Fueling the Compost Bin

After six months of surviving on dry vegetation and occasional scraps from our kitchen, the residents of our compost bin received a nutritious banquet this morning.  Granted one of the few warm, sunny days of this chilly spring, my wife and I spent a couple of hours trimming and weeding, donating the greenery to the bacteria, fungi and invertebrates that inhabit the dark confines of the bin.

Fortunately, for them, relatively hot, humid weather is expected later this week, finally producing the conditions in which they thrive.  Then again, the bin is no Garden of Eden; a host of predators, from centipedes to moles and shrews, patrol the mini ecosystem.

From our point of view, it was rewarding work.  The flower beds look better, we benefited from the exercise and we took advantage of a free recycling service, one that churns out rich compost for the garden.  

Detour to Southern Illinois

On our way back to Missouri, my wife and I decided to make a detour to a couple of interesting parks in Southern Illinois.  Leaving Interstate 24 in northwestern Kentucky, we crossed the Ohio River via the Cave in Rock ferry.  The small town of Cave in Rock, Illinois, is the home of Cave in Rock State Park, which sits above bluffs on the north shore of the river.  Named for a large, natural cave in the bluffs, the Park commands fabulous views of the Ohio River Valley.

Following lunch at the Park, we drove to the Garden of the Gods National Recreation Area in the hills of Shawnee National Forest.  There, a short loop trail leads visitors past spectacular formations of Pennsylvanian sandstone and mudstone; deposited in a sea some 320 million years ago, these sediments were later uplifted and sculpted by streams.  From the pinnacles themselves, one enjoys a sweeping view of the forested hills of the Garden of the Gods Wilderness.

Our last minute detour, partly prompted by threatening weather, will surely be the highlight of our three day journey.  Now back in the chilly, damp weather of this year's Midwestern spring, we will return to Missouri tomorrow. 

Gators of the Alachua Sink

On the southeast edge of Gainesville, Florida, at the south end of 15th St. SE, the La Chua trail leads into the Alachua Sink within the Paynesville Prairie Basin (see the earlier post this month).  From the parking lot, a paved trail soon becomes a fine boardwalk, which zigzags above vegetated shallows of the Sink.

We arrived by mid morning, hoping to observe a few alligators during our brief visit; as it turned out, we saw at least twenty, basking on the banks or gliding across the open pools.  Attentive to those fickle reptiles, a host of herons and egrets lined the shores, attempting to snare fish without becoming victims themselves.  To our delight, a pair of limpkins also graced the scene.

In the interest of time and due to the building heat, we did not continue along the trail which becomes an earthen path that leads out to drier areas of the prairie.  Also intolerant of the rising temperature, the alligators slipped into the shallows as we retraced our route to the parking lot.

Dolphins at Dusk

Since we will head back north in the morning, my wife and I went out back this evening to catch the last rays of sunset and to see what might be happening on Sarasota Bay; it was low tide, ensuring that we would encounter a good variety of waders and sea birds.  While that assumption proved to be true, the highlight of this balmy dusk was a pod of bottle-nosed dolphins that circled past our condo.

As if to bid us farewell, these intelligent mammals were in no hurry to leave and provided a welcome show with their antics.  A mother and her calf, joined by three other dolphins, cavorted near the sea wall and splashed about in the shallows.  Hunting for fish did not seem to be a priority.

Once darkness envelops the Bay, our visitors will drift along near the surface or simply float in place.  The ability to sleep with half their brain at a time (uni-hemispheric sleeping) allows them to receive the benefits of sleep while staying alert and not drowning.  We sincerely appreciated their visit and wish them a restful night, one hemisphere at a time! 

Flower Moon over the Bay

As the sun was setting over the Gulf of Mexico this evening, the full moon was rising over Sarasota Bay.  Known as the Flower Moon (for obvious reasons), the full moon of May is also a Super Moon this year, reflecting its relative closeness to Earth which makes it appear larger and brighter; indeed, the moon is now closer to the Earth than any other full moon this year.

