October is autumn’s transition month. Some days are warm and sunny, creating almost an illusion of late summer or early September. And on those days, a few bees and butterflies flutter across my path, caterpillars bump along through the grass and native wildflowers still bloom in the fields. A turtle in the Draper marsh basks in the thinning light.
Change is in the air. Let’s look back to see what October had to offer as we take the first cold, rainy steps into the austerity of November.
Early October: Late Season Wildflowers Host the Occasional Bee or Butterfly
One Sunday afternoon in October, a Common Buckeye butterfly (Junonia coenia) fluttered down onto the trail right in front of my husband and I. In the summer, Draper Twin Lake Park hosts a rainbow of butterflies. Some mate, lay their eggs and expire, leaving caterpillars behind in their chrysalises. But this colorful little butterfly migrates south for the winter and returns in the spring. Perhaps it stopped at Draper to sample the various goldenrods, since it prefers yellow flowers. Can you see the slightly bug-eyed expression on its face? I laughed to think it was as surprised to see my husband and I as we were to see it land right in front of us!
Late October: Swaying, Russet Prairie Plants Provide a Fall Feast for Wildlife
The video above may look like a sea of dry brown stems to you. But to the birds, particularly the American Goldfinches (Spinus tristis), it looks like your heavily laden Thanksgiving table. In just the video’s 40 seconds, you are seeing hundreds of thousands of seeds: Indian Grass, Coneflowers, Black-eyed Susans, Stiff Goldenrod, Little Bluestem and many more. On the August birdwalk, we spent a happy ten minutes or so watching a flock of goldfinches swaying on bobbing stalks as they stuffed themselves with Stiff Goldenrod seed (Solidago rigida). First there were two and then suddenly there were five all scrabbling to feed on the abundant seed heads.
Relishing Autumn’s Transformation
The Draper prairie with its great looping trail really may look dry, brown and lifeless to some hikers. But not to me. At this time of year, I feel a lot like Ratty, a “country gentleman” sort of muskrat in the children’s classic Wind in the Willows, by Kenneth Grahame, a book I quoted in an earlier blog. Like me, Ratty senses the restlessness of autumn. He heads out into a farmer’s field, much as I waded out into the tall grass of Draper’s northern prairie: “…he thrust into the great realm of wheat, yellow, wavy, and murmurous, full of quiet motion and small whisperings. Here he often loved to wander through the forest of stiff strong stalks that carried their own golden sky away over his head — a sky that was always dancing, shimmering, softly talking; or swaying strongly to the passing wnd and recovering itself with a toss and a merry laugh. Here, too, he had many small friends, a society complete in itself…”
Ratty is a kindred spirit. Autumn also plunges me into the bending and tossing grasses and the whispering of dry stems where I can stand shoulder deep in the prairie and just “be” with it all. Like him, I sense a community of other creatures in the flocks of fidgety birds, the agitated butterflies searching for the last bloom, the relentless plodding of a caterpillar through the grass stems. Autumn’s restlessness urges me to celebrate the change, change and change again of every season. I appreciate that reminder.
Do me a favor, would you? Imagine standing in front of a huge meadow full of tall grass and wildflowers dancing in a soft breeze. You can hear crickets and cicadas singing in the deep grass. Now turn your computer’s volume to about half and click on the arrow in the image below. (You’ll hear a little of the wind in the microphone.)
There! That’s a bit of what it’s been like at Charles Ilsley Park in the last few glorious weeks of August. Goldfinches sing as they swoop in their roller coaster flights across the fields that are burnished with goldenrod. Butterflies, with golden wings fluttering, sip sweet nectar from the giant thistles. And all of this gilded beauty is backed by the sounds of a summer breeze sighing in your ear and the buzz of cicadas and crickets. That’s about as close to pure glory as my life affords.
The Glow Began in July…
Let’s just say the Black-eyed Susans (Rudbeckia hirta) got magnificently carried away in the central meadow at Ilsley. Perhaps the contractor who planted wild seed last year had a wee bit too much of them in the mix? But I didn’t hear anyone complain when the meadow was literally blanketed in black and gold. By early August, they had browned, leaving behind seeds that will provide nourishment for migrators and winter birds.
Nature Comes Back with a Second Wave of Gold
In their place, though not quite as abundant, came a close relative, the buttery yellow Brown-eyed Susans (Rudbeckia triloba). Instead of a single flower on each stem like their black-eyed cousins, these Susans produce branching stems with profuse, but smaller blossoms which create a similar sunny effect.
