the “cat’s meow”

If you haven’t heard the Gray Catbird’s plaintive mew — well, you haven’t missed much.  It’s annoying in its repetitiveness, but really does sound like a cat being strangled.  I stumbled upon a pair of Catbirds determined to deter me from poking around in the bushes to find their nest (which I was sure was close by), and I have to say that their persistent mewing finally drove me away.

Male and female look alike and both will make the “cat-call” (scroll down the linked page to “mew call”).  The male proclaims his territory by loudly singing a wonderful polyglot song of notes copied from other species.

First one bird, and then its mate joined in mewing loudly in my ears as I walked down the trail.  Their typical habit of hopping from branch to branch in a dense thicket meant they were obscured from my view of them, but I caught them peering at me every now and then, checking up, and mewing loudly.

One of the pair letting me know I’m getting too close to the nest.

Just a peek around the leaves, the other bird checks to see if I am still there.

Either I was provoking them by staying around, or I was, in fact, getting too close to their nest, but their defense escalated from merely hopping through the shrubbery while calling to highly visible posturing with feather erection and much louder calls.

Higher intensity defense means greater visibility and louder and more frequent mew calls. Now they are starting to sound more like Blue Jays.

This bird has progressed to being entirely out in the open, screeching, turning his head toward me to call. With crown and throat feathers erected, the bird does look a little menacing.  

When I was 10 feet away from where I took this last shot, the mewing stopped.  I wonder if this defense works as well on other would-be predators.

In search of pollinators

The plight of the honeybees got top billing in the Minneapolis paper today, with a feature article on our endangered food supply that is so dependent on bee pollinators, honeybees in particular.

Bees of all sorts love the nectar of the late summer blooming sedums. I rarely see such a concentration of honeybees on a plant these days.

You might have known about the California almond crop dependency on honeybee pollinators (in fact, almonds are 100% bee pollinated), but broccoli, various fruits including cherries and blueberries, cucumbers, and melons (among 100+ foods we eat regularly) are also heavily dependent on bees for pollination and fruit set.  Honeybees are in trouble for a variety of reasons, many of which have to do with the impact of agro-chemicals on insects of all sorts.

Butterflies are less important for pollination of agricultural crops, but vital to the pollination of certain wildflower species. Butterfly weed (Asclepias tuberosa) probably got its name originally as a result of its attractiveness to a variety of butterflies (as well as bees).  But where are all the butterflies these days?

Their bright orange advertisement should bring pollinators running (or flying) to it, but ants were the only insects on this plant sitting in the middle of a 10 acre prairie.

Ruby-throated Hummingbirds enjoy the nectar that butterfly weed flowers have to offer, but they don’t move pollen from plant to plant. I never saw butterflies, and rarely any bees, on this plant in my garden, but they did manage to make a few seed pods.

Our local butterfly populations seem sparse compared to what they were a few years ago, whether a result of harsh winters, late springs, drought in areas through which they migrate, habitat destruction in their overwintering areas, or too many chemicals in the environment.

In a 3 hour walk around Tamarack nature center this morning, I saw this one Swallowtail butterfly (nectaring on Hoary Alyssum), one Red Admiral, and one Wood Satyr. Three butterflies in three hours — not a very impressive count.

In China, they pollinate fruit crops by hand — I hope that isn’t what we will have to resort to in the future.

Weed appreciation

I am a weed puller.  The plants in my garden are the ones I put there, and I don’t particularly like to see native gardens or prairies overrun with invasive species either.  But sometimes you just have to appreciate the fact that even weedy plants can create a beautiful landscape.

Hairy vetch, hoary alyssum, birdsfoot trefoil, and smooth bromegrass make a weed bouquet.

These introduced species (mostly from Europe) tend to grow well in disturbed areas and their dense clumps leave little room for other native species.  The weak stems of hairy vetch (purple) trail on top of the other vegetation smothering it.  Birdsfoot trefoil (yellow) forms a dense mat closer to the ground.

The fact that weedy species establish themselves quickly means that they may be used to re-vegetate an area following road construction.  For example, the Department of Transportation in some states planted smooth bromegrass, hairy vetch, and birdsfoot trefoil along with alfalfa, rye, and wheat grasses along newly constructed roadways to quickly stabilize the disrupted soil.

At least these species are quite pretty to look at and lack the painful stickers of knapweed and yellow star thistle (the truly noxious weeds).

