Snowy Days

Winter walks at nearby parks while the snow is falling.

Mayslake Forest Preserve was originally the estate of coal baron Francis Peabody. In 1922, a year after completion of the Tudor mansion there, he died of a heart attack on a fox hunt on the property. The family sold the estate to the Franciscans who made the property a retreat center. DuPage County purchased the property in 1992. We frequently attend plays in the old mansion, enjoy the dog park, and walk the trails through the woods and prairie. The Franciscans had a Way of the Cross wind through the property, and many of the crosses are still found through the grounds.

I chatted with a volunteer this fall gathering prairie plant seeds. In the 30 years the county has owned the property, the diversity of the prairie has exploded. While the plants show off through the spring to fall, a few stark remnants remain in winter.

Or you can simply take a chance to run in the snow.

Further down the coast

The beach closest to where I grew up in Florida is nothing like the Maine coast. No rocks, boulders, or dramatic coves. Simply, a featureless sandy beach as far as you can see north and south, and looking east, a palette that changes day to day.

Since the beach faces east, the color—if it will be there—comes in the morning. Fortunately, in late January, the dawn does not come too early. This January day three years ago started with crazy colors before the sun got to the horizon.

The colors only seemed to intensify as the sun got ready to peek out. And when it did, the range of colors settled down to only a few.

Gulls and skimmers did their feeding, and played in the light.

A few mornings later, the sky was clearer. The early dawn showed the crescent moon and three planets.

And the palette of colors would be more subdued. Florida has no mountains, so the clouds offer their height.

Another day had a foggy glow with rich color.

And the color floated over the water.

The Ocean From Which We Came

The Maine beaches were generally moody and overcast on our visit in October.

Wells Beach, Maine

The poet Mary Oliver frequently used shore imagery. She lived much of her life near the Massachusetts coast. Here’s her poem The Poet Compares Human Nature To The Ocean From Which We Came.

The sea can do craziness, it can do smooth,

it can lies down like silk breathing

. . .

Silky - Wells Beach, Maine

. . .

or toss havoc shoreward; it can give

. . .

Toss havoc - on The Marginal Way

. . .

gifts or withhold all; it can rise, ebb, froth

. . .

Sanderlings in flight - froth

. . .

like an incoming frenzy of fountains, or it can

. . .

Fountains — The Marginal Way, Ogunquit, Maine

. . .

sweet-talk entirely. As I can too,

. . .

Ring-billed Gull sweet talking

. . .

and so, no doubt, can you, and you.

Mary Oliver, The Poet Compares Human Nature To The Ocean From Which We Came, from A Thousand Mornings, 2012

On the Marginal Way, Ogunquit, Maine

Fungus Among Us

Making dinner tonight, I was thinking about what I might focus on for the Friday Foto post. I was chopping up some mushrooms for pasta, and thought, “Well, mushrooms.” There were so many mushrooms on hikes I took this year, I was sure I’d find plenty of images.

Cabbage Palm, moss and lichen

But let’s start where I got an early education on biology—in the Erna Nixon Hammock where I’d take walks as young boy. Mrs. Nixon would point out the patches of brilliant red-blanket lichen and talk about symbiosis. How fungus and algae join together to make a different life form—lichens. And in the case of some lichens such as red-blanket, bacteria is thrown in the mix. From the Arctic to mountain tops to deserts to wetlands, lichens range all over the Earth.

Red-blanket lichen

Fungus and lichen paint many trees and rocks offering color and texture to places that might otherwise be very plain.

A final image from the hammock in Florida before we move north starts our views of mushrooms, and their great color and shapes.

At Erna Nixon Hammock

Next stop, another of my favorite places, Starved Rock State Park in Illinois.

Illinois canyon

The last two images were of fungus growing on logs laying on the ground. The next image is looking up high on a tree in a forest preserve in Cook County, Illinois.

Moving much farther east. We hiked on a trail just outside Portland, Maine and I don’t think we’ve ever seen so many and so many different types of mushrooms. According to wikipedia, 148,000 types of fungus have been identified, although there are an estimated total 2.2 to 3.8 million species in the Kingdom Fungi. Here’s one.

And the trails in Tennessee were filled with colorful members of the Kingdom Fungi.

At Obed National and Scenic River

Hope you found these fun to look at. The ones for dinner were very tasty!

Yellowstone 150

March 1, 2022 will mark the 150th anniversary of President Grant signing into law the creation of the world’s first national park—Yellowstone. My first visit was the year of its 100th anniversary, and I’ve returned to my favorite park three more times. The last in February 2017. Here are some images of two icons of Yellowstone—bison and thermals—from that visit five years ago.

Old Faithful dawn

Old Faithful is named for its reliable eruption every hour to hour and half. In the cold winter air, its steam rises high in the sky even when not erupting.

Firehole River

The Firehole River cuts through the Upper Geyser Basin which holds the largest concentration of geysers in the world. As all the thermal features drain their water into the Firehole, the river continues to flow through the frozen landscape.

Blue Star Spring

While there’s about 500 geysers in the park, over 10,000 thermal features are found. The most beautiful are the hot springs with their multi-hued bacterial mats.

Bison trio

A group of bison spent the night lying on the warm ground near a geyser, and then plowed through the snow on their way to new grounds.

Frosty bison

This lady stayed on the warm ground while the geyser steam frosted her hair with some highlights.

Feeding time

Although most calves are born in the spring, some born later in the year challenge themselves and their mothers to stay alive through the winter. The creation of Yellowstone National Park helped protect the last of the the millions of bison that had roamed the continent. Now Yellowstone cannot support the growing herds. Rather than cull the herds, the park service now cooperates with the Fort Peck Assiniboine and Sioux Tribes to transfer bison. In the last four years, 182 bison have been distributed to 18 tribes in 10 states.

Old Faithful sunrise

For the first time, the Park Service Director Chuck Sams and Interior Secretary Deb Haaland are Native Americans. Natives peoples hunted, fished, quarried, and used the thermal waters around Yellowstone for thousands of years before its creation as a park. Multiple tribes will participate in the anniversary, including the creation of a teepee village near Roosevelt Arch at the park’s north entrance.

