The Biting Truth

Once, when I was learning a form of meditation, I was given an insight into our relationship with nature. I was sitting on the hot sand of a pine barrens, surrounded by low-bush blueberry shrubs, scrub oaks, and small, scrappy Pitch-pines. The August sun hammered me into the earth like a nail. I struggled with letting go of my physical discomfort so I might touch a deeper meditation. As it happened, I was sitting next to an ant nest. It did not take long for the ants to respond to my agitation and discomfort so close to their home. They began ranging about my naked legs and torso, biting me. Suppressing panic and an impulse to smack the ants or to get up and move someplace else, I had the idea that the ants were there to help me. Perhaps it was not an accident that I chose this spot to meditate. Still, like many people, I have an automatic response to certain insects touching my skin or darting across my living space, so letting them be was not an easy thing to do at first. 

Ant on aster flowers eating pollen.As I worked to calm myself down, I began to be present to the situation, doing my best to fully experience each piercing bite along with the sensation of all those tiny ant feet touching my skin. A curious thing happened then – I stopped thinking of the sensation as bad or painful, and I began to really look at the ants. I tracked one ant on my thigh as it wandered here and there, occasionally biting me and I realized that it wasn't angry at me or trying to hurt me, so much as it was trying to learn about me in some way, or communicate something to me. I became aware of the nature of the bites – most seemed to be a slow, testing sort of bite, and I could gauge the degree of pressure applied by the ant; as if you or I might test the ripeness of a plum or melon. 

My curiosity about this particular ant gave way to admiration and respect, then, to my surprise, I felt a familial sort of love for this ant that was not intellectual, or based on any aesthetic appeal. I touched the spirit of the ant and of nature that surrounded us, and I experienced a kinship. This was astounding to me, but what happened next was even more amazing to me. As I experienced this oneness, the ant I was looking at stopped walking and laid down, as if resting like a dog on a lazy afternoon. In fact, all the ants on my body stopped biting me, their antennae relaxed.

After a while of being inside this experience, I decided to try something. I deliberately broke my meditation and returned to my ordinary consciousness, and in that instant, the ants began moving again and I received a few more bites. I laughed at this very obvious confirmation – or reprimand. I got up, carefully brushed the lingering ants from my limbs and left the area. During that timeless interval when our spirits met, I discovered the quality of ant-ness, and I saw past the illusion that seems to rule the human mind – that we are superior to other life forms.

While not necessarily difficult, it takes time to touch the deeper levels of nature consciousness, and there is nearly always an admission price of some sort in order to gain entrance to this realm. Ultimately, what has to be sacrificed is the notion that we are separate from the totality of life on earth. We are part of the spirit-that-moves-through-all-things.

Beautiful Expressions

Nature's quiet beauty, classically represented by this hidden water-lily. (Click to enlarge)Beauty and nature are synonymous to me. Within all of nature lies a spirit that is the source of this beauty, and it speaks to us, our own spirits, in a language beyond words. From the great clouds of celestial matter that form spectacular nebulae churning away in the great blackness of the universe, to the micro-universe within each cell of our body, nature goes quietly about its business, with much of its splendor largely unnoticed; no pomp or pageant to flaunt the beauty and elegance of a crusty patch of lichen clinging to stone or bark. No throngs of star-struck, fashion-hungry fans following every step and change in the life cycle of a parasite. 

A different sort of beauty: a female cicada killer wasp with her quarry. This one struggled quite a bit, landing often, climbing tall plants to gain a take-off advantage. Clearly tired from flying with her load, I offered my hand and she climbed aboard for a free boost into the air. At two inches long, she is fearsome-looking to our prejudiced eyes, though she is harmless to humans unless treated roughly in hand or mistakenly trapped in clothing or stepped on with bare feet. (Click to enlarge)In nature, form follows function. Yet nothing exists in nature without expressing beauty in the execution of its purpose – even though we may find such beauty-in-purpose to be a horror, as in the case of the Cicada Killer wasp that hunts, captures, and paralyzes cicadas, drags them – still alive – to the underworld as food for the wasp's developing larvae. This is not a soft and cute type of beauty, but it is a beauty nonetheless. There are wonders to behold and wisdom to gain if we can see past our differences, our fears and prejudices, and focus on our similarities when we look at the world around us, be it wild nature or domesticated humans.

