Month: January 2025

Hope & Wild Things

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all
Emily Dickinson

The first stanza of Emily Dickinson’s poem on hope rings true- especially in this past week. My despair over the state of our nation’s leadership swelled in its intensity. Coupled with the below-zero temperatures, I drifted through the weekend. I struggled to stay warm and hold up against the news and my fear of the furnace breaking down. I needed to find some peace, and some hope.

While out walking, I thought of Wendell Berry, finding peace among the wild things. Over my head fluttered European Starlings, calling to each other. In spite of the cold, they squawked and screamed, carrying on in their raucous ways as if it were any other day. Back in my yard, birds of many species fed on the seed I had scattered. While usually the Dark-Eyed Juncos and House Finches would fight- they did not. All were too focused on survival to slip into argument.

Birdwatching always brings me peace. When I was a teen, I would keep up my parents’ feeders in the winter, filling each one after caring for my goats. I would sit on the bench in the kitchen with my tea and watch as Blue Jays and Northern Cardinals swept into the yard. Black-Capped Chickadees would follow me during my midday water check. When dusk would settle over the mountain, the birds would roost in the trees, waiting for morning.

The quiet routine of cleaning feeders and stocking suet help the days pass. One day, it’s October, and the last of the fall migrants disappear. The next, it’s December, and established flocks of songbirds are floating in and out of the yard. At last, it’s March, and the early spring migrants are taking a pit-stop on their journey north. Spring inches forward at the rate of one minute per day.

For me, the creep from winter solstice to spring equinox is laden with long periods of thought. At this moment, I’m consumed by my worries for our lands’ future. Already the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge has lost its protection from oil drilling. I fear for a renewal in fracking in Pennsylvania, an industrial pursuit I despise. There is only so much angry complaining I can do- only so many strongly-worded letters and emails I can write. There are only so many aggressive phone calls I can make.

Even if fighting is natural for all animals, it is not the option I want to choose. Caring for my community, both human and wild, is the path I want to follow. I can start in my yard, tending to the birds as I always do. I can carry on with bringing nature journaling to my community… Giving my time and effort to support educational experiences in public settings. I do believe I am not alone- there are hundreds, if not thousands, of similar people in Pennsylvania.

I cannot, and will not despair. There are wild things, feathered things, counting on me. Birds don’t know of human politics and maneuvers. I cannot lie in my bed to rot when there are creatures that need me to break the ice in their watering dish. I cannot retreat inside of myself when there are decisions to make in my community. Spring will come again, one day at a time.

Green Linings

Snow floated down around me as I walked across the parking lot to Lakeside Trail. The trail, a 5.6 mile loop at the base of Bald Eagle Mountain, is a favorite of mine. American Robins chittered in the trees overhead, flying off when I whistled in return. The trail was snowy and undisturbed, perfect for some time alone in the winter woods.

Along the trail ranged a dense, berry-dotted shrub, obscuring my view of the lake. Little grey-blue berries clustered on branches… privet. Privet renders any habitat into a tangle of branches with its reproductive cycle. The invasive plant species will out-shade low-lying native plants. Once established, privet is an aggressive enemy, and here, the battle is already lost.

Interspersed throughout the privet is multiflora rose, another invasive species in Pennsylvania. Multiflora rose is a “Class B” noxious weed, as it is very prolific and difficult to control. An established plant will produce up to 500,000 seeds in a single year. Shade-tolerant and hardy, it’s taking over the base of Bald Eagle Mountain.

I can’t help but feel sad watching these species consume my favorite places. Japanese stiltgrass threatens my yard. Shrubs like privet edge out the mountain laurel, and English Ivy coats the ground in thick waves. These are not the scenes we should be seeing in Pennsylvania, but they are our reality.

As I continued my walk, the dense shrubs gave way to a small clearing- the remains of an apple orchard. A bench sits near the trail, and I stopped for a moment to admire a common greenshield lichen on the bench. This native fungi species shone bright lime-green against the white snow. Typically found on bark, this lichen will grow on wood products if conditions are right. Upon my touch, it was not warm, but wet and floppy like lettuce leaves. After dwelling on invasive species, I felt better to know a native one was thriving here.

This orchard is one of my favorite places at Bald Eagle State Park. In my first year of living here, I would bring a book here to read on the bench or lay on a blanket in the meadow. I wondered what this meadow would look like if the privet or multiflora rose took over. The thought was too depressing- how could I only imagine a bad outcome for this scene?

A term popped into my mind as I strolled around- recency bias. Witnessing the fires in Los Angeles, and knowing the role invasive species had in them, had been on my mind all week. Our minds will often overemphasize recent experiences when thinking about the future.. Combating recency bias takes a concentrated effort, as all pessimistic thoughts do.

Instead, as I walked back home, I imagined what Lakeside Trail would be like if the invasives were managed. Reducing the invasive shrubs would open the understory, helping low-lying plants grow. Promoting the growth of native berry-bearing species would provide forage for wildlife. This type of project is intense, and in some cases, impossible. Yet, I didn’t feel daunted. The lichen gave me hope, proof that even in a space troubled with invasive species, with a little help, native ones may find a way.

Nature Walk Diary, 1-11-25

Saturday dawned with three-quarters of an inch of fresh, new snow. After my coffee, I bundled up to take a walk to the dock and do some birding. At 28 degrees with a soft breeze, the day felt warmer than the week before. A blue, sunny sky stretched overhead as I set off, first noticing some bird tracks on my front stoop.

