Environmental_Science – Page 2

South Works

I took this picture in the early 1970s when I worked for a friend of mine as a Cargo Surveyor in the ports around Chicago, Illinois.

It was long days and hard work. But I was able to be outside most of the time. If I was not outside, on the deck of a ship, climbing up or down the 90-foot ladders that led to and from the ship’s holds, or walking the huge outdoor storage lots confirming off-loading of the giant rolls of steel, I might be inside a steel manufacturing facility, or a cheese importer in one of the Chicago suburbs, or in a warehouse full of imported items. It didn’t matter if it was hard work; it was fun and fascinating work. The ships on which we oversaw the unloading were from nations around the world.

We were up early and on the ships watching the longshoremen and the huge cranes unloading the rolls of sheet steel, bundles of steel beams, or railroad wheels, or 40-foot containers filled with wine or cheese or beef hides or any number of amazing products that were being imported into the Chicago from around the world. These good would be transported for sale in the Chicago area or to other locations in the Midwest.

We worked while the Great Lakes were open for shipping. We worked in the heat of summer and the frigid days of early winter with ice on the decks and snow in the air. The only weather that we did not work in was the rain. When it rained the owners would close the massive steel covers over the ship’s holds so the cargo would not get wet. Steel rusts. Cardboard falls apart. Food stuffs spoil. All of this had to be taken into account as we oversaw the work and inspected the cargoes, usually working for the owners of the shipping line.

The Great Lakes are open for international ocean cargo shipping as long as the locks along the Saint Lawrence River Seaway are ice free. The locks are the portal for ocean going shipping on the Great Lakes. The locks were scheduled to close before they iced up. That was the day by which all ships that had other places to go, had to be off the Great Lakes. For example in 2019 the Locks and the Great Lakes were opened to ocean traffic on March 29, 2019. The season was closed on December 31, 2019, and ships could no longer transit out of the Great Lakes.

It can easily be imagined that the closing weeks of the season were busy weeks as no shipping company would want their cargo vessel trapped in the Great Lakes for three months while the locks are closed.

On this morning I had arrived just at sunrise. The ship we were unloading was docked near the mouth of the Calumet River. The Calumet River stretches from Lake Michigan down into the industrial areas south of Chicago. The entire length of the river was wharves and turning basins, for the ships to tie up, unload, and maneuver back out to Lake Michigan. To the west the Calumet River joins the Des Plaines River via the Cal-Sag (Calumet-Saganashkee Channel) Canal, which carried barges from the Mississippi into this same maze of wharves in the industrial area.

I could not be further from the forests surrounding Chicago than standing on the deck of that ship on the Calumet River. When I turned to the North and looked to the other bank of the river, I could see the decrepit US Steel South Works. Its furnaces and mills were shut down, but the steel assets still stood against the rising sun of that morning.

It was odd, this behemoth of American industry shut down due to foreign competition from more modern facilities in Asia and in Europe, and the products of those foreign mills traveled to their buyers by landing on the wharves and docks along the Calumet River, and by first passing the US Steel South Works, the ancient and ruined guardian of the Lake shore.

The wind was blowing from the North. As it blew across the old South Works, it picked up dust and particles of steel. I could see the flecks of metal catching a glint of the morning sun as they floated in the air around me while I stood watching the cargo being unloaded on that cold winter morning.

Boats and Clouds

Several decades ago I had an opportunity to go to the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR). I saw places that I had not seen before, and I talked to people about all types of things. I was even asked if I had any Blue Jeans to sell. It was funny. The guy who asked me that was an American who at that time was working for the CIA. Now I think he is in jail.

We were there for three weeks and started in Moscow and the area around it. I was profoundly moved by the World War II memorials. The USSR lost more than 20 million people, some died in internal struggles, others died fighting the Nazis.

As part of the trip we also traveled out to Odessa in the Ukraine and then north to Lithuania. Both were part of the USSR at that time. Lithuania became an independent republic in 1990, heralding the collapse of the Soviet Union. The Ukraine followed and became independent in 1991.

Lithuania is a truly beautiful place. We stayed in the city of Vilnius, the capital of Lithuania. The country’s northern climate supports vast forest of conifers and hardwoods. These forests include Larch, Spruce, Birch, and Aspen. The geography supports many stream and lakes, many of which flow north towards the Baltic Sea. It was Fall when we were there, so it was too cold for swimming. And even in summer, I can say from experience, the Baltic Sea is cold on the best of days.