Of course, August always brings waves of different Goldenrods to keep the gold coming in late summer. Right now, I commonly see three different ones: the cascades of Canada Goldenrod (Solidago canadensis), Stiff Goldenrod (Solidago rigida) with its ramrod stems lined with clinging oval leaves and bouquet-like sprays of Grass-leaved Goldenrod (Euthamia graminifolia) which is from a different genus of the Aster family. Later in the month, we’ll begin to see the upright, lemon yellow plumes of Showy Goldenrod (Solidago speciosa) doing its part to keep the fields golden right into September. (Click on photos to enlarge; hover cursor for captions.)
A stately plume of Canada Goldenrod
Stiff Goldenrod (Solidago rigida) with its fancy stalk lined with oval leaves
Grass-leaved goldenrod is really an aster, despite its common name.
Showy Goldenrod (Solidago speciosa)
The Gray-headed/Yellow Coneflowers (Ratibida pinnata) add their droopy charm to the fields too, though their best days are behind them for this season. And the tall spikes of Common Evening Primrose (Oenothera biennis) are topped by gold blossoms that stay open from evening until early morning, and later on cloudy days as well.
I love how native plants host so many insects in an era when the insect world is suffering from plunging numbers all over the planet. Here two False Sunflowers (Heliopsis helianthoides) standing next to each other hosted a Soldier Beetle (Cantharidae family) and the nymph of a Katydid (Tettigoniida family). Have a closer look at the amazing length of the katydid’s antennae by clicking on the right photo. One of the ways you can tell a grasshopper from a katydid is that grasshoppers have much shorter antennae than the very long, fine ones you’ll see on the nymph below.
Out in the far west of the park at the edge of the woods, a tall, striking, yellow flower with very unusual blossoms caught my eye. Dr. Ben VanderWeide, our township Stewardship Manager, identified it for me as Wingstem (Verbesina alternifolia) – and indeed, its flat stem had narrow “wings” on either side. Wingstem flower heads cluster at the top of the 3′-8′ stem. Each bloom is actually a flower within a ring of flowers. The “disc florets” in this plant are the tube-shaped flowers that thrust outward from the center of the flower head. What looks like a ring of petals around the central disc is actually a ring of “ray florets” and each of them is an individual flower that has the ability to produce its own seed. In botany, “florets” are individual flowers within a flower head, whereas what we see as individual petals on ray flowers are really three petals fused together. And how about those curly little stigmas that we see whimsically protruding from the ends of the disc florets! What a fun wildflower!
Wingstem has a limited distribution in Michigan, so we’re lucky to have them. These Charles Ilsley Park plants grew from seeds that Ben collected at the township’s Blue Heron Environmental Area, which was the only place he’s seen them in the township. It’s exciting to know that the seeds Ben planted at Ilsley have taken hold, so that we now have two parks in which this unusual native plant has found a home.
Birds Matching the Black and Gold Landscape
Let’s Start with A Goldfinch Saga!
American Goldfinches (Spinus tristis) – Unlike most other birds, Goldfinches start mating around mid- to late-July when the thistles bloom, which is a source for both nesting material and food for them. Once the first broods fledge in early August, most Goldfinches mate a second time.
On August 9, Mike and Joan Kent, birding friends, took a walk at Ilsley and spotted a nest in a thistle. Joan peeked in and saw 3 eggs. They noticed a lot of Goldfinches nearby and assumed it was probably the nest of one of them. And that was that, until…
On our Wednesday bird walk on August 21, Vinnie Morganti, another member of our bird group, spotted the same nest located within the thorny stems of a tall Bull Thistle (Cirsium vulgare). A Goldfinch’s cup nest is woven from plants and root fibers and lashed to a bush or plant with spider silk. Then it’s lined with thistle down which makes it close to waterproof inside. A small masterpiece. This pair chose a location which probably deterred predators, though it may have been a bit hard on the parents’ wings while feeding!
Peeking into the nest, I discovered 4 baby birds. Fellow birder, Tom Korb, got a photo of the blind and slightly fuzzy hatchlings by valiantly sticking his cellphone into the thistle above them. Tom and I decided to share monitoring these little birds until they fledged and report our findings to Cornell’s Nestwatch , a citizen science site we use for our township nest boxes.
We bird monitors are trained not to go to a nest more often than every 3 – 5 days. So when I returned to the park the following day, I stood far off looking through a long lens. Imagine my delight when I saw one little head popping up above the nest! I don’t know if it could see the meadow yet. Perhaps it was just enjoying the breeze ruffling its Einstein hairdo!
