/87 jogs past its northern and eastern flanks.
Though its summit is 4000 feet lower than the crest of the Sangre de Cristo Range, to its west, Sierra Grande's isolation, prominence and massive bulk endow this extinct volcano with a grandeur that range-bound peaks cannot match. I certainly recall my first glimpse of its majestic cone following a long journey across the Great Plains, an awe-inspiring preview of the mountain landscapes that lay ahead.
Sunday, May 5, 2013
River Walk
Despite the cool, gray weather, birdlife was pleasingly varied along the Missouri River yesterday afternoon. Hiking along the Katy Trail, west of Columbia, we found the cliffside forest and floodplain woodlands alive with the sight and sound of avian residents and visitors, some newly arrived from the south.
Lending color to the overcast afternoon were northern cardinals, blue jays, bright male goldfinches, indigo buntings, rufous-sided towhees, yellow and yellow-rumped warblers, blue-gray gnatcatchers and northern orioles. Less colorful but equally conspicuous were eastern wood pewees, tufted titmice, black-capped chickadees, mourning doves, house wrens, American robins and a lone wood thrush. The calls of red-bellied and downy woodpeckers, northern flickers, American crows and white-breasted nuthatches echoed through the woodlands, a great blue heron hunted in a shallow pool, squadrons of cliff swallows strafed the river and a flock of turkey vultures soared above the limestone bluffs.
Had it not been a spontaneous, mid-day stroll, devoid of binoculars, many more species could have been found along that scenic stretch of the Missouri. After all, this is the peak of the spring warbler migration, an exciting and productive time for avid birdwatchers.
Lending color to the overcast afternoon were northern cardinals, blue jays, bright male goldfinches, indigo buntings, rufous-sided towhees, yellow and yellow-rumped warblers, blue-gray gnatcatchers and northern orioles. Less colorful but equally conspicuous were eastern wood pewees, tufted titmice, black-capped chickadees, mourning doves, house wrens, American robins and a lone wood thrush. The calls of red-bellied and downy woodpeckers, northern flickers, American crows and white-breasted nuthatches echoed through the woodlands, a great blue heron hunted in a shallow pool, squadrons of cliff swallows strafed the river and a flock of turkey vultures soared above the limestone bluffs.
Had it not been a spontaneous, mid-day stroll, devoid of binoculars, many more species could have been found along that scenic stretch of the Missouri. After all, this is the peak of the spring warbler migration, an exciting and productive time for avid birdwatchers.
Saturday, May 4, 2013
March in May
Thanks to a deep atmospheric trough that has nosed its way from Canada to the Gulf Coast, we have experienced raw, March-like weather in Missouri over the past two days. Low clouds, drizzle, intermittent cold rain and temperatures in the 30s and 40s F have set back the seasonal clock, temporarily denying us the annual rewards of early May.
Snow has fallen across western Missouri and northwest Arkansas and, this morning, heavy rains are pushing northward along the eastern edge of the trough. Trapped within its chilly realm, those of us in central Missouri will endure another day of cool, cloudy weather with scattered showers; meanwhile, residents of northern Michigan, Upstate New York and Maine will enjoy a sunny May weekend, with highs in the seventies.
Such disparate conditions across our country, reversing the usual effect of latitude, illustrate the potent role of the jet stream as it undulates through the season. Within its dips, cold, Canadian air pours southward while, within its northerly curves, warm air streams up from the south. By June, the jet begins to settle down, leveling out across Canada and setting the stage for the relentless heat of an American summer; it is then that we long for another cool trough to invade the Heartland.
Snow has fallen across western Missouri and northwest Arkansas and, this morning, heavy rains are pushing northward along the eastern edge of the trough. Trapped within its chilly realm, those of us in central Missouri will endure another day of cool, cloudy weather with scattered showers; meanwhile, residents of northern Michigan, Upstate New York and Maine will enjoy a sunny May weekend, with highs in the seventies.
Such disparate conditions across our country, reversing the usual effect of latitude, illustrate the potent role of the jet stream as it undulates through the season. Within its dips, cold, Canadian air pours southward while, within its northerly curves, warm air streams up from the south. By June, the jet begins to settle down, leveling out across Canada and setting the stage for the relentless heat of an American summer; it is then that we long for another cool trough to invade the Heartland.
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