Autumn Revelations

Just this week, the leaves here began to turn in a marked way. And, finally, biology and urban naturalism are coming together. Leaves change color because of triggers such as length of light, temperature, and amount of precipitation, maybe things we already knew or could guess. But, what I learned is that these factors cause elements of the light-absorbing green pigment chlorophyll to degrade, allowing other pigments that were already present to show through. The stronger green now makes way for the orange and red (carotenoids) and yellow (xanthophylls), no longer masking the brilliant variety of color. 

Fruit Flies Revisited

I’m taking a biology class, which I believed would provide me with a wealth of information about the natural world and help me understand urban wildlife. Instead, I’m mired in the chemistry and physics of individual cells—electrons, ions, ATP, ADP, and etc.— which if I were less tired and thus more perceptive, I might be able to translate into acute and stunning observations about the world around me. I did read an interesting article related to biology in today’s New York Times science section about a scientist, Michael Dickinson, who studies fruit flies, those creatures about whom I was so flippant just two posts ago. As it turns out, fruit flies are one of the “most important laboratory animals in the history of biology, often used as a simple model for human genetics or neuroscience.” The article focused more, though, on how different the fruit fly is from us, for example, in its ability to fly and to taste with its wings. Although studied widely, Dickinson says, “we’re still fundamentally ignorant about the many features of its [the fruit fly’s] basic biology…” 

The Hummingbird Moth

During the last week or two acquaintances and friends have been exclaiming over the tiny hummingbird-like creatures they were seeing. When you first notice hummingbird moths, you really aren’t sure if they are hummingbirds or not. Their behavior and size can cause momentary confusion. They feed off of deep-lobed flowers, have a strong wing beat, and hover while feeding. A Calliope hummingbird measures 3.5 inches in length, whereas hummingbird moths can measure three inches or more in length. They are also called sphinx or hawk moths. We’re probably seeing what are named whitelined sphinx (Hyles lineata), with clear white lines marking their wings. Unlike other hornworms, which as moths fly at night, these are most active in late afternoon and dusk. Although the pupae are grossly impressive in size, shape, color, and texture, they are only pests and do not significantly damage plants. I don’t have a photo, but please look up a picture of a moth in flight and feeding on a flower—I think you’ll be impressed at how strongly they resemble hummingbirds.

Fruit Flies (Drosophila melanogaster)

We have had oodles of fruit on our counter ever since the farmer’s market opened in late June. And, with fruit comes fruit flies. Or, as one entomologist wrote, “time flies like the wind and fruit flies like bananas.” Although not a particularly felicitous piece of writing, it’s undeniable that the little creatures do like bananas, as well as tomatoes, raspberries, melons, and anything else that’s ripe and tasty. Even though their swarms can be unappetizing, to me they do not have the connotations of filth that houseflies have for me. In fact, I have a hard time taking them seriously, perhaps because they are so small. Also, their ability to appear out of nowhere amuses me. Now you see them, now you don’t. Or vice versa, once you put out a deliquescent pear. Although a nuisance pest, they can purportedly contaminate fruit with bacteria. Fruitflies.org, which I would have presumed to be a pro-fruit fly site promoting understanding and tolerance, has the tagline, “Fruit flies are nasty … learn how to get rid of them.” But, how to control them short of tossing anything that’s ripe or reducing the flavor of a peach by refrigeration? The Purdue extension author quoted above estimates that within a week, 500 fruit flies can mature, mate, and reproduce, with each of the resulting females laying 500 eggs of her own. All I can say is that I’ve never known anyone to get an illness attributable to a fruit fly, but I’m open to the possibility. In the meantime, I’ll take my chances, knowing that any fruit they find delectable, I will too.