I came back to monitor on August 24 hoping to get a photo inside the nest despite the thistle’s thorns. I’d brought along the fancy, black leather gloves my mother had given me years ago to wear to the theater – but here I was using them to reach inside a thistle! I could picture my mom laughing and shaking her head – but the gloves worked beautifully! In the photo, I could see the opened eye of at least one little nestling, though the rest were snoozing in their sturdy nest cup. It appeared that the beige tips of feathers might be emerging from their dark sheaths. We think now that they were about a week old in this photo. They’d come a long way from those blind babies in just 3 days!
At our August 28 bird walk in another park, Mike Kent told us about his wife seeing the nest at Charles Ilsley Park on August 9. Good news for us monitors, because that allowed us to use the guidelines on the Nestwatch site to estimate the age of the Goldfinch hatchlings more accurately. After the bird walk, I accompanied Tom on his monitoring trip to the Ilsley nest. What a change! Little heads peered up over the nest edge – eyes and beaks open. According to the Donald W. Stokes’ Guide to Bird Behavior (Vol.1), during their first week after hatching, Goldfinch nestlings are quiet but will silently reach up for food if the edge of the nest is tapped. In the second week, these nestlings begin making a lot of noise – but wisely only do so when a parent arrives with food. Tom got a great photo of the bright red mouth of a begging, but silent, youngster!
That day, all the nestlings, now about 11 days old, looked bright and alert, peeking out into the world and fully feathered. The Stokes Guide explained that those white blobs on the nest are fecal sacs, the avian equivalent of soiled diapers. Goldfinch nestlings are quite fastidious. The first week after the young hatch, adults carry the waste sacs away from the nest. But starting in the second week, little goldfinches back up to the edge of the nest and drop these little packages over the side!
My last turn at monitoring the nest was on August 31 – and the nest was empty. The nestlings had become fledglings. Our estimate is that they fledged on their 12th or 13th day after hatching. The nest was remarkably clean inside (if not outside) which might have meant a healthier, more comfortable environment for the nestlings.
I could hear a fledgling begging far off in a stand of thistle and through my binoculars, I thought I saw a couple of small birds fluttering among the stems. A female flew in among the thistle, perhaps feeding “our” fledglings from her second brood. A male seemed to be on sentinel duty nearby before he flew off to gather more seed. Off into the world for our Goldfinch fledglings! And the end of our nesting saga.
Hard-working Goldfinch Adults
While the females incubate a second brood, male Goldfinches are on their own in feeding the first brood – which can be as many as seven fledglings, according to Cornell’s nestwatch.org! Begging calls of first brood youngsters could be heard a week ago as young fledglings pursued their harried parents around the park or called from the treelines to be found. This little Goldfinch fledgling seemed a bit more mellow than the rest.
The Goldfinches’ primary food source is thistle seed so I’ve seen males all over the fields with thistle down (pappus) hanging from their beaks. They dig industriously into the seedhead, pull out the down, carefully nibble off the seeds and then let the down fly. Stokes informed me that they feed partially digested seed to their young, as they also do for the mate during her first week on the nest. Quite a responsibility!
More Gold and Black Birds!
In a bush in the far west meadow, I saw a flash of yellow and took a quick couple of shots as a bird perched for a moment and then flew. I wasn’t sure what I’d seen. Local birding expert, Ruth Glass, identified it as a female Baltimore Oriole (Icterus galbula.) She told me that by now most of our summer orioles have left for Central or South America with their young, so the one I saw was likely a migrator from further north.
The birding group saw other birds sporting lovely yellow trim. A trio of Cedar Waxwings (Bombycilla cedrorum) perched far above in a bare tree. Through binoculars, two clearly had the yellow bellies and yellow tail bands that identify this handsome bird. Juveniles have a fainter black mask and some brown streaking on the breast, but in this distant photo against a gray sky, it’s hard to tell if any of them were juveniles or adults .
Ruth Glass also helped me identify a strange looking dark bird that mystified me. She said she was “95% sure” it was a male Indigo Bunting (Passerina cyanea) molting from his brilliant blue breeding colors into his mostly brown non-breeding colors which are similar to the female Bunting. This mottled look is common for males during the molt. I would never have guessed! Thank you, Ruth!
Some large dark brown birds also added contrast to all the gold around them. A trio of Turkey Vultures (Cathartes aura) rested on a broken snag near the edge of the center field. Through the trees on my way into the park, I saw one of them spreading its magnificent wings to the sunlight. They do this to warm them, stretch them, or to expose any bacteria on them to air and light.
