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6.7 Miles and 2.5 Million Years Ago at Midewin

According to an app on my my iPhone, I took 18,594 steps today at Midewin National Tallgrass Prairie, totaling 6.7 miles. In truth, I went much farther than that. As I strolled through recovering prairie lands, I traveled back in time–through 1945 and the arsenal era, through the pioneer farmer era of the 1800s, all the way back to the time of the last glacier and beyond.

South Patrol Road Prairie in a snowless mid-February

In spite of the unseasonable, 70 degree temperature, the prairie doesn’t look like much in mid-February. It’s understandable how most people driving along historic Route 66, which runs through the middle of Midewin, are likely to perceive nothing more than dead weeds.

Oh, but before the prairie wakes is a perfect time to dive deeper into the history of Midewin. The dry, matted grasses make it easier to climb the steep slopes of munitions bunkers. This provides a bird’s eye view of the Joliet arsenal era. During the 1940s, hundreds of bunkers on the west side of Midewin harbored massive amounts of TNT and its component chemicals, while even more bunkers on the east side of Midewin held the end products–bullets and bombs that were shipped overseas in support of Allied troops fighting the Good War.

Before trees and shrubs leaf out, the remains of various pioneer homesteads are easier to spy. They lie tucked within overgrown copses–originally planted, no doubt, to provide the earliest settlers some protection from the prairie sun and winds. When the government forced the farmers to sell their land in order to build the arsenal, all the farm structures were either moved or razed, leaving nothing but their limestone foundation bones–memorial relicts, really, of those who first busted the prairie sod as far back as the 1830s.

Amid yet other leafless copses lie mounds of other kinds of stones. These are reflective of the pioneer settler era as well as the Pleistocene Epoch. In the process of plowing up the prairie, pioneer farmers found they also needed to clear their fields of massive granite boulders. Known as glacial erratics, these boulders were left behind by the mile-thick glaciers that last blanketed northeastern Illinois about 14,000 years ago.

As it turns out, placing your hand on a sun-warmed rock from so long ago pales in comparison to hearing the clarion call of a sandhill crane, which speaks to Midewin’s even more distant past as well as its future.

Sorry for the lousy pic–the crane came upon me so quickly and close that I couldn’t get focused fast enough.

The oldest sandhill crane fossil dates back 2.5 million years ago. Once threatened with extinction due to hunting and habitat loss, sandhill cranes continue to make a comeback. Over the past few years, as more and more of Midewin has been restored, flocks of sandhills–or sandies–have been regular visitors to Midewin, stopping over on their migration from Florida to Wisconsin and the upper midwest.

During this time,there has been a pair or two of sandhills that hangs around Midewin throughout the breeding season. No one yet has found a nest, but expectations are that it’s just a matter of time before this largest and most ancient of North American birds raises young again amid the “dead weeds,” better known as hundreds of species of native prairie grasses and flowers, at Midewin.

South Patrol Road Prairie in high summer herbage.
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Salt Creek Woods Nature Preserve

On the way to celebrating a nephew’s birthday in Oak Brook, Susan and I stopped by Salt Creek Woods–number five toward the goal of visiting 50 Illinois Nature Preserves this year. In case you’re wondering, Salt Creek–which runs through Salt Creek Woods and a chain of Forest Preserves of Cook County sites–isn’t salty at all. “A tale in an old history…says the stream got its name when high waters in 1838 washed away a wagon load of salt belonging to John Reid, a teamster.”

A few years before the eponymous salt incident, General Winfield Scott and his troops were quarantined by cholera on their way to chase Chief Blackhawk and the last of all native tribes out of Illinois for good.

Girl Scouts wading in Salt Creek, circa 2921

Salt Creek Woods, located in the Bemis Woods unit, must have been among the earliest lands acquired by the Forest Preserve District of Cook County, established in 1909. For, in 1921, the District built the Girl Scouts a log cabin, and also dammed up the creek to provide better swimming opportunities.

Today, the cabin and dam are long gone. What remains is perhaps the richest birding sites in all of the Forest Preserves of Cook County.

At the recent Wild Things conference–this year’s biennial gathering attracted 1,700 professional and volunteer nature stewards, with 300 on the waiting list–Doug Stotz provided the bird data. Doug is Senior Conservation Ecologist at the Field Museum and one of the region’s premier birders.  He shared the results of the 2016 Bird the Preserves, a “big year” competition to see which FPCC site boasted the best bird life.