One day we traveled out from Vilnius and visited the Lake area near the historic town of Trakai. The lake shores were ablaze with late Fall color. The Latitude of Trakai (54^o37’N) is approximately the same as the south end of Hudson Bay in Canada. We wrapped up against the Fall chill and walked out into the forest that lined the lake shore. The paths were narrow and wound back into the forest.

On the lake I had hoped we might see an over-wintering Red-necked Grebe (Podiceps grisegena). If there were any wintering birds, we did not see.

The isolation and depth of the forest assured me that in their season they are full of the songs of Lithuania’s native birds. And I was sure that the lakes teamed with ducks on their migration to the far North, or perhaps to this very spot.

There was a lake house. And there were row boats. Being fond of rowing in any season, I asked if there was time to go out onto the lake for a bit of a row. Our host apologized and said we would need to stick to our schedule. I am certain he was sorry that we did not have time. Sticking to the schedule during the times of the Soviet regime was important. I accepted it and apologized to our hosts to relieve him of the burden of not being able to allow such a small excursion.

A heavily traded commodity of the region from pre-Roman and into modern times is Amber, the fossilized resin/sap of ancient conifer trees. Amber is an organic near-gem quality stone. It has a rare warmth of color and can be polished to brilliance. Some Amber, when polished, and if clear, may be seen to contain an ancient beetle or ant. The Amber of the Baltic region is from the Eocene epoch and was deposited about 40 million years ago. Any bugs found in Baltic Amber would not have been the gadfly of the dinosaurs. Deposits of that type were laid down over 66 million years ago and are not found in the Baltic region.

In my visit to this region of frost and magical lakes I received a set of cuff links made from Amber.

The Amber of my cufflinks is clouded from the minerals and tiny air bubbles trapped in the flowing tree sap. The face of the polished Amber shows streamers of milky white. It is a cloud of ancient air and minerals trapped in a scene of golden earth tones. The outside surface of the Amber, the “rind”, is just as fascinating with its deep browns and reds from reactions of the ancient resin to the overburden soils that held the raw Amber. The rind is also deeply pitted from its burial for millions of years.

To touch Amber is to touch earth, sky, and water.

The pictures were taken by me or other members of our group and are under our personal Copyright.

Walking in the Water

When my children were younger, we went out West.

We were on a two-week holiday, and there were sights we wanted to see. We flew into Albuquerque, New Mexico and then drove in a rented car to see cliff houses at Mesa Verde, the Grand Canyon, the Virgin River, the Very Large Array, Santa Fe, and the Four Corners area. We had a full list of places we wanted to see.

When driving between our various destination, we would stop beside the road for lunch. There are often picnic shelters in scenic rest areas on the highways. We would also pull off the road at a convenient spot and make sandwiches of fresh tomatoes and bright orange cheddar cheese. They were easy to make and always delicious.

In the first week of our trip one of our destinations was Zion National Park in Utah. We wanted to hike the Virgin River. The drive into Zion National Park is magnificent. The natural rock formations and the engineering and construction of the road join to make a stunning drive down to the canyon floor. But the best was to greet us at the bottom of the canyon. We had arrived at our destination, the trail head for The Narrows of the Virgin River.

The Virgin River flows through a deep natural gorge that the River has carved out of the native sandstone over the millennia. The trail that leads up through the Narrows is the Virgin River itself. Make no mistake the footing on the large and small stones on the River’s floor is always changing, and it is slippery and challenging. When you start your hike through the waters, you are going up stream. You are hiking against the River’s flow.

Please note that the National Park Service has sets safety limits for protection of the visitors, whether seasoned hikers or children. You need to check in at the Ranger Station to confirm that the River is safe for hiking and to get advice on the distance you will want to go. We did not want to hike the ten miles (round trip) up the River to Big Spring and back. We wanted to spend about an hour in the River. The Park Rangers were able to give us good advice on how far up the River we should go.

We stepped into the River. We could feel the current gently pushing against our ankles as we started our trip upstream. We smiled at the exhilaration. Later we would be laughing out loud at the joy of moving through the current as we continued on our upstream challenge.

And I will say, the challenge is worth it. To walk ankle deep and knee deep and up-to-waist deep against the current – struggling to set your feet firmly on the rocks you cannot see under the rushing water – and to suddenly plunge into a deeper pool – it is truly exhilarating. Even a hike of 300 to 400 yards up the River is memorable. To stand with your companions holding onto them and your walking staff for stability – and looking up out of the nearly quarter mile deep gorge – and seeing the clouds overhead is wonderful. You do not see them move; you feel that you are rotating under the still, white clouds painted onto a pure blue sky high above.

