Come walk with me in the peak Autumn beauty of the Northwoods. To say that I love this time of year is an understatement. Most everyone can appreciate the colorful falling leaves---it reveals the 'true self' of a tree when its leaves are no longer producing chlorophyll. Their true colors are revealed, and there is something simple … [Read More...]
Grow With It
I remember the hard work of growing up. I remember the hard work of growing other humans for those first nine months and for the twenty years after that. At the time, I didn’t even realize that those two things were happening simultaneously—as I stewarded the growth of my children, I myself continued to grow and develop.
It’s hard work to grow. It’s hard work to turn soil nutrients, water, and sunlight into a prolific number of new cells that function in numerous ways in order to reproduce. Plants, insects, birds, and animals are productive from Spring to this time of late Summer. And the fruits of their labors are evident. Flowers, fruits, seeds, and offspring combine to showcase the miracle of an ecosystem where not only is the organism’s genetic material passed on to another generation but the organism or its fruits or seeds are used by others for sustenance for their growth. It truly is a circle of life, a web of interconnected growth, give, and take.
The abundance of growth and production is a visual treat for the eyes on the prairie and woodland trails at Saint John’s Arboretum. Big Bluestem—big as in four to seven feet tall and Bluestem as in the purplish tint to leaves and three-pronged ‘turkey foot’ seedheads—was the predominant grass on the prairie. In all its glory. It provides cover, nesting sites, and food (seeds) for a number of species of birds and is considered by ranchers to be ‘ice cream for cows’ in pastureland. ( I like that depiction.) Gray-headed Coneflowers provide food and housing for butterflies and moths and seed treats for goldfinches and other song birds.
Goldenrods of numerous species are the golden magnets for butterflies and other beetle bugs. Stiff Goldenrod has thick, leathery leaves that look like feathers, especially the basal leaves.
The fruits of the Wild Rose—rosehips—are turning red and are food for birds, squirrels, rabbits, and bears.
I think the winner in cell production in one season is the Compass Plant—look at those sturdy, almost tree-like stems! While the deeply-cut leaves can be up to two feet long, the flower stems can grow up to twelve feet high providing a prairie perch for birds. The sunflower-like flowers provide seeds for birds and small mammals, and the hardened sap can be chewed like gum.
A slightly shorter relative to the Compass Plant is the Cup Plant. It has sturdy square stems with large leaves that clasp the stem and form a cup that catches rainwater and provides drinks for birds and insects.
I was happy to see a few Monarchs in the prairie—knowing they are endangered makes seeing one that much sweeter.
One of my favorite prairie grasses is Grama grass—a short, drought resistant grass with horizontal seed heads that look like tiny brushes.
The ponds were surrounded or inundated by tall cattails, so it was difficult to see the water birds, but I was able to catch a glimpse of a Trumpeter Swan family. They had a perfect place for their July-August molting and regrowth of flight feathers—very protected for their flightless time. Usually the females lay 5-7 eggs in the Spring, so I was a bit surprised there were only two cygnets.
Swamp Smartweed displayed a pretty pink spike of a flower. Dew and rain beaded on leaves of Jewel Weed, sparkling like diamonds. It has a succulent stem with an aloe-like juice that can relieve itching from poison ivy. The seed capsules will explode when touched, sending seeds in all directions. Hummingbirds are especially attracted to the dappled orange flowers, but butterflies and bees also pollinate them.
Shallow water with minimal movement is a perfect place for Wild Rice to grow. The pointed stalks sway in the breeze, heavy with the developing seeds. Zizania palustris (isn’t Zizania a great genus name?) has a higher protein content than most cereal grains and is an important food source for waterfowl and Native American tribes. Minnesota has more acres of non-cultivated Wild Rice than any other state.
Another edible wild thing is Chicken of the Woods mushrooms. These were accompanied by other pretty and interesting fungi growing close by.
Then there’s the beauty of Maidenhair Ferns with stems of shiny, black that make the fronds seem to float in the air—so elegant.
Late blooming flowers like Joe Pye Weed, Asters of all kinds, Rough Blazing Star, Rattlesnake Master, and Anise Hyssop are imperative for nectar supplies for Monarchs and other butterflies, bees, and Hummingbirds. The gift of beauty and the gift of food.
The hard work of Spring and Summer is in full display as flowers produce pollen and nectar, fruit is developed, seeds are formed, and babies grow. The circle of life is turning. The interconnectedness of flora, fauna, and humans creates an invisible web that ties us all together. As we enter slowly into a new, old season, it gives us an opportunity to pause and give thanks for the incredible burst of growth of new cells, new skills, and new fruits of labor. It is a time to celebrate the hard work—of Nature and of ourselves. All of Nature, including ourselves, take the resources and predicaments we have been given and grow with it. Poor soil, rich soil, drought, abundant rainfall, shelter, partners, wind, war, famine, predators, encroachment, mentors, protectors—so many variables. But we all grow with it, whatever it is. None of us grow by our own volition—the web of genetic material, family of origin, environment, occurrences, teachers, and friends all contribute to our growth. It is a miracle of Life, in all its glory.