Not For The Squeamish

They land on the rim of my cup, in my tea leaves, stick in my hair. Musca domestica. The housefly. It’s gotten colder outside, and they fly languidly. They hardly care when I wave them away. I’ve been taught that everything has its place in the ecosystem. I know they must exist for a reason, but I still shudder when they touch me and gag when they vomit on the edge of my cup. So, I typed beneficial flies into a search engine, and the following are some findings, none of them favorable. This quote pretty much sums it up: “Common household pests, they visit dumps, sewers and garbage heaps, feeding on fecal matter, discharges from wounds and sores, sputum, and all sorts of moist, decaying matter such as spoiled fish, eggs and meat. Flies regurgitate and excrete wherever they come to rest and thereby are ideally suited to mechanically transmit disease organisms. House flies are suspected of transmitting at least 65 diseases to humans.” Cornell University asserts that house flies can transmit over 100 human and animal disease-causing organisms. Texas A&M Agrilife Extension adds a whole other dimension, revealing that larvae can damage seeds and seedlings. I was surprised that these scientific sites all placed these “filth flies” firmly in the category of pest. Is it possible that the flies serve no useful function, or at least not one that outweighs the harm they cause, not to mention they annoyance they create?

Ladybug, Ladybug, Fly Away Home

I was drinking Sencha at my favorite teashop, watching a ladybug crawl along the windowsill instead of doing my work. I, like many people I think, have affection for ladybugs or ladybirds, which don’t seem like “bugs” at all in the sense of causing fear or feelings of squeamishness, although there is a phobia regarding them named coccinellidaephobia.

While eyeing this beetle (in the order of Coleoptera), a man with a child in his arms walked up, and I thought I overheard him say, “There, you can tell it’s a boy ladybug, because it’s orange.” I had never heard such a thing (It could have been completely true, as far as I knew). Whether you think it’s unmannerly to eavesdrop or not, I couldn’t help but hear, so I asked him to elaborate. He explained that what he really said was that the orange ladybugs are from Asia, and the red ones are from North America. He further told me that the orange are cheap imports taking over the native species. I just thought the orange ones were an anemic-looking variant.

Agreement among websites seems universal that the orange ones hail from Asia and the red ones from North America. The orange ones are about one-third longer than natives, and have nineteen, yes, exactly nineteen, spots on their backs. Counting the spots is one way of identifying which ladybug you’re looking at. The Department of Agriculture helped introduce exotics, as non-native species are called, in an attempt to control aphids. They eat fifty aphids a day.

Over four hundred species of ladybug exist in North America. Can everyone coexist, or are the Asian ladybugs outcompeting the natives, as the man at tea told me? A Canadian website, The Local Gardener, claims that  they are, to the extent that they are becoming pests. They even bite humans—maybe a ladybug phobia isn’t so farfetched. This informative and readable site includes a ton of (well, ten) interesting facts about ladybugs, including the statement that they bleed reflexively to repel predators.

The Lost Ladybug Project points out that non-native beetles have increased at the same time that natives have decreased, but doesn’t hypothesize a reason. The project collaborates with Cornell University and seems like yet another worthwhile and reputable citizen scientist endeavor in which to participate. If you take better photos than I do, you may find yourself a valuable addition to the project and even become, in their punny (that really is a word!) parlance, a “superspotter.”

They're Gone...

And I helped them leave. We packed the trailer on Saturday morning, said goodbye on Saturday night, and would have waved goodbye on Sunday morning if we had gotten out of bed in time. Alison and Jerry have left for Seattle. This may not seem like it is a nature post, but it is because it brings back so many memories of the urban nature we saw together over years as we ran miles and miles training for our half marathons. On Thursday evenings, we also ran together, after which we would return to our home for Indian food prepared by my husband, and for Alison and I anyway, the vice of reality tv. On our runs we saw a mink in the creek, oodles of bird species, including waterfowl, kingfishers and countless hawks. Some birds were alive and others were dead, especially after this winter’s late spring snowfall. We saw foxes, a skunk perambulating in the twilight, and several evenings a beaver swimming in a holding pond. We leapt over goose poop in spring and summer, and avoided squishing unidentified insects that traversed the trail. We ran past wild asparagus and wildflowers. Leaves changed color, fell, and then the trees leafed out in spring. The trees shaded us in summer and, when they lost their leaves, allowed the sun to warm us in winter. In keeping with our philosophy of running, and of course relieved for an excuse to rest even if momentarily, we would stop and watch the beaver, the hunting fox, the ducks. When we ran separately, we always reported back to each other what we had seen—a raccoon swimming in the river and disappearing into the rushes lining the creek, a dead baby raccoon, seemingly unmarked, and the three baby mink that Alison saw. My husband and I still plan on running, and nature will continue to cross our path, but we’ll miss seeing it with Alison and Jerry. 