Not-so Lazy Days of Summer

Now that summer is baking the Northern Hemisphere once more, many of us will engage in a wide variety of traditional summertime activities. There are backyard barbecues and graduations to attend, weddings to celebrate, lawns to mow, home repairs to undertake, mosquitoes to repel, sports to play, oceans and pools to swim in, trips to take, and hammocks in which to rest. The events are endless, come rain or shine. So too, within the summer season, nature has its vast array of activities.

What takes place in nature while we are busy with our summer plans is amazing. Even on the most tranquil of lazy summer days, nature is vigorously engaged in birth and death, growth and decay, playing and hunting, eating and being eaten. From the Sun’s imperceptible movement across cerulean blue skies, to the beating of a billion tiny hearts in fields, woodlands, and wetlands, nature is always in motion.

Summer is the time when nature is at its peak of the growth stage. It is when most plants will have completed flowering, pollinating, and fruiting for the year. Leaves have grown big and green, and the associations between insects and plants are in play – like tourists and vacation hot spots!

Woody plants produce wood cells called lignin, and it is in summer when trees add their growth ring for the year– an important summertime activity in nature that goes unobserved by us. The unique leaf shapes and sizes that every tree and plant species have are shining examples of energy-efficient design maximizing the collection of sunlight. As you watch the leaves gently swaying in the warm summer breeze, think of the microscopic chlorophyll-containing chloroplasts within each leaf continuously capturing and converting sunlight into sugar molecules for food. The maple syrup you pour on pancakes on cold, late winter mornings gets its start right here in the heat of summer.

Trees provide a direct and indirect source of wildlife food, as well as habitat for many species of insects, birds and mammals. Some insects eat leaves, bark, and wood, while in turn, other insects feed on these plant-eating insects. Many birds, of course, will eat both groups of insects. All of this goes on right above your heads as you and your family enjoy a picnic in the shade of an old sugar maple.

Playgrounds and Battlefields

Perhaps the most observable natural event of July, August, and September is the flowering of hundreds of species of plants. When you look out upon gorgeous, sunlit meadows you will see a special beauty. Many species of tall grasses, flowers, and shrubs combine their unique colors to paint portraits of unrestrained splendor. If you look a little closer, you might notice the dragonflies, grasshoppers, butterflies and bluebirds stitching earth and sky together. It is surely an idyllic scene, it seems, and a delight for us to behold.

Great Golden Digger wasp (Sphex ichneumoneus) on Butterfly weed (Pleurisy Root) - an orange flowered species in the milkweed family. This adult wasp is eating nectar. This species digs a vertical hole in the soil and then builds larval chambers radiating outward from the column. In these chambers are the developing larvae whose food is some sort of paralyzed – yet still living insect, such as a cricket, katydid, or caterpillar. The female captures the insect, paralyzing it, carrying it into the chamber and then deposits one egg on the captured insect. The larvae grows as it feeds on the living insect.This Shamrock Spider (Araneus Trifolium) is a member of the Orb-weaver genus of spiders. Females, such as this one, are vastly larger than the males of the same species. Orb-weavers build a new web each night, after consuming the previously used silk. The webs are made of sticky and non-sticky silk, with the sticky capture silk in the center. Often in the center of the web, the spider weaves a zig-zagging patch of silk. This may help hide the overall web from flying insects or it may deter birds from crashing through the web, though at present the function is still a mystery. At least to us humans.Moving closer and closer to this beautiful tapestry, however, we begin to see that which makes up the beauty beheld from a distance. If we zoom in on plants such as milkweed, yarrow, or asters, you'll see them as a hub of intense activity. Bumble Bees, Honey Bees, ants, wasps, and several species of butterflies are doing what each needs to do to survive and reproduce. You might see small flies stuck in flowers struggling to escape before a perfectly camouflaged crab spider pounces on them from its hiding place deep within the petals. With a flash of cellophane wings, the predatory dragonflies, Yellow-Jackets, and hairy Black Tachinid flies patrol the vicinity ready to carry off unfortunate insects that have come to sip nectar, eat pollen, or munch leaves. As for the plants themselves, they are reliant on pollination by insects and offer sweet nectar in exchange for this service. Yet plants must also endure being consumed by other insects and mammals alike, or risk having their nectar robbed by nectar thieves (like ants that steal nectar without carrying pollen to other, distant plants). Some plants defend themselves from the inevitable end with toxic alkaloids and spiny or hairy leaves and stems. Up close, this beautiful field is also a battleground for survival. It is nature as it is designed to be, and within this circle of creation and destruction, there is drama, beauty, and balance. Each species expresses its life with a passion, and this offers up the beauty we enjoy from a distance on our way to summer destinations and family gatherings.

