Echo Bluff State Park

Always looking for a new natural area to visit, my wife and I drove down to Echo Bluff State Park yesterday.  Located in southern Missouri, the Park stretches through the Sinking Creek Valley, a tributary of the Current River; the latter, renowned for its crystal-clear, spring-fed water and challenging rapids, is, itself, a secondary tributary of the White River, which enters the Mississippi in southeast Arkansas.

The Park, named for dolomite cliffs along Sinking Creek (see photo) is a popular destination for RV camping, float trips on the Current and for its rustic lodge.  Trail loops lead through the forest above the Creek and offer views across the valley (especially in winter, we imagined).

While Echo Bluff State Park harbors scenic terrain, our trek across the varied landscape of the Ozark Plateau proved to be the highlight of our road trip.  In my experience, the journey often outshines the destination.  

Reclaimed by Water

Ancient humans surely knew to escape floodplains and coastlines when severe weather threatened.  Modern humans, confident of our ability to control nature, are not as wise.

Indeed, we continue to build in flood-prone areas as we decimate natural habitat across the globe.  Of course, we often suffer the consequences as we saw with Hurricane Ian in Southwest Florida, the ongoing California floods and along the Mississippi River this spring.  Some enlightened cities have established broad greenbelts along their streams but the urge to live near water is too strong for many humans.

Water may offer the best protection for many natural ecosystems as climate change increases the intensity of storms.  Recurrent flooding may force humans to abandon the risk zones, thereby returning bottomlands, barrier islands and coastal wetlands to native flora and fauna.

A Sluggish Spring

Thanks to a cold winter and a cool spring, the foliage remains behind schedule in the American Heartland.  In concert, some of our summer birds have been slow to return.

Just yesterday, I encountered the first ruby-throated hummingbird and great crested flycatcher of the season.  Of even more significance, I have yet to see a chimney swift; flocks of those aerial insectivores are usually strafing the evening sky by mid April.

Our warming climate appears to be responsible for the sluggish spring.  Though one might expect the season to unfold even earlier, the energized jet stream, always unsettled in spring, has produced broad atmospheric troughs across the country, allowing cool, Canadian air to reach more southern latitudes.  Triggering severe storms throughout the spring, these chilly incursions have also slowed the seasonal transition that we have come to expect. 

More Devastation at Phillips Lake

When I arrived at Perry Phillips Lake, in southeast Columbia, yesterday morning, I was heartened by a group of high school students who were picking up trash along the shoreline.  Then I saw the new devastation.

Once a scenic farm lake, surrounded by meadows and woodlands, Perry Phillips Lake has become a suburban park, hemmed in by apartment complexes, retail shops and commercial buildings.  Now, below the dam, a large swath of forest has been cleared for more "development."

The loss of open space has increased dramatically in Columbia over the past few years, primarily for residential construction.  While growth and development may fuel the economy, they are threatening the health of natural ecosystems.  Any deforestation is tragic, whether it occurs in the Tropics or in Columbia, Missouri.

See also: A Warning at Phillips Lake

A House Wren Moves In

Yesterday afternoon, I heard the buzzy call and liquid song of a house wren, the first I have encountered this spring.  Though named for its use of man-made structures as nest sites, this tiny songbird may be found in a wide variety of habitats throughout the U.S. and Southern Canada; most winter in the southern States or in Mexico.  House wrens are permanent residents throughout South America.

Males arrive first in spring and begin to establish several nests; as in human society, the female will select which site to use.  Insects and other small invertebrates are their primary food source, gleaned from bark or vegetation as they busily move about their territory; brush piles are favored hunting grounds and may be used for nesting as well.

Just the latest sign that winter has lost its grip on the Midwest, our new tenant (and his prospective bride) are more than welcome to stay for the summer.  Their energy is infectious, a fair reimbursement when heat and humidity immobilize their landlords.    

An Exercise on Death

Early in my first year of medical school, our class was split into small groups to discuss when and how we each might die.  Seemingly a morbid exercise at the time, I imagined that I would die at age 65 of a heart attack; that reasoning stemmed from my close relationship with a grandfather who died of heart disease and my personal conviction, from an early age, that I did not want to live beyond my ability to care for myself.  Of course, at age twenty-two, sixty-five seemed to be plenty old.