Around the corner, two other vultures perched on a broken snag. This one made me smile, because it looked as though it was appealing for a little sympathy. I’m afraid vultures don’t get much appreciation, though I think their soaring flight is graceful and the cleanup services they provide are crucial. Really, though, the bird was just preparing to preen.
The first vulture suddenly flew straight up in the air and landed rather awkwardly on a branch that was much too short. It fluttered clumsily right, then left, until it finally found its footing. Is it my imagination or are the other two a bit embarrassed by the graceless landing skills of their compatriot? Probably, my imagination…. (Tap arrow to play and to pause for reading captions.)
Butterflies Complement the Color Scheme
This August the huge, dramatic Giant Swallowtail butteflies (Papilio cresphontes) arrived in Charles Ilsley Park in large numbers. One afternoon about two weeks ago, perhaps a dozen of them landed delicately on the large purple blooms of Bull Thistle, or hovered in front of them, extending their long proboscises to sip while avoiding the thorns. I don’t know if this thistle is a favorite plant for these big butterflies or if they were just the biggest blooms with the most nectar when they arrived. They chased each other over the fields, creating a shimmer of gold and black all over the central meadow.
You’ll note that the one above has a few missing pieces on its wings and that the black edges look a bit worn. I compared the very tattered dorsal (upper) side of one I saw on thistle at Charles Ilsley Park in late August with the fine specimen I saw on Bee Balm (Monarda fistulosa) at Stony Creek Ravine Nature Park in late July a couple of years ago. I wondered if the difference in wear and tear was due to feeding among thorny thistles or perhaps just the normal battering big wings take after an extra month of foraging and mating. I’m guessing a bit of both.
These dramatic swallowtails have expanded their range further north since about 2001 when first frosts became more uncommon in September – perhaps an effect of global warming. They lay their eggs on plants that will act as hosts for their larvae, which includes two of our abundant natives, Swamp Milkweed and the Solidago genus of Goldenrods.
The Eastern Tiger Swallowtail (Papilio glaucus) made its elegant contribution to the black-and-gold meadows. These high-flyers raise 2-3 broods each summer. Their caterpillars spin a remarkable chrysalis that matches dead wood very closely. It’s held in place by a thin string of silk on one end of the chrysalis and a silk pad at the other. That’s where the caterpillar spends the winter. There’s a remarkable photo of a Tiger Swallowtail’s chrysalis at the bottom of this Wikipedia page. Be sure to click on it to enlarge so you can tell where the bark ends and the chrysalis begins! My photo below shows the tiny hairs on the swallowtail’s wings – the closest my camera has ever come to a Tiger Swallowtail, I think.
Three small Lepidopterans played a role in the color scheme. Like the members of the Swallowtail family (Papilio), a female Black Swallowtail (Papilio polyxenes) found Bull Thistle a good choice for nectar in this transition time just before the Goldenrods reach their full glory and other fall asters emerge. I admit I appreciate the non-native Bull Thistles more this year, having seen how much sustenance they’re providing after a torrid July brought an earlier end to the bloom of so many wildflowers. A Clouded Sulphur (Colias philodice) paused on the drying leaves of a Queen Anne’s Lace. I’ve wanted to see a chrysalis of these small butterflies ever since I read it described as “yellow with a pink zipper”! No luck yet. And the Ctenucha Moth (Erebidae family) did a fine job of contrasting its black wings with the yellow Grass-leaved Goldrod.
Just like other swallowtails, the Black Swallowtail makes the most of bull thistles that thrived this year.
A Clouded Sulphur has black bands on the dorsal side of its wings.
A Ctenucha Moth on Grass-leaved Goldenrod
So much gold! And I didn’t even include the gold and black bumblebees, wasps and honey bees foraging among this late summer landscape! Such riches, eh?
Late Summer Serenity
Sometimes life does come full circle. Standing at the edge of the meadows at Charles Ilsley Park with sunlight falling on a fluttering, buzzing, golden landscape, I could feel the deep sense of calm and quiet that I relished in our township in my childhood. On just such a morning then, I would stand on the sturdy limbs of a rugged old tree overlooking a wild pond or spread my blanket in the short grass near the shore and breathe in the comforting scent of warm earth and grass. I feel so fortunate as an older woman to still experience that certainty of being part of something big and beautiful that nature offers all of us if we take the time. I wish that for you, too.
Postcript: Watch for More Ilsley Photos!