Be quiet, you big baby!

There is a lot of racket in the backyard these days — cowbird chicks have fledged and are once again driving their Chipping Sparrow parents crazy with their persistent chirping demands to be fed.  I have recently written about the Cowbird’s “Mafia strategy” for getting other species to raise its chicks (you can click here to (re)read that post).  The unfortunate Chipping Sparrows seem to be regular hosts for the Cowbirds in my backyard.  This is the third year I have seen the diminutive little sparrows foraging intensely to satisfy the appetite of chicks that are twice their size.

Cowbird chick waiting patiently (?) for its foster parent to return with something good to eat.

Doing a little preening while waiting.

Then a foster parent arrives and the cowbird chick goes into a frenzy, fluttering its wings and tail, chirping loudly. The Chipping Sparrow looks a little intimidated, doesn’t it?

The cowbird chick looks big enough to swallow its foster parent whole.

And back the parent goes to find something else for this voracious eater it has mistakenly raised.  Chipping Sparrows feed their own young, as well as their foster kids, insects, even though they themselves eat a varied diet of seeds, fruit, and insects during the summer.  As I watched these host-brood parasite interactions, I saw the adults spend a lot of time hunting damselflies, flies, bees, etc. in the grass around the base of the buckeye tree in which this big baby was sitting.

On this trip, it looks like the sparrow nabbed a damselfly, judging from the long, slender abdomen and wings sticking out of its beak.

No problem fitting that tiny little damselfly in the chick’s great big maw.

Even though the chick was getting fed by both parents, it just kept screeching for more.

The Chipping Sparrows didn’t spend all of their energy feeding the cowbird chick — I could hear them feeding a couple of their own babies that were hiding in the shrubs on the side of the yard.

A different kind of tiger

Six-spotted Tiger Beetles (Cincindela sexguttata) have emerged and can be found underfoot almost everywhere I look these days.

Named for the six white spots surrounding their rear end, it’s the iridescent, metallic green cuticle that is hard to miss.  They are fast runners and flyers, so finding them sitting still enough for a photo was a rarity for me.

What I didn’t appreciate until I looked at the photos on the computer was their enormous mouthparts (whitish overlapping pincers just under the antennae in this enlargement of the previous photo), which make them look pretty ferocious.   Perhaps this is why they were nicknamed Tiger Beetles.

The overlapping jaws of their white mandibles are used to subdue a variety of prey — caterpillars, ants, spiders. They hunt primarily on the ground where their keen eyesight and speed help them secure their food. Adults can live up to 5 years after emerging from a 1 year larval and pupal development in the soil.

a prairie walk – part 2

Only a week after our first trip to the Glacial Lakes area prairies, we saw new plant species flowering and a different set of animal species moving about.  My expectations were low because of the lousy weather (storms), but that didn’t seem to affect the wildlife — in fact, it seemed animals were on the move, perhaps trying to tell us to get out of the way of the weather!

Dragonflies weren’t numerous, but there were a few species I had not seen yet in my own backyard, like this 4-spotted Skimmer.  It indeed has four spots on its wings, but there are two additional spots near the abdomen (making this a 6-spotted Skimmer instead).

The Dot-tailed Whiteface is well-named for its standout features and were more numerous than other dragons. The male has a singular square-shaped dot on its abdomen; females have several more dots, but keep the terminal square-shaped one.

Both of these dragonfly species were far from water, hovering over vegetation on the dry prairie, perhaps in search of the numerous mosquitoes there.

I flushed a Lark Sparrow from the ground and was certain it was sitting on a nest there, but couldn’t find it. The bird sat in a tree 100 feet away and chipped at me.  What a striking little sparrow with its dark facial and crown stripes and black dot on its breast.

Lark Sparrows are commonly found in farm fields and grasslands.  They have the unusual habit of taking over taking over old mockingbird or thrasher nests as its own — sometimes before the previous owner has finished incubating its eggs. The male struts around like a turkey during courtship, erecting and fanning his tail feathers and drooping his wing feathers to the ground, before presenting the female with a twig as her copulatory gift.

We saw numerous flocks of White Pelicans and Double-crested Cormorants flying in V formation overhead, away from the incoming weather front. Later that day we heard there were tornadoes sighted just a few miles away.

