Month: April 2021

When is spring in its full glory? Is it when the trees have all spread their green canopy over the land? How about when the apple trees share the splendor of their delicately hued pink-to-white blossoms? Or is it when the first robin hatchlings peck themselves out of their temporary sky-blue homes? The answer is none of those. There is no sense of definitive arrival in nature, which makes the natural world an endless, ever-evolving source of interest.

Change is a constant in the natural world at all times of year, but in the hyperactive season of spring the changes are more like a continuous series of small but dramatic bursts. Day by day, moment by moment, everything is transforming. A rain shower will cause plants to spring up seemingly overnight. A warmer day will encourage wildflowers to open up, turtles to leave the water to doze on partially submerged logs in the sun, and insects to proliferate, which in turn attract flocks of insect-eating birds. Visit the same place often, and you will have a different experience each time. The riches are far more abundant than a lavish smorgasbord, where there are far too many foods to try, but it’s exciting to know so many options are there for the tasting.

This week Steve and I visited a beloved area nature preserve, our first visit there this year. We love this park because of its large size and varied habitats of open prairie, a lake, marshes and woodlands, which afford opportunities for seeing diverse flora and fauna. As we navigated a short asphalt path in a wooded area leading to the trails, right away we saw one of my favorite native wildflowers of the eastern U.S.: virginia bluebells. These gorgeous plants, which prefer the shade and moisture of deciduous woods, sport lovely blue bell-shaped flowers in clusters at the end of a long stem (up to two feet in length), a taller profile than many other woodland flowers. To me, their blossoms resemble miniature trumpets, grouped together like a merry band to blast a joyous fanfare to herald spring’s arrival. Adding to their appeal, they provide two visual shows for the price of one: before the blue blossoms appear, the blooms sport a lovely pink-purple color.

These are plants that like each other’s company. They proliferate readily when they approve of the conditions, often forming large patches of stunning blue and green when the woods are otherwise still relatively void of bright color. Here is a section of one impressive stand of bluebells we passed along the way.

In addition to focusing our gaze downward to spot blooming wildflowers, we also trained our eyes on the marsh waters, the air and the trees for bird life. As we strolled past a large marsh, we came upon some other birders (always easy to identify by the binoculars slung around their necks) gazing intently at the water. They told us some blue-winged teals were paddling in the middle of the marsh. Neither of us had seen this duck species before, so it was a thrill to point our binoculars on them. They prefer quiet, calm bodies of water, like small lakes, ponds and marshes, and are often found along water edges in concealed spots to find food. The blue wing of their name, seen on the males, was not visible to us, as it is most apparent in flight, but we enjoyed seeing their interesting plumage of dark-speckled breast and back, white crescent behind their bill and white patch above their rear. Here is one in flight, proudly showing the blue on his wing.

Spring is perhaps the best time of year to be a bird watcher. It’s migration season, when we welcome the many different species that return after spending their winter in warmer climes. Some of them are arriving here to stay in their local breeding grounds, while others are here for a brief visit before continuing to their more northerly seasonal home. Warblers fit into that second category. These small songbirds stop for a respite on their way from Mexico and Central and South America to their breeding territory in the northern tier of North America. Starting in mid-April each year we start to watch for them in local forest preserves and along the Fox River, as they are a delight. Males of many of the warbler species have strikingly colorful plumage that, despite the birds’ compact size, helps in their identification. Yet spotting and identifying them can still be a formidable challenge. Their small stature means that, once trees and shrubs fully leaf out, they are often well hidden among the foliage. In addition, they are most uncooperative viewing subjects: they never sit still. As insect eaters, they are always on the move, foraging for insects along the branches of trees and bushes or on the ground.

It was that sort of constant, restless motion of a small bird in a shrub that caught our attention during our walk. We stopped and concentrated, carefully following its rapid, unpredictable movements as it explored one bush after another. Suspecting it was a warbler of some kind, we weren’t sure until those same kind birders who pointed out the teals confirmed our suspicions: we were seeing yellow-rumped warblers. Affectionately called “butter butts” by some birdwatchers, the males of these gorgeous songbirds have striking plumage of blue gray, white and black, punctuated by brilliant patches of golden yellow on the top of their heads, each side and just above their tail. A western subspecies also displays that same bright yellow on the front of its neck.

These handsome birds are usually the first warbler species to visit our area, so they represent a welcome harbinger of the other beautiful warblers still to come. And during their spring migraton is the most exciting time to spot them in these parts. Like a number of other bird species, the male yellow-rumped warblers wear their lively, colorful plumage only during the breeding season. In the fall, they shed their spring and summer feathers – a process called molting – in exchange for a much drabber outfit. Instead of the bold contrasts of blue gray, black, white and yellow, the predominant color is a dull medium brown. The only showy yellow patch they keep is their namesake spot of golden yellow on their rump, along with a faint hint of yellow on their sides.