Golden morning

Yellowstone has received more than $125 million for infrastructure funded through the Great American Outdoors Act. With about 5 million visitors each year, the park needs significant resources to protect these treasures and to safely handle the people who want to see these riches.

A narrow venture with Leslie Marmon Silko

Two years ago this week, the rest of my family travelers ventured back home. I stayed on for a few more days in southeast Utah. One of my plans was to hike up the Narrows, which is the top of the main valley canyon in Zion National Park. The Virgin River cuts a narrow canyon through the sandstone until it opens up into the wider valley that is the main destination in this third most visited national park.

This is a very popular hike, with summertime photos showing scores of people walking through the cold water on desert hot days. But midweek on a January morning wrapped in waders and neoprene boots, I was alone in the canyon.

The year before I started law school, I worked as a messenger for a law firm and hiked the canyons in downtown Chicago every day. One of my frequent stops was the MacArthur Foundation which was just getting started after the death of John D. MacArthur a couple years before. One of the first recipients of a MacArthur Foundation Grant was Leslie Marmon Silko of the Laguna Pueblo people. From her poem, Where Mountain Lion Lay Down with Deer:

I climb the black rock mountain

stepping from day to day

silently.

. . . .

. . .

The old ones who remember me are gone

the old songs are all forgotten

and the story of my birth.

. . .

How I swam away

in freezing mountain water

narrow mossy canyon tumbling down

out of the mountain

out of deep canyon stone

down

the memory

spilling out

into the world.

From, Where Mountain Lion Lay Down with Deer, Leslie Marmon Silko

from Long Time Ago

. . . .

At first they all laughed

but this witch said

Okay

go ahead

laugh if you want to

but as I tell the story

it will begin to happen.

. . . .

Then they grow away from the earth

then they grow away from the sun

then they grow away from the plants and animals.

They see no life.

When they look they see only objects.

The world is a dead thing for them

the trees and rivers are not alive.

The deer and the bear are objects.

They see no life.

They fear

they fear the world.

They destroy what they fear.

They fear themselves.

. . . .

From, Long Time Ago, Leslie Marmon Silko

2021 -- For the Birds

I hope everyone reflecting on 2021 finds some jewels among the continuing challenges. Our lives continue to challenge our fellow creatures, in particular the birds. This refuge of Bosque del Apache does provide a wintering home for many birds beyond the cranes and snow geese who are the showstoppers. Here’s a few of the others spotted.

Gambel’s Quail

This was one fellow I definitely wanted to meet on my visit to Bosque. They did not disappoint in their charismatic scurrying along the ground. What did surprise me was their delightful noises of clucking, chuckling and calling out to each other. The strangest sound was like water drops falling through the desert brush they were in.

Brewer’s Sparrow

Another to add to my life list were these Brewer’s sparrows that buzzed and sang along many trails at the refuge.

Lesser Goldfinch

These little cousins to the American Goldfinch played around a feeder quite a bit, but this fellow found a nice branch to pose on while pausing between feedings.

Pyrrhuloxia

Along with the Gambel’s quail, this was the bird I was most hoping to see. The Pyrrhuloxia is the desert version of the Cardinal. Mostly in Mexico and south Texas, New Mexico is the northern area of their range, and I was lucky to spot a couple and this lady posed nicely on a cactus.

Blackbirds

The geese weren’t the only ones flying around in large flocks. Murmuration’s of blackbirds would swoop through the marshes and fields as well.

Northern Pintail

The lady in the background seemed a bit impressed as this male Northern Pintail showed off some of his elegant plumage.

Cooper’s Hawk

Plenty of birds of prey patrolled the skies. Northern Harriers teased me throughout my visit, seeming to choose to fly near me as I was driving, and then fly off as soon as I stopped my car, so I got a lot of images of harrier tail feathers. I really wanted to get a picture of a Golden Eagle. I finally saw one just a few feet away eating a deer. Unfortunately, the deer was roadkill and I was going about 75 mph. This Cooper’s hawk perched nearby with a nice view and I kept encouraging him to seek some prey so I could get some flight shots, but his patience in the tree outlasted mine on the ground.

Bald Eagles

Several bald eagles kept watch around Bosque. I don’t know if they were just easier to spot on these snags or they really preferred them, but there was nearly always at least one to found on these large dead trees in the middle of marshes.

Pelican, cranes and ducks

As I was ready to leave Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge, I drove by this pond hoping to enjoy the last of the low morning light on some cranes or geese. I noticed this cluster of white birds on the north end of the pond. As I drove closer I was surprised they were not snow geese but a cluster of white pelicans. Growing up in Florida I’d watch white pelican fish forming a large circle in the water and then slowly contracting the circle and concentrating the fish. They’d fill their pouches with fish. I’m still surprised when I see pelicans with mountains in the background. This was a fitting scene to leave imprinted on my memory as I left Bosque. Hoping the new year brings you many scenes of peace and life, and may 2022 be a good year for the birds as well.

First Light in New Mexico

This is why I came back.

The blast off at Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge.

To get there in the dark. As the sky lightens, to hear the geese talking joined by the calls of ducks and cranes. Suddenly, the geese talk gets very loud. Thousands of wings beat. The geese take off, and a thunder of wings and squawks go overhead.

But. What will the light be? Will the temperatures be in the single digits, freezing as you wait and wondering if your fingers will work to push buttons? And when the geese decide what they’ll do—a few minutes before sunrise, a few minutes after, will they blast off, or will they just stay put. Two mornings in New Mexico. What will it be?

Bosque del Apache dawn

December 1, 6:28 a.m., a half hour before sunrise a few hundred snow geese fly in to join others already in the water. The wildlife refuge staff flood certain areas where the geese and cranes will gather for the night. This long pond runs north and south, and photographers are lined up tripod leg to tripod leg looking east to the dawn sky. I’d gotten a tip that the birds were having a tendency to gather at the north end of the pond, so I set up there. This group flew in and things quieted down. Then eleven minutes later, the geese calls got very loud. Get ready!

