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You are here: Home / Archives for Sherburne National Wildlife Refuge

Warning Signs

September 8, 2022 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

Every one of us has a threat detector or warning system in our brains. It begins with incoming sensory information—things we see, hear, smell, touch, taste, and notice—often things we may not be aware of consciously. Those incoming signals go to the thalamus—a routing structure that sends the information to the amygdala or fear center of our limbic system and to the frontal cortex part of our brain that ‘analyses’ what the information could mean. The pathways are much more complex than that, but basically we process information through our emotional threat center more quickly than our analytical, thinking brain. Our brains and bodies can be activated into fight, flight, or freeze before we even have a conscious knowing of why.

We have all experienced the warning signal from our amygdala—don’t trust that person, don’t walk down that street, don’t eat that food, don’t participate in that action. It is often labeled as a ‘gut feeling’ or ‘intuition’ type of knowing that is hard to explain. Part of our warning system is an inborn, mammalian, basic safety system and part of it is based on previous experience—if we have been traumatized in any way, we are particularly sensitive to any information that feels anything like what we have previously experienced. Our amygdala immediately activates our body to protect us. This is a very good thing to keep us safe when we are in danger, but it can also cause a lot of ‘false alarms.’ After an unprocessed trauma, the amygdala’s ‘reading’ of a situation causes alarm, even when there is no actual threat there. (By unprocessed, I mean the facts and feelings about and around the traumatic event have not been acknowledged, accepted, talked about, worked on, and put to some kind of rest.) That’s why it’s important to take deep breaths for a few seconds and let your thinking brain catch up. Easier said than done. That’s why it’s so difficult—and personal—to determine what is a legitimate threat, whether that is to our personal safety, the protection of our children, or the security of our country and democracy. Our ‘thinking’ brain needs information and data to come to a conclusion—when we refuse to ‘see’ the reality of facts, figures, and footage, we are allowing our ‘fear center’ to run our lives. (And on a physiological note, that is a damaging way to live.)

Chris and I went hiking at Sherburne National Wildlife Refuge on the Blue Hill Trail. We have been there a couple of times in previous years. I suggested we go the opposite direction than our usual path so we could climb the Blue Hill spur trail. We were usually too tired after the five-mile hike to climb the hill, so this time we started with it! At the foot of the hill, at the entrance to the spur trail, was a warning sign: poison ivy could be growing along the trail. The sign also said they leave the poison ivy (don’t kill it) because wildlife eats the berries that are produced. Hmm, I thought. Well, we know how to identify poison ivy. How bad could it be? After a quick, questioning glance to Chris, I headed up the hill. Things were fine for a little while. If I saw some, I would say, “Poison ivy on the left” or “On the right.” Chris was in shorts, and I had short pants on with bare ankles. I definitely get the itchy rash from poison ivy, but I am not allergic to it like Chris is after an overwhelming exposure he had much earlier in his life that demanded medical care. As we climbed the hill, the trail got narrower, and raspberries and other foliage folded over the path. I peered under the waist-high briars to look for the ankle-high poison ivy that was now surrounding most every step. Are we ready to turn around yet? We passed the ‘down’ trail, so I figured the top couldn’t be too much farther, but by then I was seriously questioning their practice of ‘leaving the berries for wildlife.’ We made it to an observation deck, but we still weren’t at the pinnacle. I left Chris there and said I would see what’s farther up—but the path was barely discernable and covered with brush. Forget it, another time. We had a view to the north from the platform. The first thing I noticed in the landscape of trees was how many dying Oak trees with rust-colored leaves were scattered before us. Then I noticed the sparse gray branches of Aspen trees. Warning! Why were so many trees failing and dying? The drought last year could definitely take out some of the old or damaged trees, but this year had not been so bad. Most of the summer, I have seen places where the Aspen trees looked sick, their leaves sparse and spotted where usually they are shiny green and dancing. Even some in our own back yard were dead or failing. I wondered if the herbicide Dicamba was the reason for the tree treason. It is notorious for its drift and damage to trees. Or was it the changing climate that warmed our winters and allowed more insects to invade. Such a large number of dying trees in a protected area flashes a blinking red warning sign to me.

Warning: Poison ivy.

Warning, expected and benign: At Sherburne and all around the northland—the beginnings of Fall. We seem to be closer to the meteorological calendar than to the astronomical one when Autumn comes the first of September instead of the 21st. At any rate, the process has begun!

