The Joy of Mulching

Our tree service recently cut down some large, dead limbs on our Littleton farm and left a huge pile of chipped wood per our request.  It saved both of us a significant amount of money.

Having used bagged mulch when we owned smaller properties, I know that it can be a hassle and, even worse, yields a large number of plastic bags.  Able to shovel fresh mulch into a wheelbarrow is a luxury and we now have more than we'll likely use this year.

Of course, the recycling of home-grown wood and its use to retain soil moisture and release nutrients in this semi-arid climate is rewarding, not to mention the exercise that comes with the task.  In the end, we are simply speeding up nature's cycle of death and renewal. 

Nature under Assault

For the remainder of King Trump's term, he and those who support him will assault nature in a variety of ways.  The destruction of natural habitat, the reduction or elimination of pollution controls and an inclination to ridicule (if not totally ignore) efforts to mitigate climate change will be among the more egregious.

Those of us who know that the welfare of mankind is directly tied to the health of natural ecosystems must do what we can to combat this assault.  Donating to national and local conservation organizations is among the more effective commitments; a few of these are listed in the right hand column of this blog.  Of course, voting out Conservative Republicans and climate change deniers in next year's midterms will serve to reign in Trump's anti-environmental policies.

Meanwhile, we must do what we can to minimize our own impact on the natural world.  Allowing our own property to naturalize, eliminating our reliance on pesticides and herbicides, limiting our use of gas and electric power, recycling what we can and reducing our personal consumption are among such measures.  Complaining without acting is not an option.  

The Leaf Cowboys

We know them well.  We recognize their pickups.  They were in the neighborhood all spring and summer, ensuring that their customers' lawns grew no more than an inch before they were trimmed.

Now they are back, pulling vacuum-equipped trailers and armed with powerful leaf blowers.  The incessant noise of their activity will echo through the neighborhood for the next month or more as they corral every leaf that dares to fall on the green carpets.

For those who employ these leaf cowboys, owning a rake or building a compost bin is unnecessary.  And any natural fertilization that is lost through their work will be spread by these same crews next spring.  Just sit back and relax; you may want to have your headphones available when outside.

Feeding the Crustaceans

While we no longer own dogs or board horses, we are raising crustaceans.  These pill bugs reside in our compost bin, where hordes of their young mingle with the adults.

Our duty is limited to filling the bin with vegetable, fruit and yard waste.  This weekend, hosting family members for the Holiday, we produced a large amount of watermelon rind, a clear favorite of the pill bugs.  Drawn to the hot, humid confines of the bin, these crustaceans are, in turn, agents of compost production.

Unlike pets that require expensive nutrition, vet care and occasional boarding, wild creatures are a bargain.  This is especially true of invertebrates that engage in pollination or recycling; then again, they do not offer companionship or unconditional love. 

Cicada Armageddon

This spring, periodic cicada brood XIII, in the Midwest, and periodic cicada brood XIX, across the Southeast, will emerge together for the first time in 200 years.  Unlike annual cicadas, which are noisy but are otherwise shrugged off as a minor nuisance, periodic cicada broods can be deafening and pose some significant problems.

While they do not bite and are not poisonous, they can cause vegetation damage.  Domestic pets can develop intestinal obstruction if they consume too many of these tasty insects and humans can be injured if they slip on the decaying carcasses.  But the cicadas offer a windfall of nutrition for many birds and mammals and, in death, return nutrients to the soil and plants.

Brood XIII, 17-year cicadas, hatched in 2007, while brood XIX are 13-year cicadas that hatched in 2011.  The hatchlings drop from the trees in which their eggs were laid and burrow into the soil; finding a rootlet, they spend almost all of their life in the dark, drawing nutrition from that appendage.  When the larvae finally emerge, they crawl up a tree trunk and molt to their adult stage; adults, which do not feed, live only long enough to attract mates (hence the noise), mate and lay eggs. 

 

Mountain Snowpack & Climate Change

Most of Earth's major river systems are fed by mountain snowpack; the Rockies (photo), the Andes, the Alps and the Himalayas are among the primary sources.  Snow depths build during the colder months and meltwater is released as the weather warms.  The highest peaks retain snow throughout the year.

One wonders how global warming will affect this simple but vital process.  No doubt, the snow line will rise and freshwater storage will diminish over time but the transition will likely be erratic.  As occurred in California last winter, energized storm systems may produce record snowfall in some regions while others experience snow droughts.  Mountain glaciers continue to recede and their release of water will gradually diminish.  In addition, as the snow line ascends, heavy mountain rains will lead to downstream flooding.

While the uncertainties confront us and we attempt to slow (if not reverse) climate change, we must also focus on water conservation, freshwater recycling and ecological means of water storage.  Cycles of heavy mountain snow are temporarily reassuring but they should not lead to complacency.