As we moved upstream one of us would suddenly disappear into the water after slipping on a rock, or stepping into a hole. Then we would rise up laughing to the relief of our companions who were shocked at our disappearance as if it were miraculous, followed by an equally miraculous reappearance, laughing, as we burst up from the flowing stream.

On the way back we talked about flash floods and the impossibility of escape in our situation. This is the reason that you must know the weather happening miles up the River. Up there a sudden rain-storm can dump tons of water into the stream and change a fun and challenging hike into a thundering, roiling disaster.

The flow urged us along on our way back to the trailhead. The rocks were just as slippery, but we were use to finding our footing. Soon we were back at the trail head, and in the car, soaking wet, and laughing uproariously at our adventure.

Remember:

The River doesn’t care.
The River can be dangerous.
Check conditions with the Rangers.
Know the weather.
Know the capabilities of the people you are hiking with.
Laugh.

In researching this article I read that the River is currently contaminated with a toxic cyanobacteria. Make sure you read up on the conditions in the River before you go. It might be an amazing drive, but if you can’t hike the River it might be a long trip to disappointment. https://www.nps.gov/zion/planyourvisit/toxic-cyanobacteria-bloom-in-the-virgin-river-and-the-streams-of-zion-national-park.htm

Visit the NPS site about hiking the Virgin River before you go. There is information there that will make your hike more enjoyable – and may save your life. https://www.nps.gov/zion/planyourvisit/thenarrows.htm

Diving at Subic Bay

The USS Leonard F. Mason, DD-852, had left the line off the coast of VietNam, and we had brought her to Subic Bay for some repair and some recreation.

People often asked, “What do you do on the ship all day?”

We worked. We worked hard. There were watches to stand. There were repairs to be made to the ship and its equipment. There was underway refueling and resupply. And occasionally there was inflight refueling of a helicopter flying out on a rescue mission. There were orders to be fulfilled and support of our troops fighting for the freedom of people in southeast Asia and around the world.

Look at VietNam now. Through our efforts we helped ensure a better future for the people not only of the south but for all of VietNam. Do you question this? Look at the country now. It is prosperous, both North and South. And the people enjoy a level of economy and freedom that they never dreamed of under totalitarian regimes. But this came at a tragic cost including the death of 58,318 Soldiers, Airmen, Marines, and Sailors/Coast Gaard.

To the hundreds of thousands of young men and women who answered their nation’s call and went to serve on foreign shores, Thank You. You might have been scared. You might have been wounded. You might have returned to an ungrateful nation. And I am certain that you had friends who left their young lives behind. But you SERVED. You did not hide behind a Doctor’s note. You did not hide from the mail. You stepped forward and served. THANK YOU.

When the ship left the gunline for a return to port for replenishment and repairs, the ship’s crew also had a chance for liberty and relaxation.

There were many things to do off base at Subic Bay. One thing that many of us we enjoyed was the beauty of this part of the Philippine Islands. In particular there was an island that was used by the SEALs for training that was also open during the day for the use of its beaches. It is now called (on Google Earth) Grande Island. I am sure it had another name back then. And there was no resort hotel as there is today.

We hiked across to the south side of the island, facing out to the wide Pacific, there was a small beach of rocks, and clear water, and a deep hole or two that was marvelous for snorkeling.

The water was crystal clear and alive with fish. Periodically we would have the hair stand up on the back of our necks when we would see a Black-tipped Reef Shark watching us. And maybe there would be two of them.

We watched out for each other. It is always good to be cautious.

There were deep holes for diving. And for as long as we could hold our breath, we could have some good bottom time at around 30 feet, marveling at the fish which fed in the corals.

As we came up out of this blue-zone, the colors of the corals and fish became more vibrant. The sea water muted the colors, as it absorbed much of the sunlight. However, while restricting colors in the red, orange, and yellow wavelengths, sea water allowed the passage of blue light.

From above the water these holes might look like they are lined with blue-black rock. It is only when you are in the water, that you can clearly see the coral formations with its varying colors and shades. Only then can you see the multitudes of marine life feeding and minding their own business until they become lunch for another species of marine life that is only doing its business. When you look down into the corals as you float on the surface and peer through your face mask, the web of life of this tiny spot on a Pacific shore becomes visible. And you cannot leave unchanged.