Warning: Some plants, butterflies, insects, animals, and even people try to look like or be like others in order to protect themselves or make themselves look bigger or more fierce. False Solomon’s Seal has foliage similar to Smooth Solomon’s Seal, but the flower and fruit are at the end of the stem instead of under the arching stem. How many times has your warning signal flashed when you have met a ‘false’ person?

Warning: There are two types of Elderberry–Sambucus canadensis, one that produces purplish-black berries that make tasty jelly and wine and Sambucus racemosa, red-berried Elder, whose fruit tastes bitter and causes digestive upset. It’s a smart decision to know the difference before gathering and eating berries.

Warning: These petal-less flowers form flat brown seeds with two barbed awns at the top. Devil’s Beggarticks or Devil’s Pitchforks catch and stick to fur or fabric in order to spread the seeds. What kind of negative rhetoric sticks to you and spreads to others with no factual basis? Words of fear and fallacy.

Warning: Toads will give you warts if you pick them up. Nah, that’s an old wives’ tale! Toads have warts on their skin and taste bitter to any predator who dares eat them.

Warning: The stream is hardly a stream and the lake (which looks big on the map) is barely a lake. Cattails and other vegetation have taken over almost the entire Buck Lake! Far into the middle of the cattails, I could see a little bit of water and a Trumpeter Swan family. It’s disappointing (and sometimes embarrassing) having been duped by false advertising.

Warning: Prescribed burns not only rejuvenate prairie grasses and wildflowers but can damage even mature trees if things don’t go quite right.

Aster
Anise Hyssop
Fireweed

Forewarning to the purveyors of fear and fallacy: Truth and Light will shine on and overtake the Darkness.

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Filed Under: Summer Tagged With: poison ivy, Sherburne National Wildlife Refuge, toad, Trumpeter swans, warnings, wildflowers

Food and Refuge

November 22, 2020 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

Food. It has been my refuge for way too long. When things feel out of sorts, or stressful, or downright scary, I reach for food. I learned early on that food was comforting—with good reason—eating food, especially certain kinds, releases ‘feel good’ chemicals in our brain that really do make us feel better. It’s science. Well, it may be science, but something went wrong in how I use food. For most of his life, my Dad would say he eats to live, not lives to eat. It’s simple, but oh so hard for those of us who have substituted food as a coping mechanism for all things distressful in our lives.

Food. It is what Sandhill Cranes leave the refuge for. Our trip to Sherburne National Wildlife Refuge, while it included a hike at fire-damaged Blue Hill, was really to see the gathering, or ‘staging’ as they call it, of thousands of Sandhill Cranes. These prehistoric birds (fossil records from millions of years ago) gather here from northern breeding areas to rest and eat in preparation for their long migration to Florida. (The count on 10/29 was over 11,000.) At night, the cranes roost in the wetlands of Sherburne, and at dawn, they take to the skies and fly to neighboring fields that have been harvested for corn or soybeans. Like a bear before hibernation, the cranes feast on the grains to sustain their bodies for the long flight.

There are six subspecies of Sandhill Cranes, some migratory and others non-migratory. The Sherburne species is the Greater Sandhill Crane, standing at four and a half to five feet tall with a six foot wingspan, but only weighing between ten and fourteen pounds! The mated pairs stay together for life and both help incubate and raise the one or two young ones that hatch after a thirty-day incubation time. The young ones with their awkwardly long legs are called colts.

As dusk approaches, groups of cranes fly from the fields to return to the refuge.

There was a lot of chatter. I wondered if there were ‘leaders’ who decided when it was time to fly and what the signal was to do so. I did notice that some would flap their wings on the ground, like an impatient ‘time to go,’ while others were still very invested in consuming more corn.

At a clearing on the edge of the refuge lands, we parked to watch the mini-migration back to the roosting grounds. Wave after wave after wave of different sized groups flew over our heads and to both sides of us. We didn’t notice how long this deluge of chattering cranes continued, but we did eat our picnic supper under the constant serenade of the Sandhills.