Snow Geese blast off

6:39:36 the blast off begins, and you hope your camera settings and you are ready to capture the show.

6:39:43 all the geese have left the water. The sky thunders with wing beats and honks.

6:39:49 the snow geese have all taken off and are heading north out into the fields for the day. In about a half minute the pond has emptied of thousands of geese with only their reflections in the water and they’ve gone overhead with calls fading into the distance. Time to search out more opportunities as the sun gets ready to rise, so walk further south and spot some sandhill cranes in the water.

Sandhill Cranes in dawn light

The soft dawn light was pushed aside as the sun got over the San Pascual mountains, and a different kind of magic began. And look, a few snow geese were still around.

Snow geese trio

The Sandhill Cranes don’t blast off in the large groups like the geese, but often leave in small family groups of two to four birds. They’ll often tip off when they’re ready to leave by stretching out their necks and leaning in the wind.

The cranes ended the morning light show as they, too, took off to surrounding fields.

The morning sky was pretty clear with a few clouds near the eastern horizon to add some color. That evening the clouds moved in, and as last week’s post showed, the sky put on quite a show. What would the next morning bring? I got to the location a bit earlier with hopes of getting the crescent moon near the horizon. About an hour before sunrise, the sky began to light with nice color in clouds.

At 6:23, still 35 minutes before sunrise, the geese honking got loud, and here they came.

Is this the blast off already? The geese seem to circle around.

Instead of taking off and scattering through the surrounding area, the geese were gathering in the pond. Soon enough, the sky was emptied of birds and the pond was filled with geese.

Dawn over the San Pascual mountains

Unlike the day before, there would be no big blast off the geese. Large numbers of geese would start honking loudly, and a group of a few hundred geese would take off.

Seven minutes until sunrise

At 7 o’clock, the sun got over the distant mountains, and groups of geese continued to go. Two very different and exceptional mornings at Bosque del Apache.

Sunrise, Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge, New Mexico

The Last Half Hour of Light in New Mexico

Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge lies in the Rio Grande valley in west central New Mexico. For eons rain flowed down the mountains into the valley to the river. Monsoons would flood the river and new channels would form. The old river beds and wetlands supported wildlife and was a corridor for migrating birds. Some would spend the winter in the Bosque area.

Ten minutes to sunset:

Sandhill cranes over Chupadera Mountains

For thousands of years native tribes hunted, farmed, and lived in the valley and each year the birds returned. New settlers could not live with a river that flooded and changed its course. So the river was dammed, irrigation canals were dug, and the river was tamed. Wetlands disappeared, food for the birds was gone and the birds, too, began to disappear.

Sandhill crane and cottonwood

In the 1930s, giving jobs to young men who were devastated by the Depression, the Civilian Conservation Corps began restoring the floodplains in the Bosque del Apache. In 1939, President Roosevelt signed legislation protecting over 57,000 thousand acres and adding Bosque to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service’s National Wildlife Refuge system. Birds began to return.

Bosque del Apache is one of over 500 national wildlife refuges managed by the Department of Interior. Staff regulate gates and ditches to mimic the seasonal flooding of wetlands. Water moves through fields, marshes and ponds and back to the Rio Grande. Invasive plants are removed, and natural food sources such as millet and chufa are returned, and other grain crops are grown. The flooded areas are nighttime homes for thousands of sandhill cranes, snow and ross’s geese, in part to protect them from coyote and other predators.

Sunset:

Sandhills may be the oldest living birds with 2.5 million year old fossils nearly identical to the current species. While they eat mainly grains and vegetation, they are omnivores and will happily take on insects, amphibians or small mammals. A young bird near me once pulled a mole out of the ground and had quiet a struggle getting it down, but eventually was successful. Though some subspecies stay year round in Florida, Mississippi and Cuba, most migrate to and from the Arctic. Pictured here are those part of the western flyway. I live under the eastern flyway, and as I prepare these images I heard a couple groups heading south even this late in the year. Their ancient call is remarkable, and I can hear it inside the house, and go outside and see them hundreds of feet in the sky.

When the birds begin landing, they usually “balloon” or “parachute” in with feet down, toes spread and wings akimbo. It is as if the nearby petroglyphs have come to life and are falling from the sky.

Desert southwest sunsets and sunrises can be breathtaking, but you need clouds for the colors to explode. I kept checking forecasts for my two mornings and evenings at Bosque, but they kept saying clear skies with the possibility of clouds the second day. The second afternoon skies were clear, but the forecast was for clouds. And they came! Of course, the images so far are with long telephoto lenses. But after the sun set and the colors began to change, it was time to reach into the bag for a wider view.

It can be a bit of a frenzy photographing birds in flight, though sandhills are pretty predictable and relatively slow. A peaceful sunset can be just as frantic capturing the rapidly changing light, searching for compositions, changing perspectives, and getting different lenses. And trying to simply enjoy the majestic scene developing in front of you.

A tough tip to remember during spectacular sunrise and sunset shows is to look behind you. This one lit the sky in all directions. Here’s looking behind where I took the last image.

And back looking the other way again to the most intense colors of the evening.

As the light fades, the birds continue to come from the fields in the surrounding areas where they’ve spent the day. The places with water are rare. The intense drought has continued for a couple years. The staff at Bosque del Apache cannot flood as many fields this year. An interview with Debora Williams, the director of the NWR explains the efforts to maintain the refuge under the challenges of drought. The interview starts at 33 minutes in, but this link might take you directly to that part of the show. Will we confront climate change? Will we invest in infrastructure and jobs like the CCC in the 1930s to enhance lives and the environment?

As the light fades, sandhills continue to parachute in. Time to get the long lens out and concentrate the last of the light. The Friends of Bosque del Apache support the refuge, staff the visitor center and the adjacent desert arboretum from where I’ll share more images. If you’d like to support their efforts, you can donate or purchase raffle tickets for a sandhill crane quilt. The raffle ends today!

Though many birds stay or travel through the refuge year round, the thousands of geese and sandhill cranes (and many turkeys, white pelicans, blackbirds, etc.) concentrate in the refuge from mid-November through January. If you haven’t yet, I hope you have the chance to visit.