Some Native American tribes refer to the May full moon as the Planting Moon, a more functional designation and one that reflects their close attention to nature's cycles.  Of course, prior to the rise of human culture and religion, the lunar calendar was the primary means of marking the seasons and, one might argue, remains more relevant than those influenced by mysticism.

Whatever its official or unofficial name, the full moon was beautiful over the shimmering waters of Sarasota Bay.  Nature's many gifts do not require human titles, however creative they might be. 

Collective Awe & Fear

Each evening, residents and visitors along the western edge of the Florida Peninsula gather on balconies and beaches to watch our sun disappear behind the Gulf of Mexico.  No doubt, such vigils occur on west-facing shorelines across the globe.

Always beautiful, ocean sunsets are never quite the same, influenced as they are by atmospheric conditions, the weather, the season and the state of the sea itself.  Nevertheless, this natural spectacle is also tinged with an element of fear, acquired from the collective experience of our distant ancestors who had no knowledge of astronomy and had many reasons to fear the darkness.

While we no longer light bonfires or make sacrifices to bring back our life-giving sun, its daily disappearance does unveil the disturbing truth that our civilization is relatively insignificant.  Countless suns shine from the night sky, challenging the delusions that fuel our personal comfort and self-importance. 

Manatees in the Channel

When we purchased our condo on Longboat Key, Florida, almost eighteen years ago, we were told that manatees are frequent visitors in the boat channel and in the shallows of Sarasota Bay.  While it took some time to encounter those interesting sea mammals, we have surely seen dozens over the years.  After our long absence due to the pandemic, it was a pleasure to observe a mother and her calf in the channel this morning (photo).

Manatees are common, permanent residents of South Florida but their numbers in the coastal bays tends to increase during the colder months, when they seek out the warmer, shallow waters.  Feasting on sea grass, these "sea cows," more closely related to elephants, loll about in the shallows, their leathery backs breaking the surface; at other times, they hang in the water like moored blimps, intermittently raising their snouts to breathe.

Long threatened by boat traffic and water pollution, the manatee population might also be affected by rising sea temperatures.  In either case, they, like all species of wildlife, are at the mercy of humans, which seem to be intent on destroying the planet. 

On the Dry Side

A dome of high pressure currently sits over the eastern U.S.  As occurs throughout the Northern Hemisphere, winds move clockwise along the outer edge of the dome, producing weather effects in concert with the underlying topography and geography.

Indeed, the flooding rains that have plagued Louisiana and East Texas this week have been the result of those winds moving over the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico, sweeping in copious moisture that has interacted with a stationary front to produce torrential rain and thunderstorms.  On the east side of the dome, the winds are blowing southward along the Eastern Seaboard and, here in South Florida, they curve westward across the peninsula.

We are thus on the dry side of the dome, where the winds have been moving over land before heading offshore.  Should the high pressure drift southeastward, over the Atlantic, we could find ourselves in its fire hose of Gulf moisture.  For now, we'll enjoy the warm, breezy and sunny weather.

A Pleasant Reintroduction

Whenever we return to our condo on Longboat Key, Florida, it takes awhile to encounter our varied avian neighbors.  Like old friends, they appear over time and it is always a pleasure to become reacquainted.

Some, like brown pelicans, laughing gulls and ospreys are hard to miss, whether from our seawall on Sarasota Bay or from the Gulf of Mexico beach, across the road.  But, gradually, the others make their appearance as well; white ibis, anhingas, tricolored herons, yellow-crowned night herons and little blue herons on the Bay, royal, least and sandwich terns, black skimmers, American oystercatchers and a host of shorebirds on the beach and magnificent frigate birds and northern gannets out at sea.

