It’s all very simple you know. My lawn looks like a rolling prairie because of Red Squirrels. That’s the raw truth, so please don’t report me to the eyesore police. I am now “taking care” of the issue.

It all began a few weeks ago when I finally decided to enter the shed and attempt my annual re-starting of the riding mower. My place is wet and low, so waiting until mid-April is not unusual around here. Any attempt previous to that time would result in a new lawn ornament shaped like a riding mower – sunk deep and fast in the middle of the yard.  I call this my annual re-starting attempt because there is always an issue of some sort that prevents a successful first mow. It has been a dead battery, a horribly flat tire, wiring issues, and a bad belt in the past. Once a woodchuck dug a den hole under it and proceeded to bury the entire front end of the mower under a mound of dirt.

This year I sat on the thing, turned the key and nothing happened.  I was not surprised in the slightest, but did start to mentally run through the potential issue list (a thought process made clearer through the use of helper words such as “dang-it” and “##!!@ -it”. The problem list became very short (and the helper word list became long) upon throwing open the hood. I could not see most of my engine because it was completely packed with grasses, leaves, and chewed walnuts.  My John Deere had become a Home Sweet Squirrel Home.

I started to pull away some of the material and discovered two hairless baby red squirrels at the center right next to the battery cable. I figured them to be perhaps 10 days old – well before their eye-opening stage at 27-28 days and after the onset of reddish back fur after the first week of life. The feet and long ratty tail look over-sized at this stage. They were not cute in any sense of the word. The portion of battery cable lying next to them was completely stripped of its insulation right down to the shiny copper wire. That also was not cute.

Because I am a naturalist first and a good homeowner second, I decided to give the mother Red Squirrel a chance to move her kids before I ripped them from limb to limb. Red Squirrels will often move their young if necessary. They will carry them by the back of the neck in the manner of a dog. I left the hood up, set up my trail cam at a point opposite the nest, and closed the shed door for a few hours. Upon my return, the nest had been re-opened and the little ones were gone.

I have a picture of my pale white freckled hand touching the nest at about noon when I set, and tested, the camera. According to the photo evidence the adult squirrel made her first appearance at the nest almost an hour later. She is pictured reaching down into the nest to grab one of the babies (see below) at 12:52 pm. She had accomplished her motherly deed within a few seconds. It takes the camera around 20 seconds to “revive” and I suspect she had already grabbed the first one by the time this shot was taken. At exactly 12:57 pm she is again captured flying past the lens (see second photo below) but the nest was already empty by then. My pale freckly hand makes another appearance at 2:19 pm as I check the nest for occupants.

I do not know where she moved them and frankly don’t care. I immediately set about pulling out a bushel basket of nest material and about 6,000 chewed walnuts. The battery cable was fried, so I removed it and bought a replacement. The battery turned out to be dead so I took it down and had it re-charged.  So far, the cable only cost $16 and the re-charge was free, so I wasn’t out a whole lot. I was finally ready to get things going a few days later – and ready to forget the whole affair – when I sat down to turn the key once again. Again, there was nothing. I was forced to call upon a higher authority (although God’s name was mentioned, I am referring to the mower repair people). They came out to pick it up and it was a long weekend until I heard from them again.

“I must have pulled 30 walnuts out of that thing, “the service fellow commented over the phone. “There are chewed wires lying around and I’m not sure what’s going on. I’ll have to order a new wire harness and that will take at least a week and…”  I phased out for a moment and returned just in time to hear him say “even after I plug the new wires in there may be some other problems.”  The estimate for labor was about a third of the original cost of the mower. I weakly gave my approval and hung up.

It should be mentioned that the warm spring weather was encouraging my grass to grow like a fast motion movie of a Chia Pet all this time. As of this writing, I still have not heard back from my repairman. We are entering the third week of mowerlessness and a small herd of bison were seen roaming in the back yard.

I saw my Female Red Squirrel the other day as she watched me cutting the front yard with my little push mower (bison are not allowed in the front yards in my neighborhood). If I were the sentimental type, I suppose I could have imagined that she was thanking me for my kindness.  I returned her glance and almost accepted these imaginary tender thoughts before abruptly catching myself. No, I thought, when I get my riding mower back I will run her and her babies over at the first opportunity.