Praying Mantis are abundant in fields and meadows, though are masters of invisibility and stalking and so are not often encountered. They sway with the vegetation in even the slightest puff of wind and match the movement of the plants they are on. In late fall, or early winter, you can walk through these fields and look for Praying Mantis egg cases that are attached to stalks of goldenrods and other sturdy plants. In spring, the minute mantises issue forth from the egg case by the hundreds. They eat each other and whatever small insect they can catch. They molt as they grow into the adult size shown here.Hiking into the cool forests and woodlands we find a different strategy for survival. In contrast to plants of the open fields, woodland plants such as Bloodroot, Wood Anemone, Trout-lily, and Spring Beauty are done flowering by late spring. Once the forest canopy closes with the unfurling of new leaves, sunlight reaching the forest floor is at a minimum, so these species get their business done early. Competition for survival in the open field or meadow is more intense. Much energy is available in the open, and much energy is expended for survival, reproduction and vigorous growth. The open field is an unstable habitat because plant populations ebb and flow, and often the species that grabs the most territory wins. The forest is a relatively stable habitat, and so plant energy expenditures are generally focused on adding plant tissue and digging into the earth to help ensure root, corm, and tuber survival through the winter freeze. Since new growth comes from these below ground parts, much less energy is spent producing seeds for germination of a new plant.

In summer, young squirrels can be seen in the forests displaying their amazing skills as they play. Spiraling at top speed chasing one another up and down tall trees and leaping from limb to limb. They are obviously enjoying themselves, yet they are also in survival training. Evading foxes, coyotes, hawks and other predators is serious business. Their wiles and dexterity are especially important for the coming winter when the canopy is open and the ground vegetation dies back, making it easier for predators to hunt them. So while you are out on the trails this summer getting your exercise, you’ll have good company and perhaps inspiration from these bushy-tailed acrobats.

Cool Water

All life on earth is bound in some way to sun and water. In summer, this is most readily experienced by us as we alternate between the heat of the sun and the cool waters of oceans, lakes, streams, or backyard pools. Ponds, streams, and rivers provide cooling waters for many species. Sitting quietly nearby, you may observe the dance of insects in the air above, on the surface, and below the clear waters. Some animals come to drink, or to cool-off from the heat, while others come to eat. The Northern Water Snake, for example, can often be seen basking on a boulder, or a branch overhanging the water. The markings on this non-venomous reptile camouflage well, and the slightly keeled scales (like the keel on a boat’s hull) help it swim after minnows, crayfish, salamanders and even small mammals that might come to the water’s edge for a drink.