A light wind pushed at me while I noted the birds in a neighbor’s yard: Dark-eyed Juncos, House Finches, and a Blue Jay. The dulcet tones of Lick Run overpowered any bird song. The groundwater-fed stream was free-flowing and ultra clear. I love the look of the creek flowing under the railroad bridge… I swear I have a thousand shots of that sight alone!

I continued on my walk, ambling up the hill. To my left, the thick briars on the steep hillside was full of birds. I let some cars pass and sidled up the guardrail to take a sound recording with Merlin. Merlin recognized Carolina Wrens, Tufted Titmice, Northern Cardinals, and American Robins. Before I turned off the recording, a new call broke out, one I was not familiar with.

A high, sharp repeating cheep rung out and paused before starting over. Merlin claimed it was a Golden-Crowned Kinglet. It continued to call after I closed Merlin and started looking for the bird in the thicket. Near the top of a bush was a small, darting bird with a shock of yellow on its head. A bright dark eye flashed under a white stripe… the Kinglet! The bird was here and gone before I could raise my camera. Dejected, I continued on my walk to the dock.

The closer I approached the lake, the more quiet the brush became. I ended my checklist with 12 species, the typical bunch of feeder birds plus the Kinglet. Once in the dock’s parking lot, I appreciated the beauty of the frozen lake. From my spot, I could see all the way to the breast of the dam, complete with a white velvet carpet of snow.

Rabbit tracks crossed the path to the dock platform. At least two rabbits had been dashing back and forth in the new snow. One rabbit had ventured out on the ice, crossing from the peninsula to the shore once. I had heard the ice was almost 3 inches thick at the Hunter Run Cut, but I wasn’t stupid enough to step out. Ice ought to be 4 inches or more thick before it’s acceptable to walk upon.

I dawdled a little longer, collecting two seed pods and a mushroom to draw back at home. I had seen the mushroom earlier this fall and wanted to explore its shape on paper. One of the seed pods was from the sycamore tree near the shore. I suspect a rushing squirrel broke the brittle tip of the branch.

As a cloud floated across the sun, I turned for home. The walk back to the house was slow- I stopped a few times to take more Merlin recordings. I strained to listen for the Kinglet back along the hillside, but I didn’t catch a single note or feather. Despite my disappointment, I did feel pleased at heart- I started off the new year with a new bird on my life list!

Recounting the Christmas Bird Count

Black Vultures

On December 29th, I participated in my first Audubon Christmas Bird Count. Armed with my binoculars and camera, I loaded up in my friend’s Subaru. Four of us set off into the morning mists to cruise through a variety of habitat to find as many species as we could. We had no goals- our only expectation was to explore our corner of the circle and hope for species diversity.

At our first pull-off, a huge flock of thrush-sized birds flew overhead. At first, we thought they were European Starlings, but they didn’t seem quite right. Their flight calls were too cheerful to be the omnipresent nuisances. A long Merlin recording determined them to be American Robins. Throughout the morning we sighted one large flock after another. The Robins were taking advantage of the warm, rainy weather to hunt for earthworms.

In a small development, we crept towards a small group of vultures sunning on a tree branch. At first, we thought they were Turkey Vultures. As our position was okay, we snapped some pictures and realized the birds were Black Vultures. While my photograph is poor, I could see their white primaries spread for the sun. Their behavior was a little ironic- at this point in the day, the mists hung heavy over the fields… a great day for a goth bird!

Hermit Thrush

As our morning wore on, we noted plenty of “standard” winter feeder birds. At almost every stop a Carolina Wren or Northern Cardinal would call out. While we didn’t always see them- there were plenty of Paridae. Black-Capped Chickadees and Tufted Titmice often flock together in the winter. Tufted Titmice are my favorite feeder bird, and I took on the role of counting them at our stops.

A continual delight was the melody of White-Throated Sparrows. Too small and fast for my camera, they danced around the shrubs of every stop. For such a small bird, their voices are loud and carried wherever they went. At one stop, they were the only birds we could hear over an agitated Northern Cardinal. I hadn’t paid much attention to White-Throated Sparrows before, but now they are on my radar for the future.

During an unrewarding trip up a wooded lane, a medium-sized brown bird popped out on a branch near my window. From the back, and through fogged glasses, it looked like a very fat wren. After wiping my glasses and picking up my camera, the bird turned and revealed itself to be a Hermit Thrush. This was my first one- and I was able to snap a half-decent shot!

Eastern Bluebird

As our day waned, we finally traded in the forests for edge habitat. Overgrown, mixed hedgerows rose high over the car as we sidled down a muddy country lane. A few winter feeder birds popped over us, and as we were turning we noticed a flash of blue further away. Hopping out, all four of us trained our binoculars on a flurry of activity on a berry bush- Eastern Bluebirds! On a high, we headed to the last part of our route.

Construction blocked the usual route, so a quick detour got us back on track. We spotted another Red-Tailed Hawk and an American Kestrel surveying roadways for prey. The area we were birding was close to I-99, making it hard to hear birds over the roar of the road. A few more American Robins added to the list, and we closed up shop, heading back to our meeting place to disband.

Our day was five and a half hours of pure birding- starting at 7:15am and ending at 12:45pm. On this trip, I was able to add to my life list and learn new camera tricks. Already I can say this trip was the highlight of my long holiday vacation!