Confessing (with a wink and a nod) that he is not at all competitive when it comes to birding, Stotz revealed that his site–Salt Creek/Bemis Woods–came in at #1 in the competition. He cited several impressive stats, including the fact that of the four sites he birded within the preserve, the one with the highest total bird count was Salt Creek–a 245-acre tract dedicated as the 8th Illinois Nature Preserve in 1965.

 

Stotz observed that among the reason for the impressive bird count at Salt Creek was the quality restoration and stewardship. As George Fell well knew, the greatest threat to our remaining natural areas is the lack of maintenance. Absent the natural forces that used to maintain our diverse habitats, our prairies, wetlands and woodlands can quickly become overrun with invasive species, both native and non-native.

Even woodlands need some level of controlled burns to remain healthy habitat for plants, mammals, bugs and birds, alike. Some of our preserves have become so overgrown that they require heavy duty, manual removal of woody shrubs and even mature trees. While cutting down trees can be controversial, doing so according to sound, science-based management plans is essential. Overgrown woodlands might appear green and healthy, but as every birder knows they are all but devoid of bird life.

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Middle Fork Woods Nature Preserve

For me, the best way to cap a conference about saving nature is to go out and walk around in some. After two days spent indoors in windowless conference rooms, I sneaked away a little early to take a hike through Middle Fork Woods–the 4th of 50 Illinois Nature Preserves I plan to visit this year in celebration of the publication of the Fell biography.

Don’t get me wrong, spending two days with close friends and colleagues at the annual Vital Lands Illinois conference is, well, vital. Initiated several years ago by the Grand Victoria Foundation, Vital Lands Illinois is a network of public and private land conservation from across the state, working together to coordinate and enhance land conservation. At this year’s conference, we greatly expanded our horizons by including a dedicated consideration of mitigation and agricultural programs to bolster land protection efforts.

For the past couple of years, we’ve held the annual VLI conference at the University of Illinois, in Champaign-Urbana–alma mater for both me and George Fell. There are two dedicated Nature Preserves in Champaign County, but one is on private land and access to the other requires permission from the local forest preserve district. So, I headed straight east into Vermilion County to Middle Fork Woods Nature Preserve, located in Kickapoo State Park.

The preserve is named for the Middle Fork of the Vermilion River, the only river (rather, a 17.1-mile section thereof) in Illinois designated as a National Wild and Scenic River. Ironically, what makes this stretch of the river particularly wild and scenic is the very thing that destroyed much of the adjacent landscape. Along its meandering course, the river has cut into layers of bedrock formed during the Pennsylvanian Age, 320 million years ago. Among the strata–or layers–of bedrock are sandstone, siltstone, limestone, shale and–most significant–coal.

Dating back to the mid-1800s, there have been more than 150 coal mining operations in Vermilion County. In fact, the first coal strip mining in the United State occurred in Vermilion County, and that–along with slope mining–is exactly what happened at what is now Kickapoo State Park and the adjacent Kickapoo State Recreation Area. Between 1918 and 1924, Surface Mine No. 6 and Slope Mine No. 6 produced nearly one million tons of coal. Today, mining laws require companies to restore mined lands to their original condition, but not so when Vermilion County boasted another first in 1939: the first wasted minescape to become a state park.

On a cold winter day, stripped of its foliage, much of Kickapoo State Park is revealed for what it is–a reclaimed minescape: the deep water ponds, the tailings, the sheered-off cliffs, the erosion gullies and, of course, the sealed-off mine entrances. Nonetheless, there is an inherent regenerative power in nature that has softened the scars we have left, providing habitat for many plant and animal species, as well as a restorative hike for a conference-fatigued individual such as myself.

In case you’re wondering, it’s not the mined portion of the 2,800-acre state park that is dedicated as a nature preserve. No, by law, dedication as an Illinois Nature Preserve is reserved for an area that “retains or has recovered to a substantial degree its original natural or primeval character.” In this case, that means a 69-acre area within the park that escaped the ravages of mining; where various kinds of glacial-era deposits were not stripped away to get to the coal, leaving intact “plant and animal populations…distinct from those found elsewhere in Illinois.”