Of course, there are a few species that are uncommon enough to garner special attention; roseate spoonbills, glossy ibis, wood storks and reddish egrets fall into that category.  Eventually, they all turn up and I sincerely appreciate their hospitality; after all, this is their home and I enjoy the opportunity to seek their company. 

Oystercatcher Congregation

Last evening, while walking along Whitney Beach on the northwest edge of Longboat Key, I came across a flock of American oystercatchers.  Though I have seen them in pairs or small groups in the past, I had never encountered a sizable flock; yesterday's congregation numbered sixteen.  Indeed, when I filed my report with eBird, I was informed that such a number was "unusually high for the date and location."

Unmistakable, American oystercatchers are large shorebirds with distinctive black, brown and white plumage, an orange eye ring and a long, thick, bright orange bill.  They feed along the shoreline and within the shallows, feasting on a wide variety of bivalves, crabs and marine invertebrates.  Nests are but a scrape in the beach sand, usually placed amidst sea grass.

American oystercatchers are found along the Atlantic and Gulf Coasts, from New England to Texas; those that summer in more northern areas move south in winter.  A subspecies is also found in California (distinct from the black oystercatcher that inhabits the Pacific Coast).

Black-bellied Plovers

Black-bellied plovers are medium-sized shorebirds that breed in the High Arctic and winter on warm coasts of all Continents except Antarctica.  While their breeding plumage is striking (see photo), their winter plumage is a drab mix of gray and white.

Usually observed alone or in small groups, black-bellied plovers often mingle on beaches with larger flocks of shorebirds, including sanderlings, willets and red knots.  While their cohorts tend to be skittish, these plovers are rather tolerant of human beach-combers, tending to walk away when approached.  When left alone, they scour the sand for insects, small mollusks and various marine invertebrates.

Black-bellied plovers are usually observed in breeding plumage just before and during their migration to the Arctic.  On occasion, however, non-breeding and immature birds sport their handsome coat on southern beaches during the late spring and summer months, as we observed on Longboat Key yesterday.

Stopping by Paynes Prairie

Paynes Prairie State Nature Preserve covers a massive sinkhole basin just south of Gainesville, Florida.  While we have crossed the refuge many times on Interstate 75, we have never visited, until yesterday.  After taking Exit 374 at Micanopy, we followed signs to the south entrance, paid an entry fee and drove back to the Visitor Center which commands a spectacular view of the basin.

From the Center, a short trail leads out to an overlook tower.  Once atop the structure, we observed great and cattle egrets feeding in the basin, joined by a small flock of sandhill cranes and a lone whooping crane that has settled in at the preserve.  We saw a couple of the wild horses that roam the prairie but could not locate the resident bison herd.  Pressed for time, we did not explore the trail network that leads through woodlands atop the basin and along the edge of its floor.

Shallow lakes across the basin represent sinks where the underlying aquifer surfaces within the scrub prairie.  American alligators are abundant in these wetlands and we were told they are especially conspicuous along the rail bed trail on the north edge of the refuge (on the south side of Gainesville).  We plan to check for ourselves when we head back north. 

To the Gulf Coast

South of Tupelo, Mississippi, the terrain begins to flatten out and the deciduous forest gives way to the Pine Belt of the Southeastern States.  Openings in the veneer of trees along the highway revealed pockets of clear cutting, which explained the logging trucks that rumbled along the road.  Hemmed in by the pines, we saw little wildlife other than black vultures and the occasional egret.

Indeed, vistas were limited all the way to Mobile, Alabama, where we skirted that port city, crossed Mobile Bay and headed for a late lunch in Pensacola, Florida.  There we enjoyed a meal along Pensacola Bay, bathed in sunshine but chilled by a cool breeze; even along the Northern Gulf Coast it has been a relatively cold and wet spring.  Brown pelicans, unfazed by the chill, dove for their afternoon meal and ruddy turnstones foraged along the seawall.

We have decided to spend the night in Pensacola and will finish our journey to Longboat Key tomorrow.  When you're old and retired, there is no need to rush! 

