Where the Deer and the Antelope...

One of our road trips while we visited Utah was to Antelope Island. We wanted to see the Great Salt Lake, and guide books suggested that visiting Antelope Island was a good way to see the lake.

Antelope Island is a state park in Utah, established in 1981. For some time prior to becoming a state park, the island had been farmed. American bison were brought to the island in 1893, and a herd of 600 lives there today.

To get to the island, we traveled across the 7 mile causeway, the only access for vehicles. As we paid, and drove through the entrance gate, the park ranger warned us that the deer flies were "really biting" that day. Thus warned, we didn't linger outside. We drove around, spotting what wildlife we could see. While we saw only a few examples of wildlife, the island is the home to bison, antelope, coyotes, bobcats, badgers, porcupines, jackrabbits and rodents, along with many birds.

We did spot a pronghorn antelope, for which the island was named.

We hoped to see the bison, but had not spotted any. Along the road, when we reached a bit of elevation, we saw two dark spots off in the distance. We drove toward them, coming upon two bison lying down, switching tails--perhaps to brush away flies. They were totally oblivious to our presence, and stayed lying down.

As we began driving around the perimeter of the island, we suddenly encountered the HERD--what looked like the whole herd. Cows, bulls, and calves--all ambling along. The calves played at the edge of the water. Huh, who knew that bison go to the beach. As we slowly drove along, a bull sauntered slowly across the road. Taking his time. The final shot of him shows his "name"--# 6.

The bison herd is rounded up every year, in November. The round-up is something people come to witness. In addition to riders on horse-back rounding up the bison, the park service use helicopters.

The Great Salt Lake is very shallow, and given its high salinity, has little water life. Brine shrimp are what thrives there, which does attract many birds. The lake did not look inviting, and the day we were there, no one was swimming, sailing or boating. Although I found Antelope Island somewhat bleak and barren, there is a beauty to its starkness. Now, if they could do something about the deer flies. . .

One more post on Utah is in the works--thoughts on living in a theocracy.

Contemplation on Groundhogs

About the least original topic on which I could write on this day would be groundhogs. Anyone who has lived in Pennsylvania has heard of groundhogs. And, many people outside of Pennsylvania have also heard of groundhogs. Here' s a New York resident who has heard of them.

In my somewhat running battle with local television news, I have never addressed the topic of groundhogs. I don't even need to turn on local news today to know exactly what the top story will be today. . .well, maybe the story will be that the Steelers won 6th Super Bowl. BUT after that story, the news will talk inanely about groundhogs.

There will be a report from Punxsutawney, and one from Octoraro--each featuring a groundhog held aloft, blinking miserably at all these crazy humans holding it. I think the one groundhog is real, and the other is . . .well, stuffed. Rather like the plot of the movie "Groundhog Day" the predictable repetition of this story gets old.

I have nothing against groundhogs. In fact, I quite like them. Today's The Writer's Almanac adds to my store of knowledge about Groundhog Day. Frankly, the information here has NEVER been used on the local television reporting of this day. And the information is fascinating.

Groundhog Day is yet another day where a Celtic celebration--Imbolc--morphed into, or was appropriated by the Catholic Church. The holiday became Candlemas Day, the celebration of the day when the infant Jesus was presented at the temple, 40 days after birth. Garrison Keillor referenced an old English saying about Candlemas:

If Candlemas day be fair and bright,
Winter will have another flight.
But if Candlemas day bring clouds and rain,
Winter is gone and won't come again.

The weather observations of February 2 become clear, but how do we get to Groundhog Day? Well, apparently Europeans had a tradition on this day of observing wild animals and their behavior to see if winter was drawing to a close. They particularly liked to observe badgers, which are all but non-existent in Pennsylvania (only 4 sited here since 1946). But, let me tell you, there are LOADS of groundhogs. Apparently, an enterprising German immigrant living in Pennsylvania made the transposition.