Incidentally, on the way home, I spied nearby a next generation of energy production on the prairie. Perhaps no source is perfect, but is harnessing the free wind perhaps better than the extractive practices of the past?

 

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Kankakee River Nature Preserve

I’m trying hard not to feel guilty. I should be at the Women’s March downtown with Susan and fellow Pullmanites Amy and Laura and Lorraine and jb, and tens of thousands of others. To stand in solidarity for the values I hold dear: equity, inclusion, fairness, kindness, love, the arts, the environment.

I am so proud of and heartened by those who showed up all over the country to have their voices heard en masse. But, as I awoke before the day’s first light this morning, I could not shake Wendell Berry’s “The Peace of Wild Things” out of my head:

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

And so here I am at Kankakee River State Park, in search of Kankakee River Nature Preserve, on a beautiful, unseasonably warm Saturday morning. At first, it’s odd. There is no still water here. We haven’t had much rain, but perhaps the thaw that comes with 59 degree weather–in January!–has released a deluge into the Kankakee River, which has spilled over its banks, running incredibly fast and filled with dead trees carried along like toothpicks.

Equally weird is the silence. Early morning is typically the best birding time, when the avian world wakes up to actively flit and feed. But this morning, I see not a single bird. I hear nothing save for the burbling of water channeling its way through various spillways to the river. Have even the birds headed downtown to add their voice to the protest?

I have visited the state park several times, without ever realizing that two portions of it were dedicated as an Illinois Nature Preserve. I head out in search of one of the tracts, known as either Langham or Altorf Island, one of several islands dotting the Kankakee River. And as I walk along the river, the new moon overhead and refusing to hide its face in the light of the new day, I consider that there are different ways of protesting. In his own way, George Fell protested against the wanton destruction of the remaining natural lands of Illinois and the nation. His was a life-long protest, the determined, hard slog of transforming the Ecologists’ Union into The Nature Conservancy, now the largest conservation organization in the world. The even harder effort to envision and see through to passage the Illinois Natural Preservation Act, which inspired many other states to follow suit in protecting their remnant and critically important natural lands.

At first, Langham Island appears not so different from its sister islands, save the for tiny sign that reminds everyone that it is a dedicated nature preserve, and that everything on it is protected by law. What’s to protect, you might think, peering at the leafless trees and the dense understory of invasive honeysuckle. But a closer look reveals that a goodly portion of the island has been cleared of its invasives. A couple years ago, Habitat2030 and Friends of Langham Island teamed up to cut brush and conduct controlled burns to restore the native habitat; in particular to rescue from extinction a flowering plant that occurs only on this 20-acre island and nowhere else in the world.

Standing here, riverside, staring across at the island treasure in our midst, another quote–this one by Margaret Mead–pops into my head: “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.”

It is then that I spy on the water not a single wood drake, but more than a hundred goldeneyes and countless Canada Geese. And hear the downy woodpeckers, and white-breasted nuthatches and brown creepers busy at their feeding.

I do in fact grieve this day in fear of what the next four years may hold. At the same time I am comforted by those who show up–alone, with others, when needed and every day–in defense of the wild and wonderful things of this earth.

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Sand Ridge Nature Preserve

So far, so good–second week of January and I’ve visited my second nature preserve toward my goal of visiting 50 this year. As many times as I’ve been to Sand Ridge Nature Center, I’d never gone five minutes further to Sand Ridge Nature Preserve. Today I did.

Along with Camp Shabbona Woods and Green Lake Woods, Sand Ridge Nature Center and Nature Preserve comprise a complex of protected lands measuring about one mile square. For the geography geeks among us, the federal Land Ordinance of 1785 created a system for mapping “western lands” (Illinois then was considered “the west”) for future development. Each township consisted of 36 sections, each section measured a square mile. That’s why, if you’re wondering, this particular nature complex is pretty much shaped like a square.

About 10,000 years before the Land Ordinance of 1785 was passed–for the geology geeks among us–Sand Ridge Nature Preserve was about 40 feet under the waters of Lake Chicago. As the waters retreated and advanced, and ultimately settled at their current Lake Michigan level, they left behind a series of beach ridges, alternating with low-lying lands. This “dune and swale” habitat was–and is–incredibly rich in the diversity of plants and animals it supports.