On our hike back to the boat landing we talked about what we had seen. We talked about home and friends. We talked about when we might get home. And sometimes we might have to push off the jacks who had too much beer or too much war. And then we returned to the grey, steel hull that was our temporary home, for another watch.

Later, and much later, we remember the fish, and the sharks, and the sea-child’s teddy we saw on the side of the deep hole on the shores of the Pacific.

A good article on the absorption of light by seawater may be found in the Woods Hole magazine oceanus, at https://www.whoi.edu/oceanus/feature/shedding-light-on-light-in-the-ocean/

The photograph is the Black tipped Reef Shark was found on a Wikipedia article titled “Blacktip Reef Shark”, with a credit to https://www.whatsthatfish.com/image/view/6882. Note the blue coloration of the deeper corals beneath the shark, which is in dappled by the sunlight close to the surface.

Summer Flutter-By

(corrected version – originally published 18 July, 2020)

‘Tis summer, and June is passed.

But still, “What is so rare as a day in June?.”

This June, when each day was long, hot, humid, and rainless, there was magic all around you.

If are near a park or if there are gardens in your neighborhood, you are likely to see the white Rovers, along with black, and orange, and sulfur Rovers. These tiny Rovers chasing some unseen song on the wind, will settle for a brief moment on a plant that is bathed in sunshine, and then they are off with a wandering and seemingly unsteady pace. It is as if they follow the Sun. They will stop for a moment, on a flower or on the ground, and bask in the sun. It appears that they are just resting and enjoying the Sun and the flowers that happened to be there for their repose.

These are the butterflies of Spring and Summer. They come to flowers seeking their nectar. And they seem to love the Sun. They should be called Sun-Wings. Why “butter-fly”.

This question reminds me of an old children’s joke from the 1950’s. Why did the little boy throw the butter out the window? Because he wanted to see “butter fly”.

The internet has varying opinions on where the word came from in English. It does not seem the word was derived from another language, but rather from old English, given on many sites as “buterfleoge”.

The UK Wildcats in the Department of Horticulture have a good site about butterflies. It has a great deal of information about butterflies, but not why they are associated with a specific milk product.

This makes me think of the Internet, which I used to find these bits of information. It was supposedly conceived at the Pennsylvania State University (Nittany Lions), in their storied and excellent ice cream parlor which is associated with their dairy farm and livestock programs. So perhaps there is truth to the legend of butterflies are lost soles who like milk? Yes, I said it like the soles of a pair of shoes, which if butterflies wore they would need three pairs. I wonder if a Beau Brummel of the lepidopterist type wears three pairs of the same shoe or does he vary the pairs.

What the Kentucky Wildcats site tells me is that in Greek butterflies and moths are known as “Lepidoptera”, which is used as their scientific classification. Lepidoptera means “scaly wings” in Greek. So as long as this is my article, I will take a swing (or a flutter) at the derivation of the word, and say that perhaps the person who first said, “That is a Butterfly,” knew well that the Greek word meant “scaly wing” and was looking for an opposite, and what is more smooth to the touch than butter.

But enough of the words and derivations and wandering through forests of blue trees with polka-dot leaves wondering why a butterfly is not called a formenhangeeen. Because it’s not.

The Butterfly is a simple soul. It follows the bright light and settles where there are no disturbing winds. Perhaps this is why in Russian (бабочка) (pronounced as ba-booch-ka) it is known as a “little soul”.

But in our garden on a warm-but-not-hot day in mid-July, I see a female (two-spots on each wing) Cabbage White (Pieris rapae) wandering, with purpose, through our purple Hostas and yellow Stone Crop Sedum. Down and up and around and then left to right she goes. Not unhurried, but seemingly without a care. And then she lights and unrolling her tube-like tongue she tastes the flower’s nectar and then moves on to investigate another.

And so her Summer goes.

What is so rare as a day in June?

A Sun-Wing in the garden who with each flap of her tiny wings sets up wild hurricanes that blow polka dotted leaves over the garden wall.

And so the Summer goes.

Other Butterflies that frequent the Washington, DC area include; Cloudless Sulphur Butterfly, Baltimore Checkerspot, Black Swallowtail, Cabbage White Butterfly, Canadian Tiger Swallowtail, Clouded Sulphur, Eastern Tiger Swallowtail, and the Monarch Butterfly.

The University of Kentucky site may be found at; https://www.uky.edu/hort/butterflies/all-about-butterflies .