There is crisp flowing stream that runs through a moist wood near the south end of Dollar Lake. I don’t know what it  is called, but that doesn’t really matter. It is not a babbling brook because it courses over a sandy, rather than a stony, bed. It is swift and silent, cold, and delightfully clear.  In the springtime the deeper pools are about 3 ft. deep and the riffles maintain about 1 foot in depth.  It slips through a culvert under a concrete bridge at Indian Lake Road and the forced straightening seems to increase the already vigilant flow at that point. This is where the Daces Dance.

Although the birds and the bees get most of the attention, the fishes also “do it” in the Springtime.  Blacknose Dace, small minnow-sized fish that only reside in small streams, do their “thing” beginning in April.  This spawning urge does not start according to the calendar but is triggered by water temperatures between 16 – 22 degrees Celsius (a point reached sometime between April and July depending on where you are).  You could say these are the romantic “Dace of Wine and Roses” but that would only be an opportunity for a cheap flimsy pun (opportunity taken, as you can see).

Before we get into the “thing” and spiral into more punnery, perhaps it would be good to get a little more familiar with the fish itself. It is a safe bet that most of you haven’t seen one.  I had not seen a live one until I spotted the creatures in this nameless creek.  Admittedly, It took some homework to pin down the species in this case. There are many types of Dace and they all look very much alike. Blacknose Dace range from 2-4 inches in length and are distinguished by a dark lateral stripe which runs from tail to snout tip (thus the name). A lighter line lays over this dark one and the back is speckled.  The snout actually overhangs the mouth and the mouth faces downward – fit for picking up bottom invertebrates.

From my perch above these fish, my view – and the one I am providing you – was basically an aerial perspective. In the spawning season, the dark side line often becomes reddish brown. Unfortunately, this feature doesn’t show up well from on high.

Blacknose Daces spend most of their year in the deeper pools(see here another school upstream) and the gentler portions of the stream but gravitate to the shallow riffles for spawning.  The actual act of “doing it” is very brief. You can see these little guys in action in this short video clip (here) The female fish, bulging with eggs, is the darker individual. The male appears paler and has a scar on his back (and possibly a mole on his right buttock).  He sidles up to the female, arches his back slightly over hers, and the two fish wiggle rapidly. A cloud of sediment is stirred up by the action and washes away in the swift current. It is over very quickly.

During this brief time of togetherness the female releases some eggs and the male attempts to fertilize them as they are laid. The eggs settle into the gravelly sand and develop on their own. Females can lay up to 9,000 eggs. Over the course of 20 minutes I witnessed this activity take place about a dozen times between these two fish. In some sub-species of Blacknose Dace the males defend territories and will mate with any female that enters it. This spot below the bridge apparently belonged to “scar back” because he was the only male I saw (doing the male thing).

Blacknose Dace are a symbol of clean water and their spawning is an example of good clean fun!

You might recall my previous postings about the Osprey pair that built a magnificent nest near Estral Beach last year. The couple led a successful domestic life for the season and then headed to South America for the winter. This is the way of Osprey life.

There is no locking up of the “old place” when leaving and no certainty that it will still be standing upon their return.  In fact, there is no certainty that it will be their place upon their return – even if it remains intact. Great horned Owls are infamous for taking over large nests since they do not build their own structures. They start their nesting in mid-winter and therefore gain squatting rights over what are essentially abandoned nests. There are frequent accounts of these great Owls horning in on existing Osprey nests. This occupation is not contested by the returning Ospreys who immediately seek alternate nest sites.  This is also part of Osprey life.

This season our dedicated Estral Beach Ospreys were unceremoniously booted from their original nest by honkers as opposed to hooters. As unlikely as it may seem, a pair of Canada Geese have claimed the lofty pad and they are now “in a family way.” I suppose it is naturally legal for geese to do what owls do, but there must be some sort of code violation involved.  The sight of a lone female goose sitting atop a giant tree nest is certainly an odd fit. She can be seen peering nervously over the edge at anyone who pauses beneath the nest.  I would say hers is the look is of “guilt” but everyone knows that geese do not have any such emotion (they could not live with themselves if they did)

This is not a unique situation. There are plenty of examples where geese have taken over Osprey nests. This is the first time I’ve ever seen such a thing, however, and thus the reason why I am bringing it to your attention.