Herewith a quote from Garrison Keillor's The Writer's Almanac:

German immigrants in Pennsylvania found that there weren't a lot of badgers in America, but there were a lot of groundhogs, so the holiday evolved into Groundhog Day. The first reference to Groundhog Day is from 1841, in the diary of a storekeeper in Morgantown, Pennsylvania. He wrote: "Last Tuesday, the 2nd, was Candlemas day, the day on which, according to the Germans, the Groundhog peeps out of his winter quarters and if he sees his shadow he pops back for another six weeks' nap, but if the day be cloudy he remains out, as the weather is to be moderate."

And thus was begun a seemingly never-ending tradition here in Pennsylvania.

Now me and my affinity for groundhogs. Several years ago, I journeyed to the house of a local pastor, and his wife--also an ordained minister--for a church meeting. As I drove over the lovely back roads in central PA, I was struck with an unshakable sense of having been on that road before.

And I knew exactly when. While I was in high school, I had a one time date with a young man, whose grandparents owned a horse farm on that road I traveled several decades later. We went horse-back riding--please know I am NOT an accomplished rider--and as we rode along in the open field, we were having a pleasant getting-to-know-you conversation. Suddenly, the young man pulled up his horse, jumped off, and went running across the field. From a nearby barn, he grabbed a baseball bat, and proceeded to bludgeon a groundhog to death.

I know horse owners can despise groundhogs for their penchant of digging holes that a horse can step into and come up lame. BUT--really--killing a groundhog on a first date? A bit over the top. Do I have to add I never saw the young man again?

Since then I have enjoyed observing groundhogs. I find their slow undulation across a grassy space almost comical. I delight in their popping their heads up suddenly to peer around. I do not, however, take their weather prognostications as having any soundness. So, if it's OK, I will tune out on Groundhog Day to local news coverage.

Oh, I Give Up!

Try as I might, I am simply no match for those of you who are nature experts: Julie, Tom, Nina, Laura, Mary, Ruth and countless others whose blogs I read with great fascination.

Really, I do love nature. I love watching the seasons change--a wonderful benefit from living in central PA--I love watching birds, and all manner of outdoor creatures, I love the animals living with us. I love tending to my flower gardens.

So, it was a thrill to spot a lovely butterfly as we returned home from a brief shopping trip today. I dashed downstairs (dog hot on my trail wondering where I was going) to grab my camera. The butterfly was first spotted on red zinnias, and then flitted away to some pink zinnias and some dianthus. She (or he?) was not too cooperative in maintaining an open wing stance so I could photograph the lovely design clearly.





I was convinced that all I needed to do was download the photos, type "butterfly" and maybe even "eastern U.S." into Google, and I would find a quick ID. No such luck.

So, I give up. I have a series of photos of a lovely unidentified butterfly. Anyone able to help me?

UPDATE: here's a great site for photos to ID butterflies.

Hand Work

When my husband and I bought our first house, we were drawn to the house because of its flowering trees and shrubs. The backyard had lovely forsythia blooming, there was a flowering cherry tree on one side of the house, and a weeping cherry tree on the other. Once we moved in we discovered a pear tree that bore the sweetest wondrous pears.

However, all that greenery meant trimming and clipping. So, the first time we needed to trim hedges and such, we asked a man who helped tend the grounds at the college where I was teaching at the time. He came out to our place equipped only with a hand held hedge shears. I was astounded. I offered him our electric hedge trimmer, but he politely declined. I always trim by hand, he said. So I watched, and learned. He had an unerring eye, and in short order had the place in great shape.

Since then, we have moved to another house where I do all the hedge and shrub trimming. But I kept the lesson I learned from that long ago event. I prefer to trim greenery by hand, using just large garden shears. Occasionally, in a hurry, I will resort to electric trimmers, but I enjoy trimming much more when I do it by hand.

Yesterday was a lovely cool spring day, so I headed out to trim an arbor vita next to our front door. A couple of weeks ago, as I walked past this arbor vita, a mourning dove came fluttering out, making a great show of flapping around, falling to the ground, hopping a bit, dragging a wing, and of course leading me away from the tree. I presumed she had a nest in there, but when I looked into the untrimmed tree, I could not see anything.