“What is so Rare as a Day in June”, a poem by James Russell Lowell may be found at, https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/what-is-so-rare-as-a-day-in-june/ .

The Lyrics (by Bob Lind) to The Elusive Butterfly of Love (as sung by Dolly Parton) may be found at; https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/dollyparton/elusivebutterfly.html .

Fire Swifts

I am fortunate. There is a stand of tall, old trees that I can see from my backyard. This year, I often go outside early in the morning to enjoy a cup of coffee and look out towards these trees. There are three in particular that stand out. On the left is an American Ash, to the middle-right there is a Tulip Poplar, and on the right, just beside the Poplar, is a Sycamore. They grow in a creek bed that runs through this small wood.

The creek meanders through its small valley. Over the years and centuries the stream has cut a bed for itself that is approximately 10 feet below the overall terrain and less than a tenth of a mile wide. Maybe at one time it was a cow pasture.

But now, since the valley is low and the stream pushes through it during rainy seasons, it has never been developed. However, because of the stream and its valley, there is a green belt of trees that snakes though my small town and out into the county. This green-way is a nature preserve. It harbors deer and foxes and other sub-urban wildlife. And it is a haven for birds that are not generally seen this far from the tree covered mountains to our West. And in the upper reaches of the trees, under the broad leaves of the Sycamore and the Polar, and beneath the delicate leaves of the Ash, there are thousands of broods of flying insects. But, the only ones that I can see are the Fireflies that flash in the evenings.

Today I am not thinking of the beauty of this small valley nor of the denizens that are concealed inside its narrow borders. Today I am thinking of a feathered visitor that arrives each year in the late Spring and early Summer while passing to the North., and again as it passes through in the Fall as it makes its way South. It is the Chimney Swift (Chaetura pelagica). These delicate birds soar through the air above me as they pass close to the tops of the trees to catch flying insects. The Chimney Swift is a common bird of North America, East of the Rockies. Some will build their nests locally, assuming they find a suitable location. Others are passing through on their way North to the limits of their range on the Canadian side of the Great Lakes of North America.

While they are here what a show they put on! From my backyard I have only a small patch of sky in which to look up, but in the mornings when I am sitting having a cup of coffee, I can see these birds sail through the air, the sun shining on their dark wings and reflecting as the birds twist and turn showing an alternating brightness on the underside and then the sooty dark upper-wing and body. It is as if their wings were hammered steel, winking flame of fire. These aerial acrobatics amaze me as the birds suddenly turn to snatch a flying insect from the air. Several sites I read state that a pair of breeding adult Swifts feeding a brood of chicks will consume upwards of 6,000 flying insect a day.

In the Fall the Swifts turn their thoughts to warmer climes and head South. In The Wind in the Willows, Kenneth Grahame’s masterpiece, Rat challenges the swallows on why they do not stay in England as the year turns away from summer. The birds reply, “Ah, Yes, the call of the South, the South. … Its songs, its hues, its radiant air.”

It is the same with the Chimney Swift. As Summer ends the birds leave the Great Lakes. They leave the Blue Ridge Mountains. They leave the Georgia shore. But where did they go? For many years no one knew where the Chimney Swifts went.

In 1943, this changed. A scientist studying the indigenous people of the forests at the headwaters of the Amazon River in Peru spotted a curious necklace on one of the people. He asked to examine it and was able to purchase it. The necklace was made of the tiny metal bands that are placed on the legs of birds to track their migration. He returned the bands to the United States Fish and Wildlife Service (FWS) of the Department of the Interior. The FWS confirmed the bands had been placed on Chimney Swifts in several locations, five States (primarily Tennessee) and a Canadian province. The birds had been killed for food in Peru, and the small metal tags were strung into a necklace.

The FWS put out a press release in November 1944 that announced “The solution [has been discovered] of a centuries-old riddle of bird migration — the location of the winter home of the Chimney Swift .”

When I recently learned this I marveled at the thousands of miles these birds, which I watched over my morning coffee, had crossed. I know that they soon they will hear “the call of the South”, and they again will take their ancestral route to find “ the songs, the hues, and the radiant air” of far Southern climes.

A site of the Tennessee Wildlife Resource Agency about the Chimney Swifts. https://www.tn.gov/twra/wildlife/birds/chimney-swift.html#:~:text=The%20wintering%20range%20of%20the%20Chimney%20Swift%20was,stations%20in%20Chattanooga%2C%20Knoxville%2C%20Nashville%2C%20Clarksville%2C%20and%20Memphis.