Sandhill Cranes and animals in the wild ‘eat to live.’ It takes an inordinate amount of their time to find and consume the food that sustains their lives. The abundance of harvest gleanings at this time of year is the Cranes’ needed fuel for migration, just as the fall ‘fattening’ period is for other animals facing a tough, cold winter. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I ‘live to eat,’ but food has definitely been my ‘go to,’ my refuge, as a coping mechanism for most of my life. I know I’m not alone. So how does one leave the refuge of food and find sustenance elsewhere? The same can be asked of alcohol, drugs, gambling, and any other addiction, though food falls into a unique category in that one actually does need food to survive. Abstinence does not work. Therefore, the impetus of change needs to occur on the inside. How can I stretch out that time period between the uncomfortable, distressful feelings and the act of reaching for food? What could I possibly do that would make me feel better in this moment than half a bar (or more) of dark chocolate? In my experience, it takes an inordinate amount of will and often a lot of pain (either physically or emotionally) to initiate that will. It has so much to do with self-love and feelings of worth and self-compassion and ‘but I deserve…’ and ‘who has my back?’ (chocolate always has my back) and what’s easy and what’s hard and wave after wave after wave of very real feelings that in reality have nothing to do with food. And therein lies the answer—a new refuge is needed, and I can be its creator.

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Filed Under: Fall Tagged With: coping with stress, food, refuge, Sandhill cranes, Sherburne National Wildlife Refuge

Fire and Refuge

November 15, 2020 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

True refuge demands a complete and utter trust fall into the arms of reality. –Miles Neale

There was something a bit off when we drove into the parking lot of Blue Hill Trail at Sherburne National Wildlife Refuge. I saw prairie land, a big hill, and some scattered trees. I couldn’t identify what didn’t seem right. We readied ourselves for the four or five mile loop, then set out on the sandy trail. Almost at once I noticed the standing totem of a burnt tree—not unusual in any place we hike. But the colorful-for-Fall Sumac seedheads were much more delightful.

It was not long before we saw other burnt, dead tree trunks. Had there been a wildfire here? Most of the trees were Oak—White Oaks who had dropped their leaves and Red Oaks who were still adorned in their rust-colored finery.

From that point on, most every tree we saw had been damaged by fire. The big, beautiful Oaks were in various stages of decline—some were dead and fallen, others were dead and standing, and quite a few others were alive, but distorted in their growth. That’s what was off about my first impression—the trees no longer had a normal canopy for the size of the tree. Lower branches were gone, some limbs were dead, and the rest of the foliage was concentrated towards the top of the very tall trees. Survival seemed very uncertain for the standing, living dead.

The undergrowth, or I should say, the new growth since there wasn’t much ‘under’ left, was a combination of Hazelnuts, shrubby, multi-stemmed Red Oaks, Raspberries, and some Willows in marshy areas. The purple-stemmed Raspberries conveyed their color in sharp contrast to the brown landscape.

Hazelnuts—the actual nut—are usually long gone by this time of the year, eaten by deer, wild turkeys, squirrels, and pheasants. But the shrubs were so abundant in this area that many nuts remained, peeking out from their curled husks.

Autumn revealed an ‘unhidden’ nest in the bare branches that had earlier given protection and security to the hard-working bird.

Pocket Gopher mounds were everywhere. I wondered how they could build their burrows in such sandy soil without the walls collapsing all around them. Deer tracks were plentiful also, all along the trail. We joked about the trails being for humans or deer, and Chris noted they were just like us, taking the path of least resistance.

When would this come crashing down?

All 30,000+ acres of Sherburne National Wildlife Refuge is a combination of forest, prairie, lakes, and wetlands. It was established as a refuge in 1965 to protect and restore habitat in the St. Francis River Valley for migratory birds and other wildlife. During the months of March through August, most areas are closed to the public to allow the wildlife to breed and raise their young ones without human disturbance.

Two-thirds of the way through our hike we came to Buck Lake. More than a dozen Muskrat houses poked up from the marshy water and reeds.

On a mud bar in the middle of the lake, a family of Trumpeter Swans was busy with the business of preening and cleaning their feathers. Beyond the Swans was a flock of ducks feeding in the shallow water with ‘bottoms up.’

After the preening, Mother and Father Swan slid into the water and glided through the reeds, the wind messing their just-smoothed feathers.

The young cygnets followed their parents, their dusky gray feathers getting ruffled in the wind. They will migrate and winter as a family, and their parents will most likely return to this lake to nest again. Trumpeter Swans and Muskrats have a synergistic relationship—when Muskrat and Beaver populations increase, Swan populations also increase, as they use the tops of the dens for nesting sites.

Seven young Swans a swimming…

Beyond a Mullein patch was an evergreen forest, which I later learned was referred to as the Enchanted Forest.

It was a forest of Spruces—the first wholly Spruce forest I remember seeing. The trail wound through the towering trees. It was dark and quiet, so unlike the rest of the hike. It did seem enchanted!

We emerged from the forest with Blue Hill in our sights—the highest point in the refuge. Trees still showed their wounds, the lasting legacy of the destruction of fire.