Well, after I got done trimming the arbor vita, I spotted a mourning dove carefully watching me from nearby on the driveway. She kept close, waiting. As soon as I was done, she flew to the tree, crawled in and settled down. Aha! I had found her nest. So I tried to keep my distance not disturbing her too much. I did sneak up, of course, to get her photo.

More inspections out and around my grounds, and I see the miniature rose is getting ready to bloom. This was a gift from my daughter several years ago, for Mother's Day. It has bloomed each year since.

Equally tenacious, but less beautiful, is the wild rose stock that keeps growing back every year. When we first moved to this house, I grew three rose bushes. They did well for a while, but since roses take so

much work, I gave them up and dug them out. However, I must have missed some of the root of the wild rose stock which grows back every year. No flowers, of course, just the thorny hardy root stock.

I finally got to see my neighbor's bunny again--Hoppy. He is a carmel colored dwarf rabbit that they keep year round in a hutch. It bothers me to see him confined so, so I visit him and bring him an occasional carrot stick to eat. From his hutch, he watches the wild rabbits cavort. It always puts me in mind of "The Velveteen Rabbit"--which I will not think about too much, or I will start crying! (I confessed to my tendency to weep when I read touching children's books, here.)

Oh, the flowers at the beginning of the post? Some of my dianthus, blooming. I love the deep purple pink of the flowers.

UPDATE:

Alex, the squirrel, has not been seen now for 3 days. I did find this. . .

Looks like a dirty window, you say? Well, yes it is, but the "dirt" is on the outside. Paw marks--streaking down the window on the sunporch. Actually, on two of the sliding glass door windows. Methinks a squirrel was trying to get in. When I saw my neighbor yesterday, she said she saw a crow (her identification) grab a squirrel and fly up to the roof. Oh, no, hope it wasn't Alex. I will keep looking, but I don't hold out too much hope.

All Creatures Great and Small

When PBS began running the series "All Creatures Great and Small," I was an immediate fan. I just loved this charming series, gleaned from tales of a Yorkshire country veterinarian, James Herriot. Each week, we were treated to a new animal story intertwined with the human stories of Herriot, the two Farnon brothers--Siegfried and Tristan--with whom he worked, and the people of Yorkshire. I was so taken by these stories that I even tried to read the books on which they were based. I must confess Herriot's rendering of the thick Yorkshire accented English completely did me in, and I don't think I finished the book.



Lately, I feel as though I am living in an "all creatures" zone. It is completely of my own doing. All except the deer, of course. They have wandered in, bashed my one spruce tree, and sheered by hostas off to the ground. The other creatures have been invited into the space around our house by my feeding them. We even had our annual visit from the ducks who think our pool, with winter cover, is in fact a pond. The local guard dog is dispatched to dissuade them.


For many years, we had bird feeders, which I gradually gave up on. The refuse on the ground of sunflower shells made me a less than enthusiastic bird feeder. Then last year, we bought a new bird feeder, then another, and began feeding birds again. Buying a sunflower mixture has attracted a different set of birds, and lessened the number of shells falling on the ground. The tree cover has helped to discourage the swoop through flying of the peregrine.

Predictably, the squirrels soon discovered the bird feeders. They regularly raid the newly filled feeders, and I have yet to buy baffles to try to keep them out. I have taken another route--buying peanuts. After seeing a peanut wreath on RuthieJ's blog, I found one and dutifully filled it with peanuts.


Enter "my" squirrel. Perhaps you remember this fellow. This squirrel (I am convinced) is the one who caught my mini-snowball. Anyway, after emptying the bird feeders, he has begun to venture up onto the small deck next to our sunporch. Maybe the strategic placement of peanuts has encouraged him. In fact, he (I know this because I have seen his. . .ahem. . .equipment) comes up on the deck, stands up, curls one paw into his chest, and looks in the window. "Is the nice lady there who puts out peanuts?"



So, when I got the peanut wreath, I placed it within easy reach. Within seconds, it seemed, Mr. Squirrel (for some reason, I call him Alex) found the peanuts and proceeded to empty the WHOLE wreath, trip after trip after trip. I even ran out of peanuts, so my husband and I went shopping on Mother's Day to buy new bags of peanuts.