Hanging on Lightly
What happens to your body when someone says, “Hang on tight!”? Usually your hands latch on to something and grip it tightly. Your muscles contract, often throughout your whole body. You ‘brace’ yourself for what’s to come, whether that’s for a physical wild ride or an emotional rollercoaster. There is an element of survival that takes over—your sympathetic nervous system is activated. Adrenaline is released, your pupils dilate, your heart beats faster, and you become hypervigilant. There are plenty of times in life when this response is the prudent thing to do—it can literally save your life.
Chris is back to short hikes—yay!—so we hiked up Hallaway Hill at Maplewood State Park in the western lakes region of Minnesota. The trail zig-zagged through mostly prairie in this part of the 9,200-acre park. Mid-summer wildflowers bloomed among the still-growing green grasses that had begun their blooming, too. Lavender-colored Wild Bergamot or Bee Balm was in all its glory, attracting bees and butterflies with its minty fragrance and tubular flowers.
It was not long before we noticed dragonflies darting around above the plants. It was a breezy day, and I noticed a colorful dragonfly holding on to a dried flower stalk. I thought to myself he must be hanging on for dear life in this wind with his three pairs of legs! Halloween Pennant Dragonflies (isn’t that a great name?!) alight and fly in a different way from most other dragonflies—they have a fluttery flight like a butterfly.
The wooly purple coats of Purple Prairie Clover are wrapped around the gray thimble head of the spikey flowers, belying the typical flower of the Pea family. But like most members of the Pea family, Prairie Clover can increase soil fertility by capturing nitrogen from the air and transferring it to the soil.
More and more of the Halloween Pennant Dragonflies were hanging on to grasses and dried flower stalks, some right by the trail. As I looked more closely at them, it seemed like they were very comfortable on their precarious-looking perches.
Black-eyed Susans brighten the prairie with their cheery ray flowers, and their seeds are favored food for Goldfinches and House Finches.
A larger, more traditional dragonfly with its black and silvery transparent wings is named Widow Skimmer. The male has a long powder blue abdomen and is thus named because he leaves (or widows) the female by herself when she lays her eggs just under the surface of the water. Other male dragonflies will fly with the female while she lays her eggs.
A large, crater-like mushroom captured rainwater and became a ‘watering hole’ for insects and small animals.
The coloring and veins of the dragonfly’s wings create intricate patterns, and their large compound eyes see 200 images per second with nearly 80% of their brain being dedicated to sight! They have specialized spines on their legs used as an ‘eyebrush’ to clean the surface of their compound eyes.
In our northern climate, the growing season is condensed into a relatively short amount of time, so fruit and seed development happens quickly. Signs of decline are already noticeable in the later part of July.
Again, like I noted in my last post, the Monarchs are few and far between anymore. In all the prairie we walked through, we only saw one Monarch. It was perched on its host plant—where eggs are laid and where the caterpillars eat and grow—the Common Milkweed.
Pointed-leaf Tick-trefoil (Beggar’s Lice) is a woodland plant with pretty pink flowers on long stalks that produce sticky seed pods that hang on to fur or clothing of passers-by.
The silvery-gray color of Artemisia complements all the other prairie wildflowers and grasses.
I was surprised to see a whole Artemisia plant covered in bugs! The black creatures (Black Vine Weevils?) look like the ones who have invaded our house in the last month, and the big, black ants must be getting some sort of nutrition from them.
We ascended to the top of Hallaway Hill, once a popular ski hill in the 1950’s and ’60’s, even after the State Park was established in 1963. 196 vertical feet above Lida Lake gave us a view of the many lakes, the rolling Maple-Leaf hills, and of the storm clouds that were gathering to the west.
Dragonflies spend most of their life in the aquatic nymph stage—the larger ones from three to five years—but only live as an adult dragonfly for five weeks or less, some only for a few days. Their ‘flying’ days are limited.
Hanging on tightly is a way for us to survive—physically and emotionally. In fact, in our young years, it is a reflexive act to connect us with our caregivers for all of our dependent needs. When resources are scarce—food, shelter, safety, and love—we tend to hold on more tightly, even when doing so doesn’t get us those things we need and desire. But as a child and young adult, we don’t know any other way to do it. But what of the fleeting adult life of the dragonfly? The Halloween Pennants were hanging on lightly—not clenched but attached, not contracted but relaxed, not grasping but flowing. They embodied freedom—like an eagle soaring in the wind, like a feather floating through the air, like a leaf drifting on the water. Is it the culmination of their reproductive life that allows them to live out whatever days are left with such freedom? Or is it just a ‘mammalian’ thing to hold on so tightly? We can learn from the dragonflies. We can mature into hanging on lightly. We can brush the cobwebs from our eyes. We can be attached and relaxed. We can live day by each wonderous day, confident in our ability to rest when we need to and fly when we can.