Throughout my medical career, I came to appreciate the rationale for that exercise.  Since we often face the death of patients and the grief of their relatives, it was important to be comfortable with discussing the realities of life and death.  Of course, the lesson also clarified that death is both unpredictable and inevitable.

Now, eight years beyond my projected demise, I appreciate the fact that forecasting the future is a fool's errand.  On the other hand, my resistance to living beyond my independence remains intact. 

Mixed Emotions at Eagle Bluffs

On this beautiful spring morning in Central Missouri, I visited Eagle Bluffs Conservation Area on the Missouri River floodplain.  Following my two hour visit, I came away with mixed emotions.

As always, it was good to see an interesting mix of birds, dominated by blue-winged teal, tree swallows and lesser yellowlegs.  An influx of summer residents was led by great egrets and I was fortunate to encounter a flock of white-faced ibis and an immature little blue heron (the first I have ever seen at this refuge).

On the other hand, most of the floodplain continues to dry out and groves of trees have been removed;  it appears that more space for crop fields is fueling the change.  Humans can't seem to let nature take care of herself, even in Conservation Areas as spectacular as Eagle Bluffs. 

One Day for the Planet

We humans have established the tradition of naming entire months for various causes or groups: Jazz Appreciation Month, Breast Cancer Awareness Month, Financial Literacy Month, among many others, all deserving recognition and attention.  But one wonders why our Planet gets just one day per year.

Today is Earth Day, established back in 1970.  Humans across the globe stop to acknowledge how much damage we have inflicted on our Planet and, for at least one day, vow to make amends.  We attend fairs, plant trees, try plant-based food and, perhaps, send our annual donation to a conservation organization.  Of course, we plan to do the same next year.

Perhaps Earth Day should be redefined and personalized.  I suggest we devote one day of each week to the health of our Planet.  On that day we would minimize our energy use, not eat meat, use mass transit (if needed), spend time outdoors and review how we might decrease our personal consumption and increase our recycling efforts (among other Earth-friendly choices).  The health of our Planet deserves at least this much attention. 

Discarding the Past

There comes a point in our lives when we begin to downsize; in concert, we make an effort to get rid of clutter that has accumulated over the years.  Multiple trips to Goodwill ensue.  

For those of us who predate the digital age, the clutter includes countless photos, stored behind yellowing sheets of plastic  Determined to shred most of those photos before our adult children are forced to deal with them, my wife and I began the process of going through the albums, intent on discarding the vast majority of the photographs. 

During such a project, one can easily feel that they are deleting their family history and disrespecting the significance of life's events.  What should be a mundane task is complicated by all those faces, smiling back from our past.  Needless to say, we kept more photos than we had anticipated; the urge to hold onto our past is a powerful human trait.   

Money Trumps Truth

So Dominion has settled with Fox News.  A substantial financial reward for the defamed company but an obstruction of truth for all Americans.  Per the agreement, Fox News need not apologize to Dominion on air.  In other words. all of the lies and hypocrisy uncovered by Dominion's investigation will not be acknowledged in court or on TV by the network's pompous celebrities.

The avid viewers of Fox News will not be informed that they received misinformation regarding the 2020 election.  The accusations of Trump and Fox News will go unchallenged and the threat to our Democracy will persist.

Dominion took the money and denied Americans a healing dose of truth.  Justice has not been served.  

Back from South America

I was planting a couple drought-resistant trees on our Littleton farm this morning when a barn swallow swooped across the property.  It was the first I have seen this spring.

Having wintered in South America, these long distance migrants breed throughout most of North America, preferring open country with nearby barns or other man-made structures.  Nests are placed on a flat surface, usually beneath the eaves of a roof.  Though they used to nest on our farm, they have not done so in recent years, likely reflecting the loss of open space in our general neighborhood.

Nevertheless, they are still common visitors here throughout the warmer months and we sincerely appreciate their insect control services.  It is a pleasure to have them back in the Northern Hemisphere. 

Palo Duro Canyon

The High Plains of North America are coated primarily by erosional debris from the Rocky Mountains and by windblown deposits from western volcanoes. The entire province was tilted upward during the late Tertiary Period (the Miocene-Pliocene uplift) and mountain erosion increased during the Pleistocene, when glaciers and meltwater streams enhanced the process.