A Shift to the West

Heading down to our Longboat Key condo for the first time since the pandemic developed, we opted for a more western route due to the gasoline shortage along the Eastern Seaboard.  From St. Louis, we drove southward on Interstate 55, undulating through the eastern edge of the Missouri Ozarks, a scenic landscape of forest, dolomite cliffs and attractive rural homesteads.

Just south of Cape Girardeau, the highway drops onto the broad floodplain of the Mississippi River, a northward extension of the Coastal Plain.  This flat terrain is now covered by crop fields, partially flooded and just beginning to green on this sunny, May afternoon.  After enduring a horrendous traffic jam in Memphis (due to the closing of an Interstate bridge), we picked up Route 78 (also Interstate 22) southeast of the city and began a pleasant drive across the hill country of northern Mississippi, passing through the Holly Springs National Forest en route.

We will spend the night in Tupelo, Mississippi, birthplace of The King!  Tomorrow's route and destination remain undecided but that is the beauty of leisurely travel; covering new territory will be a priority.

A Showy Warbler in Drab Weather

Yesterday afternoon, when cool, cloudy weather enveloped central Missouri, I noticed a small bird flitting about one of our magnolia trees.  It's general color matched the drab weather but yellow patches on its wings, sides and tail caught my attention.

The showy visitor was a female American redstart, known for its hyperactive feeding style and for flashing its colorful markings to stun prey; males have a black head, chest and wings with orange patches.  Common summer residents throughout the eastern half of the U.S. and across southern Canada, these warblers favor riparian woodlands, isolated groves and forest edges, where they hunt for a wide variety of insects and spiders.  Come autumn, they head for the Tropics, including South Florida.

It was certainly a pleasure to encounter the redstart yesterday, especially amidst the dreary weather.  She was just the latest messenger that our chilly spring will soon yield to longer days and a higher sun. 

Mixed Signals at Eagle Bluffs

On this cloudy, cool, damp morning in central Missouri, a friend and I visited Eagle Bluffs Conservation Area on the Missouri River floodplain.  There it looked like May but felt more like March.

Forced to strafe the warmer water by the chilly air, clouds of swallows fed above the central channel and larger pools; cliff swallows were most abundant, joined by a sizable number of tree and barn swallows.  Black terns, heading for the Northern Plains, mixed in with the swallows while a fair variety of shorebirds foraged across the mudflats.  Canada geese, many with their goslings, seemed more abundant than usual and were joined by a lone, immature greater white-fronted goose.  The number of ducks and coot had dropped dramatically since our last visit as these birds continue to move on to their northern breeding grounds; only blue-winged teal were still present in significant numbers (though less than a tenth or their peak population back in early April).  Among the new summer residents were indigo buntings, eastern kingbirds, spotted sandpipers, common yellowthroats and a lone orchard oriole.

Indeed, there were mixed signals on the floodplain whether spring is gaining traction in the Heartland.  While the chilly weather suggested otherwise, the greenery has exploded, late spring migrants are passing through and summer residents are repopulating the refuge.  Before long, we'll be complaining about the oppressive summer heat!

Big Day, Small Area

This is Big Day, when birders across the globe are encouraged to submit counts to eBird.  Most avid birdwatchers head for their favorite hotspots, hoping to rank high on the species charts.  Due to the inclement weather, I elected to submit my list from our back deck in Columbia, Missouri.

Despite the chilly rain and cloudy skies, I observed 19 species over one hour.  Of these, a fair number were personal firsts for this season: chimney swifts, a pair of Baltimore orioles, a great crested flycatcher, a Nashville warbler and a common yellowthroat.  The latter bird, which favors wetland areas along streams and lakes, was the first I have ever seen on our property, which we have owned for 24 years.