 

Nature's Debris

Now that we have enjoyed the colorful foliage of October, we humans watch as leaves, twigs, needles and seedpods collect on our roofs, lawns, walkways and driveways throughout November.  Of course, this natural plant material is referred to as "debris" only because it lands on our unnatural structures and surfaces.

Were it not for this seasonal rain of dead vegetation and seeds, we would not have forests.  Even our suburban landscapes would be healthier if we were not so fastidious about cleaning it up.  Offering nutrients for the parent plant as well as neighboring vegetation, the debris is recycled by fungi and a host of invertebrates.  Of course, the seeds will yield new trees in the spring, often in areas where we may not want them (e.g. flower beds).

How we approach nature's life cycle is generally a reflection of how connected we feel with the natural world.  By the end of the month, many will have bagged up and shipped off most of the material.  Some of us just rearrange it a bit. 

Ecosystem in a Box

Back in 2014, I constructed a compost bin for our yard in Columbia, Missouri.  Not an avid or talented carpenter, it was simply constructed with treated lumber and cedar fence slats; about 4 cubic feet in size, it has a hinged lid but no access for removing the nutrient-rich product.

Nevertheless, it has provided a convenient and environment-friendly structure for recycling yard and kitchen "waste."  In concert, it has offered an up-close look at a fascinating ecosystem, from the bacteria, fungi and invertebrates that break down the vegetation to the spiders, skinks and, I suspect, wrens that feast on them.  As one might expect, activity in the bin is especially intense during the hot, humid days of summer.

Of course, the bin is generally full by early spring (after several months of loading) but rapidly "empties" when the warm, wet weather returns.  The fact that I have not removed any compost over the past nine years attests to the efficiency of its confined ecosystem.

The Clouds of Spring

Walking around Phillips Lake, southeast of Columbia, my wife and I plowed through clouds of midges.  Having hatched in response to the recent warm weather, these insects are a nuisance to humans but play an important role in nature's cycle of life.

Of course, they are an important food source for a wide variety of insectivores, including the chorus frogs that were calling from nearby pools this morning.  Two avian insectivores, eastern phoebes and tree swallows, are among the first summer residents to arrive and are, no doubt, already in the area.  Many others will follow in the coming weeks and the insect clouds will be here to greet and reward them.

Those midges that escape predation (and don't end up in the eyes, nostrils or mouths of humans) will breed, lay their eggs and die.  In death, unlike most humans, their tiny bodies will enrich the soil and nourish plants, a service that goes unnoticed and unappreciated by the most intelligent primate.

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.  

Soil, Plants & Global Warming

Last evening, while surfing the options on Netflix, I came across Kiss the Ground, a documentary focused on the role that soil and plants play in the carbon cycle.  In particular, the show discussed how deforestation and desertification (primarily due to agricultural practices) have decimated these carbon sinks and greatly exacerbated the process of global warming.

By removing trees and tilling grasslands for crop fields, topsoil has been severely depleted across the planet; furthermore, the repeated use of pesticides, herbicides and artificial fertilizers has sterilized the soil, destroying the microbes that are responsible for returning carbon to the soil.  In addition, the widespread use of feedlots and mechanized hog farms has deprived grasslands of natural fertilization.

Most importantly, the documentary points out that our conversion to clean energy and electric vehicles will only serve to slow or stabilize global warming.  The excess carbon dioxide in Earth's atmosphere can only be diminished by reversing our impact on natural ecosystems, i.e. by converting to no-till agriculture, by reverting to open range, grass fed livestock management, by recycling food waste and by halting deforestation and planting trees.  I highly recommend the documentary.

Matted Hair in the Brush Pile

Now that summer has set in and the bird population on our farm has stabilized for the season, I am more inclined to roam the property, looking for unusual insects and plants.  This morning, while exploring our "wild corner," I came across a clump of matted hair in the brush pile.

Initially assuming it was the remnants of a mouse or small cottontail, I used a stick to investigate further but found no bones or other material to confirm my suspicion.  I then concluded it was a type of fungus and, after some investigation, settled on a species of Phycomyces; these fungi produce long, hair-like sporangia which terminate in tiny spheres that contain the spores.  Feasting on (and recycling) a wide variety of rotting organic matter, the fungal bloom was likely triggered by our recent heavy rains.

My identification may or may not be correct but, in more than sixty years of exploring natural ecosystems, it was the first time I encountered such a fungus; just the latest confirmation that nature's diversity is endless, even for a life-long naturalist.

Calm after the Storms

Following a week of hot, humid weather and severe thunderstorms, relatively cool and dry air has invaded central Missouri.  Though flooding persists along the Missouri River and other large streams, one can now more fully appreciate the flora and fauna of a Midwest spring.