New Mexico mammals

Just returned from a trip to New Mexico highlighted by the birds at Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge, but a few mammals showed themselves along the way—not counting the road kill and the Golden Eagle I passed by at 75 mph eating a carcass.

My first morning stop was Petroglyph National Monument in Albuquerque. The park spreads over several areas on the outskirts of the city along a volcanic rift where Ancestral Pueblo people made petroglyphs 400-700 years ago. Most of the units don’t open until 8 or 9 a.m., but Piedras Marcadas Canyon trail stays open. I made it for a great sunrise, and saw some iconic Albuquerque hot air balloons also enjoying the sunrise. This one later came down for a close view of the mesa ridge over the canyon.

The petroglyphs are incised into the lava blocks along the ridge. There are many human and geometric shapes and birds, and some desert animals as well. Some later crosses and cattle brands by Spanish colonists are also found in the rocks.

The petroglyphs are on boulders along the canyon walls. Running among the boulders were some dessert cottontails. They are prey for nearly every predator in the area—hawks, snakes, foxes, bobcats, and the fellow who’ll be in the next image. Hard to see on this image, but the front of this guy’s face showed he had a narrow escape not long before, so he’s showing his speed.

Dessert Cottontail — Petroglyphs National Monument

The mesa ridge overlooks the field of lava boulders. There wandering along the edge was one wily coyote searching for cottontails or similar fare. Unlike the wolf that likely came across the Bering Straight, coyote has ancient American origins. Likely the people who made these petroglyphs told stories of the trickster Coyote.

Near the visitor center at Bosque del Apache NWR are trails through a beautifully tended desert arboretum that has plenty of bird feeders and water sources. I added several birds to my life list in this little area, and was enjoying just sitting listening to the beautiful calls and watching the variety of birds around one feeder. Then this little fellow came up to feed and the birds didn’t seem to care it was sharing the food. This tiny fellow is mouse-sized but called a Hispid Cotton Rat.

Hispid Cotton Rat — Bosque del Apache NWR

Bosque del Apache NWR runs along the banks of the Rio Grande, and is the wintering home of tens of thousands of Sandhill Cranes, Snow Geese, Ross’ Geese, and other bird species. Even in times of severe draught as there is now, the fields and water levels are carefully maintained to provide optimum food sources for the birds. I suspect the mule deer enjoy this abundance, too.

Mule deer — Bosque del Apache NWR

Young buck

The Rio Grande has changed its course over the years. The Rio Viejo trail runs through an old channel of the river. The rich soil supports a large cottonwood forest that still held golden autumn leaves. I heard some rustling and spotted a javelina. They have poor eyesight, so I stopped and knelt down. Soon I noticed a dozen of them were eating their way through the woods. One of the boars crossed the trail near me and took a dump. Though he was about the size of my dog Chance, he impressively left behind several days’ worth of what I need to pick up from Chance. After watching and photographing for a while, I stood up. The startled band thundered away.

Javelina or collared peccary

Feeding Fall Birds

It’s been far too long since I’ve done a post on birds. However, I’ve got a trip planned to focus on some flying feathers. Before we get to that, I’ve been capturing some birds close to home with a new long lens I’m having some fun learning to use. Let’s start with a couple little ones from St. James Farm Forest Preserve in Winfield.

House Finch

This House Finch was singing away on top of the pine. Several Chickadees were flitting through the shrubs gathering seeds, and were a challenge to capture.

Black-capped Chickadee

I was in the back yard watching a Red-tailed Hawk flying overhead. Then it began pursuing a flock of pigeons, so I went in the house to grab my camera. The chase lasted a bit, but I couldn’t get any images. Then another hawk came, and the two tumbled about in the air.

Red-tailed Hawks

I had the urge to get some more bird images then, so it was time to drive to a nearby forest preserve to see what might be around. As it turned out, I got no images there. But with the long lens next to me, just a couple blocks from home a Red-tailed Hawk was sitting in a parkway having lunch. Could it have been the same hawk that was flying overhead just a little while ago?

Those who might be sensitive to a raptor enjoying its prey should scroll past the next two images of the possum and the hawk.

Red-tailed Hawk and possum

A couple weeks ago, I posted a story about a hike on the Paul Douglas trail at Indiana Dunes National Park. Just as with my first hike there last winter, the beginning of the trail is loaded with woodpeckers. I’ve never seen so many concentrated in one place, including several Red-headed Woodpeckers.

Red-Headed Woodpecker

The birds were very busy packing nuts and seeds into crevasses in the trees to get ready for winter. I think the fellow in the next image is a juvenile. You can see one tiny blotch of red starting to feather out on his head. If you look carefully, you can see some of the nuts that he was very busy plugging into the tree.

Seed storing

As I was driving away from the Cowles Bog trail at the Dunes, a pair of Sandhill Cranes were feeding in the marsh. Usually by this time of year, I’ve heard the cranes flying south, but I haven’t heard any so far. However, in a couple weeks, I expect to see thousands of them. I’ll be heading to Bosque del Apache Wildlife Refuge in New Mexico, where I went once before in 2009. Tens of thousands of Cranes, Snow Geese and Ross’ Geese spend the winter there along the Rio Grande. One of the greatest wildlife scenes I’ve experienced is the “blast off” of the geese around sunrise. As the sky begins to light up, the cranes and geese begin to call and honk. Some mornings small groups will take off, but most days something triggers the whole flock to suddenly take flight off to the surrounding fields. The rush of wings swirling overhead is breathtaking.

Local Bosque del Apache groups run a Festival of Cranes the weekend before Thanksgiving, but as last year, it is a remote event. You can attend some of the classes Friday and Saturday if interested. Or you can peek into their live Facebook feed Saturday morning for the fly off—and hopefully blast off—or the sunset return when they fly back to the pond where they spend the night. The morning feed is from 6:45 to 8 a.m. CST. The birds don’t tell you ahead of time when they’ll take off, but usually it’s about 10 minutes before or after sunrise. The evening fly-in spreads out through the evening and the live Facebook feed will from 5:30 to 6:45 p.m. CST. The cranes seem to be calling the entire time. Can’t wait to get there in a couple weeks!