Of course, Charles Ilsley Park offered me much more than gold and black in its rich diversity: a wet spot in a field suddenly blooming with red and blue wildflowers, a fuzzy brown House Finch fledgling peeking through the greenery, lavender blossoms emerging from the seedbank where a moist swale was restored, a dramatic Darner dragonfly decorated in a pattern of blue and green and more. So rather than extend this blog, I’ll create a shorter photo blog later this week to fill in the rest of the color palette at Charles Ilsley Park. Hope you can drop by!
Watershed Ridge Park is still more of a glorious natural area than a park, because as yet, it has no parking lots or trails. But first steps to make it one will begin before long. So on a Saturday morning in mid-July, Stewardship Manager Dr. Ben VanderWeide and I armed ourselves with bug repellent and headed out into the thick of it to see it in all its wild glory.
Regular readers of the Notebook will know that I like to make two or three trips to a park before posting a blog. But due to a currently tricky knee and very tall grass, I decided discretion was called for this time. So I’ll simply share the beauty we came across on one humid summer morning.
The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep…
It seems that nearly every time I’ve entered the woods at Watershed, I’ve heard the plaintive call of the Eastern Wood-Peewee (Contopus virens). It’s the perfect soundtrack for this rather mysterious woods full of old trees and patches of moist wetlands. Though I often hear this little bird in our parks, I couldn’t see one that morning, but here’s a shot from a couple years ago.
Deer are too plentiful at Watershed Ridge Park; few woodland wildflowers survive the deer’s constant foraging. But sedges, the ancient grass-like plants that have survived for millennia, do thrive. Ben showed me a large patch of a graceful one called Carex tuckermanii, with little barrel-shaped flowers. Sedges are one of the most diverse plant groups in Michigan, but few have common names.
A small butterfly, probably a Tawny-edged Skipper (Polites themistocles), paused in a spot of sunlight. Skippers always seem a bit stockier than other butterflies and the clubs on their antennae hook backwards at the tip, like a crochet hook. This species closely resembles the Crossline Skipper (Polites origenes), but since the Crossline prefers drier habitats, I think the one we saw was a Tawny-edged. The males can perch all day waiting for a female, so maybe this is a male who wanted to be in the spotlight.
Dr. Parsons from MSU helped me identify two different “color-forms” of the aptly-named Large Lace Border Moths (Scopula limboundata). I assume that both were spending the day dozing, since moths are nocturnal. (Click to enlarge; hover cursor for captions.)
A Large Lace Border Moth resting on a leaf.
Evidently Lace Border Moths come in more than one color-form since this one has the dark border on its wings.
The Little Wood Satyr butterfly (Megisto cymela) rested along the tree-line, just out of the bright sunlight in the meadow beyond. These little creatures bob jerkily in flight, but that flight pattern can take them high into the treetops as well as skipping from plant to plant in the meadow.
Nearby in the dappled light a Grass Veneer moth (Crambus girardellus) made a stark white contrast on a leaf. Their caterpillars feed on grass roots so you don’t want them on your lawn, but out here they’re just kind of interesting. I think the head of this one looks a bit like a tiny dragon. You can see why these veneers are often called “snout moths.”
Each year at this park, we see one of the strangest plants I’ve met since I started doing the blog, a parasitic plant called Indian Pipe (Monotropa uniflora). It’s a completely white plant without chlorophyll so it can’t photosynthesize. Instead it taps into the tiny mycorrhizal fungi that connect the trees underground and draws off sugars made by the photosynthesis of the tree’s leaves. Ben introduced me to this interesting plant a couple of years ago and he’s the one who spotted it along the tree line again. In the left photo below, it was just emerging from the soil when we visited this year. The right photo is a more mature version from Watershed Ridge in 2017.
Ben also spotted a solitary bee’s nest in the ground. I’d never seen one that was this obvious before – the circle of sand and the bee-sized hole. Ground-nesting solitary bees feel no need to protect their nests, so they aren’t aggressive the way, for example, colony-nesting Yellow Jacket wasps (genus Vespula) and some social bees are. According to the MSU Extension website , this might be the nest of ” mining bees, cellophane bees, digger bees, plasterer bees, sweat bees, leafcutter bees and mason bees,” all docile, essentially harmless bees who do a lot of pollinating in the spring.
You might have noticed there’s a tiny Eastern American Toad (Anaxyrus americanus) sitting calmly at the edge of the bee’s nest. I moved closer once he settled beneath an oak leaf. He’s brown like most toads, but it turns out that their skin color can change in relationship to stress or a habitat’s color, humidity, or temperature, making them vary from yellow to black and from solid-colors to speckled.