Most of the beach ridges were bulldozed, of course, and the low-lying lands filled in to make flat land for farming and development. However, the sandy soils were not that great for farming. So, in 1962, the Forest Preserved District of Cook County built a nature center on its section of former farm land. Three years later, in 1965, the Illinois Nature Preserves Commission dedicated the best of this land as its 9th dedicated nature preserve.

Unlike Sand Ridge Nature Center, there are no trails in Sand Ridge Nature Preserve. But that’s OK because what interested me most on my visit today was the utility corridor that runs alongside it. At first blush, you may not think there is much in common between a nature preserve and a utility corridor, but they share a powerful bond. As I point out in the book:

“The underlying strength of the Illinois Nature Preserves system lies in its being anchored in two powerful common law doctrines: dedication and public trust. According to common law, ‘a dedication is the deliberate commitment of land to a public use by the owner, with the clear intention that it be accepted and used for some public purpose.’ The doctrine of public trust dates back even further to Roman law and underpinned the tradition of the public commons in medieval European towns and the earliest towns in America. The doctrine, the essence of which is that the public has a legal right to certain lands and waters, is in evidence today in our nation’s innumerable parks, preserves, and public rights of way,” including utility corridors.

As you can see from this photograph, there is another powerful bond between nature preserves and utility corridors. Within the Chicago region, ComEd’s utility corridors encompass about 40,000 acres. That’s a lot of land. In fact, it rivals the 58,000 acres of dedicated nature preserve lands throughout the entire state of Illinois. For a number of years now, ComEd–in partnership with Chicago Botanic Garden, Prospect Heights Natural Resources Commission, and many others–manages its utility corridors using native plants. This helps buffer nearby nature preserves, expands habitat for rare and endangered species, such as Blanding’s turtles, and provides critical connections between our region’s nature preserves, forest preserve district lands and other natural areas.

Ever seeking to improve its natural areas program, this past year ComEd refined its mix of prairie grasses to help protect Illinois’ monarch butterflies. And in partnership with Openlands, ComEd annually provides grants to municipalities and park districts that focus on conservation, preservation and related open space improvements. In 2016, Our Green Region awarded 22 grants of $10,000 each.

Even on a cold, cold day, I love walking through Sand Ridge, with its icy swales reflecting the late afternoon sun, the crisp air occasionally punctuated with the “peep” of downy woodpeckers and the “eep” of a white-breasted nuthatch.

But I also enjoy this walk for the beauty of the human interface. Certainly, we have destroyed most of our natural land–less than one-tenth of one percent remains. But here, in this place, I find beauty not only in the preserved land, but also in the engineering of a transmission tower, as well as in the commitment of a public utility–working with many different partners–to protect and buffer and care for our biological heritage, our remnant natural area gems.

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Thornton-Lansing Road Nature Preserve

I’ve never been one to make New Year’s resolutions. But this year, to celebrate the publication of the George Fell biography in April, I resolve to visit at least 50 Illinois Nature Preserves in 2017.

Today, on the first day of the new year, Susan and I take a mid-winter walk at Thornton-Lansing Road Nature Preserve. A lot of folks think that nature is something far away. But Thornton-Lansing is only 15 minutes from where we live on the south side of Chicago. Way back in 1965, two years after George Fell successfully advocated for the passage of the Illinois Nature Preserves Act, it was the 12th area to be dedicated as an Illinois Nature Preserve. Today there are nearly 400 Illinois Nature Preserves, each of which has virtually iron-clad permanent protection thanks to George Fell.

Even longer ago, between 11,000 and 13,000 years, Thornton-Lansing and much of the south suburban region was under the waters of Lake Chicago, the glacial-era ancestor of Lake Michigan. As the ancient lake waters receded, they left in their wake a flat lake bed with a succession of beach ridges, sand dunes, spits and bluffs. By the time people started settling the area in earnest, the site boasted prairies, fens and marshes, alternating with scrub-oak forests on sandy ridges.

Most of this kind of habitat was filled, timbered, plowed or paved over in the steady march of the Chicago region growing into the third largest metropolitan region in the United States. However, soon after its establishment in 1914, the Forest Preserve District of Cook County began buying land along Thorn Creek, a 21-mile Tributary of the Little Calumet River. Eventually, Thorn Creek Forest Preserve–comprised of several different units–grew to nearly 6,000 acres, of which 440 acres was dedicated as the Thornton-Lansing Road Nature Preserve.