Indiana Dunes National Park, Sandhill Cranes

Back to the Dunes

When we hiked Miller Woods last week, a ranger suggested trying the Cowles Bog trail a bit further east for more fall color. So we returned this week for a hike there before the colors were all on the ground. The nearly five mile trail is a lolly-pop—you hike in on a straight line and then get to a big loop. The trail starts in the oak savannah.

The loop trail goes around the actual fen, and then gets to the final dunes and to Lake Michigan. The incredible diversity of this location, and the early conservation efforts of a few people are why there is a national park here today. Henry Cowles wrote his dissertation about the plant succession in the dunes in 1898 while getting his Ph.D. at the University of Chicago where he would stay as a professor. He became a founder of the ecological studies movement while confirming the ecological importance of the area, leading to preservation of some areas as massive steel mills were being built on the shores of Lake Michigan in Indiana and Chicago.

In 1916, Cowles invited Stephen Mather, the first director of the newly formed National Park Service to Chicago and on a tour of the dunes. Hearings were held in Chicago to establish Sand Dunes National Park, but those efforts were derailed by WWI. Soon, the tallest of the dunes was destroyed to make a port and mill, and much of the sand was shipped to Muncie, Indiana to the Ball Glass plant. A local English teacher, Dorothy Buell began leading efforts to preserve the local ecology.

Today, the massive steel mill adjacent to the protected area is constantly present through the roar of the mill and the sounds of train and truck traffic. The Cowles bog area was one of the first to be preserved by being purchased by the Save the Dunes Council in 1953 formed by Buell. In 1965, the National Park Service declared Cowles Bog to be a National Natural Landmark. Meanwhile, Illinois Senator Paul Douglas helped broker a compromise that federal support for the new Port of Indiana would only occur with the creation of Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore.

The National Lakeshore protected about 8,300 acres when it was established in 1966. Subsequent bills expanded the park to over 17,000 acres. In 2019, a century after Stephen Mather’s visit to the Dunes, the area was designated at the 61st national park. It is one of the most ecologically diverse parks in the system with eastern forest, prairie, lakeshore, fens, bogs, and fresh water streams.

The end of the trail climbs over the last of the dunes and spills into a field of marram grass holding on to the sand before getting to the lake.

And behind the final line of grasses peaks Lake Michigan.

A WonderFall Surprise

The autumn colors have a been slow in coming here, and not very dramatic this year. I took a chance (well, I took Chance, and I took an opportunity) to head to Indiana Dunes National Park to see if any colors could be found there. The Paul Douglas trail is in the westernmost part of the park, and starts just a couple hundred yards past a tattoo shop and vacant stores in Gary. However, you’re quickly in oak savannas, beaver lodges, sand dunes, swells, ponds, and eventually the trail opens up on Lake Michigan. I shared a hike there last December on a snowy morning. As the sun rose Thursday, magical autumn foliage spread over the forest floor.

Soon enough the sun was getting up over the ancient dunes and providing warm light across the forest.

The sun lit up a beaver lodge in a pond in an interdune swale. One of the first white settlers in the area built a trading post for products such as beaver pelts. The animals were eliminated soon enough, but beaver have returned, and one swam across the pond as we watched.

Across the pond an oak glowed in the new day’s light.

The trail then comes up to the Grand Calumet River.

When we crossed the small bridge over the river, a flock of ducks took off, but three large birds remained. The family of Mute Swans—two adults and a juvenile—kept their distance as we walked along river’s edge.

Finally, a large marsh and grassland are between the two final dunes before you get to the lake.

Chance was happy to rest on the beach before heading back.

On the two mile return, we enjoyed the plants still glowing in the low autumn sun.

Back at the Paul Douglas Learning Center, Chance got a treat from a ranger, who recommended a couple more trails with good fall color. If you’re in the area and up for a trip there this weekend, you might try Dunes Ridge Trail or Cowles Bog. Also, on Sunday at noon, there will be a ranger presentation and hike about Native American settlements in the area. Or enjoy a scene like this on the Paul Douglas Trail.

Illinois Meditations

On a sunny autumn morning, Chance and I hiked up Illinois Canyon at Starved Rock State Park to the tiny waterfall and large pool at the head of the canyon. We were alone, and I got lost photographing the colors and forms in the water as the fall leaves floated slowly toward the stream that emptied the pool.

I hope you can enjoy the stillness and beauty of this morning and imagine what you want in these images. I will also share some parts of three poems from Roberta Hill Whiteman. She was a professor of English and American Indian Studies at University of Wisconsin-Madison until she retired last year, and is an enrolled member of the Oneida.

. . . Through their songs,

the wind held on to visions.

We still help earth walk

her spiral way, feeling

the flow of rivers

and their memories of turning

and change.

From These Rivers Remember, Roberta Hill

. . .

In their songs, the wind held

on to visions. Let’s drop our burdens

and rest. Let’s recognize our need

for awe. . . .

From These Rivers Remember, Roberta Hill

. . .

Sit where there’s a center

and a drum, feel the confluence

of energies enter our hearts

so their burning begins to matter.

. . .

From These Rivers Remember, Roberta Hill

. . .

This is Maka co-ka-ya kin,

The Center of the Earth.

From These Rivers Remember, Roberta Hill

I hope you can take a few minutes and let her read the entire poem to you. The full text of the poem is also found on this Library of Congress link. She then goes on to offer some of her background and of this poem. She mentions that she lived on Roberts Street in St. Paul in the 80s and 90s, and that was the address of the NTEU local I would work at often in Minnesota during that time.

. . .

Yet within this interior, a spirit kindles

moonlight glittering deep into the sea.

These seeds take root in the hush

of dusk. Songs, a thin echo, heal the salted marsh,

and yield visions untrembling in our grip.

. . .

From Dream of Rebirth, Roberta Hill

. . .

I dreamed an absolute silence birds had fled.

The sun, a meager hope, again was sacred.

We need to be purified by fury.

. . .