At issue in this case was the fate of the now homeless ospreys. The dauntless pair returned to find a fertilizer dispenser in possession of their nest and did what they are hard-wired to do – they immediately sought another location. Never mind that they are physically capable of tearing the goose apart and tossing the bloody shreds to the wind. That is not the Osprey way.

Unfortunately, the birds innocently started to build their new nest atop a transformer on a nearby pole and this created a potential problem with the DTE energy people.  The goose was looking even guiltier as it appeared that the ospreys would have to be evicted yet again. People finally stepped into the picture but the final answer did not involve a shotgun (unfortunately, I might add).

One of the humans involved was USFWS Biologist Greg Norwood (the nest site is adjacent to a unit of the Detroit River International Wildlife Refuge). Greg filled me in on what happened next. “The whole thing started on the Monday the 16^th” he said “when the Ospreys built their new nest on the transformers.” He, along with the folks from DTE, “had to drop everything” and come up with a solution.  What these folks did was simply amazing.

DTE’s Jason Cousineau came up with a ready-made Osprey nest platform and the power company’s crew stuck a Yellow Pine telephone pole into the ground on the refuge land adjacent to the goosified nest.  The platform was secured into place and the whole thing was ready to go by Friday the 20^th.  The Ospreys took to this structure as if it was made just for them (which it was, but that is beside the point). By the time I drove up to the scene the birds were diligently working on their new nest and looked very much at home. One can only hope the rest of the season goes smoothly for them.

As for the goose, who watched the whole affair from “her” nest, I can only hope that she remains ignorant of guilty feelings (such a thing would tear up a nobler beast).  I would like to be there when her fat little goslings have to leap from the nest and plunge 50 feet to the ground. Wood Duck ducklings do this all the time, but geese are not Wood Ducklings. We will see if goslings bounce.

Yeah, I know. Seeing Wild Turkeys is nothing special these days. It is even more  “un-specialer”when you are talking about Northern Michigan. NOT seeing wild turkeys is probably a more reportable subject. Because of this I have long resisted the temptation to feature turkeys on my blog expect to focus on the rare occasion when I am able to capture them doing something different.  I’ve yet to see any doing the Tango on a barn roof or playing rugby.  Strutting turkeys are spectacular, so I am always on the look-out for this behavior. I attempted to show you some courting turkeys last year in this blog, but my shots were taken from a quarter mile away. They were admittedly of Loch Ness Monster quality.

The peak of the gobbling season – when the males puff up, fan out their feathers, and gobble incessantly for the benefit of the gals – can begin as early as February and runs through May. The birds commence their courtship while they are still concentrated into their wintering areas. Late April- early May is the peak time.

Because this is the prime courting time, my eye has been peeled for turkey gangs. I came upon some strutting spring Gobblers near West Branch the other day and, because I actually was able to view these dandies at a fairly close distance, and (this is a big AND) because the day was clear and the angle of the morning sun was just right, I was able to both see them and photograph them.  So (he continues un-necessarily) I bring them to you. These fowl delivered a slight twist on the usual story, however.

There were at two Toms performing for the benefit of a half dozen hens in this cluster. There was a bit of gobbling going on, but the dance was fairly quiet. The two males were paralleling each other as they strutted and fanned – they were never more than a few feet apart. In fact it was hard to get a picture of one without getting the other in the viewfinder.Wing tips dragging on the ground and tails fully fanned, the two stepped forward with measured military precision. Their heads were held back to display their bright blue and red fleshy wattles and “snoods” (the floppy projection that drapes over the beak). As impressed as I personally was with the show, there was something amateurish about the dancing Toms and the hens quickly became uninterested. They started to file away toward the brush and left the guys to follow meekly behind (see below).

I noticed several things about these gents. Mature Toms normally have prominent beards – those bristly tufts that project from the mid-line of the chest.  The display posture (chest out) is meant to highlight this feature. These two birds had very short beards which barely made it out past the layer of chest feathers. They also had very short spurs on their legs. Mature birds have spurs in excess of 1 inch while these spurs barely qualified as nubs. In short, we were dealing with a pair of dorks here.