Other sites regarding the Chimney Swift and their range and habitat include; http://www.prestonmnchamber.com/play/attractions/chimney-swift/ and http://www.chimneyswifts.org/

The FWS 1944 Press Release may be found at, https://www.fws.gov/news/Historic/NewsReleases/1944/19441112.pdf

HOLLY FLOWERS

My neighbor has a row of holly trees along the sidewalk in front of this house. He maintains them well, They are not over trimmed, and that particular part of my walk has a pleasant wilderness-feel to it. The ground beneath the trees is thick with a flowering ground cover. The hollies and the undergrowth give comfort and cover to many birds and a variety of wildlife.

I see the birds flying in and out. Sometimes to rest. Other times I imagine to nest, sometimes to nest. A red Cardinal, and the charcoal and orange Eastern Towhee, sit at the tops and make their song resonant throughout the neighborhood.

As I walk past, I may hear a rustle in the undergrowth and be surprised by a chipmunk as it darts out on some important errand. Or in the early morning if I look out my window, I may see a fox using this as a path where he can remain covered while watching the neighborhood – or perhaps looking for that self-important chipmunk.

The hollies themselves enclose a small dogwood that is trying to grow up and out from beneath their branches. The dogwood looks healthy and is trying to push its way up. It had numerous white blossoms this Spring which is a good sign for its future. It will be interesting to see how it continues in its relationship with its covering neighbors.

The showy dogwood flowers have had their time and are now gone. Lying quietly behind what had been the showy branches is a small green-hued flower of the American Holly.

I get in close to see it the tiny blossoms. The buds and the blossoms lie in a profusion at the tips of the branches. They are well guarded by the holy’s spike-tipped leaves. In their time the blossoms will fade, and its petals drop, and then it will fruit in the Fall and Winter into the deep crimson berries of the American Holly.

These trees have always held an attraction for me. And a certain amount of fear. There are many hollies, and all have the shiny leaves with spiny points. Some may be soft and flexible. Some are as hard and stiff as a sheet of steel with long sharp needle-like thorns That when a leaf falls to the ground and dries out they are a terror to a barefoot boy in rural North Carolina.

I have many memories of that rural yard. There was a peach tree that gave few peaches and those it did produce attracted multitudes of wasps. And up the dirt road to the highway were the old pear trees which presented glorious, hard, sweet pears. But those fruits if allowed to lie on the ground became a magnet to yellow-jackets and bees of all kinds. And what child, not me or my brother or my cousins, could resist the chance of finding a recently fallen pear lying in the golden autumn afternoon, would not risk the buzz and perhaps sting of the insects searching for that sweet, sticky nectar, and make a dash to grasp the prize and to come out with the fruit and perhaps a much respected wound from the enemy, to seek comfort while sharing bites of their hard won prize.

Now, years later, I hazard a closer inspection of the holly flowers. There simplicity is stark. Their grouping is like that of a family staying close to each other for comfort – and fun. Even in their tight grouping I cannot detect a scent. And the threat of even the softer thorns of this variety does not allow me to get too close.

As we approach Summer and look towards Autumn, these flowers may fade, but they will remain, as do the pears, and the thorns, and the laughter of years long gone. And all this is brought back to me by a group of tiny, little flowers.

Bear in the Meadow

I saw a photograph that I want to describe to you. The setting is an American alpine meadow surrounded by tall conifers. The view is to the west. A forest of the conifers rings the far side of the meadow. There is a high but thick cloud cover wrapped around the sheer granite walls of the peaks. The morning sun is just now burning off the cloud cover and in places the cliffs are reflecting the sun’s glory. In the meadow not far from the observer is a brown bear, head lifted, looking towards the morning sun.

It is a beautiful picture. It shows the grandeur of the Yosemite valley. It leads me to believe in the grandeur of this park and of all National Parks. The bear in his meadow, in his home, moves me. Yet, the picture of the bear makes me somewhat scared. But being scared is not a bad thing. It makes you cautious, so you are able to make better decisions.

When the hair rises on the back of my neck, I know it is time to consider my position, assess the situation, and take appropriate action for my safety and that of the people who may be with me.

In the photograph the bear looks far away, but it is probably less than 50 yards from me. I believe that he, or she, could cover the distance quickly. Bears are known to be able to charge at speeds above 20 miles per hour, and up to 30 miles per hour. This bear could cover these 50 yards in less than 6 seconds!