For warblers, as for other species that wear their showiest outfit during the breeding season, the objectives of this seasonal molting extend well beyond attracting a potential partner. Molting is a critical survival mechanism. Feathers are subject to a lot of daily wear and tear as birds fly and brush up against tree branches, for example. Just as we need to replace our worn-out clothing, they periodically need to grow a new coat of feathers to ensure they’re in optimal condition for flight and insulation. When the warblers are molting in the fall in preparation for migration and their plumage is a hybrid of their breeding and non-breeding outfits, they can be that much harder to identify.

As we watched the yellow-rumped warblers energetically flitting and fluttering and showing off their spring finery along the marsh shore, I felt grateful for this day to see them and wish them well on the remainder of their journey.

“I have a Bird in spring,” by Emily Dickinson

I have a Bird in spring
Which for myself doth sing —
The spring decoys.
And as the summer nears —
And as the Rose appears,
Robin is gone.

Yet do I not repine
Knowing that Bird of mine
Though flown —
Learneth beyond the sea
Melody new for me
And will return.

Fast in safer hand
Held in a truer Land
Are mine —
And though they now depart,
Tell I my doubting heart
They’re thine.

In a serener Bright,
In a more golden light
I see
Each little doubt and fear,
Each little discord here
Removed.

Then will I not repine,
Knowing that Bird of mine
Though flown
Shall in distant tree
Bright melody for me
Return.

When people learrned I had moved to Illinois after growing up in Connecticut, I often heard a comment like this: “New England is so beautiful. You must miss living there!” I did miss the wooded hills, rocky terrain and fall foliage splendor. Yet I have always appreciated one aspect of life in largely flat northeastern Illinois: the skyscapes. Growing up in a hilly area covered with trees that obscured most of the sky, I never saw a clear view of a sunset from my childhood home. When I lived in Chicago, I often saw spectacular fiery sunsets on my el ride home from work, and the Lake Michigan shoreline affords limitless views of ever-changing cloudscapes. Unlike where I grew up, where weather sneaks up on you, here you can often see it coming and going. I have stood in awe on a lakefront beach watching towering thunderheads billowing, expanding and climbing higher and higher over the lake. I love the sense of expansive space I experience here in the wide open Midwest.

Since moving to West Dundee northwest of Chicago, I have learned some parts of northeastern Illinois are not so flat. We live in the Fox River valley, which is graced by gentle hills sloping down to the river, and some years ago we discovered kames. Never heard of kames? I hadn’t either, until Steve and I visited a couple of area forest preserves that include this geological feature. Here are the basics on kames: As the glaciers retreated 12,000 to 15,000 years ago, the melting ice sometimes formed depressions or holes. The meltwater left behind large sand and gravel deposits in those depressions and, as the ice melted further, the deposits settled as mounds or small hills; the bowl-like depressions at the foot of the kames are called kettles. Over thousands of years, soil gradually covered them and vegetation took hold. The kames and kettles now stand as clear markers of the glaciers’ path through this region, as well as pleasing counterpoints to the overall level terrain.

The closest preserve with these kame features, Freeman Kame-Meagher Forest Preserve, is about a 15-minute drive from our house, west of the Fox River valley. As you approach the park from the east, you can see the kames rising up in the distance, rounded hills covered with trees or grasses breaking up the otherwise flat plain. This park is one of our favorite places to walk in the area, as it has a bounty of habitats. In addition to woodlands and oak savannas, it has an area of open grasslands. Throughout the park you find ponds, streams and marshes, affording opportunities to see waterfowl in addition to songbirds, like the bluebirds we often see flitting in a bank of shrubs in the grassland. It was with the hope of seeing nesting cranes that we visited Freeman Kame preserve this week. In the past we have seen sandhill cranes occupying a nest in the center of the marsh pictured below, which is situated between the woodland and grassy slopes. And it was in that marsh that, on a day last fall when cranes were migrating south, that we thought we might have seen a family of whooping cranes. The “whoopers,” as birders call them, are an extremely rare species that conservationists are working hard to bring back from the edge of extinction. We didn’t have binoculars on that fall excusion, so we couldn’t be certain of our identification, but on our visit this week we hoped to see some cranes there. This time we remembered to bring our binoculars.

We decided to take the long way around the hiking loop through the woods before reaching the marsh that was our final destination. Among the delights we spotted along the way were two logs poking up in a kettle pond serving as a sunbathing platform for painted turtles. One of the logs sported seven or eight small turtles congenially lined up in a row. From our spot looking down on them from the trail, at first they resembled mounded knobs on the log. Many of the woodland wildflowers are not blooming yet, but we saw an abundance of white trout lily. Some specimens were just starting to emerge, the pointed ends of their unusual mottled leaves of green and dark purple poking up here and there along the path. In places where more sunlight is reaching them, they were full grown and blooming profusely, forming pleasing bright patches of white.

When we reached our destination marsh, instead of nesting cranes we saw a Canada goose sitting contentedly on the thick stand of marsh grass that forms a small island in the water. We carefully scanned the marsh and its perimeter, but no cranes were to be seen. As if appearing on cue to mollify our slight dismay at not seeing any cranes, a kingfisher flew around the far shore of the marsh, cheering us with his merry, unmistakable chattering sound.