The un-equal tail feathers were probably the most obvious dork feature. You’ll note in the pictures and movie (here) that the central tail feathers were much longer than the rest. The outer feathers were ragged and worn looking. This feature became apparent when the fans were fully displayed. Young turkeys don’t fully molt their tail feathers until they have reached their 2^nd autumn.  The molting process proceeds from the inside out which means that the new central feathers come in first and the full complement of tail feathers are not replaced until late in their sophomore year.  In other words, an unequal tail indicates a bird in it’s first Spring. These fellows were barely out of the Freshman class.

The sight of a puffed out Wild Turkey is a spectacular thing even if if all the feathers and bling aren’t all in place. These guys looked like Thanksgiving candles and the sight was satisfying enough. Probably the only reason I was able to approach them so closely was because they were inexperienced. Thanks for the show, Boys, and good luck with the chicks and the frustrated hormones.

My first introduction to the Golden Dung Fly was out on the windy Pointe Mouillee dikes.  Perhaps it goes without saying, but I was not seeking them (one can’t seek what one is ignorant of, one can only discover). I wandered slightly off the path to look at a dancing cloud of midges (something I was not ignorant of, but still not seeking). I crouched down and “discovered” that I was hovering over the dried carcass of a muskrat. The critter was little more than a flattened piece of rawhide with some feet and a tail sticking out. It didn’t smell due to the persistent easterly breeze and the fact that I was east of the dead ‘rat.

The skin was populated by a half-dozen large flies and they immediately grabbed my attention.  To heck with the dancing midges, I thought, these carcass flies were much more engaging. They were big, bold, and covered with a bright golden fleece. Dare I say it, but they were almost pretty (I’d say “cute” but that would probably trouble many of you beyond reason and cause you to abandon this post).  These yellow fellows were very active as well.

I spent a grand total of ten minutes observing these flies. Their activity consisted of jumping at, and over, each other like kids playing hopscotch. O.K., I realize that comparing children to carcass flies may seem a bit insensitive, but I suspect the flies probably wouldn’t take too much exception to that comparison. Never once did they feed on the carcass or enter into its oily crevasses – as small children would invariably do. The reason for this became obvious after I later researched them. In spite of their name, Golden Dung Flies don’t really eat dead stuff or even dung, for that matter. Dung flies feed on other flies that do eat dung and dead stuff!  Ladies and gentlemen allow me to introduce you to the Golden Dung Fly.

Now don’t get me wrong, now, these flies are all about dung and smelly things and every phase of their life revolves around it.  Their scientific name, Scathophaga stercoraria, pretty well sums this up. It means, through a combination of Latin and Greek words for dung, “poop loving poop beast.” It is like naming your child Poopy Crap McDung. It is recorded that these guys prefer the dung of horses and cows (or “pats” as they are euphemistically called). The adults feed on other flies visiting the pats, although they have also been known to ingest pollen from time to time.

One of the scientifically significant things about Golden Dung flies is that they have long been studied for their mating practices. The males and females gather at the smelly places, eat, and then mate with each other.  There is usually quite a bit of aggressive competition between males for mating rights. The study part involves a mechanism within the female which allows her to store the male sperm and selectively control the fertilization process. Sexy, eh?

Regardless of where she was impregnated, the female then lays her eggs in a choice fresh pile of pat. The larvae emerge and burrow through the waste seeking other insect larvae to feed upon. So, there you have it, even the kids don’t eat the waste- they just play in it. After 21 days, they pupate and later emerge as the golden hairy flies shown in these pictures.

I do believe that enough has been said regarding the Golden Dung Fly without beating a dead horse – or a dead muskrat. When next you encounter a putrid pat or carcass rare, seek the golden-fleeced fly and embrace it (mentally that is).

I was never of fan of 70’s rock – either during the 70’s or now – but I could not resist borrowing a Deep Purple line for this blog title. It fit so well and like, man, it is a groovy thing when art meets nature. Smoky yellow clouds of tree pollen are landing on the still marsh waters and creating wonderful swirled patterns on the surface. There is smoke on the water and in the air.