Animals can sense the radical changes in barometric pressure that precede extreme weather — meaning, we should pay attention to their behavior and seek shelter as well.  Some animals can also hear the infra-sounds (ultra low frequency) produced by stormy weather, earthquakes, or flash floods occurring far away.  Another good reason to watch what they are doing.

Blue Flag Iris were blooming in the wetter areas of the prairie.  Blue Flag is a tall, showy plant that grows in clumps in roadside ditches, wet meadows, and along lake shorelines, often even in standing water in the northeastern U.S. and eastern Canada.

Prairie Larkspur is diminutive compared to the horticultural variety we have in our gardens. White, spurred flowers on a tall, slender stalk stand out among the prairie grasses though.  Flower stalks might stand 3 feet tall and support as many as 30 flowers — very attractive to bumblebees.

Prairie Phlox has sticky stems and leaves, a sweet smell, and an attractive landing platform for its butterfly pollinators. Under the right moisture conditions, it can form dense clusters of dozens of flowers to attract its pollinators. A tiny Syrphid fly (upper left) was the only visitor seen this day.

Bright pink flowers of the Prairie Rose lend color to the grassy matrix of the prairie. Its fruits (rose hips) are rich in vitamin C, which humans (e.g., Native Americans) require, but other animals enjoy the entire plant as good forage.

Only a foot or two tall, Junegrass is one of the early blooming native grasses on the prairie.

Native prairie grasses (“warm season grasses”) spend much of the summer growing tall before they send up a flower spike in late summer.  European immigrant farmers seeded the prairies with “cool season” grasses from their native countries so their livestock would have good nutrition throughout the spring and summer.  Because Junegrass blooms early, it is especially sensitive to grazing pressure.

A prairie walk

We have managed to pick just the rainy days for our prairie field trips the past two weeks, but have squeezed our hikes in between deluges.  However, the advantage of all the June rain this year is an absolutely verdant prairie landscape, that in some cases looks like a mowed golf course (with lots of hills).

A light touch of HDR processing enhances the drama of thunderstorms over a prairie landscape.

My husband explained what The Nature Conservancy has done to acquire and protect prairie land in central Minnesota.   

A little background first:  Minnesota geography puts it in a prairie-forest transition zone, with the western third of the state once a vast network of varied prairie ecosystems (nearly 19 million of the 44 million total acres in the state).  Those prairie lands were most likely maintained by frequent fire (natural and/or man-induced) and intensive grazing by large herbivores (e.g., elk and buffalo). Millennia of prairie plant growth and decomposition produced the fertile soil coveted by industrial agriculture, with the result that 98% of native prairie land in MN has been lost — only about 235,000 acres of unplowed native prairie exist in the entire state.

Rolling hills, a result of deposition from retreating glaciers 10-40,000 years ago, were too rocky or steep to plow, so they remained native prairie.   Multiple state and non-profit groups have developed a plan to coordinate their efforts to identify, purchase, and protect 36 prairie core areas in MN that represent over 70% of the remaining native prairie.

Areas like this in Glacial Lakes landscape (~ 13,000 acres) provide recreational opportunities for hiking, fishing, boating, etc. while maintaining prairie with prescribed burns and grazing options.

Miller Hills waterfowl production area extends as far as the eye can see on the landscape. The land is managed by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service for hunting, waterfowl production, wildlife viewing, etc.

 

Ordway prairie, purchased with a gift from Katherine Ordway to The Nature Conservancy in 1970, is part of a 25,000 acre prairie landscape.  The red and white object in the photo is a drone helicopter being flown over the prairie to take some aerial video. 

Without the physical disturbance of fire and the biotic pressure from large grazing animals, prairie can revert to forest in less than a decade.  Red cedar and sumac are the first to colonize the grassy fields, making the land more suitable for other broadleaf forest trees to invade. Eventually, prairie hills can become covered with oak and basswood forests.

So if the transition to forest is a natural process here, why save the prairie — asks one of the group.

The best and easiest answer:  once they are lost, they are gone forever, along with all the species that inhabited those areas — species whose unique characteristics and benefits we have yet to discover or recognize fully.

Prairies and grasslands perform vital ecosystem functions, different from forest ecosystems — water retention and purification, flood control, and soil conservation being very important roles, especially for farmers.

Prairies have aesthetic value, as do all natural environments, providing us with relief and delightful distraction from the overly structured, sterile, monotonous urban environments we call home.