We made our way up the hill from the marsh on our way back to the parking area, pausing on the path where it overlooks a secluded woodland kettle pond. We have seen turtles there on occasion; in one instance last year we spied a large snapping turtle that was napping on a rock. Noticing a small group of waterfowl actively swimming around near the opposite shore, we trained our binoculars on them. What a wonderful surprise: they were wood ducks.

To my eye the most strikingly beautiful of all North American waterfowl, wood ducks are not a common sighting for us, as they prefer hidden ponds and marshes in wooded areas. Seeing a group of seven or eight of them was a first for us and a thrill. Near extinction in the early twentieth century from overhunting by man, wood ducks are now making a comeback and, thankfully, are no longer listed as an endangered species. From our location above them, we enjoyed several minutes observing them peacefully paddling about until something startled them and they took off, en masse, before settling back down in the far end of the pond.

Once again, when my wish for a particular sighting was not fulfilled, nature provided abundant riches more than sufficient to end any feelings of disappointment.

Much of what we experience in nature is fleeting. Right now, in northern Illinois, the first hints of leaves are emerging on the deciduous trees. I love that look. The new leaves display a bright mint-green shade that is like a blush of vivid fresh color on the branches. I also appreciate that the leaves, still so small, aren’t obscuring my view of birds singing on the trees’ limbs. Charming patches of wild violets are gracing our yard with their heart-shaped leaves, white petals and violet centers. I admire these early bloomers so much we delay starting our seasonal lawn mowing until they begin to fade away. Today it rained, and few scents are as recognizable as the organic, musty aroma of the ground after a shower. It seems as though you can smell the teeming life rising up from the earth. Yet none of those glories enchanted me as much as seeing tree swallows over the Fox River this past week.

Never before had I witnessed a flock of migrating tree swallows feeding over water. The first species of the swallow family to head north to their nesting grounds in North America, they arrive here having made a long trek from as far south as Central or South America. Although our area is well within their breeding range, the flocks I watched were clearly migrants, spending part of the day over the river to gorge on flying insects before continuing their northbound journey.

Many people view the arrival of migrating tree swallows a wonderful harbinger of the season of renewal, and now I know why. They travel in large flocks and will stop to refuel, often near or over water where insect life abounds. Here’s what makes seeing them so exciting: they catch insects in the air while in flight. Think about that. Bugs are flitting all around in wildly unpredictable patterns, sometimes directly above the surface of the water, and they have to catch them in their beak in midair. It’s a tall order, which is why swallows are considered among the most agile fliers of the bird kingdom.

The first day I witnessed them, I approached the pedestrian bridge to cross the river and became aware of a sizable number of small birds over the water. I positioned myself in the middle of the bridge and watched countless birds, probably hundreds of them visible from where I stood, flying over the river in dizzying, erratic motion at high speed. My perspective from the bridge enabled me easily to identify the birds as tree swallows. Looking down on them as they swept over the river’s surface, I could easily see the gorgeous, striking blue-green color of their heads and backs flashing their iridescence in the sunshine, along with the brilliant pure white of their undersides as they abruptly turned or streaked overhead. These birds are built for aerial agility. Sporting slender, streamlined bodies and long, pointed wings, the swallows have an aerodynamic shape that enables them to catch insects while on the wing. Their midair feeding is aided by their ability to open their small beaks wider than many other songbirds. Their flying prowess also gives them a fighting chance to escape predators; unlike many songbirds, the swallows migrate during the day, rather than at night.

To describe what they were doing simply as “flying” seems like a major understatement. Verbs like swooping, careening, zooming, diving, gliding, darting, speeding, skimming, circling, plummeting, zipping, whirling, flashing – in combination – begin to describe their movements in flight. It was like watching an elaborate, complicated aerial ballet, but with no discernible pattern to the figures. I was amazed that none of them slammed into each other as they executed their highly acrobatic maneuvers. As they zoomed both over and under the bridge, I was occasionally startled when one of them would whoosh right by me, very close to my head. I wanted to fix my gaze on one bird to follow its intricate movements, but they were moving so fast it was hard to do. When I finally succeeded, I observed my chosen swallow make a wide arc over the water, plummet down close to the water’s surface before sweeping back upward just in time and making a sharp 180-degree turn in one direction or another. Here is a short video to give you a ground-level view of a flock of swallows feeding while airborne.

I observed a second flock taking its meal break over the Fox River two days later, spending another 30 minutes watching them, captivated, do their aerial dancing from my viewing spot on the bridge. Since then, some days have gone by, and no other flocks have appeared. I suspect they have moved on to points north.

Many of nature’s gifts are as fleeting as the swallows’ flight. While it would be impossible for me to remember all of the intricate details of what I witnessed those two days, I will long recall my feelings of awe and delight as I watched the tree swallows freely sharing their gifts with me.

“Swallows” by Leonora Speyer

They dip their wings in the sunset,
They dash against the air
As if to break themselves upon its stillness:
In every movement, too swift to count,
Is a revelry of indecision,
A furtive delight in trees they do not desire
And in grasses that shall not know their weight.

They hover and lean toward the meadow
With little edged cries;
And then,
As if frightened at the earth’s nearness,
They seek the high austerity of evening sky
And swirl into its depth.