Never Too Early!

It’s never too early to learn about Audubon!  Thanks to Cindy Pascatore who sent in this photo of grandson Cyrus Cuckler (age 4), taken by Wildheart Unlimited.

 

Toward a Mature Style

by Jennifer Schlick

Years ago, I was exploring my creative side by making hand-dyed and hand-painted silk scarves. I took a workshop on how to sell art and learned the phrase “mature style.” Once an artist has developed a mature style, you can refer to her pieces by her name. For example, when you see a large painting of a close-up of a flower, you are bound to say, “That’s a Georgia O’Keefe.”

Now, I am exploring my creative side through photography… and I’m striving to develop my mature style… that unique angle or technique or subject matter that will identify a piece of my work as a “Jennifer Schlick.” In my attempt to define that for myself, I have been exploring the masters of nature photography…

Do any of these names bring images to your mind? Ansel Adams. Eliot Porter. David Muench.

Ansel Adams. Incredible black and white landscapes of wild places.

Eliot Porter. One of the first to use color in his landscapes, creating images of places around the world, including (some of my favorite of his) the Adirondacks.

David Muench. Arizona Highways. Need I say more? You’ve seen them: sand, stone, saguaro cactus, sun…

Each of these photographers has developed a style that is so recognizable that a name evokes images and an image evokes the name. I want to be that photographer… but I’m finding that a difficult thing to do in this day of the inexpensive digital camera. Images abound. Our society is rich with images. My photography instructor at JCC said in a recent class, “There’s a lot out there to rise above.”

In my quest, I bought a new lens. Canon 100-400mm IS, in case you were wondering. It has changed the way I take pictures, allowing me to “capture” things that were out of reach to me before. The learning curve is steep, and so far, most of my “successful” shots have been the result of luck. Still, I’m excited with the new possibilities: A Monarch butterfly on Joe-Pye Weed, a Goldfinch in the grass, a frog at the edge of the pond, a dragonfly on the rocks.

While these shots are sharp and well composed, if I do say so myself, they are not uncommon. How do I develop that mature style?

Eliot Porter once said, “You learn to see by practice. It’s just like playing tennis, you get better the more you play. The more you look around at things, the more you see. The more you photograph, the more you realize what can be photographed and what can’t be photographed. You just have to keep doing it.” And that’s what I’ve been doing. I just keep shooting and analyzing my shots and refining my technique… And I think I am getting better…

Ansel Adams said, “There is nothing worse than a brilliant image of a fuzzy concept.” That’s what I struggle with now. What concept am I trying to convey? What is the meaning of my image? Is there something more I could be doing to say more through my images?

A card hangs on the wall above my workspace that says: “Life isn’t about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.” I guess that’s what I’m trying to do: to create myself through the photographs I make. When I figure it all out, I’ll let you know.

Jennifer Schlick is program director Audubon. She is also a member of the Jamestown Audubon Photography club which meets the second Saturday of every month. Club members meet monthly to share expertise and encouragement. Meetings start at 6:30 with sharing and peer critique; the business meeting and program begins at 7:00. On September 10, learn a bit about Photoshop Elements from guest speaker Dave Cooney.

Originally publishd in local papers 5 September 2009.

 

Edges

By Sarah Hatfield

Edges. I learned during the last week of Day Camp that I am instinctively, predictably attracted to edges; elemental ones, where two forces meet or flirt or clash. I should probably elaborate on why I figured that out during Day Camp.

The last camp was Nature Totems, and the idea was to do a lot of exercises with the kids so that they can see how different plants and animals and elements and so on click with certain personalities. It was a way to investigate why their favorite animal is a tiger, or they love the water, or they shriek at the sight of a spider. I think it worked. At least, I know I discovered some things about myself, and other things about the kids were made clear when I learned about their chosen totems.

A totem is a being – animal, plant, element, spirit, etc. – whose energy or presence you have a strong connection to in your life. It may be for a very short time, or it may be for a lifetime. On the surface, we can say “My favorite animal is a cat” and leave it there. The idea behind this camp, though, was to look at why it was the favorite and learn about it a little bit more, and what it can bring to your life.

Nature is powerful, in all its aspects. It can destroy and it can heal, it can traumatize and it can relax. Nature may terrify one person, and be another’s sanctuary. The idea that we are connected to certain plants and animals is an ancient one. Most cultures across time have placed a huge significance on the presence of nature in lives, dreams, and relationships. We’re more connected when we remember that and discover it.

Back to the edges, now. Willows have always been a significant tree for me. I love the shape, the narrow leaves, the wispiness of them. They are flexible enough to be used as bows and dance with storms. And even when the wind is too much a breaks them, they sprout from roots and racemes and keep growing. And they thrive where water meets land. That edge is home to them, and because it takes the elements of water and earth, it seems particularly powerful.

Turtles are another totem, an animal that moves freely and ably between water and earth. An ancient symbol for many people, turtles have a long history of association with creation, heaven, earth, adaptability, connection to home, and adopting the right pace for the moment.

Spotted Salamanders live tucked in the safety of the earth, but depend on water, vernal pools, to reproduce. I chose yet another animal that depends on edges. Timing is everything for the salamander, the perfect temperature, a fine rainy night, and hope that the other salamanders feel the urge to move too.