This is a good time of year to think about tree pollen because it is everywhere. Not all of it is bad for you but a good part of it (that is, the part that isn’t landing on the water) is travelling into your nostrils and travelling deep into your head.  It originates from numerous forms of tiny tree flowers, but most of the smoky water coating pollen comes from two wetland loving trees – Black Alder and Cottonwood.

Both of these trees produce their flowers on catkins. They are prompted by the warmth of spring to open up,  expose their flowers, and shed their pollen.  It is a form of “letting one’s hair down” I suppose. Only the male flowers produce pollen, so if you are in a sneezy mood you need to place blame on the masculine side of the picture.

It is easy to tell the boy from the girl flowers on a Cottonwood tree because the boys wear red dangling ear-rings (above) and the females wear green ones that eventually turn to fluff. This is a horribly simplified view of things, but as a horribly simple person I find no problem with a statement like that. Cottonwood trees are either male or female (“He said/She said” plants or “diecious” if you are a stickler for term accuracy). The male trees are now holding out their reddish catkins for the world to see. They are shedding cascades of tiny pollen grains into the air.

Cottonwood pollen grains are perfectly round and have a crackled surface. They look like Jovian moons when viewed under high magnification. On the water surface they look like yellow smoke, but you already know that.

The larger portion of that yellow water smoke, however, is contributed by the Black Alder trees.  Immigrants to our neck of the woods, these trees are among the first pollen shedders in our area. Both the male and female flowers are found on the same tree (“He-she trees” or “monecious” if you are a stickler for term accuracy). The dangling pollen-shedding catkins (see below) are male while the delicate feminine flowers are encased within cone-like structures.

Alders are world class pollen shedders because they produce so many flowers. In one study, it was determined that an average Black Alder produced some 7,300 catkins per tree. Each catkin had an average of 580 flowers in it.  That makes for around a gazillion flowers per tree (rounded off, of course). Each catkin produces over 19,500,000 pollen grains. The catkins are so pollen-laden that even after they fall from the tree they still leave worm-like pollen marks on the ground (see below).

Alder pollen grains are slightly smaller than Cottonwood grains buy a few micrometers (a micrometer is 1×10⁻⁶ of a meter or “super eensy-weensy” if you are still insisting on technical talk).  These grains look like stuffed Ravioli pasta with dimples at each corner (most have four dimples, while others have five or six). Perhaps the most telling of Alder facts is the estimated pollen poundage per tree. Based on that same afore-mentioned study each tree can produce an average of 884 grams of pollen per season. That’s nearly two pounds of pollen dumped into the wind per tree per season.

Although I couldn’t track down the pollen figures as they relate to the Cottonwood, you can safely imagine that we are also talking in terms of poundage per tree. That means lots of smoke on the water and lots of itchy eyes, wheezing, and dripping humans. For allergy sufferers this excess love dust is like “fire in the sky.”

NOTE: I don’t show you any images of pollen grains, but can refer you to the sculpture work of Jo Golesworthy to get an idea of what they look like. This artist produces giant pollen sculptures that any hay fever sufferer would love to have in their garden.

These warm spring days have lured out a host of hibernating people and insects. Commas, Question Marks, and Mourning Cloak butterflies have been flitting about since early March, and queen Paper Wasps have joined in the seasonal pageant – primed to set up their monarchies.  Lots of large hairy flies have crawled out from under “bark and stone” seeking putrid refreshment. Large hairy men, sporting tank tops, have also been spotted mowing their lawns already. Ah, spring.

Ladybugs – or Ladybird Beetles if you please – are among the creatures venturing forth as adults. They hibernate in crevices, under leaf litter, or in house attics and become active at the first warmth of spring.  Most members of this beetle clan are orange with multiple black spots and they are easily identified as ladybugs by large hairy men and small hairless children alike.  The number of spots can be baffling, however. They can range in number from none to 20 or so. Asian Ladybugs are especially varied and no two look exactly alike.  The morbidly named Twice-stabbed Ladybug takes this spot-madness even further. By being jet black with two red spots, they reverse the usual color combination. At least they are consistently two-spotted.