American Woodcock (Scolopax minor)

Let’s say they were American Woodcocks, so charmingly known as Timberdoodles, although they may have been Ruffed Grouse. The American Woodcock attracts comment and is also called a night partridge, big-eye, bogsucker, and mudbat. I caught a glimpse—almost too generous a word given the brief time I saw them—of three that fed on the forest floor as they rapidly fluttered to camouflage themselves in the duff and shrubs that edged the trail. The Woodcock is a shorebird in the sandpiper family that forages in young forests and shrubby places, digging for worms with its long, slender beak, which ends in a flexible tip. As soon as I saw this passage about their hunting behavior, I knew I had to quote it, “A woodcock may rock its body back and forth without moving its head as it slowly walks around, stepping heavily with its front foot. This action may make worms move around in the soil, increasing their detectablity.” At first I read this as delectability, which I find a little more amusing, but I’m still left thinking that they are clever as well as pretty darn cute.

Porcini (Boletus edulis)

Three friends, two dogs, and I went mushroom hunting in the mountains of northern Colorado. We were a merry group, our good cheer heightened by the pounds and pounds of porcini we found in the conifer forests. They seem to like to grow along trails. I asked my friend Donna why they grow where they grow, and she said, because they are “gregarious.” If that explanation doesn’t satisfy, then it should be known that this mushroom grows in late summer and early autumn, in sunny yet forested areas, commonly on north-facing slopes, during years of good rainfall. They often appear along with the Amanita muscaria, a mushroom that looks as though—with its white-dotted, brilliant red cap—it should star in a fairy tale or, even better, a Technicolor Disney movie, something Bambi would see in the forest during the idyllic portion of his life. But, with toxic qualities, its really more like something a evil witch would give children wondering through the forest, or the hallucinogenic mushroom Alice nibbled on. Don’t eat it. Porcini, on the other hand, are a “choice edible,” meaning they taste delicious. When I got home, I spent hours cutting them up before leaving them out in the sun to dry. Taking care of them was some work, as I had to bring them in at night, so they wouldn’t get dewy, set them out every morning, and then package them in half gallon size jars that I’ve temporarily stolen from the dairyman from whom we get our raw milk. Now these delicacies from a boon year will enrich winter dishes like soups and risottos and act as reminders of summertime, and of my friends Alison and Jerry, who are moving to Seattle next month.

Common Loon (Gavia immer)

I was totally thrilled to see a Common Loon while walking around Jordan Pond in Maine’s Acadia National Park. I would have cavalierly passed by if not for a family who pointed it out to my husband and I. The family had been photographing the loon for three hours, trying to capture an elusive image. The above image is one of Jordan Pond. Although I didn’t hear its eerie call, I was excited enough just to see it in summer plumage, with its dramatic white and black checked back, sailing upright and magnificent. I’ve always wanted to see a Common Loon, and had no idea I would see it on a “pond” (what we in Colorado would call a lake) in Maine. Common Loons are made for diving in pursuit of fish. Adaptations such as setback legs and—unusual among birds—heavy, solid bones, allow them to do things like flip-flop underwater and make them excellent at what they do. But these same traits make flight, or at least take off, challenging. Loons can get landlocked if they don’t find the thirty yards or up to a quarter of a mile they need to build up speed. Unfortunately, patches of dark, wet pavement and small ponds can act as traps, deceiving the birds into believing they’ve found sufficiently large bodies of water. The Common Loon is no sluggard when aloft, though, and has been clocked migrating at up to 70 m.p.h. The loon made me think a lot about the mechanics of flying on our flight home—how much propulsion a plane has to have to lift all of that weight into the air and especially about landing—how the plane has to slow, yet maintain a certain speed so it won’t fall out of the air. (For a technical description of the four elements of flight, see this site.) My favorite fact about the loon, though, is that two adults and their two offspring can eat up to half-ton of fish in fifteen weeks.