The eastern edge of the High Plains blends with the lower, Central Plains across much of the Continent but, in northwest Texas, the edge stands out as a prominent escarpment, incised by a series of canyons. The largest of these is Palo Duro Canyon, southeast of Amarillo. Averaging six miles in width and 800 feet in depth, it has been called the Grand Canyon of Texas and is surely one of the more scenic locations in the State. The Ogallala Formation (late Tertiary sandstone and conglomerate) forms the Caprock of the Canyon, which has a surface elevation near 3600 feet; Triassic rocks comprise upper layers of the Canyon, overlying Permian strata, which harbor seams of white gypsum. These Permian rocks represent the upper layer of the Permian Basin, which extends southwestward, where it is covered by younger Mesozoic and Tertiary sediments.

Protected as a Texas State Park since 1934, Palo Duro Canyon was eroded over the last million years by the Prairie Dog Fork of the Red River. It's name, which means "hardwood" in Spanish, refers to the plentiful mesquite and juniper trees that cover the canyon slopes; cottonwoods and willows, less drought tolerant, cluster along the River on the canyon floor. A variety of shortgrass species, yucca, prickly pear cactus and western wildflowers also adorn the Park. Resident wildlife include deer, coyotes, wild turkey, scaled quail, roadrunners and western diamondback rattlesnakes; among the many raptors are golden eagles, prairie falcons and ferruginous hawks. The Park, 12 miles east of Canyon, Texas, is reached via State Route 217; an 8 mile road and numerous trails provide access to this scenic refuge.

Note:  This post was initially published back in 2007 but the name of the Canyon was misspelled.  Corrections were made and it is now republished.

The Rebirth of Tulare Lake

As European settlers spread across North America, prairies, wetlands and bottomland forest were cleared to provide space for agricultural fields.  One such victim was Tulare Lake and its adjacent wetlands in the southern portion of California's Central Valley.

Canals, levees and dams were used to drain the lake and marshes for the planting of various crops.  In addition, groundwater was pumped in to irrigate those crops, causing the lake bed to sink even lower.  This process "worked" for most of the past 125 years; then, global warming ushered in the torrential rain and heavy mountain snows of this past winter.

Tulare Lake has been reborn and will expand further as the spring snowmelt peaks in the Sierra Nevada.  We can tame Mother Nature for periods of time but she always has the final say (assisted in this case by our use of fossil fuels). 

Guns & Rights

Gun rights advocates, primarily Conservative Republicans, lean on the Second Amendment to justify their views.  Their broad interpretation of that Amendment, fueled by their fear of Government overreach, convinces them that any gun control law threatens their liberty.  Their solution to gun violence is to arm everyone.

Those of us concerned with the rights of every citizen reject that stance.  Gun registration, universal background checks and a ban on semi-automatic assault weapons make sense.  Americans have the right to attend school, work and public events without fear of being killed.  A sensible approach to gun ownership seems both appropriate and imperative.

Yet, despite weekly mass shootings in this country, the standoff persists.  Like other divisive issues facing our society, the solution will occur at the ballot box.  Candidates must clearly define their position on gun control and voters will decide what rights are most important for themselves and their children.

Marjorie Perry Nature Preserve

The Marjorie Perry Nature Preserve was donated to Greenwood Village, in south Metro Denver, in 1990.  A long swath of lakes, marshes, meadows and woodlands, it is tucked within a southeastward loop of the Highline Canal.

This morning, my wife and I enjoyed a walk through the refuge, which commands a pleasing view of Mt. Evans and adjacent Front Range peaks.  We encountered a pair of beavers, a mix of waterfowl and a variety of common songbirds.

A collection of mansions line the outer edge of the canal loop, emphasizing the importance of the natural habitat through which we hiked.  As open space continues to succumb to commercial and residential development, such preserves, however small, become increasingly vital.   

A Mouse Drops In

This morning, while I was working on our Littleton farm, a mouse dropped from the sky as I crossed the driveway.  It was not wearing a cape and was clearly dead.

The culprit was a common raven, having lost its grip on the rodent.  Settling in a nearby elm, the raven patiently watched as I inspected its victim and then walked away.  Once I was safely distant, he swooped down to retrieve his breakfast and moved on to a grove of trees to enjoy the meal.

Over my 65+ years of exploring nature, I have probably seen thousands of mice and hundreds of ravens.  Yet, this morning's incident was new for me.  One never knows what they might encounter in the great outdoors! 

Front Range Heat Wave

Arriving at our Littleton, Colorado, farm last week, we found that the vegetation was well behind schedule.  Thanks to an exceptionally cold winter and early spring, nothing was in bloom but the blue scilla, always the first bulb plant to make an appearance.