 The name of this particular Ladybug is appropriate. The scientific name has the term “stigma” as the species name. This literally means “spot or mark,” but the word is more often associated with wounds (the “stigmata” of Christ, for instance).  

 Speaking of Twice-stabbed Beetles, I’ve noticed something.  At present, there is hardly a Red Maple tree that doesn’t have at least a few of these black shiny critters crawling about on the sunny side of the trunk. I don’t believe this is because I am looking only at Red maple trees, but because these things are truly clustering there. There is a tight association of Twice-Stabbed Beetles with Red Maples. I have a guess as to why that is so. Ladybugs are predators, so it’s not about feeding on the tree buds or leaves, but instead it is about feeding on the other tree pests. Cottony Maple Scales, tiny relatives of the aphid, are known to infest Red Maples and Ladybugs – especially Crucified ones- are well known scale eaters. So, they are seeking Cotton Candy there upon the Red Maple trees and saving the world for you and me.

 You’ll note the rhyme in the previous sentence. That just came off of my fingers as they flew across the keys. Ladybugs will do that to a person. Perhaps you’ve heard “Ladybug, ladybug fly away home.  Your house is on fire and your children will burn (except little Nan who sits in a pan weaving gold thread as fast as she can”). As usual, ladybug verse is both odd and arbitrary. There are more, but since I am talking about a two-spotted critter here it would be best to concentrate strictly on spot legends (see spot, see spot run, run large hairy man run).

 Ladybug spots have long been the subject of a whole host of stupid legends. For instance, if a woman sits on one accidently, the number of spots on the squashed bug will indicate the number of children she will bear.  There is nothing about age in this particular legend, so we wonder if it is possible for a 97 year old to have twins? Another tale relates the falsehood that if a ladybug falls onto a farmer’s shoulder, the number of spots on that individual will predict the success of the harvest. If the critter has less than 7 spots then the harvest will be good. If more than seven spots then death, destruction, and famine will follow. I would advise all you farmers out there to stand under a Red Maple Tree.

 In truth, those red spots on the stark black background of the Twice-stabbed Ladybug serve as a warning to all potential predators that the bearer is nasty tasting.  In other words “heed this warning and save yourself the trouble of eating me. I will make you sick.” This negative advertising insures that a wandering “bug” can stay alive along as it avoids feminine hind ends, third stabbings, and large hairy men in tank tops.

There are quite a few cavity nesting birds in Michigan but few of them, other than woodpeckers and their kin, are equipped to excavate their own places. Wood Ducks are a classic case in point.  They are ducks with duck beaks and not ducks with woodpecker beaks yet they nest in tree holes. Let’s add bluebirds, tree swallows, wrens, kestrels, screech owls and a host of other cavity nesters that are ill-equipped to do woodwork of any kind.  All of the above are entirely dependent upon woodpeckers, rot, gnashing squirrels, and handy humans to produce their hollow homes.

Chickadees are cavity nesters as well, but they do not belong on the previous list of unsuitable carpenters. It is a surprising fact of nature that these tiny dynamos can – and often do – excavate their own nest holes. They have tiny beaks suited for insect grabbing and this appears to be a major evolutionary problem. After-all, wood excavators need powerful chisel-like beaks and re-enforced skulls in order to do their job and stay healthy while doing it. Sending a Chickadee out to do this type of work would be like putting the kicker in as a linebacker against 300 pound opponents. It would all be over in seconds with a flattened kicker, or a smash-faced chickadee, on the field.

Somehow, chickadees seem to manage the impossible. Actually they have found a way to get around the impossible (letting the 300 pounder motor past and tripping him up, you could say). I recently watched a pair of these black and white birds working on a nest cavity and found myself admiring the process (watch short movie here).  Their chosen site was a Hawthorn stub broken off about six feet from the ground.  The snag itself was partially rotten – which is key to this type of Chickadee peck-work. These birds can’t possibly chip away at hard wood but can make do with firm rotten wood.