Out Into Tall Grass and Sunshine
Emerging from the woods, Ben and I waded into shoulder or waist-high grass and flowers. What abundance! And everywhere we saw butterflies rising and settling among the stems. We were lucky to see a Painted Lady (Vanessa cardui) which is somewhat different than the American Painted Lady (Vanessa virginiensis) that I see more often. They look very much alike from the dorsal (upper) side. The distinguishing difference on the upper side is mainly one tiny spot on an orange section of the forewing on an American Painted Lady (left) which is missing on the Painted Lady. (Enlarge the photos by clicking on them to see the somewhat faint arrows pointing to the areas on the wings.)
The differences in the ventral (lower) sides of the wings are easier to see. The American Painted Lady has two large spots at the edge of the hindwing. The Painted Lady has a row of four spots, and I love the delicacy of the webbing in the design!
Finally, we are beginning to see Fritillaries, a group of orange butterflies that grace the fields in mid-to-late summer. The one at Watershed Ridge Park was, I think, a Great Spangled Fritillary (Speyeria cybele). It’s also very similar to another butterfly, the slightly smaller Aphrodite Frittilary (Speyeria aphrodite), but Jared C. Daniels’ Butterflies of Michigan Field Guide points out that the former has a wider yellow band near the bottom of the hindwing, so I’m sticking with that. I’m glad I have photographs to use for identification. The differences in some butterflies are very subtle!
I was excited to see a Baltimore Checkerspot butterfly (Euphydryas phaeton); I hadn’t seen one in years. I understand from Butterflies of Michigan that their numbers are declining. Daniels attributes their disappearance to fragmented habitat and the disappearance of their favored host plant, Turtlehead (Chelone glabra), which unfortunately is also a favorite of deer and sawflies. The Baltimore Checkerspot prefers to lays its eggs on Turtlehead and when the caterpillars hatch, the group makes a communal web where they spend the winter. They then finish their development in the spring. Below is a photo of a Turtlehead blossom from Gallagher Creek Park. Turtlehead grows at Watershed Ridge Park, but it doesn’t flower until later in the summer so we didn’t see it that morning.
In mid-July, this native Joe Pye (Eutrochium maculatum) was barely beginning to show its dusty lavender flower head in the meadow next to the huge marsh. It has a matching purple stem, a useful field mark.
Another interesting sedge spiraled up out of the greenery, Fox Sedge (Carex vulpinoidea) with its bushy, twisting clusters of fruits. It also found its perfect habitat in the wet soil near the bushes that wall off the meadow from the large, nearly impenetrable marsh.
Ben and I also found some insect eggs on the underside of a grass stem. We had no way of knowing which little caterpillar will emerge from these tiny, pearl-white balls.
Dragonflies were foraging and seeking mates in the moist meadow. It’s an ideal place for them since the females generally lay eggs on aquatic plants very quickly after mating. I’m fairly confident that this is an adult White-faced Dragonfly (Sympetrum obtrusum), as they are common in our area. They look very similar to several other species when they’re immature, but I’ve read in Wikipedia that the white front of the face is pretty definitive in the adults of this species.
A Twelve-spotted Skimmer (Libellula pulchella) paused on a stem for a moment. I think this is an immature male because the male’s white spots between the brown on the wings are just beginning to form. Also the abdomen looks like a female’s, but has begun to develop the dusty white prunescence of the adult male at the tip of its abdomen which will eventually turn a bluish white.
A Black-eyed Susan (Rudbeckia hirta) played host to a Hoverfly (family Syrphidae) who will do a fine job of pollinating, second only to the bees. Though dressed in bee or wasp colors, hoverflies are readily identifiable by the two tiny antennae sticking out of the front of their heads, as opposed to a bee or wasp’s longer antennae on the sides of their heads.
Crossing Back through the Woods: A Popular Native Rose and Glimpses of Birds in the Treetops
Back in the shady coolness of the woods, we came across a native Pasture Rose(Rosacarolina) that was a popular hangout for the local inhabitants! When we first spotted it, two Long-horned Flower Beetles (Strangalia luteicornis) had chosen it as an ideal spot for a very quick mating. According to Beetles of Eastern North America, a huge compendium by Arthur V. Evans, male beetles have lots of scent receptors in those lo-o-ong antennae. They fly in a zigzag pattern until they come across the female’s scent and can use the sensors to home in on the exact location of the female. So this female was sending out mating signals even though she kept eating during the event itself! (Thanks again this week to Dr. Gary L. Parsons at MSU’s Entomology Department for providing the correct identification. What a resource he is!)