So I don’t mind being scared as it makes me aware of where I am and ready to react when I go into bear country.

I have seen grizzlies and other bears at were minding their business, and I let them alone and minded my own business, which was my safety. I kept a safe distance, well beyond 100 yards. That is a minimum safety distance with bears. To quote from the Glacier National Park website;

“Approaching, viewing, or engaging in any activity within 100 yards (91.4 meters) of bears or wolves, …. is prohibited. … Never intentionally get close to a bear. Individual bears have their own personal space requirements, which vary depending on their mood. Each will react differently and its behavior cannot be predicted. All bears are dangerous and should be respected equally.”

Whenever I talk about bears, I must talk safety. Keep away. Enough said.

This brief article is about the bear’s place in the meadow and my place with him.

I must say that I have never been to Yosemite. However, one of these days I hope to get there.

About the bear, in the photograph I can tell from the bear’s alert stance that he is listening and sniffing the air. Something has caught his attention in this, his territory. This is his place. He lives here. And he has, although I don’t know what he would call it, a sense of place about it. He knows the routines of the other animals, where there is food, when the snow will soon fall. He knows his way in this meadow. He likely feels safe here and has what we might consider a level of comfort in this place. And he is jealous of this place and will guard it. For this meadow, the bear has a sense of place.

But I don’t live there. I have never been there. But I have heard stories and exciting tales of camping and hiking in Yosemite. And I have seen pictures and photographs of the place. I want to go there. I also have a sense of place for the park that includes this meadow and includes this bear.

In my mind’s eye, I see the valley below the granite walls. And I as a visitor in the bear’s home, have to respect the bear and his “belongings” and know that he will guard them jealously and violently if he feels it is necessary.

But when I imagine myself in this meadow, I have a feeling of wonder, a feeling of contentment. I feel as if I belong to this place, but not that this place belongs to me.

I feel the contentment of being in the right place. I feel a shared comfort with the mountains, and the woods, and the grasses, and the bear. I feel the desire to stand out at night and see the stars, and then see the sun come up and splay its light across the peaks.

And I will be cautious, as I am in the company of the Bear.

The Glacier Park information on bears ay be found at; https://www.nps.gov/glac/planyourvisit/bears.htm

The picture is based on a photograph at the NPS Yosemite website, El Capitan in Early Morning.Described as “Morning sunlight on eastern wall of El Capitan, Yosemite Valley, with Merced River in foreground. [RL001244].” The photograph may be found at; https://www.nps.gov/media/photo/gallery-item.htm?pg=110576&id=B1794C5D-155D-4519-3E4385AA40753AF0&gid=B17BC4E5-155D-4519-3EC6B73FCE2806A8 .

Bug on the Water

It is Spring. The rain is a bit warmer. The days are a bit longer. The early flowers are beginning to poke their heads up in the fields and in the yards.

And out in the woods the buds are showing on the trees and bushes.

In my neighborhood the flowers have paused for a moment. The Cherry blossoms were magnificent. Even the fall of the Cherry blossoms was nice; it looked like a late snow fall. Now we are awaiting the Dogwood trees which burst open, all in the same week, throughout the neighborhood.

Back to the woods the buds and nascent leaves are showing red and green throughout the undergrowth. The Persimmon trees still have tight buds. The blackberry vines are showing buds that promise a sweet treat in late summer. The Dogwoods in the deep woods are preparing, just as the ones in our neighborhood, to burst open in all their glory.

But what of the bugs. I have seen one or two of the bright yellow Cloudless Sulphur Butterfly (Phoebis sennae) of Virginia in the fields. And while on the trail I have been passed by several large bumble bees. But its not up, but down that I want to look.

In the stream that the trail crosses and recrosses I can see small bugs, True Bugs as it turns out, darting around as they chase and follow each other. They skate on the waters surface from the edge of the bank into the slight current of the small stream. These are Water Striders, insects of the Order Hemiptera, meaning “half-wing” due to their divided fore wings. But it is their feet that are the most amazing and which give them the ability to glide on the surface of the water.