Hole in the Mountain TNC Preserve, Lincoln Co. MN, at sunset.

It’s a hummingbird! (moth)

Hiking around on an oak-savanna property recently acquired by the Nature Conservancy out in the Glacial Lakes area, our group spotted what they thought was a hummingbird hovering over flowers of the Bladder Campion.

It hovered just like a hummingbird, but it’s not a bird. It’s a hummingbird moth, AKA the White-lined Sphinx Moth.  It’s difficult to see the striking white lines on its wings in this photo, but the white lined pattern on its thorax is also distinctive.

It is rather large, for a moth, with a wingspan of 3-4 inches.  Like a hummingbird, the moth flitted from flower to flower, pausing only briefly to insert its extremely long proboscis to test for the presence of nectar before moving on.  A very difficult subject to photograph!

A closer view reveals that this moth has a proboscis that is even longer than its body length.  Adults seek nectar from a variety of sources including columbines, larkspurs, petunia, honeysuckle, lilac, clovers, thistles, and Jimson weed.  And they are not particularly fussy about where they live —  in open habitats in deserts, horticultural gardens, or even suburban homes.

Later, while walking around a different prairie a few miles away, one of the group discovered a very large green caterpillar munching on a fragile wildflower.

The caterpillar was about 3-4 inches long and almost 1/2 inch in diameter, probably almost big enough to pupate. The orange horn sticks up on its rear end; the head is tucked in and hidden.

This is most likely the caterpillar of a White-lined Sphinx Moth; they can be highly variable in color but the orange horn is a key feature of this species.

It takes about 8 weeks to grow into a caterpillar this large from an egg.  Most likely this one overwintered as a caterpillar to complete its development this spring. Once the caterpillars reach a critical size, they pupate underground and emerge as adults in 2-3 weeks.  Mated females then begin the cycle all over again, laying up to 1000 eggs on a variety of host plants (e.g, four o’clocks, purslane, fuschia, evening primrose, elm, grape, and tomato) while sustaining themselves on flower nectar.

water, water, everywhere

“Relentless rainfall has turned Minnesota into a vast wetland”, says our weatherman.  When the high volume of rain finally drains into the river systems, we get some spectacular flow over the waterfalls.

St. Anthony falls in Minneapolis is just barely visible behind the Stone Arch bridge (one of the original bridges over the Mississippi).

4-6 inches of rain in 24 hours added to the already record June accumulation of rainfall has dramatically increased the flow in the Mississippi River levels.  This is the first lock on the Mississippi in downtown Minneapolis.  No boats will be going through this lock today.

St. Anthony Falls was the only natural waterfall on the upper Mississippi — its high volume flow used to drive the flour mills in the 1800s. However, the soft limestone face of the falls was continually eroding from the power of the water going over it.

Rainfall to date is the highest since 1871, but the latest storm has made the river surge with runoff.  Wave action on the river today was high enough to surf, but fast enough to drown a surfer.

To prevent the falls from turning into a series of river rapids, the Corps of Engineers constructed a concrete apron (spillway) to preserve the driving power of the water for the mills in 1869.  Later a series of locks and dams were were added to the falls area to permit river traffic north of Minneapolis.

A high volume of water is also passing over the waterfall on Minnehaha Creek after the last deluge of rainfall.

Minnehaha Creek flows out of Lake Minnetonka (a 23 square mile, almost 15,000 acre lake) in the western suburbs of Minneapolis. The lake rose 6 inches with the rainfall from a couple of days ago, causing the creek to rise about 1.5 feet and flooding several residential areas along the creek.

Minnehaha Falls on June 21, 2014 looks quite a bit different than it did three months ago during our -20 F degree weather (below).

Minnehaha Falls on March 10, 2014.

It’s not over yet, the weather forecasters warn.  I wish we could send some of this rainfall to California.

Prairie sunrise

Golden light at 5:30 a.m. out on the central Minnesota prairie —

I’ve heard people talk about sunbeams, but I had never actually seen one until I spied  this outside my cabin at Glacial Lakes state park.

Down the road from my cabin, more sunbeams streamed through the oak trees.

After a furious thunderstorm, a thick layer of fog hung over the prairie the next morning.

Deer were grazing on the prairie near our camp, but fled at the sight of us.

Two cock pheasants having a dispute on a prairie hillside.

Spiderwebs lit up in the early morning sun somehow survived the torrential overnight rain storm.