Some may think that winter is a bleak time to visit nature preserves, but not so, as George Fell well knew: “Everywhere we look in the natural world we perceive beauty in form and color, whether in magnificent scenery or in the subtle patterns formed by bare branches against the winter sky…”

Bare branches afford other delights as well, such as this bird’s nest–a kind of solitary ornament atop a spindly, Charlie Brown Christmas tree of a sapling.

The absence of leaves makes it much easier to spy winter birds, such as blue jays, white-breasted nuthatches, downy woodpeckers, and red-bellied woodpeckers. But they remained too high up in the branches to get a good picture.

On the ground, however, the lack of greenery reveals the burn scars on trees–evidence of the stewardship necessary to maintain the health of this rare sand savanna ecosystem, a fire-dependent natural community that requires periodic burning.

Some of the trees also bear numbers, spray painted in bright orange, evidence of the effort underway to open up the tree canopy to help encourage healthy populations of rare woodland flowers. In fact, so important is Thornton-Lansing Nature Preserve that the Forest Preserve District has identified it as its #2 priority restoration site. 

Next time out, we’ll be sure to visit Jurgensen Woods North Nature Preserve, a 120-acre sister site, located just across the road within the same forest preserve. But, for now, both Susan and I are perfectly content to soak up the last rays of the late afternoon sun before heading home to a New Year’s Day Dinner of Hoppin’ John.

 

 

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Publishing a First Book

As of today, I am done. Done with writing, re-writing, copy edits, indexing, photo releases, and yet more copy edits–all the various steps that go into the process of turning a manuscript into a physical book. It’s been a little over a year. What a learning curve. What fun.

It  all starts with finding a publisher. Some writers are fortunate to have publishing agreements in advance. Most of us, however, write “on spec,” on speculation, in the hope that someone out there will deem what we’ve written worthy of putting into print.

I’ve written a number of articles on assignment from various magazines and journals, but I wrote the Fell biography on spec. Initially, I had been commissioned by the Natural Land Institute to write a short biography of Fell for inclusion in its 50th anniversary publication, A Legacy of Natural Lands. But I found Fell such a complex, fascinating man, and the backstory of his many accomplishments equally complex and fascinating, that I believed he deserved a full-length book. I spent several more years digging into Fell’s life and career, expanding on the original 25-page biography several-fold to 200 pages.

After the manuscript was accepted for publication, the editing process included trying out a lot of different titles.

In a way, writing the manuscript is the easy part. Next comes querying publishers, which requires first reviewing their submission guidelines to determine which ones publish the kind of thing you’ve written. Among the various commercial and academic presses I researched, the University of Wisconsin Press seemed the best fit for having published biographies of big name conservationists such as John Muir and Aldo Leopold, as well as lesser-known but equally important conservationists such as Frederick and Frances Hammerstrom–a husband and wife team not unlike George and Barbara Fell.

As with any publisher, you have to make your pitch. What is the book about? Why is it important? Does it advance the field of knowledge? And, of course, is there an audience–a book-buying market–for the book? You submit your answers to these and many other questions, along with a sample chapter and some additional requirements, and then you wait.

Fortunately, it wasn’t too long before the University of Wisconsin Press got back to me, requesting the full manuscript. This, they sent out for peer review to academics in the field, seeking their take on the value and publishability of the manuscript. Fortunately, again, the reviewers gave the manuscript the thumbs up.

I was thrilled when the University of Wisconsin Press offered me an agreement to publish the book, pending certain revisions based on the peer reviews. While I began final revisions to the manuscript, I also joined the National Writer’s Union, which offers a service to freelance writers to review publishing agreements.

This past summer, following my submission of the final manuscript, it was sent to a copy editor. All I can say is thank god for copy editors. Mine saved me from countless silly mistakes, as well as several of considerably more consequence had they gone unnoticed and unaddressed. In any event, it was my job to review and accept, amend or decline all the suggested copy edits, and then forward the marked-up manuscript back to the senior editor at the Press for final copy editing.

Oh, and then there was the tracking down of photos and maps (and securing permissions) to provide a short, visual narrative of Fell’s impressive life and career.

Just this morning, I have finished my final review of the final page proof–last chance to catch any wayward punctuation, etc.–which required me to become conversant with something else entirely new: standard proofmarks.