They were working a spot about 6 inches from the top and had opened up an entrance about 1 inch in diameter by the time I came upon the scene. A brief check of the literature (I don’t like to make everything up!) revealed that most Black-capped Chickadee holes are located within 10 inches of the stub tip. I would assume that this is the place where the wood is punkiest, so it makes sense in that regard. Oddly enough, these birds don’t show any preference for orientation – they place the hole where ever it is easiest to make. Yes, I read that also.

Taking turns, each bird worked the hole for about 5 minutes before yielding to their mate.  The improbable woodpeckers flew down to the hole, braced themselves with a wide stance, and then directed measured blows at the wood. Their action was like that of an ice pick – repetitive but not spastic. Wood chips were mostly tossed to the side and larger chunks were carried off. The act of carrying off one of these larger pieces appeared to be the signal for the other bird to come forward.

In between sessions the birds sat around for a minute, as if shaking off a headache (see above), before starting to seek food.  Once, when one of the birds returned to work, he (or she?) started on the wrong location – the actual end of the stub – and pecked at if for a half-dozen blows before realizing its mistake and dropping down to the correct hole.

I do believe I was witness to a case of Chickadee fatigue in that case. The chickadees stopped soon after this incident and left after 20 minutes of hard work. Their labors resulted in a cavity with the entrance defined and an internal space of only about ¾ of an inch. It was a good start, but only a start. Being so ill-equipped for the job they will spread the labor out over an extended period of time.  This is about the only thing that these animated birds do that can be considered slow. The job will get done but it will be on Chickadee time.

Just in case you need another sign of impending spring (other than Peepers, Chorus Frogs, Honeysuckle leaflets, tornado warnings etc.) the Wood Ducks are now seeking out their nest holes. I know this because I happened upon a pair sizing up a tree cavity on the north bank of Swan Creek. When I first spotted these birds they were perched on a dead limb.  They weren’t doing anything per se, except a lot of nervous head-bobbing. There was a hole in the trunk below and they soon directed their attentions to it.

Wood ducks are called such because they nest in tree holes and the hunt for suitable sites takes place as soon as the birds arrive back. Both the male and female birds are involved in the real estate hunt, but it is the female that makes all the decisions (of course).   It is she who was reared in the immediate area and she who will eventually incubate the eggs on her own, so it is her house. The male is there only to provide a little color and the biological contribution that insures that the nest will have eggs.  He has nothing to say in regards to the final choice (which is why he has that perpetual “yes dear, no dear” look).

Her requirements are fairly tight. Wood Ducks seek holes that are at least 4 inches across at the entrance, 6-8 inches in the interior and around 24 inches in depth. Granite countertops are not essential but the doorway should be well off the ground (20 – 40 feet).  A vertically facing entrance is also preferred and that was the only feature of this hole that I could verify.

The hen flipped off the branch, dove for the cavity, and poked her head in for a look.  The drake stood watch on an adjacent limb. His attention was focused on me. His ruby red eyes virtually burned a hole in my direction. Unfortunately, I was not the only potential fly in this domestic scene. A pair of frantic starlings – birds less than a third of his size – were darting back and forth. They had also staked ownership to this cavity and were attempting to keep these house-hunters out. Their actions were ineffective, however, and hen entered the hole without pause and stayed inside for the duration of my observation time– a good sign that she approved the set-up.

There was nothing that the Starlings could really do about it except hope (and pray, if indeed birds do such a thing) that the cavity would prove unacceptable.  Ours is not to feel sorry for them. Starlings, even though small of body, are large on aggression and they are one of the biggest competitors for tree cavities. For those folks who put out Wood duck Boxes, keeping these pesky birds away is a serious challenge. I read about one earnest Wisconsinite who resorted to hanging dead starlings around the entrance as a morbid warning to any new interlopers.  We are not sure how this action affected the Wood Ducks, but it apparently didn’t have any affect on the Starlings what-so-ever (a satisfying idea, though!).

For a few tense moments, the drake stood guard over the west side of the tree and one of the Starlings stood his place on the east side (see above). The Woodie grew increasingly nervous about my presence and finally opted to take a flight down to Swan Creek and keep guard from a safe distance. To his credit, he whined out a few warning calls before departing his loved one. Perhaps he told her to stay in the hole until I went away or informed her of the persistent Starling standing vulture over the hole.  I should say that he “suggested” the above actions because drake Woodies are not the master of their house.