These insects spend their life first beneath and later on top of the surface of streams and ponds. They are sometimes carnivorous and prey on smaller and less agile bugs that come into their territory. And they delight us with their quick movements as they sprint across the water’s surface. This ability is due to the size of their long feet/fore legs which rest on the water. Their long legs distribute their body weight across the surface of the water and at each foot they are amply supported by the water’s surface tension. They can glide across the water’s surface without breaking through. The Water Strider’s body and legs and feet are covered in tiny hairs which trap air bubbles when in contact with water. These hairs covering the little bug’s entire body are water repellent. These hairs not only help the Water Strider to distribute their weight on the water’s surface but allow them to quickly shed any water that might splash onto their body and weigh them down.

As I stand on the edge of the bank, I watch these Water Striders dart across the surface of the stream. Their quick movements are mesmerizing as the bugs chase each other across the surface.

These are not the only insects in the streams. Right now the nymphs of the Mayfly (Order Ephemeroptera) and the Stonefly (Order Plecoptera) are beneath the water’s surface. They remain there for several years after they hatch. Then as early Summer warms the air and the water, the oldest class of these insects will emerge as adults and fly up from the surface in clouds that can easily be seen. The nymphs of these two insects are especially important indicators of the health of the streams as the insects are very susceptible to pollution. The clouds of these insects above the water are indicators of a healthy stream. And these clouds provide a tasty treat to the fish of the streams.

Below the clouds the Water Strider skates across his territory.

Wet Day with Grapes

In these days of the Corona-virus I don’t get out as much as I like to. But when I have an opportunity to get out, I usually go. Last Sunday I went out to a small National Park which has some good hiking trials. But it was so crowded that I did not even park my car. After visiting three trailheads I turned around and headed home. It’s not very far from where I live, so going out and coming back is not any trouble for me.

It was late afternoon when I went out as that is when I like to hike. When I got to the entrance road, I could see there were cars parked all along the drive. This meant that at some point in the day the main parking lot had been full. And it may have still been full. When I saw all the cars parked along the road, I knew that part of the park was more crowded than I like it. So I drove to another area in the park where there are some excellent trails. Here again the same thing. Cars and trucks parked all along the road up to the small parking area (3 spaces) at the trailhead. When I saw this, I passed it by. The third area was the same. At this area I could see down the paths that cross the mown fields, and I could see large groups that I would likely have to intermix with. That’s was my last chance, so I drove on home.

Although I was disappointed in missing my walk, I didn’t mind because I was taking charge. As Dr. Fauci has told us time and again, we are not in charge of the timetable for transmission of the COVID-19 sickness. This new virus, the novel Corona-virus, is in charge. But we can be in charge of what we do, of how we react to the presence of the virus. As he tells us the best thing we can do right now is do your best to prevent the transmission to ourselves and to others. We must follow the social distancing guidelines. We must avoid public areas as much as we can. We must protect ourselves, and thereby protect the hospital workers who we might pass on the trail or who live in our neighborhood.

But what about the grapes? Was it raining last weekend?

No, it was not raining last weekend. I took this picture of the grapes dripping water last year in late summer. I was in the same park but down by the broad creek that forms the boundary of the park.

The grapes were just beginning to grow, and so were quite small. I doubt that they would have grown to full size fruit as there are many animals and birds that enjoy the grapes, at whatever stage the fruit may be. I don’t eat them since wild grapes can be rather sour if you get them too early. And even if you wait until they are fully developed, they are still rather tart. As the grapes ripen the blue jays and other birds will fly in and sit on the thicker parts of the vine while they eat the grapes When the grapes are a bit riper, the raccoons and possums will climb up and pluck them off the vines.

Up in the woods of the Virginia foothills, I use to walk in a State Park in the Blue Ridge where there was a big grape vine there that the kids could pull themselves up on. I imagine that it was decades old. At my home in North Carolina there was an old grape vine that had been growing and hanging from a tree deep in the woods for as long as I could remember. The tree was toppled by a hurricane several years ago and the grape vine which was about 6 inches across had to be cut so the tree and its branches could be removed. I’m still hoping that the shoots I have seen on that stub will continue to grow for another 50 – 100 years.

These vines of wild grapes are all through the southern woods. They are a welcome sight as I know that the birds and the beasts enjoy them. And seeing the big vines hanging from the trees always make me smile as I think back to the first vine that I ever swung on.

But be careful; don’t grab hold of a poison ivy vine. They are in the same woods. Know what you are grabbing hold of. If the roots of the vine and where it is attached to the tree have “hair” growing out onto the tree the vine is climbing don’t touch it. Its poison ivy.

I hope we are all back in the woods soon. And please remember to always wash your hands.

I believe the grapes pictured are Riverbank Grapes (Vitis riparia).