Indian Pipe (Monotropa uniflora)

The enigmatic poet Emily Dickinson described the Indian Pipe as the “preferred flower of life,” but it’s commonly known as the corpse or ghost plant. I’m not good at conundrums and wonder what she meant. Reputed to be Dickinson’s favorite flower, I’ve seen references to at least three of her poems that mention the Indian Pipe. Native Americans used Indian Pipe, later called eyebright, to treat eye inflammation. Colonists knew the flower as convulsion root, because they used it to treat convulsions. Nowadays, medicinal plant experts warn that it may be toxic. The plant exists widely, except for in the southwest, the intermountain west, and the central Rockies. I was lucky enough to see it while hiking in a dense, “humusy” Maine forest. The Indian Pipe is a saprophyte, an organism that feeds on dead or decaying matter. More accurately, the plants are parasites that feed on fungi that in turn feed on trees. These wildflowers don’t need leaves to produce chlorophyll, so the plants do not have any green, and the leaves are merely scales or bracts. The plants turn black with age or when damaged—these were new and pristine, white with a pinkish tinge, waxy, with drooping heads. 

On Vacation

I'm on vacation for the month of July.

Foxglove: Digitalis purpurea

From the first time I saw one, the complex coloration and bell-shaped flowers of the foxglove attracted me, and I knew I wanted some in my garden. They are one of the first plants I planted last year, and this June they are blooming extravagantly. They are happy where I’ve planted them, growing in partial shade. A local nursery explained that foxglove is a biennial that acts like a perennial, flowering in its second year and then self-sowing. Fortunately, the plant produces up to two million seeds during its lifetime. I have a cream one and a mauve one, and I didn’t know that the cream will revert to purple during the reseeding cycle. The heart medication digitalis is made from its leaves, and you can murder someone with an overdose, in the best tradition of Agatha Christie’s stories. The plant is also poisonous to animals, but I didn’t know that bees love it, along with other insects, and hummingbirds. The flower’s inside is florescent, and this florescence, which can be seen under a black light, guides bees like a “landing strip.” Fairies figure prominently in legends surrounding the foxglove, no surprise given its magical appearance and native woodland habitat. A Modern Floral says that people once believed the dappling on the flower were fingerprints left by fairies, leading to the name folksglove. My favorite story is that bad fairies gave the blossoms to foxes to muffle their footsteps as they hunted. 

Elaeagnus angustifolia: The Case For, The Case Against

Until this year, I had not noticed the honeysuckle-like fragrance of the Russian olive trees (Elaeagnus angustifolia). And, with their gray-green leaves, they provide a pleasing contrast to the darker leaves of the cottonwoods that also line the rivers. I have a friend who, not without reason, claims that they provide food for animals and fix nitrogen in the soil.

But, the smell of the flowers becomes cloying, the fruits are unpalatable to the human tongue (or at least they were to me when I tasted them), and, most importantly, in Colorado where I live, the tree is a non-native invasive species that rapidly crowds out native species. A report by Columbia University claims that in Colorado, Russian olive trees have replaced hundreds of thousands of acres of willow and cottonwood woodlands. The state categorizes the Russian olive as a noxious weed slated for eradication, containment, or suppression.

But, what about my friend’s claims? Although it’s true they provide food for birds, this is the case only for some species, and trees appear to reduce “avifaunal diversity.” Cavity-nesting birds and woodpeckers, for example, do not use the Russian olive tree, and so its spread destroys the richness or variety of birds present in a location.

What about its nitrogen-fixing abilities? According to various Web sites, this quality interferes with “nutrient cycling” by attracting other species that prefer high nitrogen soils and outcompete native species that survive on less fixed nitrogen.

Finally, Russian olive trees are almost impossible to control. They do not attract insects, grow from suckers (making pruning ineffective), and resist fire. They thrive on a variety of water, temperature, and soil conditions.

My friend’s knowledge is true as far as it goes, but taken within the context of the riparian areas of the western United States the case against the Russian olive tree is watertight.

Cats and Birds

I originally wanted to write a screed about cats and urban wildlife and about owners allowing domesticated cats to act feral, but I’ve had a hard time untangling my thoughts.