Empty Homes
One fall day I looked out the kitchen window and saw a swarm of butterflies flying through the yard. We had a garden full of nectar-producing flowers, so we were used to seeing butterflies during the three seasons of blooming. But this was different. I walked outside and realized that they were no longer relaxed and meandering from flower to flower—they were on a mission—a Monarch migration mission to be exact. And while I stood there, the air filled with the orange– and black–winged beauties! They were everywhere! Some were close enough for me to touch, seeming to fly towards me, then up into the sky, above the tree tops, and beyond! It was awe–inspiring and joy–producing! Millions of Monarchs!
In a matter of minutes within the hour, they were gone, moving south in their annual migration from southern Canada and the northern Midwest, gathering all from the eastern United States, on to central Mexico where they spend the winter high in the mountains on the Oyamel Fir trees. Abies religiosa means ‘sacred fir.’ These trees and the wintering Monarchs require the same ecosystem for survival—cool and moist—which is now being threatened by our warming climate. Climate change, along with increased use in pesticides and herbicides, loss of northern habitat for Monarchs, and logging of the sacred firs have all contributed to the alarming news that was released this past week. The International Union for the Conservation of Nature has placed Monarch butterflies on the endangered list, just two steps from extinction, because of their fast-dwindling numbers. In just ten year’s time, the population of Monarchs in North America has declined between 22% and 72%, depending on the method of measurement. Other groups have seen even larger declines of the iconic butterfly. The most well–known and beautiful butterfly, once with a population in the billions, is headed towards extinction.
Loss of Monarch habitat in the north mirrors the declining number of acres of prairie, grassland, fence lines, and wetlands. There are statistics for these losses, but anyone who loves the prairie, who loves seeing cattle on grassland pastures, and who delights in a fence row of wildflowers has noticed the disheartening change in the last decade.
There is untold value in a prairie environment—home and food source for insects, birds, and mammals; erosion control; and carbon sequestration to name only a few. This time of year, the prairie displays a brilliant culmination of months of unseen root growth and a sea of green vegetative growth of grasses and wildflowers as they burst into flower and seed production. It is a beautiful sight! It was a good year for Butterfly Weed, a member of the Milkweed family. I have seen more of the bright orange flowers this year than I can ever remember.
Common Yarrow inconspicuously grows in most grassy places but is a dazzling background for Hoary Vervain’s sharply–toothed leaves and spikes of violet flowers.
And the grasses….each with their distinct–colored seedheads are the foundation of a healthy prairie.
In the acres and acres of prairie, including all the showy Butterfly Weed, I saw one Monarch. I was paying attention—awareness of dwindling numbers of Monarchs has been on my ‘radar’ for years now, and this year seems particularly bad for the numbers. The prairie had many Common Milkweeds, the primary host plant for Monarch caterpillars. Empty homes, waiting for the striped caterpillars to munch on their leaves, spin a cocoon, and produce another butterfly.
Evening Primrose is a night–blooming plant with buds that start to open at the end of the day and close up by noon of the next day, making them an unusual and enchanting wildflower.
Another favorite wildflower for butterflies is False Sunflower or Ox-eye Sunflower. The prairies that are planted and preserved in parks and natural areas are trying to bring back habitats for the butterflies, bees, and other creatures who depend on wildflowers and grasses for their survival. But is it enough?
My joy in witnessing a Monarch migration happened more than eight years ago—before I began writing my blog. Since that time, fewer butterflies of all kinds visited our gardens. I noticed fewer Monarchs on our hikes. It is a complicated, complex problem with no one in particular responsible for the solution. The statistics are jarring, and Nature-lovers feel sad and angry when they hear the news but powerless in the big picture of our world. Is it loss of habitat—we are personally leaving and cultivating all the Milkweeds we can—or are the populations of butterflies actually being killed by pesticides and by microwave radiation from cell towers that have proliferated in the last ten years? (please read the scientific research below) In civilizations and centuries past, plants have been seen and named as ‘sacred,’ just as all of creation has been deemed so by Christianity and other world religions. I am not an alarmist by nature, but the news of the rapid rate of decline of our favorite butterfly is cause for alarm. Because biologically, what is destroying butterflies, bees, and trees is destroying us, just at a slower pace. We are all connected with all of Nature. I don’t know what the answers are either, but I want all of us to be aware, concerned, and thinking about the big picture in our choices, our votes, and our advocacy. We don’t want any more empty homes.