Sitting on our deck this evening, I saw and or heard at least 20 bird species, dominated by squadrons of chimney swifts that zoomed across the clear blue sky; joining them were turkey vultures, sailing overhead, and an occasional common night hawk, identified by their white wing patches and distinctive calls.  Backyard visitors included ruby-throated hummingbirds, gray catbirds, cedar waxwings and a least flycatcher among more common residents, all seemingly enjoying the cool respite as much as I was (at least until a Cooper's hawk appeared).

One location on our property has definitely benefited from the recent soupy weather and heavy rains: the compost bin.  Fueled by the heat and humidity, uncountable invertebrates are now swarming over the yard and kitchen waste, feasting on the plant material and creating a future supply of nutritious compost.  The external atmosphere may have become more appealing to humans but the tropical conditions within that bin is ideal for those recyclers.

Return of the Vultures

Turkey vultures are common to abundant summer residents across most of the Lower 48 States; throughout the southeastern quadrant of the country, as well as along the California Coast, these scavengers are permanent residents.

Here along the Colorado Front Range, turkey vultures are relatively uncommon and are only present during the warmer months (April to October); come winter, they head for Mexico, South Texas or the Desert Southwest.  This morning, I observed two of them soaring above our Littleton farm, the first I have encountered this spring.

Feeding almost exclusively on carrion, turkey vultures take advantage of roadkill and also scavenge the remains of deer and elk killed by predators or storms; they also feast on fish that are stranded by shrinking ponds and reservoirs.  Not pretty up close, these birds are among nature's most talented aerialists and certainly play a major role in her recycling system.

A Seething Mass of Invertebrates

In the wake of our tropical heat and heavy rains, our compost bin was a seething mass of invertebrates when I dropped off the veggie and fruit scraps last evening.  Pill bugs (rollie pollies) of various species dominated the scene, joined by beetles, harvestmen (daddy longlegs), fruit flies, worms and an assortment of larvae.  Of course, the predators (primarily spiders) were there as well.

The nightmarish scene, backed by a pungent mass of rotting vegetation was not for the faint-of-heart but was rewarding for one (i.e. myself) who built the bin two and a half years ago.  Since its completion, we have thrown tons of yard and kitchen waste into that simple contraption and have yet to remove any compost.  The efficiency of the scavengers and recyclers is certainly amazing, joined of course by microscopic bacteria and fungi.

Indeed, a compost bin offers a contained view of nature's less appreciated creatures at work.  Their vital activity is multiplied a billion-fold across our neighborhood but is rarely observed and generally unappreciated.  Anyone who wants a close-up look at their handiwork should buy or construct a compost bin; it will reduce your contribution to landfills, discourage your use of pesticides and augment your devotion to natural recycling.

Life & Energy

Life, whether in the form of a single-celled organism or a human being, might be defined as the capacity to harness energy for the purposes of constructing and maintaining vital tissues and sustaining metabolic processes.  From the moment of conception (or budding in asexual life forms), energy must be acquired or generated to permit survival; depending on the organism, it is needed to fuel growth, cellular diversification, physiologic processes and mobility.

Bacteria and other unicellular organisms are able to "ingest" nutrients through their cell walls while photosynthetic algae and plants utilize solar energy to fuel their metabolism and growth.  Fungi recycle nutrients from decaying plants and animals and some deep sea invertebrates feast on bacterial mats that form on the flanks of sulfide-spewing hydrothermal vents.  Complex marine, freshwater and terrestrial food chains consist of producers (plants or algae), primary consumers (herbivores) and secondary consumers (carnivores); of course, a series of carnivorous activity leads to the top predator in each chain (e.g. mosquito, dragonfly, frog, snake, hawk).

Energy flows through these food chains, stored for periods of time in certain tissues (fat, glycogen, starch, bulbs) but eventually recaptured by scavengers and fungi when injuries, illness, predation or natural aging lead to the death of plants and animals.  Prior to death, living organisms transfer energy to the environment via heat production and in the organic waste that they produce; they may also lose vital nutrients to parasites.  While this cycle of energy and life is easily observed and readily accepted in nature, we humans often reject the fact that our own lives, from conception to death, reflect this universal process.  We are, in fact, transient conduits of energy.

A Kite, Whales and a Glass Beach

Early this morning, my wife and I visited the Humboldt Bay NWR, just south of Eureka, California.  Once a vast saltwater marsh, the basin was later drained for agriculture and has since been restored for the benefit of resident and migrant water birds; riparian woodlands, cattail marshes, sloughs, lakes and tidal flats characterize the preserve.  During our visit, we were fortunate to observe a white-tailed kite (formerly known as a black-shouldered kite), a beautiful and common resident of the refuge and a new "lifer" for me; we also encountered black phoebes, California quail and a large flock of marbled godwits.