But once the snow melted, warm weather took hold and we are now in the midst of a heat wave, producing afternoon temperatures in the mid 80s F.  Indeed, that heat wave, courtesy of a massive dome of high pressure, encompasses the middle half of the country and will soon drift toward the East Coast.  Some towns on the Great Plains, recently raked by blizzards, will be in the 90s F.

The heat will surely put spring on a fast track here along the Front Range and we may catch up to a normal April landscape by the end of the week.  In concert, a cold front will drop across the Divide and overnight snow might dust the flowers next weekend.  Such is spring in Colorado.

Informed & Stressed

When I was young (ages ago), three television channels each offered an evening news program.  One of those shows and our local newspaper were the sole source of our daily news.  If tragedy occurred somewhere in Asia, we might not hear about it for several days.

Today, cable TV and the internet offer instant reporting from around our country and across the globe.  This 24/7 deluge of news keeps us better informed and, as a consequence, more stressed.  We have no personal control over any of the events but, as members of human society, may feel partially responsible.  Unless we are devoid of empathy, we want to participate in solving the uncountable problems facing our planet and our civilization.

In the interest of our emotional and mental health, it is best to limit our exposure to this relentless river of news and to acknowledge our personal limitations.  Voting, volunteer work and donations are important tools and behavioral commitments (less energy use, decreased consumption, etc.) are the means of doing our part.  Finally, more time in nature's realm helps to reduce stress and to put the world's problems in perspective.

Flashback Post XXXIX

As the Supreme Court, Conservative Federal Judges and the Religious Right continue to threaten and restrict abortion rights, I have decided to republish a post from May of 2008.

See: Motherhood and Abortion 

High Country Travelers

On our walk at a local park this morning, my wife and I encountered four mountain bluebirds, foraging along a fence line.  They have returned from the Desert Southwest, where they winter, and are on their way to the High Country.

Throughout the warmer months, they will occupy wooded meadows, from the ponderosa parklands of the foothills to the alpine timberline.  Nests are placed in tree cavities, rock crevices or man-made structures and these attractive songbirds will feast on a wide variety of insects and berries.

Among the more highly sought species by birders from the Eastern U.S., mountain bluebirds are both common and cooperative, seemingly undisturbed by human activity.  Nevertheless, they remain beautiful symbols of Western mountain wilderness.

Encroachment in Littleton

On its journey through Metro Denver, the South Platte River has long been granted a greenbelt.  In some areas, it is little more than a hike/bike path and a line of trees between lanes of traffic; but, in Littleton, South Platte Park protects a wide swath of ponds, lakes, grasslands and woodlands, offering refuge for native wildlife and a peaceful retreat for human residents.

Nevertheless, "development" has continued to hem in the refuge and a new, large, residential neighborhood will soon encroach on the Park's eastern border.  Destroying meadows and crop fields, the project will surely displace a diverse group of wild creatures.  Indeed, except for a few large State Parks, open space is rapidly disappearing throughout the Metro Area.

Even if we were not facing climate change and water scarcity, this loss would be deplorable.  Biologic diversity is critical to the welfare of our planet and vital to the physical and mental health of humans.  Yet, in the name of economic growth, we continue to decimate natural habitat.

Mesa de Maya

Just when I thought I had seen every landscape in Colorado, I caught sight of Mesa de Maya, northeast of Branson in southeastern Colorado.  This massive tableland, rising above the surrounding grasslands is part of the Raton-Clayton Volcanic Shield; in fact, it is contiguous with Black Mesa, in the Oklahoma Panhandle, that I discussed earlier this week.

Like all mesas in this Volcanic Shield, Mesa de Maya is an erosional remnant, protected by a thick cap of basalt.  Its elevation is 6900 feet in Colorado, declining to 4900 feet in Oklahoma.  Northern portions of the Mesa drain to the Purgatoire River (a tributary of the Arkansas River) while the southwest portion drains toward the Dry Cimarron River, in northeast New Mexico, and the southeast portion is drained by tributaries of North Carrizo Creek (itself a tributary of the Cimarron).

The thin soil atop Mesa de Maya supports a grassland ecosystem while its flanks are covered by a mixed woodland of juniper and piñon pine.  Unfortunately, almost all of the Mesa is privately owned ranchland, not accessible to the public.  Nevertheless, we can certainly appreciate its grandeur from afar. 