Now, Mr. Squirrel is making regular trips for peanuts. Sometimes he eats them right where he stands, leaving behind quite a mess. The spent peanut shells and husks have in turn attracted rabbits and cardinals, who peck away at the detritus.




All of this activity provides much entertainment or frustration for the two cats and one dog inside the sun porch.

A Small Death on Campus

This week seems to be my week to have encounters with nature. First, it was the unseen but very much present deer. Now today it was a squirrel.

Make that a squirrel and a hawk.

I was teaching my 11 a.m. section. The classroom we are in is on the second floor, in a building that recently had new windows inserted. So, now we have a lovely unobstructed view of the great outdoors.

I had the students in groups doing work--smaller groups are so much more productive and conducive to all students entering into the conversation. Suddenly, the group nearest the window began looking out the window and animatedly making comments. Finally, I said--OK, what is going on?

Look, they said--there's a hawk that has caught a squirrel. So, I looked out--and right there was a large hawk sitting astride a still struggling squirrel. What a fascinating display of hunter and hunted, of powerful and powerless. The hawk had its talons positioned right over the squirrel's throat and conveyed an air of absolute unconcern for the squirming rodent under its claws. The squirrel struggled, then slowly moved less and less, until it stopped altogether.

By this time, I had persuaded students to go back to the discussion at hand. For one second, I glanced out the window just in time to see the hawk soaring into the air, its cargo in tow. The squirrel's tail dangled like a forlorn surrender flag.

A small death on campus.

What came next in our class discussion rivets me. Some of the students who had gotten up to look out the window expressed great sorrow at the poor squirrel. I must confess the divide of sympathy tended to fall along gender lines--the girls were more sympathetic, while the boys thought it was "cool" to see a squirrel die. The girls were rooting for the squirrel and the boys were cheering on the hawk.

Our current class discussion focuses on the one section of the reader we use--we are working on a chapter all about entertainment, including how news has morphed into entertainment. I asked this question:
"Most Americans get their news through television rather than through print. What do you think this shift has meant to our level of understanding of the world?"

One student who moments before was bemoaning the poor squirrel's fate opined that we shouldn't see images of the war in Iraq, because that "might turn people against the war." She firmly stated that the soldiers are over there fighting for us, and if we saw what they had to do, we would oppose the war.

I challenged her a bit--it was not time to debate her (that comes next semester when the course focuses on argument). What I said was since images have such power, we rob ourselves if we don't see these images, because the Arab world certainly sees them. Many of the images of injured or dead Iraqis are shown on Al Jazeera as standard fare.

How can a young woman who was so sympathetic to a squirrel, to the point that she was saying--let's go help it--be so unsympathetic to the Iraqi people? I know part of the answer is that she has bought the great lie that the "soldiers are over there to protect us and our way of life."

A small death on campus, indeed.

Deer 1--Tree 0

As you might expect, based on the title of this blog, there's a back story.

Last Friday, I went out to rake leaves (yes, my autumn obsession). I raked several neat piles, muttering under my breath about "neighbor's leaves that blow into my yard" and then carried the leaves to the curb.

I offer this photographic evidence, and ask--which side do you think is my yard? and which, my neighbor's?

I mention this Friday chore only to pinpoint a time.

On Saturday, I looked out a back window and thought--that's odd. Why does the small Engelman spruce look so odd? So I trekked outside, and here's what I found.

Several deep gouges in the soft earth.

Many broken branches on the lower half of the tree.

And a gouge on the trunk of the tree.

Apparently, our neighborhood deer, or at least one of them, had issues with the tree. Or, more likely, used this little tree to rub velvet off its antlers. I didn't see the deer, but the evidence is quite clear.

The frustrating thing for me is that I have never seen these deer. Several neighbors have, and my husband and our dog encountered them one evening. We live in very suburban area, in a development that is almost 30 years old. We have lived in this house since 1980, and have NEVER seen deer, until this year. It is evidence of over-building and urban sprawl, that the habitat deer formerly occupied has been destroyed, and so they move into more settled areas.