From Dream of Rebirth, Roberta Hill

The National Park Service announced this week that it is partnering with the American Indian Alaska Native Tourism Association

to help facilitate regular, robust and meaningful dialogue between Tribes and the NPS. Strengthening relationships with Tribal governments is a cornerstone of the Biden-Harris Administration and this partnership will ensure that the perspectives, voices and traditions of indigenous communities are incorporated into exhibits, outreach and cultural tourism programs in national parks.

. . .

as if without a history, I should always walk

the cluttered streets of this hapless continent.

Thinking it best I be wanderer,

. . .

From In the Longhouse, Oneida Museum, Roberta Hill

. . .

I rode whatever river, ignoring every zigzag,

every spin. I’ve been a fragment, less than my name,

shaking in a solitary landscape,

like the last burnt leaf on an oak.

. . .

From In the Longhouse, Oneida Museum, Roberta Hill

You can read the full text of In the Longhouse, Oneida Museum at the Poetry Foundation website. Each of these poems are also in the anthology When the Light of the World was Subdued, Our Songs Came Through compiled by U.S. poet laureate Joy Harjo which you can get for Native American month in November.

I hope you enjoyed the visit to the pool by Illinois Canyon.

House of Light -- or Lighthouse

Pulitzer prize winning poet Mary Oliver was born and went to college in Ohio, but lived most of her life near the sea on Cape Cod and in Florida. I don’t know of any poems she wrote about lighthouses that can accompany the images I took of three iconic lighthouses in Maine. However, her book House of Light was written when she lived on the Cape, and as with all her poetry, is filled with images of nature.

“Make of yourself a light,”

said the Buddha,

before he died.

I think of this every morning

as the east begins

to tear off its many clouds

of darkness, to send up the first

signal—a white fan

. . . .

From The Buddha’s Last Instruction, Mary Oliver, The House of Light, 1990

Cape Elizabeth, Portland Head Light

During the early years of Independence, General Washington directed that a light be established at Cape Elizabeth just south of Portland. It was still being constructed as the country was formed under the Constitution and the new Congress passed an infrastructure bill which included up to $1,500 to finish the building of the Portland Head Light. The Light stands today as the oldest on the Maine coast.

Cape Neddick Light, York, Maine

Nearly a century later, after the country was recovering from the Civil War, Congress authorized $15,000 for a Light on the south Maine Coast at Cape Neddick in York County. A century and a half later, more warning lights shine, and the country lacks ability to authorize essential infrastructure spending.

. . . . What kind of nonsense is this?

Everybody needs a job.

Yes, a person wants to stand in a happy place, in a poem.

But first we must watch her as she stares down at her labor,

which is dull enough.

. . . .

If the world were only pain and logic, who would want it?

Of course, it isn’t.

Neither do I mean anything miraculous, but only

the light that can shine out of a life. . . .

From Singapore. Mary Oliver, The House of Light, 1990

The Nubble

The Cape Neddick Light sits on a small island just a 100 yards off the coast—called a nubble. The Lighthouse has taken this name, so it is often just called “The Nubble.” Having seen probably hundreds of images of this iconic Light house, I was still surprised how very close it is, yet inaccessible since it is on its own little island. The clouds opened for one brief shaft of light on the light when we visited.

Cape Cod National Seashore, Massachusetts

A brief interlude away from Maine, south a bit to Cape Cod near where Mary Oliver lived when she wrote The House of Light. In one poem, she finds a hermit crab on the beach. After looking into its shell, she puts it back on the tideline to hurry “. . . toward the future . . .

and what a rebellion

to leap into it

and hold on,

connecting everything,

the past to the future—

which is of course the miracle—

which is the only argument there is

against the sea.

From, The Hermit Crab, Mary Oliver, The House of Light, 1990

Bass Rock Head Light, Acadia National Park

Farther up the coast—down east—in Acadia National Park, is another iconic lighthouse. Bass Rock Head faces south along this coast that runs east-west here, and the autumn sun is moving south, so it lights the light even mid-day.

Former U.S. Poet Laurette Billy Collins established a project he called Poetry 180, selecting 180 poems so high school students could read or listen to one poem a day. He selected Mary Oliver’s The Summer Day from The House of Light for number 133. It’s probably her most quoted poem. You can read the entire poem here, but for now, an excerpt:

I don’t know exact what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

From, The Summer Day, Mary Oliver, The House of Light, 1990

Ship Harbor, Acadia National Park

Just a bit east of Bass Rock Head is Ship Harbor. A trail leads to the rocky coast where we sat to watch the tide go out.

Her remarkable poem of a snowy owl as Death, ends:

and let ourselves be carried,

. . .

to the river

that is without the least dapple or shadow—

that is nothing but light—scalding aortal light—

in which we are washed and washed

out of our bones.

From, White Owl Flies Into and Out of the Field, Mary Oliver, The House of Light, 1990

Around Jordan Pond

Sorry for missing a couple weeks of posting while traveling, but here’s some images from one of the hikes at Acadia National Park in Maine. Jordan Pond is a glacially carved lake with a 3.5 mile loop trail around the shore. The trail starts at the south end, and we headed counter-clockwise as the sun was nearing the ridgeline on the west and spotlighting the changing colors on the eastern shore.

Jordan Pond color

Go this way

The trail on the east side of the lake is an easy, level crushed rock path. Lots of streamways are built on the path to allow water to run off the mountain side into the lake, but it had been dry enough that none of those streams were flowing.

Jordan Pond trail

As you approach the north end of the lake, a few spur trails head up to the Bubbles, a couple mountains overlooking that end of the lake, but it would be dark soon so we continued on around the lake. A couple larger streams enter the lake after flowing down the Bubbles, and idyllic bridges cross them. Can you spot one?

Jordan reflections

Here’s a closer view.

While a little early for peak autumn color, some intense patches made for beautiful views.

The return trail on the west side of the lake was quite different from the east side. First, you needed to scramble over some boulders.

scrambling

Then a very long boardwalk kept you off the forest floor. We were fortunate that our sunset hike had very few other hikers since it would have been challenging to cross paths with people going the other way, especially with a dog on the leash. The Acadia experience was challenging with great crowds even mid-week with parking lots filling up quickly.