A neighborhood cat has been successfully stalking my feeder and has killed one or more birds, forcing me to remove the feeder until I can ensure their safety. Last Friday, I was in the front yard weeding when I heard the metallic clink of the feeder as it swung wildly. I assumed a squirrel had tried to find yet another way to knock seed loose when I saw a bolt of orange and white streaking down the sidewalk. Almost immediately, my neighbor Al looked over my fence and said, “You know, why don’t you just take the feeder down?” He had seen the cat leap up and catch a bird in mid-air, in what he called a “wild kingdom moment.” Earlier, the same cat had jumped Al’s fence and killed a pretty blue bird foraging for worms. I took the feeder down.

Keeping cats inside is the only solution guaranteed to protect birds. But, when your neighbor won’t co-operate, what can you do? The Audubon Society offers ideas, and rates each one’s practicality: they include creating cover with brush piles and vegetation; squirting cats with water; humane traps; ultrasound deterrents; and communicating with your neighbors. Some of these are more practical than others. A British birding site has creative suggestions, including greasing the pole on which you hang the feeder, planting brambles under it, and planting cat-repelling plants such as Coleus canina. A friend has seen squirrel baffles used as deterrents. Now I just have to figure out which combination will foil this cat that is the scourge of our local wildlife. 

Rabies

My friends Jerry and Alison had an unfortunate incident with their cat, Beverly, which led them to an animal emergency hospital last Friday night. As you can see in the picture above, poor Bev is now a cone head. While waiting at the veterinarian’s office, Alison and Jerry read through brochures on rabies in the area, and the vet who saw Bev encouraged them to get a rabies shot for her and their other cat, Martin, even though they are indoor cats. According to the Centers for Disease Control, cats are far more likely to have rabies than are dogs, and most people are exposed to the disease through domestic animals rather than wild ones.

But cats get rabies through wild mammals, and rabid skunks, raccoons, and even foxes are increasing in the area where I live. I recently saw a sign warning that a rabid skunk had been found in the natural area where I was walking. If you’ve been following my blog, you know I’m a worrier, so I immediately wondered what I would do if I saw an aggressive animal and, nightmare of nightmares, it chased me, frothy mouth and all. Could I deter it by yelling and waving my arms, or should I run pell-mell the opposite direction? But, I’m not going to outrun a fox unless it’s in the final stages of rabies. So, I came home and did some research. All of the credible sources said to stay away from wild animals. Obviously, right?

But, not all rabid animals act violent. Although there is a “furious” stage, in which they are agitated and snap and drool, most are in a “dumb” state, in which they appear tame and approachable, demonstrating little fear of human beings. With my misconceptions about rabies, I know I would be tempted to help an animal that crept up, little knowing it might have the illness.

The Humane Society of the United States has, in my opinion, the most useful and concise information about rabies and what to do if you suspect an animal is rabid or if you or your pet has been exposed to the disease. If you or your pet are bitten, scrub the wound with soap and water, get to the doctor or veterinarian as soon as possible, and report information about the animal that bit you. In the end, only three human fatalities a year can be attributed to rabies. 

Morel Hunting

Carrying a willow basket through the woods, she reminds me of Little Red Riding Hood, or of a babushka. Her habit is to walk with her hands clasped behind her back, pausing often to scan the forest floor. She’s mostly an autodidact in the ways of fungi. I never feel unsafe eating the mushrooms she has given the thumbs-up to. Donna is the type of person who doesn’t pretend to knowledge she doesn’t have, which means that when she says something is edible, it is.

Last Friday, she took me to a place in the mountains where morels have abounded in previous years, but the signs indicated we were too early, even though this is late spring. I’m always disappointed when I don’t find mushrooms on a hunt, but she took the opportunity to educate me about finding morels in northern Colorado.

Here, they like to grow in aspen groves among the blooms of golden banner. The plant’s height (16-32” stems) and the way it grows in large clumps will help with identification, along with the bold yellow color of the flowers. If you’ve grown peas in your garden, you’ll probably recognize the shape of the flowers, because this plant is also in the pea family. Many other factors influence morel growth and can guide you to areas where they grow, but now I know these two natural indicators, both easy to see and easy to remember. 