Diversity & Obesity

Over the past few decades, advertisers have acknowledged the diversity of human society by including persons of color, mixed-race couples, gay couples and disabled individuals in TV commercials.  This move is certainly appropriate and long overdue.

Now, however, they seem intent on celebrating obesity.  While this decision is likely an effort to reflect an accurate image of American society (and to appeal to all who watch their commercials), I am concerned that it sends the wrong message to vulnerable individuals, especially children.

Obesity is not normal.  Furthermore, it is associated with many health risks, from diabetes and heart disease to degenerative joint disease.  Indeed, obese individuals are often included in advertisements for diabetic medications, suggesting that the drug will negate any need for a lifestyle change.  Celebrating obesity in adults ensures that this scourge will continue to plague American society.

See also: The Cycle of Obesity

Black Mesa and Beyond

Early this morning, we left Guymon and traveled to the northwest corner of Oklahoma's Panhandle.  Our first stop was at Black Mesa State Park, where we enjoyed a hike along the rim of a scenic canyon.  Bird sightings included sharp-tailed grouse and green-tailed towhees, among more common species; mule deer and pronghorn were also observed.

About ten miles northwest of the State Park is Black Mesa itself, named for its cap of basalt; indeed, this massive tableland represents the eastern end of the Raton-Clayton Volcanic Field.  Rising to 4974 feet, Black Mesa is the highest summit in Oklahoma.  Though we did not have the time nor the energy to climb its wall, we did hike through protected lands just north of the Mesa.

The Upper Cimarron River flows past the southern base of Black Mesa and we followed it westward and upward toward its source in northeastern New Mexico; there it is known as the Dry Cimarron River to distinguish it from the State's other Cimarron River which heads in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains and is a tributary of the Canadian River.  Approaching the headwaters of the Dry Cimarron, bordered by towering mesas, we elected to divert northward into Colorado.  After crossing a low pass, we could see the snow-covered Culebra Range and Spanish Peaks to the west, assuring us that we were nearly home.

Through Northwest Oklahoma

About 25 miles west of Enid, we crossed the Cimarron River and entered the "Red Mesa Region" of western Oklahoma.  There, mesas of marine shale and selenite gypsum (sedimentary rocks from a Permian Sea), rise above the otherwise flat landscape.  We stopped at Gloss Mountain State Park to make a short but steep climb onto one of those scenic ridges; though we enjoyed the vistas, we endured a powerful southwest wind.

Having survived that experience, we headed northwestward to Alabaster Caverns State Park where we signed up for a cave tour.  Carved from the Permian gypsum during the cool, wet climate of the Pleistocene (and since), the cave is a year-round home for four species of bats and a summer nursery for female Mexican free-tailed bats.  Trails in the Park also take visitors through and atop Cedar Canyon, thought to be the remnant of a massive, collapsed gypsum cave.

Continuing westward through the Panhandle, we traveled across a rolling, sun-baked landscape, beneath a clear sky and into a steady, desiccating wind; the temperature was 84 degrees F.  Scattered junipers and yuccas offered the only natural greenery and every creek bed was dry; even the Cimarron and Beaver Rivers were nearly stagnant.  We opted to quench our thirst in Guymon, where we will spend the night.

See also:  The Permian Swath

West by Southwest

We left Columbia this morning and drove west, rocked by strong "backside winds" from yesterday's damaging storm system.  At Kansas City, we angled southwestward on Interstate 35 and, just beyond Emporia, Kansas, crossed the southern segment of the Flint Hills.  Covered by grasslands and some crop fields, these hills are sculpted from Permian sediments; due to the thin soil, trees are limited to the stream valleys.

Farther south, we passed El Dorado Lake and then dipped through the Arkansas River Valley near Wichita.  As we entered Oklahoma, wind turbines stretched across the southern horizon and mantis-like oil pumps dotted the rolling terrain.  Great-tailed grackles and Eurasian collared doves greeted our arrival in the Sooner State and casinos sought our attention at almost every intersection (perhaps I exaggerate).  Of note for geography buffs (like myself), we crossed the Salt Fork of the Arkansas River along the way.

About 30 miles south of the Kansas-Oklahoma line, we turned west toward Enid, where we will spend the night.  Tomorrow we begin exploring on foot; stay tuned!