Along with the final page proof, tomorrow I will send to the senior editor the index, the compilation of which I had hired a professional. Compiling an index is another facet of book publishing I had taken for granted until it became my responsibility either to learn how to do it myself (there is, of course, as much art as there is skill in this) or at least be informed enough to be able to choose among a number of exceptional candidates. In addition to providing a sound roadmap for those seeking particular information, the indexing process also surfaced a few more errors and oversights that had not been caught in the copy edit process. Whew!

Now it’s up to the senior editor, who finalizes everything before shipping the final final draft to the printer. The actual books, then, will be sent to the distribution warehouse–which just happens to be in Pullman, where I live–and then off to the stores and booksellers. Scheduled publication date: April 18–just about the time that pasque flowers will be blooming in Harlem Hills Nature Preserve, the rare, gravel hill prairie where George and Barbara Fell camped out on their wedding night.

All in all, it will have been a little over a year-long process from my initial query to publication. Next step on the learning curve–promoting the book.

Oh, and the next book–Finding Vivian, a young adult novella–is in the works, as well. Stay tuned.

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You Make a Life by What You Give

The title comes from Winston Churchill: “You make a living by what you get. You make a life by what you give.” On Saturday night, scores of volunteers were honored by what they so richly give to Midewin National Tallgrass Prairie.

I’ve been volunteering at Midewin since it was established as the nation’s first national tallgrass prairie in 1996. That’s me, below on the right, at one of the first volunteer workdays, alongside Jerry Heinrich.  Over the years, I’ve cut invasive brush, pulled garlic mustard, harvested native seed, cleaned it, planted it in native seed beds and hand-sowed it in several prairie and wetland restoration areas. Of late, mostly what I do is monitor grassland birds.

But all of this pales in comparison to what Jerry Heinrich has done. Along with this wife, Connie, he practically lives at Midewin. And for Midewin. Even before Midewin was established, he served on the 24-member Joliet Arsenal Citizens Planning Commission, which led to Midewin’s establishment in 1996. Thereafter he was among the founders of the Midewin Tallgrass Prairie Alliance, a “friends” group in support of Midewin, and for many years has served as its president. He leads tours, he cooks hotdogs, he fixes equipment, runs plant sales, and is an avid lookout for new invasive species. In short, he does whatever is needed and he is–quite simply–one of the most eloquent and personable ambassadors for Midewin. For all that he does, Jerry was one of only seven people nationwide this year to receive the US Forest Service Volunteers & Service Restoration Award.

Other volunteers received handsome ceramic plaques in recognition of their efforts. A couple of volunteers were recognized for their dedication over many years–Don Grisham put in 2,350 hours since 2001, and Len LeClaire (below, on the left) 2,080 hours since 2007. Bob Green clocked 242 hours since February of this year.

All in all, over the course of 2016, volunteers gave more than 13,600 hours of their time. At the low, low volunteer valuation rate of $23.56 an hour (according to the Independent Sector), that adds up to more than $320,000 of donated time. Or, to put it another way, 13,600 hours is the equivalent of an additional 8 full-time staff working to restore Midewin–for free!

The evening’s MC, Volunteer Coordinator Allison Cisneros, pointed out how challenging the volunteer work can be–cutting buckthorn in freezing temperatures or enduring ticks, chiggers, heat and humidity on an August work day in the field.

But she also pointed out what makes volunteering fun–learning new skills, meeting new friends, and making a difference. Among the 42 different kinds of volunteer opportunities available at Midewin, the evening program featured presentations on two of them: 1) a new ranger program, in which volunteers greet a hugely growing number of visitors who come to see Midewin’s new bison herd, and 2) an archaeological dig on a site dating back 10,000 years.

Of course, the success of Midewin also relies on exceptional professional staff. In this, Midewin is equally fortunate to have so many dedicated individuals. But Saturday night was all about the volunteers and celebrating another successful year of so many people giving so generously of their time and talents to take care of our public lands.

I’m grateful to be counted among them. I’m grateful for all that Midewin gives back to me.

 

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Cowbird Conundrum

I recently posted this photo to Facebook – a yellow warbler feeding a cowbird baby. A good friend replied, “I disdain the parasitic cowbirds.”

I so get that. Cowbirds make me crazy, too.

For those who don’t know, cowbirds are “brood  parasites.” Or deadbeat parents. That is they lay their eggs in the nests of other birds – about 220 different species – then leave the raising of their young to others.