Jordan Pond boardwalk

Acadia is a dog friendly park, and like a few other parks, offers a B.A.R.K. ranger program where your pet can earn a badge. The picture below is of the Acadia collar tag, and Chance getting a badge from a ranger at Saint Gaudens National Historic Site.

Many national park sites have understandable restrictions on dogs due to wildlife, safety or crowding, but many provide great opportunities. One of the best is nearby Indiana Dunes National Park that permits dogs on almost all trails, and has a B.A.R.K. ranger program. This weekend they are even offering a ranger led hike for dogs.

Rangers

As we approached the end of the hike, you could spot Jordan Pond House that overlooks the southern end of the lake. Lots of people were gathering near the shore to watch the sunset. We tried to go back to the House the next morning for their famous tea, but the parking lot was full well before the opening.

Jordan Pond House

We joined the folks lined up on the shore to view the fading dusk colors over the Bubbles rising above the north end of the Lake. A beautiful end to the hike.

Bubbles over Jordan Pond

The Waterfall -- Mary Oliver

I’ve shared some images from Obed Wild and Scenic River, a national park area in the Cumberland Plateau in Eastern Tennessee. With lots of opportunities for whitewater sports and rock climbing, the hiking trails are limited. A ranger suggested nearby Frozen Head State Park for hiking. We were off to find some waterfalls.

It was a warm, humid, sunny afternoon, and contrasty light is not favorable for photographing waterfalls. However, the forecast called for some storms and rain, so we headed out hopeful that conditions would change. We past a couple small falls on the way, but the light was too bright, so perhaps a visit on the way back.

We got to a nice twin fall with a big pool as clouds were moving in. About ten young kids were playing around the fall as parents watched nearby. Chance and I took a seat to watch when thunder echoed between the mountains. And — no kids and nice light.

Debord Falls

Few poets can imbue a poem with nature imagery as Mary Oliver. In 1991, Poetry published Oliver’s The Waterfall — For May Swenson. When Poetry received a massive endowment many years ago, all it’s prior publications went online so we can mine this treasure.

For all they said

I could not see the waterfall

until I came and saw the water falling,

its lace legs and its womanly arms sheeting down,

while something howled like thunder,

over the rocks,

all day and night—

unspooling

like ribbons made of snow,

or god’s white hair.

At any distance

it fell without a break or seam, and slowly, a simple

preponderance—

a fall of flowers—and truly it seemed

surprised by the unexpected kindness of the air and

light-hearted to be

flying at last.

Gravity is a fact everybody

knows about.

It is always underfoot,

like a summons,

gravel-backed and mossy,

in every beetled basin—

and imagination—

that striver,

that third eye—

can do a lot but

hardly everything. The white, scrolled

wings of the tumbling water

I never could have

imagined. And maybe there will be,

after all,

some slack and perfectly balanced

blind and rough peace, finally,

in the deep and green and utterly motionless pools after all that

falling?

Mary Oliver, The Waterfall, Poetry, January 1991

Across the Beatles Universe

Several weeks ago I posted some images from the Southwest together with lyrics from Joni Mitchell. I just rewatched Julie Taymor’s Across the Universe and so some Beatles lyrics have inspired me, and I’ve got images from a hike on the Devil’s Hall trail in Guadalupe Mountains National Park in west Texas to accompany them.

John Lennon said the opening lines to the song came to him after an argument with his first wife Cynthia and her words flowing over him, and he went downstairs to write:

Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup
They slither wildly as they slip away across the universe
Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my opened mind
Possessing and caressing me

He said in an interview:

"It's one of the best lyrics I've written. In fact, it could be the best. It's good poetry, or whatever you call it, without chewin' it. See, the ones I like are the ones that stand as words, without melody. They don't have to have any melody, like a poem, you can read them."

I remember being surprised in coming across the Lennon-McCartney lyrics for A Day in the Life in an anthology in a college poetry class. Lennon said the line above was inspired by a photograph he saw in a London paper about a Guinness heiress who killed herself in a car crash, and the mundane nature of covering such a story. In only a few years images of him killed outside his New York home would echo back to these lyrics.

The image is of smoke from a fire that closed most of the trails in the park. In many ways the images of fires, floods, draught and destruction sometimes become just another mundane news story.

Well, it’s not a beetle, but coming across this centipede on the trail was a surprise. Paul McCartney’s lyrics he’d started for a different song were plugged into the middle of Lennon’s in A Day in the Life. If you have a Hulu subscription, you must see McCartney 3, 2, 1. You’ll need to wait until the very last episode, but McCartney’s recall of the creation of this song and inspiring orchestration is mesmerizing.

Ringo Starr might not be the lyrical genius of Lennon or McCartney, but he wrote a few treasures himself. This image is near the end of the Devil’s Hall trail and the entrance into the Hall by some natural stairs.

I’ll end this post with a photo from the end of the hike when we were greeted by a Canyon Wren, and a verse from one of Lennon and McCartney’s greatest.

Cultural Landscape - Blevins Farmstead

In May, I posted some images from the Big South Fork National River and Recreation Area which sits in the Cumberland Plateau in Eastern Tennessee and Kentucky. When visiting the area again last month, I stopped at the Bandy Creek Ranger Station for some ideas on where to visit. I asked about the Oscar Blevins Historic Farmstead that I saw on the map. The ranger told me about it and gave driving directions, but then added there was a loop trail from the other side of the ranger station parking lot that went through the woods to the farmstead. He gave me a brochure about the route, and off we went.

“And dark, dim in the blue haze”

The trail starts along Bandy Creek. The trail brochure speculated as the origin on the name. Apparently, an early 18th century family started a farm nearby, but soon abandoned it—or in the local dialect — “bandoned” it. The bandoned area eventually was called Bandy.

“There, in blotched and cobwebbed light”

Some sandstone cliffs rise a bit above the creek. Archeologists determined that over many centuries natives took temporary shelter under some of the overhangs, but no tribes ever established long-term residence in the area. The land was not too fertile or hospitable for permanent settlement.