After our visit to the refuge, we headed south on Route 101, climbing along the scenic valley of the Eel River and its South Fork.  We then switched to Route 1, enduring countless hairpin turns as we crossed the Coastal Range.  Emerging along the Pacific Coast, our patience was rewarded with spectacular seascapes all the way to Fort Bragg.  Nearing that city, we turned into MacKerricher State Park, where we walked out to Seal Point and watched harbor seals as they lounged on the sea stacks or cruised the clear waters beneath the overlook.  While observing the seals, my wife noticed "whale spouts" far out to sea; close inspection with my binoculars revealed four humpback whales, identified by the contour of their backs and by their habit of raising their massive flukes as they dove to feed.  Needless to say, the sighting of these magnificent cetaceans was one of the highlights of our road trip to date.

But we could not end our day without visiting the "Glass Beach," in Fort Bragg.  Once used as a city dump site, the beach was reclaimed by the sea which sorted and recycled the debris, leaving smooth pebbles of glass amidst the shells and sand.  Once this beach of glass gained nationwide fame, visitors flocked to the site, walking off with samples of nature's handiwork.  As too often characterizes man's relationship with nature, we first abuse her ecosystems and then take advantage of her restorative powers; alas, the glass of Glass Beach is rapidly disappearing.

Sudden Entropy

Physics was never my strong suite but I seem to remember that entropy refers to disorder in the Universe (and to the natural tendency of that disorder to increase).  Two days ago, while crossing the Great Plains, a large insect splattered on my windshield, leaving a yellow smear just below the visor.

Within a millisecond, chemicals that had comprised an organism capable of flight, sight, digestion and reproduction were now a lifeless film, rapidly drying in the sun and wind and soon to join the free organic and inorganic compounds that are distributed in our air, soil and water.  One day, perhaps next week or thousands of years from now, they may contribute to the structure and function of other living organisms (bacterial, vegetative, human or otherwise).

Indeed, life resists entropy, producing order from chaos.  Protected by a cellular membrane (or by a multicellular "skin") from the external environment and governed by genes, the chemicals of life produce the specialized structures and metabolic processes that ensure survival, foster growth and enable reproduction.  At death, whether the process is gradual or sudden, that protection is lost and the relentless march toward disorder continues.

Our Crustacean Farm

Three months ago, we established a compost pile in our Columbia, Missouri, yard (see Building a Compost Bin).  Since that time, the grass clippings, dead leaves, sawdust and kitchen leftovers (fruits, eggshells and vegetables) have decayed into a darkening mound of maturing compost, fueled by the heat and humidity of a Midwestern summer.

Feasting on the organic matter and facilitating the process of decomposition is an army of insects, including ants, fruit flies and various beetles; of course, earthworms are doing their part from within the pile.  But the most numerous and conspicuous residents of the compost bin are pill bugs, those prolific Backyard Crustaceans known to children as rollie pollies.  Relying on gills for respiration and consuming a diet of carrion and rotting vegetation, they thrive in the warm, moist confines of the bin; indeed, peering into the structure, a novice might assume that it was designed to raise pill bugs.

Unfortunately, there is not a lucrative market for these ubiquitous crustaceans; in fact, the internet is loaded with advice on how to keep them out of your garden and basement.  While they may do limited damage to ground-spreading plants such as strawberries or melons, pill bugs are, for the most part, beneficial creatures, recycling organic material and enriching the soil.  They are certainly welcome in the compost bin!

Consumption & Earth Day

Yesterday, on the annual celebration of Earth Day, I was helping to organize an estate sale in Ohio.  Such events can be emotional for family members as they sort through the detritus of their loved one's life, constantly reminded of the passions that governed their existence.  Yet, the experience also calls attention to the massive amount of possessions that we tend to accumulate during our time on Earth.

In fact, personal consumption, magnified by the ever increasing human population, is perhaps the greatest threat to our natural ecosystems, fueling industrial production, residential and commercial development, habitat destruction, pollution of our air and water, deforestation, depletion of mineral resources and overfishing, among other negative environmental effects.  We each contribute to that process, whether through direct purchases, investment in commercial enterprises or through political support for industries that negatively impact natural ecosystems.

While the celebration of Earth Day has become commercialized itself, it is a good time to reflect on how we might reduce our personal consumption and make every effort to recycle what we do own.  Indeed, estate sales are a form of recycling, encouraging others to reuse the belongings of one who can no longer benefit from their utility, keeping them out of landfills and reducing the need for new products.  Of course, retailers and economists may not agree.