Once mated, they flew off, but one of them returned on its own for another probe of the blossom. I wonder if it’s the female enjoying an uninterrupted feed?
But alas, whoever it was ended up competing for the goodies with the larger Bumblebee (genus Bombus). It made several attempts to edge back on, but the bumblebee, its leg sacks packed with pollen, was not to be denied. Eventually they seemed to make a truce in which the bumblebee took center stage and the beetle perched at the periphery, probing a blossom with its antennae. Perhaps it was enjoying the scent since a beetle’s antennae are its main organs for both feeling and smell – and it couldn’t get quite close enough to eat!
I’ve always had trouble identifying native from non-native roses. While in the woods, Ben found both types quite close to each other. The leaf of the Pasture Rose (Rosa carolina) on the left has a tiny, straight prickles along the stem and smooth edges to the “stipule,” the out-growth wings at the bottom of a leaf stalk. The stipule of the leaf on the right from the non-native Multiflora Rose (Rosa multiflora) has a hairy fringe along the edge its stipule, and the stems have sharp thorns that curve back instead of little prickles. Another reason to choose a native plant, eh? – at least in this case. Multiflora roses can get very large and are seriously invasive, crowding or shading out other plants. So this year for our yard, I chose to plant the native Pasture Rose which also spreads – but is welcome to do so at the edge of our woods since it contributes to recreating a native habitat .
Ben knows many more birdsongs than I do and he heard the paired notes of the male Indigo Bunting(Passerina cyanea) high above us in the treetops. We tracked this way and that until we finally spotted him on a bare branch straight above us. According to Cornell Ornithology Lab of Ornithology, “Young Indigo Buntings learn their songs from males near where they settle to breed, and this leads to “song neighborhoods” in which all nearby males sing songs that are similar to each other and that are different from those sung more than a few hundred yards away.” Don’t you love the idea of “song neighborhoods?”
Ben also identified the song of a Scarlet Tanager (Piranga olivacea) and eventually we saw the male high up in the leafy branches. I never got a good photo that morning, but here’s one I took earlier this year at Magee Marsh in Ohio, plus a recording I made of the one we saw briefly singing in the treetops at Watershed Ridge Park. The loudest song in the recording is the Tanager’s with a fainter whistling reply from a nearby Northern Cardinal. Two red birds singing in tandem! (You may need to turn up your volume to hear the songs more clearly.)
Exiting the woods,we found the signs of a Wild Turkey (Meleagris gallopavo) dust bath in the dry ground at the edge of the farmer’s soybean field. Turkeys make a dust wallow and then crouch into it, actively ruffling their feathers to shake dust through them. Birds do this, according to a Stanford University birds website, in order to maintain their feathers by getting rid of excess oil, dead skin or other debris. Dusting may also get rid of itchy lice or mites but as yet, there isn’t evidence to prove that.
Here’s a short video that I found on YouTube of a family of wild turkeys using a dust wallow by a soybean field in Ontario. My thanks to the videographer, Justin Hoffman, for allowing it to be shared.
For now, a Walk on the Wild Side
Watershed Ridge Park is close to where I grew up on Lake George Road. In fact, I rode my bike right past this spot many times as a child. At that time though, over 60 years ago, two families had homes within what is now the perimeter of the park, so I never got out beyond the tilled fields or lawns to explore these nearby woods and meadows. So it always feels like a forbidden treat when I get to wander among this park’s shady woodlands with its multiple wetlands and seasonal stream. Wading through meadows lush with towering grasses and wildflowers, I feel like a child again. And it was a special treat to explore this as yet undeveloped park with Dr. Ben who brings along his eagle eyes, a good auditory memory for birdsong and lots of expert knowledge.
You too can experience a nature walk with Ben, of course. Each Wednesday morning, year ’round, our birding group heads out with him on our bird walks. He and the other knowledgeable birders in the group are always willing to share what they know with newcomers and Ben will happily loan you binoculars. The bird walk schedule is available above under “Stewardship Events” at this link.
We’ll let you know on the blog when the parking lot and first trails are finally ready at Watershed Ridge. I guarantee, it will be worth the wait!
Standing hip-deep in native grasses and wildflowers is a pretty terrific way to spend a few hours on a cool autumn afternoon. Every fall our township Natural Areas Stewardship Manager, Dr. Ben VanderWeide, plans a few days for harvesting the seeds of native wildflowers to plant in our parks over the winter and the following spring.