Northern Water-snake (Nerodia sipedon) lounging on branches overhanging a stream bank. These snakes have no venomous fangs, but do have a lot of tiny sharp teeth useful for holding onto slippery and wet prey. Their saliva has an anti-coagulant property, which makes a bite to your hand bleed more profusely than would be expected. Also, like many snakes, the Northern Water-snake exudes a foul-smelling musk secretion when handled. This stress-response is a defensive tactic.Below the surface of the water, beyond your reflection and glare of sunlight, there is a turf war of sorts going on. Once, during a lunch break for the group of summer campers I was leading, a slice of pepperoni chanced to fall into the river a few feet below the bridge we sat on. What ensued was a riveting 45-minute battle that we dubbed the “Crayfish-Pepperoni War”, where the relationship between territory, food supply, strategy, and luck played out. Like a rugby ball, the alien foodstuff was passed, stolen, and regained, and runners were mobbed by others competing for the high-fat prize! This event revealed another aspect of nature that usually goes unnoticed as we view the larger scenes of river life. Next time you pass by a pond or a stream, imagine all the drama of the open fields and know that there is an aquatic version taking place just below the surface.

Under Cover of the Night

Allowing the dark beauty of the night to wrap itself around you is a unique and potent experience. Hearing the call of an Eastern Screech Owl while at home is quite different than hearing it while walking in the dark!

Many creatures are quite active, preferring the cover of darkness to give them a survival advantage. Also, it is in the evening that plants do their growing after a day of gathering energy. Few of us spend much time in nature after dark. If we do, the light of the campfire, flashlights, patio torches, or even the laughter and conversations we make, can imprison our senses. Our awareness of what goes on in the darkness around us is often dim. And while we may be winding down the day, the curtain goes up on the evening performance away in the fields, forests and meadows.

Should we choose to venture into the night woods, we might find that by allowing the eyes to adjust as the last glow of twilight fades, that there is still enough ambient light to see our way in the dark. It is then that we might glimpse the eerie, yet beautiful glow of foxfire along the trail, or the aerial dance of the lightening bug beetles. Looking carefully amongst the night-blooming flowers, such as honeysuckle and Evening Primrose, we may glimpse a Hawk moth zooming in for a drink of nectar, unaware that ferocious assassin or ambush bugs may lie in wait for their meal.  Elsewhere, stalking through the grasses and leaves, a Praying Mantis may snack on ants marching in columns to a new nest site. The sounds of coyotes, owls, frogs, toads, whippoorwills, mosquitoes, crickets, and katydids make up the symphonic accompaniment to the vigorous dance of life on these warm summer nights.

Dawn Brings a Changing of the Guard

The insects of fields and meadows, torpid from the chill air of early morning, cling to flowers and grasses heavy with dew, awaiting the first warm rays of the sun. Creatures of the night have returned to their homes, while a yawn and a stretch signals the start of a new cycle for some animals who prefer the light of day to ply their trade.

Much has transpired in nature since you and I last ate our breakfasts. The earth has rotated a full revolution, and brought the sun up in the east. Water vapor has condensed, soil nutrients and gases exchanged, sunlight converted to plant and animal tissue, flowers have bloomed, seeds were dispersed, the injured and weak have made their last track on earth and have made others strong by their flesh, and all is as it should be: at once terrible and beautiful. Hidden within the not-so lazy days of summer there is inspiration, mystery, and wisdom – gifts to us from nature – for all who slow down long enough to receive them.

Past, Present, Future?

Whispers of a bygone era surround these defunct gas pumps in Cold Spring, NY. Gas and oil are still around, though. The catastrophic folly of our antiquated dependance on fossil fuel is painfully on display once again as the earth bleeds millions of gallons of oil into the waters of the Gulf of Mexico.

Eventually, there will come a time when rusted gas pumps across the world will stand as silent memorials to all those creatures destroyed by mankind's addiction to oil, power, and greed. The only question is, how much more devastation will come to pass before the last well runs dry?

A Bit of Catching Up

It feels like a very long time since I've gotten some posts up. This is partially due to the amount of things taking place in my life and in the natural world since the Killdeer story. So much happens in a single day!