So, for now, deer--1; tree--0.

---------------

UPDATE: On Tuesday, I came home to find my neigbor--I'll call her Phyllis--raking leaves into piles. I was so overjoyed that I went right over and volunteered to help her carry them to the curb. I have learned that leaves left in piles tend to blow into my yard--so I may as well transport them now, as later.

The Dilemma of Bushmeat

When I teach English 101, the reading text we use has a photograph that shows a young man in an outdoor market somewhere in Asia. He is holding up a puppy, looking at it critically. It is clear in this photo that he is not thinking future pet—he is thinking dinner. I ask students for their reactions. Frequently the first thing they say is---ewwwww! So, I ask them why, and they say—it’s just not right to eat dog. So I ask them why—and they are stumped.

Of course, I try to get them to explore the cultural ramifications of what we eat. Why do we eat cows, pigs, sheep, various fowl—and not dogs or cats? The discussion can go many directions—being vegan, eating meat during travels that one does not traditionally eat, having religious restrictions on what meats we eat.

I had sort of settled this question of the cultural influence on what meats we eat in my own mind until a recent post by Julie Zickefoose on agoutis got me thinking again. While you can read her post for yourself, one of the things she points out is that she had not seen an agouti in the wild because of the “edible–animal syndrome: anything big enough to roast on a spit is pretty much extirpated wherever people live.” So that’s what got me to thinking. Is there anything wrong with eating bushmeat? If you say yes—what? If you say no—why?

I struggle with the implications for survival of species if humans have no limit on killing bushmeat for food. While I was growing up in Rhodesia, Africa, we occasionally killed local animals. Mostly our meat supply came from livestock on the mission station, such as cattle or pigs, but there were also various antelope such as kudus that missionaries killed. Such meat was never a staple, but the meat could be eaten and was used. That was the extent of my exposure to bushmeat in Africa.

Bushmeat now means something altogether different. One of the websites dedicated to education about this issue states baldly that “In Africa, the unsustainable bushmeat trade is wiping out wildlife including gorillas, chimpanzees, antelopes and many other species.” (Bushmeat Crisis Task Force) It is the permanent loss of species that haunts me. The dilemma is how do we balance the needs of humans against the existence of other animals?

For desperate people in some parts of the world, Africa for example, eating bushmeat is the one available means to stave off starvation. Here is a thought-provoking piece on the role of bushmeat in Africa.

photo from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bushmeat

Of course, this practice is as old as humanity. Before humans domesticated animals, they killed game—this term is a far less objectionable one than bushmeat. Obviously, I am not opposed to humans killing and eating game that is plentiful. But I really shudder at some of the types of bushmeat that is now being sold in some African markets—for example, gorillas. The one photo that I include here is of an African porcupine being sold as bushmeat. There are far more graphic photos on the Internet of bushmeat for sale—particularly chilling are gorilla heads. The great apes are virtually our cousins, so how can we possibly eat them?

So, I wrestle with the problem—how can we humans co-exist with other animals on this earth. Humans eating other animals and in so doing possibly wiping out species is not the only way we threaten animals. There are so many ways that humans and animals clash. Another thoughtful blogger addressed one of these problems—humans encroaching more and more on habitat that displaces animals. Then when those animals come around where we live, we take action that sometimes harms them. See Natural Notes 3 thoughtful post on Birds or Bears.

We humans have to accept that we are part of all creation, that the destruction of habitat affects us, that the loss of species affects us, that the great web of creation sustains and supports us. Destroy it and we destroy ourselves.

Tale of Three Mallards

Just as I was driving into my neighborhood this afternoon, I saw a mallard male hanging around by a tiny puddle. I was hoping to run back to the spot, and get a photo of him, but he was gone by the time I got back. I will have to learn how to slam on the brakes and jump out for the photo a la this!

We live in an area that has several small ponds, so our neighborhood seems to be a magnet for mallards. In fact, every spring, they go waddling back and forth across a main road, and every year, we see several very flat mallards that didn’t make it across.