“where the Indian village was once”

After winding through the woods for a couple miles, the trail comes to a “bandoned” road where if you search carefully there is evidence of a family cemetery and later Blevins farmhouses, but eventually, the woods give way to the 24 acre main Blevins farmstead.

“The meadow is bright as snow”

Perhaps you’ve noticed the titles to the images. They come from some lines of The Signature of All Things, a 1949 poem by Kenneth Rexroth. He was a conscientious objector during WWII, and was called “the Daddy of the Beat Generation.” He was charged by an academic critic as belonging to the “bear-shit-on-the-trail school of poetry,” which Rexroth took as a compliment. So, a bit from the poem:

. . . .

The meadow is bright as snow.

My dog prowls the grass, a dark

Blur in the blur of brightness.

I walk to the oak grove where

The Indian village was once.

There, in blotched and cobwebbed light

And dark, dim in the blue haze,

Are twenty Holstein heifers,

Black and white, all lying down,

Quietly together, under

The huge tree rooted in the graves.

. . . .

Kenneth Rexroth, from The Signature of All Things, 1949

“I walk to the oak grove”

The image above is from where the trail first opens to the farmstead. The old fence line leads to the “new” farmhouse that was built in the 1950s. The Big South Fork NRRA was authorized in 1974, and began acquiring some of the land in the area. The Blevins began this subsistence farm in the 1870s. As with most of the farms in the rugged Upper Cumberland, farming was never much more than subsistence. The family sold the farm to the government in 1980, and the century’s worth of structures built on the land now tell some of the story of this cultural landscape. The National Park Service has an informative summary of the history of the farm and a long, detailed Cultural Landscapes Inventory it created of this farmstead in 1998. The NPS has many missions to preserve and protect wild lands for public enjoyment, but also is a repository for our national memory and heritage, and the cultural landscape heritage is a part of that mission.

“a dark blur in the blur of brightness”

The image above is of the 1879 farmhouse, which in many ways is in better shape than the 1950s home. Those aren’t dust spots on the picture, but some of the insects buzzing about. It was time to head back on the trail through the woods. Though it may have been more convenient to drive up to the farmstead, the walk through the woods provided a better context for the isolated, challenging life the farmers had in the rugged landscape.

“quietly together, under the huge trees rooted in the graves”

National Rivers and Trails -- Cumberland & Obed

A few weeks ago, I wrote about the fire on the Cuyahoga River in 1969 leading soon thereafter to the creation of the EPA and the Clean Water Act. A year earlier, Congress had passed the National Trails Act, and established two national trails—the nearly 2,200 mile Appalachian Trail and the over 2,600 mile Pacific Crest Trail. There are now eleven national scenic trails and nineteen national historic trails such as the Oregon Trail, Trail of Tears, and Selma to Montgomery Trail commemorating important events in the nation’s history. The National Park Service oversees these 30 trails, and you can look at them at this map.

Sunrise on the Cumberland Trail

The NPS also recognizes over 1,300 national recreational trails. While currently only two-thirds completed, the Cumberland Trail will extend 330 miles from the Cumberland Gap where Kentucky, Virginia and Tennessee come together and will end at Chickamauga National Battlefield near Chattanooga. A stretch runs though the Obed Wild and Scenic River Park in Tennessee, and I got a campsite right next to the trail. You can see the trail blaze on the spur trail next to my car, so we could get an easy start hiking in the morning.

Rock Creek campground, Obed National Wild and Scenic River

Also in 1968, the National Wild and Scenic River Act was passed to designate and protect free-flowing (non-dammed) rivers of natural, historic or cultural importance. Eight years later, Congress established the Obed Wild and Scenic River in eastern Tennessee as an NPS site. In addition to the trails, the park attracts white water running as well as rock-climbing in the 500 foot gorge walls. This campsite is on the Emory River, and the picture below is taken on the other side of the Emory and looking downstream to where the Obed River joins it and then continues running off to the right.

Confluence of the Emory and Obed Rivers

A bonus of camping next to a river is falling asleep to the sound of the whitewater. However, when waking near midnight, it took effort to hear the sounds of the river over the loud chorus of frogs and insects. I didn’t want to go back to sleep, but instead just listen to the amazing music. When dawn did arrive, the valley was filled with mist.

Emory River misty sunrise

Emory River morning

The campsite is near a place called Nemo’s landing and one of the few places you can get next to the river if you’re not paddling through it. After dipping to the river at Nemo, the Cumberland trail climbs back up the gorge wall, but you can hear the sound of the river below even as you climb higher on the gorge. When you get to some sandstone cliffs, and the whitewater is crashing over rock below, you hear the sound of the river echoing off the walls above as well as from the river below.

By daylight, the frog chorus has been replaced by bird song and different insects continued to play their tunes. And though it’s hundreds of yards away and on the other side of the gorge, when a train roars by, it actually hurts your ears that have become accustom to the quiet of the woods.

Old hornet nests

Some of the mist and fog collects on the leaves and drops in loud splashes. Although larger, more popular National Park sites are experiencing record crowds hiking here was a solitary experience. Lat week in hiking nearly 25 miles on five different trails here and at neighboring Big South Fork National River and Recreation Area, we didn’t meet a single other hiker.

Misty woods

colorful floor

The trail followed the ridgeline along the Emory River and then turned to follow the Obed valley. While the Cumberland trail continued on its route north to Virginia, a spur trail led down to Alley Ford. This spur is wide and rocky and is the old wagon road bed leading up from the ford where the river could be crossed and a small community once lived. Periodic floods wiped out the tiny communities of Nemo and Alley’s Ford. When we also camped at Nemo last spring, a ranger said that two weeks earlier the campsite had been under six feet of water!

Approaching Alley Ford

Swamp Milkweed along the Obed

As the sun started to rise over the other side of the gorge, the mist began to burn off.

Sunrise on the Obed Wild and Scenic River

Time to rest and enjoy the view before climbing back up to the ridge.

Obed reflections

Eventually, the Cumberland trail will run its full length across Tennessee, but for now segments come to an end. Thanks for coming along on a hike.