Novice birders often assume that the variety of birds that visit their yards is rather small, having been acquainted with only a few species since childhood.  But persistence and patience soon negate that assumption and they learn that backyard birding can be a rewarding experience, especially during the spring and fall migrations.

Searching for the Arikaree Breaks

Heading back to Missouri today, my wife and I decided to make a detour to the Arikaree Breaks in extreme northwest Kansas.  These "breaks" are dendritic canyons, carved in Pleistocene loess and underlying strata of the Ogallah Formation (Miocene-Pliocene in age) by the Republican River and its tributaries.  This landscape occurs across a swath of the High Plains in the tristate region of Colorado, Nebraska and Kansas.

We drove north from Goodland to St. Francis, Kansas, where signs for the Arikaree Breaks directed us across the South Fork of the Republican River and back onto the High Plains where we soon entered a grid of dirt-gravel roads; unfortunately, no additional signage was provided and we spent a couple of hours driving across the semi-arid landscape, dipping at times through tributary canyons of the South Fork Valley.  All in all, it was a confusing and not-so-productive tour.

Nevertheless, we encountered new territory and enjoyed a mild, sunny afternoon.  Birding was also fairly good, including Swainson's hawks (back from their winter in Argentina), western meadowlarks, horned larks and western kingbirds (the first of the season for me).  Better signage (including roadside maps for visitors) would have made our detour far more interesting. 

The Common Summer Warbler

Common summer residents across Alaska, Canada and most of the Lower 48 (except the Southeastern States), yellow warblers generally arrive from wintering grounds in Central and South America by late April or early May (depending on latitude).  This morning, a friend and I encountered four of these colorful songbirds (all male) at South Platte Park, in southwest Metro Denver.

Active and vocal, yellow warblers flit among the branches of trees and shrubs, gleaning insects from the foliage or flycatching others in the air.  They favor riparian woodlands along streams, wetlands and lakeshores where their nest is placed in a shrub or small tree.

By August, those that nest in northern latitudes are heading south, traveling by night and staying ahead of any early autumn cold fronts that might kill off their prey.  After all, their primary home lies in the Tropics and North America is but their nursery.

The Vaccine Divide

Despite the widespread availability of Covid vaccines in the United States, a significant percentage of Americans have declined to take advantage of these life-protecting agents.  One hears a wide variety of reasons for this vaccine hesitancy but, in my opinion, it boils down to a distrust of science.

Such distrust is generally associated with three factors that often overlap: a limited science education, a tendency toward mysticism and a receptivity to disinformation (political or otherwise).  No doubt, many young adults feel immune to the more severe consequences of Covid but a distrust of public health officials has certainly been playing a role.

From early in the course of the pandemic, public health recommendations have been inconsistent and often confusing; when guidelines have been changed (due to new scientific information), the reasons were not well explained and seemingly arbitrary.  Even today, the CDC seems to be reluctant to clarify the many advantages that come with vaccination.  The science of vaccine development has not failed Americans but the poor dissemination of reliable scientific information (especially during the Trump Administration) has created the vaccine divide that now impairs effective control of the pandemic.   

Two New Summer Residents

As intermittent rain and warmer temperatures have fueled the rapid advance of a tardy spring, two of our summer avian residents have appeared on our Littleton, Colorado, farm over the last few days.

First to arrive were a couple of house wrens, delivering their buzzy calls from the shrub rows that line our property. Having spent the winter along the Gulf Coast, in Mexico or in the Desert Southwest, these small, active songbirds usually appear by mid April but have clearly been delayed by the cold, snowy weather this spring.  The two that now occupy the farm are likely males, which migrate a bit earlier than their potential mates in order to search for suitable nest sites.

The second of our new summer residents is a broad-tailed hummingbird that just arrived today, zooming overhead and making vertical loops that will soon highlight his mating displays; as with the house wrens, males return from their winter range (in Central America) before the females.  Following the prolonged chill of March and April, I am pleased to welcome these fair weather birds back on the farm.