I will attempt to catch up in this post with a variety of items and images from the past few weeks.

Robin Adventures: The Robins outside the nature center fledged a while back, but I thought I'd post these images of them anyway. The Robins around the sanctuary are likely on their second or third brood by now.

I would observe their behavior each day and I have to say that the parent birds are tireless when it comes to feeding and looking after their chicks. The nest began with enough room, but soon the chicks were popping over the rim like a soufflé. The mother returns with a beak full of slightly pulverized worms, stands on the edge of the nest assessing the situation in the nest. The chicks, their seemingly oversized mouths agape, jostle one another for the food. Mom seems to wait just long enough before distributing the meal, then off she goes hunting for more. The chicks in the nest settle down for a few minutes.

Newly hatched Robins in nest.(Click to enlarge photos)What's for dinner? Worms! In no time at all, the chicks feathers are ready enough for a first flight. I see one standing on the edge of the nest and I run for my camera. Returning, I carefully raise my camera to snap a few images, when to my surprise, the baby Robin leaps into the air and flutters to the ground. My initial concern for its safety disappeared when the bird sprinted away on foot, mother Robin chasing it frantically around on the grass by the tiny pond nearby. She managed to catch up to it and shepherd it out of sight. The next day, all the birds had followed suit, taking that momentous leap of faith. Instinct may compel them to jump, but I believe they had to overcome a certain fear before the leap.

The Agony of Defeat: There is the thrill of victory in the case of the Killdeer story, and then there is the agony of defeat in this short story of an unlucky Barn Swallow family (click on photos to enlarge). 

Cut section of pier exposing nestBarn Swallows newly hatchedMeeting the chicksAmidst a hectic morning at work, I got a visit from a worker installing pipes and wires on the pier at the amusement park. The contractors had to cut sections of the board walk out to lay the pipes, and lo and behold, there was a Barn Swallow nest in the way. They asked me to "do something about them". I went out there to assess the situation, and as the photos show, the nest was indeed in an unfortunate place and time. Upon asking the contractors how much time I had before they began to install the pipes (hoping to get a rehabilitator to care for the birds), he answered, "I'm just waiting for you to grab that nest and move it". Well, knowing that these birds would neatly be kicked into the water below "by accident" if I lectured the contractor about Barn Swallows being protected birds and told him he had to stop all work, I opted to remove the nest and chicks. The mother swallow was frantic. I felt sad knowing that the chicks chance of survival was rapidly approaching zero percent. Still, that was a shade more than if the workers never bothered to call me.

As I transported the nest and chicks and eggs in a box, another chick hatched out as I was walking to the car. The poignancy of the situation was not lost on me, but I just kept focused on figuring out what to do. I called every rehabilitator who might handle the emergency, but all the answering machines had essentially the same message: they were not accepting any new animals as they were already too full. Their messages all said they were sorry. 

I had essentially been asked to relieve the contractors working on the pier of any guilt for the death of this clutch of innocent and helpless birds. I accepted this role cheerlessly and deliberately. 

As I made my way to the nature center with the nest in a box, I came across a school field trip being conducted by the local Audubon chapter. I explained the situation to the trip leader and asked if he would like to do a show-and-tell for the children. They were given a fine gift by those doomed chicks, and soon I was back at the nature center contemplating the reality that there was no hope for the chicks survival. 

Life is often unfair in our eyes, and some that deserve life lose it too soon, and others who create misery upon misery in the world live on for years. Behind this all is a great mystery that I struggle to understand each time I face the death of the good and the innocent.

Sweet Fawns: It is that time of year again when the White-tailed Deer give birth, and hikers and nature lovers get a thrill at seeing a newborn fawn hidden in the woods or prancing around on gangly, super-charged legs. If you want to see what pure innocence looks like, just watch them for a few minutes. There is a magic spell that comes over me when I see a fawn. Instantly a smile appears on my face and my heart opens with a joy that is unrestrained. That is the power of nature and of innocence.