Los Angeles

Next spring, we’re moving to Los Angeles for four months. I immediately thought about putting my blog on hiatus, because, except for pigeons, I couldn’t imagine urban nature in Los Angeles. But, as the city’s perimeter continues to expand and obliterate the places where animals roam, the wildlife that is present becomes even more obvious; the wildlife-human interface becomes stronger as humans encroach on habitat. A bobcat peered through my sister-in-law’s sliding glass door. A mountain lion crashed through a neighbor’s living room window before bouncing out another one. A mountain lion studied my friends while they picnicked on a cemetery lawn. I’ve watched a hummingbird sit on a bush in my brother’s yard for longer than I was willing to watch. When we lived in South Pasadena, which is in the outer ring of the city proper, flocking parakeets enchanted us as they perched on the tree in front of our balcony. Coyotes reputedly understand traffic patterns on freeways and cross multiple lanes safely. Instead of putting my writing to rest, I’m going to look on this as a challenge and an opportunity.

American Goldfinches

They call “Po-ta-to-chip,” but they eat far more nutritiously. I was delighted to identify American Goldfinches at my birdfeeder after a winter of House Finches and Black-capped Chickadees. This past weekend I saw a vibrant yellow male wearing his small black cap and showing white markings on his black wings. Goldfinches are common birds, but they provide a new and brilliant spot of color in our greening Maple tree. One intriguing fact about them is that they are vegetarian, only accidentally feeding on the random insect. They rely on sunflower and thistle seeds for food, and use thistledown to build their nests. Because they prefer thistle for seed and for nest construction, they breed later than other songbirds, when the plant material becomes available. An interesting result of their vegetarianism is that when Brown-headed Cowbirds lay eggs in their nest, the Cowbird nestlings survive only a few days, because the Goldfinch diet has insufficient protein to support them. I’m able to enjoy the Goldfinches for only a short time before the more aggressive House Finches flutter around and chase them off, but they return, both male and female, with more frequency. I expect them to disappear when they go in search of thistles. Next year I'll try to have some native thistle for them to use.

This and That

Temperatures are rising. Next week we’re anticipating days in the 80s, which raises the question, how do birds beat the heat? Osprey build their nests on open platforms that are exposed to all elements. And the Bald Eagles I watch are nesting in a tree that hasn’t yet leafed out to provide shade. These birds can’t just abandon their nests to change locales. Staying in the shade or bathing in a birdbath isn’t an option for them like it is for more mobile species. What options do the eagles and Osprey have? They can pant, which is technically guttural fluttering. They can turn their light colored feathers toward the sun to reflect heat. And, they can droop their wings over their offspring to cover them from the harsh Colorado sunshine.

Otherwise, it’s been a this and a that week, although not a boring one. I saw a Northern Harrier, or more descriptively a Marsh Hawk, with its characteristic white rump patch, as it combed the marshes in search of small rodents. I saw a coyote loping across the adjoining field, perhaps full on a meal of Northern Harrier eggs. While running, my husband and I espied an Osprey catching a fish in a river running narrowly through Cottonwood trees and marveled at the huge bird’s maneuverability. Today, I listened as a squirrel scolded me through my screen door from its perch on a Maple tree. And, every time I leave my house, I curse the dandelions while acknowledging that they provide early food for honeybees.

On Bullfrog Pond

I drive to the natural area one summer morning and find seven police cars blocking the entrance. I return home and send a message to the woman heading up my citizen-science project, studying bullfrogs. Two days later she responds about an attempted murder that “probably won’t affect you.” She signs her email with a smiley face.

A friend married to a police officer tells me the area is notorious for daytime rapes. I go alone in the morning several times a week. I invite excited friends to go with me. I recruit my hapless husband. Anything to avoid being alone. The only time I encounter a ranger patrolling he asks me with suspicion what I’m doing.

A man wandering into the brush surrounding the pond is close enough for me to see the needle punctures and scarred veins on his legs. He disappears, and then, after a few minutes, reappears. Maybe he’s clean, but the random cars idling in the parking lot in the late evening along with the area’s reputation make me suspicious of drug activity.