Some bird species recognize cowbirds eggs and push them out of the nest, or puncture their shells with their beaks. But most species are unable to recognize cow bird eggs. Or, there is new evidence that suggests that some species recognize the foreign eggs but accept them in order to avoid having their nests being destroyed by cowbird parents as a form of punishment for not raising cowbird young.

In any event, cowbirds eggs hatch faster. The foster parents, for whatever reason, feed whichever gaping beak is in their nest. As the bigger cowbirds gain strength, they frequently push the other eggs out of the nest or smother their nest mates in the bottom of the nest.

To watch a tiny yellow warbler, which weighs about a third of an ounce, feed a young cowbird is to watch an over-worked parent fill the gaping maw of real-life Baby Huey that will grow to five times its size.

How did cowbirds evolve this way? Blame it on the buffalo. Cowbirds are native to North America, and co-evolved with the massive bison herds of yesteryear. Cowbirds would follow the herds and feast on the bugs stirred up by the grazing bison. But because bison are nomadic, when they moved on, the cowbirds were forced to move with them. Which meant that someone else would have to watch over their young. And so some clever bird figured to lay its eggs in the nest of some other mother bird.

Once the great nomadic bison herds were eliminated, cowbirds kept to their bad parenting ways, and pose a significant threat to song bird and grassland bird populations, which are facing numerous other threats to their long-term survival.

That’s another reason why Midewin is so important. One of the most effective ways of controlling cowbird parasitism is to restore large landscapes, which minimizes what is known as “edge habitat.” Cowbirds prefer forest edges, which provides them ready access to the nests of many grassland bird species. But restoring Midewin’s 19,000 acres to native tallgrass prairie, eliminating the old hedgerows and volunteer stands of weed trees, will greatly reduce the ability of cowbirds to prey on the nests of unsuspecting birds.

Is this catbird gathering food for its own young, or unwittingly for a cowbird?

Especially with the recent reintroduction of bison to Midewin, there are certain to remain some native cowbirds as part of the prairie ecosystem. But Midewin is big enough – sometimes size really does matter – to provide balance among all of the many different kinds of birds, mammals and plants of the native tallgrass prairie.

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Bison Bird?

“What’s in a name?” Juliet asks of Romeo. “That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” I can’t attest to how a cattle egret might smell, but no matter which of several common names you call Bubulcus ibis, it is one sweet bird.

Its common name in North America is cattle egret. This picture I took at Midewin today provides pretty good evidence why. They feast on insects stirred up by grazing animals, frequently perching on their backs as they await a meal.

This is probably a trick – or adaptation – they learned in Africa, where the species originated. There, cattle egrets are known as elephant birds, or rhinoceros egrets or hippopotamus egrets. Their arabic name, Abu Querdan, means father of ticks, a name given in the misbelief that this species pick ticks off the backs of its grazing herbivores.

In Europe, cattle egrets are known as buff-backed herons for the patches of buff color on their backsides (not to mention their bellies and their head crests.) This – in addition to their smaller size – is one of the easiest ways of distinguishing them from great egrets, also present at Midewin.

Great egrets are larger than cattle egrets, and lack their buffy markings.

Cattle egrets are not all that common at Midewin. According to ebird, the first one was sighted there in 1996. I first glimpsed one in 2011, and then not again until today.

There are quite a few cattle at Midewin. At least for now. Cattle are a kind of stop gap measure until Midewin can be fully restored. Rather than let the former ag and arsenal lands go fallow, grazed pasturelands actually provide pretty good grassland bird habitat – a major management objective at Midewin. Additionally, pasture leases provide additional income that gets channeled back into restoration.

Dickcissels are among the grassland bird species that benefit from grazed pasturelands.

One day, once all the land is restored and the cattle leases expired, will Midewin’s cattle egrets adapt to become bison birds? As a species, cattle egrets did not co-evolve with American bison. Native to Africa, cattle egrets managed to find their way to South America in 1877, and then worked their way northward to the United States by 1941 – long after the storied bison herds of the 1800s had been eliminated.

A quick Google search already reveals that cattle egrets are adopting to bison just fine elsewhere. After all, how hard can it be to ride a bison once you’ve mastered elephants, rhinos, hippos, and bare-backed moo-cows?