So this October, volunteers gathered, clippers in hand, paper bags at the ready, to chat quietly as we snipped the seed heads from native prairie flowers. Can you see two of our seed-gathering volunteers in this Where’sWaldo-style photo?
It always makes me feel like a child again to stand in a field with friends and have native grasses towering over us. Here’s our township Stewardship Specialist, Alyssa Radzwion, smiling through a scrim of native grass.
On the day pictured above, we harvested seeds from Black-eyed Susans (Rudbeckia hirta), Gray-headed Coneflowers (Ratibida pinnata), Foxglove Beardtongue (Penstemon digitalis), and several other native plants.
Harvesting native seeds is good stewardship. Ben instructs us volunteers to collect an appropriate amount for each species, leaving lots of seeds where they are to feed wildlife and renew our prairies so they look as glorious next spring as they did this year! The seeds we harvest, along with purchased wildflower seed, can then help restore more of our natural areas to their former glory. All that and peaceful autumn afternoons among wildflowers and kindred spirits. Maybe you’d like to join us next year as we lend nature a helping hand?
The north and east prairies at Charles Ilsley Park get more glorious each summer as restoration brings the return of colorful wildflowers blooming again in their native soil. Great sweeps of Black-eyed Susans(Rudbeckia hirta) stare up into the blue sky surrounded by the tousled, lavender blossoms of Bee-balm (Monarda fistulosa) and flat, compact cushions of white Yarrow (Achillea millefolium).
Tall Yellow Coneflowers (Ratibida pinnata) sway in even the slightest breeze.
The peaceful beauty of these undulating prairies on a summer afternoon is mesmerizing. The nodding dance of flowers and the flutter of butterflies among them soothe the spirit much like the sight and sound of a peaceful ocean – but with such a variety of color and movement! Wonderful!
Last Sunday along the entrance trail, young Barn Swallows (Hirundo rustica) perched high on a dead branch, waiting to be fed. They begged in the usual fledgling fashion, fluttering their small wings rapidly and calling. Finally, a parent arrived (lower left in the photo below), settled and seemed to be considering which to feed first.
Then the adult swooped out across the meadow, gathering insects in its open beak. It returned and managed a short mid-air pause, beating its wings vigorously as it speedily popped food into one of the open beaks.
Then off went mom or dad again to scoop up more bugs! Such a challenging job to feed all four of those hungry youngsters! (One is behind the lowest branch.)
In the center of the park, where restoration planting happened just weeks ago, the melt ponds are drying up, leaving a strange, foamy surface. Water is so crucial for wildlife that it’s always a reliable spot to find something interesting.
A slim bird that I believe was a young Killdeer (Charadriusvociferus), with its naturally worried look, poked along the edge of the pond. The Stokes’ Guide to Bird Behavior (Vol 2) describes juvenile Killdeer as “very similar to adults except that their upper feathers are margined with lighter edges, their dark neck bands are narrower and often gray or brown instead of black.” I think this one fits that description. Do you agree? Once the young are ready to be on their own, their parents breed again. But the male keeps an eye on the youngsters from the first brood from a distance, while the female incubates the new eggs.
Two fledgling Eastern Bluebirds (Sialia sialis), with just a touch of blue on their wings, watched the killdeer from a small, bare tree nearby. No foraging for them right then. Perhaps they were hoping a parent would come to stuff their beaks like the swallows, but at the moment, no such luck. Like the Killdeer adults, their busy parents may also be encouraging their first brood to feed on their own while the adults start a second. (Click on photos to enlarge; hover cursor for captions.)
Some adult birds hung out near the pond as well. A Green Heron (Butorides virescens) was so intent on feeding that it flew toward us to find some open water.
This heron was a skilled fisher! It found a bounty of food in the drying pond. Watch below as it stalks and then catches what appears to be a crayfish nymph. (Use the pause button if you need more time for captions.)
The fiercely territorial Eastern Kingbird (Tyrannus tyrannus) looked remarkably unruffled by the other species exploring the resources of the pond below. And nearby in a tree at the edge of the center field, an adult Song Sparrow (Melospiza melodia) looked as though it must have been preening vigorously since its feather were very ruffled! Drat those feather mites!
Summer turned into an unusually busy time for me this year. So I relish escaping into our parks, where I can watch young birds learn the ropes of feeding, or just quietly enjoy the way Yellow Coneflowers sway above a multi-colored prairie. I recommend it to you as a peaceful alternative to a day at the beach.