The weeds that grow up to my chin and trigger my hay fever and the trash people throw into the pond in increasing amounts are irritations compared to these encounters, but still bothersome.

Twenty or thirty volunteers participated in the training, but all summer I see only three other names on the check-in sheet and these names rarely show up; one of these individuals signs in only once. Could the lack of enthusiasm be because the natural area is creepy if not downright scary?

All last summer, I scribbled notes and filled in data sheets. I mistook algae bloom for eggs. I conscientiously tried to fulfill what soon became the Sisyphean task of counting the rapidly proliferating frogs. Five sit on a log, the next night seven, the next nineteen. Soon I cannot count them. I begin to understand why frogs were a Biblical plague and what it would mean to have the Nile “teem with frogs” that appeared even in the kneading troughs. They had to be bullfrogs.

The study I participated in required charting the ascendance of bullfrogs, an invasive species in northeastern Colorado that competes with native species. One story is that the frogs were accidentally introduced in the early 1900s while an agency was stocking trout. Another story is that the Colorado Department of Wildlife along with commercial meat producers intentionally introduced them as a sport species to be hunted. With a fishing license, giggers may cull an unlimited number.

Although adults may fondly remember childhood experiences catching them in ditches and ponds, bullfrogs are a problem in Colorado. They spread diseases to native frogs that they themselves are immune to, and as their population rises, the native species decline. Bullfrogs, which can measure 3 to 6 inches in the body, with their legs adding another 7 to 10 inches, also eat the eggs and tadpoles of other frog species in addition to devouring the adults, which are much smaller than the bullfrogs.

What keeps me going are the water snakes, the deer, the giant turtle, the foxes hunting grasshoppers in a neighboring field, and the leopard frogs whose call sounds like someone chafing a rubber balloon. The project is rewarding in these unexpected ways, but I am ready to end my commitment as soon as possible.

Red in Tooth and Claw

I don’t have any pictures, but I can’t get the vision out of my mind—a solitary bluebird huddled in the snow, head tucked into breast, feathers fluffed, shivering. I thought I was watching adaptation, but I later realized I was probably witnessing the process of dying. Birds do use all of the mechanisms I saw in order to maintain and raise body temperature, but shivering is only a temporary solution, taking an inordinate amount of energy. This unsheltered bluebird had few remaining resources as the temperatures dropped that night.

The next day, after the final night of the storm, I found two dead birds, and my friends reported others. Initially, I thought the cold caused the mortality, but slowly I realized that these birds died primarily of starvation. Because the insects they eat became inactive, the birds lacked the energy they needed to survive.

My favorite Website about birds, that I'm always citing, reports that even hummingbirds can survive freezing temperatures as long as there is food available. Spring may appear to be a season of abundance, but especially in a climate like Colorado’s, where drastic fluctuations in weather occur, it remains important to leave out birdfeeders while energy requirements are high and food can be scarce. 

Hummingbird Garden

As I’m beginning to think about planting a garden for this summer, I’m considering two factors—how to plant for drought conditions and how to attract hummingbirds. Luckily, my two desires intersect, because drought-tolerant plants are often beneficial to wildlife. So, what can I plant here in northeastern Colorado, which is a semi-arid climate? In an article on the Hummingbird Garden in Colorado Springs, the director of the garden recommends Bee balm (Monarda), California fuchsia (Zauschneria californica), Cardinal flower (Lobelia), Catmint (Nepeta), Columbine (Aquilegia), Delphinium (Delphinium), Firecracker penstemon (Penstemon eatonii), Pineleaf penstemon (Penstemon pinifolious), Fireweed (Epilobium angustifolium), Garden phlox (Phlox), Honeysuckle (Lonicera), Indian paintbrush (Castilleja integra), Maltese cross (Lychnis), Salvia (Salvia), Spider flower (Cleome), Sunset hyssop (Agastache rupestris). It’s my understanding that all of these are drought tolerant, with the exception of the Delphinium.

While I was thinking about hummingbirds, I received an email from Audubon, asking for participation in a citizen-scientist hummingbird study. This project couldn’t be better suited for the urban naturalist. You can sit in your chair with your morning coffee or tea and gather information for this study that helps hummingbirds. There’s even a smart phone app that you can use to enter your data.