Photo by Andreas Trepte, Marburg http://foto.andreas-trepte.de/

So, that sighting reminded me of a mallard episode several springs back. We had a pair of mallards that would stroll through our yard. Since we have an in-ground pool, which at this time of the year is not open, and since the winter cover collects water, mallards think we have a pond. We don’t. So each year, we run out and shoo them away. Finally, we got a fake owl, and several spinner kites and that seems to dissuade the mallards from using our pool cover.

Anyway, this pair kept coming back. She had a distinctive bill, some kind of injury actually, because there was a piece out of it. He was a normal glossy green mallard. And every day, they would be trailed by two or three other males who were without mates.

One day, it finally happened. One of the other males won out over the male in the pair, and displaced him. Now, the new couple strolled by. The female was totally oblivious; seemingly one male mallard was as good as another to her. But the displaced male was disconsolate.

He kept coming back to our yard, looking around the pool. He would walk around slowly, seemingly searching for his lost mate. He would mournfully say—quack, quack. Now, that may seem funny, but honestly he seemed sad.

Then one day, the new couple came back—and the lost male arrived too. Show down. He kept feinting toward the winning male, trying to distract and possibly displace him. The new male was very aggressive and drove off the unlucky suitor. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I went running out and tried to help the losing male. I know! I know! Bad biology, bad science, bad wildlife management, bad everything. But I felt so sorry for him. Of course, my efforts went for naught, as the loser stayed the loser.

Photo by Alan D. Wilson, http://www.naturespicsonline.com/

Now you know why I don’t work directly with wildlife. You also know why I can’t watch certain kinds of Animal Kingdom stories—the kind that shows the victorious lion or leopard or hyena or whatever predator bring down the little antelope. I am rooting for the antelope. I don’t want the lions et al to starve. And I am not a vegetarian myself—I too am a predator, just a little more removed from my food source.

Thankfully, the triumphant mallard pair disappeared soon after that. Maybe they thought—we’re not sticking around where that crazy human lives. However, I did see the female the next spring—with her misshapen bill. And a male, but which one (or a new one altogether) I don’t know.

For the birds

It is with some personal bemusement that I reflect that among the blogs I try to read daily are a good many bloggers who love birds.

Among these able writers are people who are nature experts and authors, people who do their part for community betterment by volunteering, people who like to take walks (with or without pets) and in the process observe the wonders of nature, including birds. Many of these bloggers are photographers—some experts, some talented amateurs. You can read some of them here, here, here, and here.

Now, I love birds—I am fascinated to watch them in flight, I day-dream about the wondrous view of the world birds must have, I try to figure out what type a bird is when I see it, I have obsessed over peregrines.

But, when it comes right down to it, I do not photograph birds—I never have my camera with me when I have a close encounter, or even if I had my camera along, it is a basic camera with minimal zoom capability, so I would miss the bird shot. I also do not seek out places to see birds. Even though we live within easy driving distance, I have never been to Hawk Mountain. I do not have a life list, although, given my youth in southern Africa, I have seen some birds that people here are unlikely to see—for example, the Mzilikazi roller (lilac-breasted roller).

Photo from http://www.justbirds.org/Kenya/Lilac-breasted%20roller.htm

And, believe me, the last time I had an urge to get up at the crack of dawn, or even before that, to go birding was when I was in college and it was required for a science course!

So what am I?

I have finally decided that I am a bird-enabler. My husband and I faithfully contribute to many environmental causes that are designed to help preserve habitat, rehabilitate wounded wildlife including birds, educate people about the wonders of the web of life that sustains us all. The organizations we support are national: Audubon Society, Greenpeace, National Wildlife, Nature Conservancy, the Wilderness Society. And local: Hawk Mountain, the local chapter of the Audubon Society, and on and on the list goes.

So, there you have it. I am a bird-enabler. I make it possible for people to do all that is necessary to help preserve birds, and their habitat. I will keep on reading, keep on giving, keep on cheering all the birders out there—I just won’t be joining them.