I will keep an eye on this domestic situation and see how it plays out.

I recently attended a conference at Michigan State University which highlighted the latest and greatest in Great Lakes research. Just to prove that I actually was paying attention, I wanted to bring you a simplified version of one of the papers. This gathering of minds showcased current work in the field of ecology, geo-morphology, chemistry, and something else which I’ve already forgotten. There was a lot of talk about detecting Asian Carp DNA in the Chicago water system and the dynamics of drowned river mouths (bet you didn’t know that rivers could drown, eh?) etc. Not all of it was stimulating, but all was potentially interesting to at least someone in the room at any given time.

The one that really stuck in my gray matter was a paper titled “The Invasive Spiny Water Flea: Disrupting Great Lakes Food Webs through Eating and Scaring Zooplankton Prey – Scott Peacor, Associate Professor, Department of Fisheries and Wildlife, Michigan State University, East Lansing.” I assumed that there was a typo which converted “Scarring” into “Scaring” – after all un-eaten prey are often scarred, right? You know, that torn ear or rump scar resulting from a failed attack. Although it was hard to visualize how this could possibly affect population dynamics (possibly rump scars are a turn-off for reproductive efforts or something?)

Well, this clever title turned out to be exactly as printed. It really was about how a dangerous new invader called the Spiny Water Flea (Bythotrephes longimanus) both consumes and scares the living daylights out of their prey species. These Water Fleas hitch-hiked into our regional waters from central Asia. They are one of the many hundreds of invasives that have wreaked havoc on the ecological systems of our Great Lakes. Unfortunately we already had a host of native water fleas here when this foreigner arrived. Not only are these natives in great danger, they are apparently suffering from PTSD as well.

                                                                                                                                                             Spiny Water Flea

Spiny Fleas look as nasty as they sound. Their dominant feature is an exceedingly long spine – a spine with smaller spines upon it, as a matter of fact (see my drawing above). Although only about half an inch long in total body length, most of this length is given over to this needle-like appendage. With a tail like that, our native fish are less than enthusiastic about eating them. The Spiny Water Flea, however, is very enthusiastic about eating any critter smaller than itself. High on that menu list are plant-eating water fleas called Daphnia. None of these guys are actually “fleas”, by the way, they are members of a crustacean group called the Cladocerans (a late 1960’s folk group that once played with Pete Seeger?)

Scott Peacor specifically studied the effect of Bathotrephes on Daphnia. Without taking any of his thunder, allow me to summarize what he found out. Spiny Water Fleas are visual predators equipped with a single huge eye. They need good light in order to track down their prey and generally keep to the upper waters during the day. Historically, Daphnia are also light-loving creatures that try to spend as much time as possible in those same well-lit upper waters. When the two populations collide, the Spiny Water Fleas tend to get fat and the Daphnia tend to get gone. This was pretty much already known and Peacor re-verified it in his study, but he also wondered what happened to those Daphnia that got away. Did they eventually learn to stay out of the upper waters?

In short, the answer was yes. Not all of them did, but a majority switched their routine so that they spent the daylight hours in the cold dark deeper waters and only returned to the surface at night when their new-found predator can’t see them. So, you could say that the living daylights were literally scared out of the Daphnia. You’d think this was a totally successful anti-predator tactic, but those scared shadow-seeking Daphina failed to thrive and eventually become pin-heads (my words not his). They didn’t reproduce well and their population plummeted. It can be assumed that the same thing is happening in nature. They are damned if they do and if they don’t -or “doubly screwed” if you want to put it in commoner style tongue.

Speaking of simplifying, I was inspired to draw up a cartoon that summarized the whole feeling of Scott’s talk. It is the very one that appears above. I sent my impromptu cartoon to the researcher, Scott Peacor, on the outside chance he might want to tape it on his door or use it for a future PowerPoint. He graciously wrote me back and said that he loved it and will use it. He was especially impressed at how I made the Daphnia looked so scared.

For those who are wondering, I did not draw the cartoon as I watched the conference. I paid full attention, although I must admit to spending an inordinate amount of time mulling over how I could make the starry-eyed Daphnia look scared.