Hummingbirds have such high metabolisms that they can starve to death within hours. So, I decided to buy a hummingbird feeder. I purchased one on Saturday as a birthday present for myself, and now we’re having a blizzard.

What’s in a Name, or Muscari armeniacum

I’m confused about the potential depth of my blossoming relationship with local flora. I understand that gardens form an important component of urban nature, and that they can also attract more nature in the form of birds, butterflies, and other insects. But, all I knew about the grape hyacinths my husband planted along our gateway path was that I liked them. This flower appears early—good for the impatient naturalist (see earlier post)—, grows well in difficult conditions, and smells good (although, really, am I going to kneel down on the cold concrete to smell them? And, we have too few to use as cut flowers.). Then things got more difficult. When I began researching them, I ran into orders, families, species, and genera, which made me wonder exactly what’s in a name? I’ve been content to ignore the larger implications of studying plants. Do I need to know the scientific name of the chokecherry tree, for example, to know that birds forage the berries? I want to know the function of plants, shrubs, and trees, especially in relation to wildlife. Isn’t that sufficient?

The Fidgety Naturalist

Spring is the quintessential season of change. Shouldn’t I feel the sap rising in my veins? True, spring transforms flora and fauna, but it is also a time of stasis. Leaves burst through the ground, but the plants rest before blooming. Hatchlings will appear soon, but the eagles still incubate. Days are longer, but nights are cool. Some daytime temperatures are in the 60s while others are in the 30s. Every winter I remember spring as the season of drama it is, but this early we’re only on the cusp of change. Many people revel in the promise as much as the actuality, but I’m antsy to see flowers in the yard and hatchlings in the nest.

Naturalist on the Run, Part II

Driving along an urban street to meet friends for our weekly long run, my husband and I were startled by a sight I had always wanted to see. Ten yards in front of our car, a hawk flapped heavily, seemingly unable to fly up into the crook of a tree, weighed down by the Rock Pigeon in its talons. Whether because of us or for some other reason, the hawk let go, and the pigeon flew away. Larger than the males, as hawks are, females prey on medium-sized birds such as pigeons and doves as well as smaller birds. What amazes me, though, is that the prey can weigh almost as much as the predator, with the largest pigeon weighing up to 13.4 ounces and the largest hawk weighing only an ounce more. Maybe the hawks predate only on smaller pigeons. Cooper’s Hawks also maraud birdfeeders in search of more petite birds. I don’t admit it to other bird lovers, but I’ve always secretly hoped that a Cooper’s or a Sharp-shinned Hawk would appear at my birdfeeder for a dramatic chase full of skill and agility.

Not as astonishing but still fun: the week before on a chilly evening run, an animal swam toward the bank in the river alongside us. We assumed it was a beaver, but a closer look revealed a raccoon. If this one was representative, they are fast, strong, and confident swimmers.

Close to Home

I’ve been reading in Women in the Field: America’s Pioneering Women Naturalists about nineteenth- and twentieth-century female ornithologists. Although many of them traveled afield, what caught my eye was that many of them stayed close to home and made their most important contributions to science by observing “ordinary” birds such as the Northern Flicker and the Black-capped Chickadee. Cordelia Stanwood (1865-1958) conducted her studies on the forty acres of habitat surrounding her home. Rich and varied, the land included appealing microcosms ranging from fields and wetlands to forest, used by a wide variety of birds that provided Stanwood with a lifetime of nature study. Margaret Morse Nice (1883-1974) studied the Song Sparrow. Althea Rosina Sherman (1854-1943) spent years focusing on the Northern Flickers she watched from her Iowa dooryard before she took a trip around the world. Studies on local flora and fauna may arguably have been more characteristic of female naturalists with their circumscribed range of travel, but male naturalists also studied the pedestrian and the local. The most famous naturalist of all, Charles Darwin, ran most of his study about earthworms (the book apparently sold better than On the Origin of Species during his lifetime) from his country estate. It’s comforting to know that someday even if I cannot go afield, I can always study the Black-capped Chickadees from my window.