With a little research after I was home, I discovered that Blue Hill had had ‘prescribed’ burns in 2009, 2015, and 2018. Prescribed burns are fires that are carefully planned to take into account temperature, humidity, wind speed and direction. They were being used to restore the Oak savanna by thinning non-native grasses and plants while promoting the health of native vegetation. They had protected the Enchanted Spruce Forest by how and where they set the fire. It sounds good in theory, and good practices were used, but something went wrong. They harmed the very trees they were trying to protect—the towering White Oaks. Fire will take the path of least resistance—most destructive forces will, whether of Nature or mankind. So how do we find refuge in the face of destruction? We can bury ourselves in the sand, not seeing, not listening, hoping for the best. (Though I bet there were plenty of roasted Pocket Gophers after the fire that decimated those trees.) We can run away in fear and busyness, not taking the time to ‘read the landscape’ and gather information. We can sit on our island of entitlement refusing to see the flames that are engulfing those around us. “True refuge demands a complete and utter trust fall into the arms of reality,” says Miles Neale, a Buddhist psychotherapist. It is a brilliant statement. Refuge is defined as a condition of being safe or sheltered from pursuit, danger, or trouble. To truly have refuge we need reality, the reality of facts, evidence, expertise, and truth, along with the reality of love and compassion that emanates from our spiritual beliefs. We don’t want to destroy the very things we are trying to protect. Fall into the refuge of reality.

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Filed Under: Fall Tagged With: Corona virus, fire, hazelnuts, oak trees, reality, refuge, Sherburne National Wildlife Refuge, Trumpeter swans

A Snapshot of Our Lives

October 7, 2018 by Denise Brake 4 Comments

What would a snapshot of your day look like?  How about snapshots of your life?  There were many times when the kids were growing up that we took them to outdoor events celebrating a variety of holidays, animals, and seasons—a butterfly festival, May Day celebration, harvest festival, etc.  We have a few candid snapshots of some of those events—when cameras were extra things to carry around with all the paraphernalia needed for three kids of various ages.

Last weekend we attended the Wildlife Festival at Sherburne National Wildlife Refuge.  It was a chilly, raw day—as we walked from the car, most of us wished we had more and warmer clothes.  Babies were wrapped in snowsuits and cute fleece hats.  An outdoor fire and an indoor gift shop were popular places to warm up.  Tents and tables with snakes, birds, furs, and photographs engaged the kids and adults alike.  We had two of our adult kids with us, plus one, reminiscent of the events in years past.  Following are snapshots of our day with captions from some of the five of us:

  1.  Morning surprise   2.  A Walking Stick before our walk in the sticks   3.  Stickin’ around

  1.  Eagle eye   2.  Injured glory   3.  Head and shoulders above the rest

  1.  Feathered friend   2.  Small but mighty   3.  Bundled up

  1.  Who?!   2.  Feeling owley   3.  Here’s lookin’ at you, kid

  1.  Busy beavers   2.  Construction zone   3.  I could sure use a toothpick

  1.  Not mush room   2.  Unstoppable   3.  Mushrooms are having a moment

  1.  Hipsters in red   2.  Roses for next year   3.  Hips don’t lie

  1.  Feel the burn   2.  Tree-mains   3.  Vertical coal

  1.  All the sad prairie   2.  Cactus of Minnesota   3.  Prairie sentries

  1.  Mess ‘o Milkweed   2.  Fluff in the wind   3.  It’s time to sail

  1.  Hanging on   2.  Feathered and tethered   3.  Clinging

  1.  Missouri memories   2.  The circle of life   3.  Bittersweet goodbye

 

A snapshot is a quick record of something or someone; a brief appraisal or summary.  My photos and our captions are snapshots of our day together.  They can stir memories of past times and connect us with a quiet part of ourselves that we may not be aware of.  How do we walk through life?  What do we see or not want to see?  How do we carry ourselves?  Who are we really?  What is the work of our lives?  What’s stopping us?  How do we want our future to look?  How do we look at things from a different point of view?  Who do we surround ourselves with?  How do we realize our mission?  What do we do when we get stuck?  How do we gather the sweet fruit from our memories?  We are all entwined in this circle of life—each of us only a snapshot in the huge panorama of our Earth and its history.  But each snapshot is important, and this time is our time.  The mushrooms and all of us are having a moment.

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Filed Under: Fall Tagged With: bald eagles, beaver tree, birds, fruit, milkweed, prairie, Sherburne National Wildlife Refuge

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