If I have to choose some favorite places, they are all edges: beaches, ponds, swamps, rivers, and cliffs, overlooks, and sitting in a tall tree. The places between those elements seem powerful to me, like I can find strength from both forces to help me move through life. They are filled with energy.

You might be reading this thinking I’m totally off my rocker this time, with all this totem babble. And that’s fine. However, Day Camp taught me quite a bit this year, and if that can teach others, I’m going to share.

The kids in this camp surprised me. They thought about it, and many of their totems reflected them as accurately as anything can when you’re a child. I learned much from the kids, as well as my totems. This wasn’t the only camp that opened my eyes a little bit more, either.

Through a number of special topic camps, we all got a chance to connect more with the kids. In that connection, our teachings were stronger, the lessons greater. Just as a connection with a totem plant or animal can bring huge revelation to one’s life, so too it seems that forming a strong connection with the kids you teach is more rewarding for both student and teacher.

We’re always looking for better ways to teach. Judging from the amount of repeat kids in the camps, our teaching is good. And with these specialty camps, I noticed even in the instructors that there was more energy, enthusiasm and laughter. When people come together for a common interest, whether it is art, music, trees, woodworking, survival skills, things that fly, becoming a better naturalist, or discovering our connections to the earth, the bond is stronger.

Day Camp is over for the year. I am definitely breathing a sigh of relief. But camp is our most effective program, and there is a little bit of sadness in the sigh. I know I will be teaching over the winter, but nothing, absolutely nothing, matches the lessons of stalking, watching, building, sketching, or discovering that come with camp. Good summer, everyone.

Originally published in local papers 29 August 2009.

 

Monarch Magic

By Jeff Tome

I love Monarch Butterflies, but something about the way they change from a caterpillar into a chrysalis is a little bit freaky. A chrysalis is what most people think of as a cocoon. It’s the tiny thing butterflies hang out in while they change from a caterpillar to a butterfly. The main difference is that a moth caterpillar wraps itself in threads and leaves and such to make a cocoon and a butterfly caterpillar’s skin splits open and the chrysalis is there, waiting under the skin.

This is why the process freaks me out a little bit. The Monarch caterpillar hangs in a J shape for quite awhile, sometimes a whole day. Suddenly, the skin splits up the middle and peels up, leaving this dangling, goobery green blob dangling and wriggling. Frankly, it looks like something out of a four-year-olds nose on a windy day. It’s fascinating, but a little bit gross to watch.

Within a half an hour, everything tightens up and a beautiful green chrysalis with gold dots is all that is left hanging there. The chrysalis is stunning. I have seen the design on everything from earrings to pendants to T-shirts.

Butterflies have traditionally symbolized change from one state to another, from a caterpillar to a stunning butterfly. I think people like to grab onto that hope for change, the idea that you can transform your life in the same way a butterfly does.
I have watched this change dozens of times now. It may be strange, but it is compelling.

At Audubon, we raise dozens of Monarch caterpillars each summer for our Butterfly room, which will be happening this year on August 30th from 1:00 until 4:00. On that day only, one room at Audubon is filled with flowers, caterpillars, chrysalises and butterflies. For $5 a person, you can come in and experience the butterflies and, with luck and good timing, you may watch a caterpillar turn into a chrysalis or a butterfly emerge into the world for the first time.

The monarch butterfly chrysalis is tiny, less than an inch long. They are about as big around as your index finger. Inside of that tiny package, it takes only 9-14 days for a full sized Monarch butterfly to develop and emerge.

The Monarch butterfly is much bigger than the chrysalis it grows in. When it emerges, the wings are crumpled up and the body short and squat. A newly emerged Monarch looks like a butterfly that was crumpled up and thrown in the garbage. They don’t stay that way for long.

The butterfly pumps fluid through its wings. They slowly unfold and un-crumple until they are straight and strong butterfly wings. The body of the butterfly stretches out too, until it is long and thin. The butterfly will never grow larger than it is when it emerges, but it may get fatter.

Monarch butterflies have a long journey ahead of them at this time of year. Most of the butterflies that come out in August will fly to Mexico. This requires a tremendous amount of energy. Monarchs may not eat for the first couple of days after they emerge, but they stop for frequent feedings later.

From above, a field of goldenrod looks like a feast to a butterfly. This wash of yellow flowers provides a good source of nectar for the butterflies to eat as they move slowly south. Other good foods are Joe Pye Weed, Boneset and other native flowers.

Many people plant these flowers in their yards to attract the butterflies. Another good plant is butterfly bush. These tall, lush plants are filled with spikes of flowers that the butterflies love. I saw four Monarchs on butterfly bushes that were for sale at a local hardware store.

The butterflies start moving south through August and September. For decades, scientists did not know where the butterflies went. We now know that they go to Mexico and overwinter in forests in the mountains where the temperatures drop to just above freezing and the butterflies can stay mostly dormant. They cover the trees like leaves.

What path do they travel to get to Mexico? That is a question that is slowly being pieced together. They do not travel in a straight line. Monarchs seem to head straight south along the Appalachian Mountains and then veer west as they get south.

Scientists have been putting tiny stickers on butterfly wings with a number on it. As people catch the butterflies on the way to Mexico and in Mexico, we learn where they are going, how fast they travel and what routes they take.

One butterfly tagged at Audubon was found in Tidioute three days, and thirty three miles, later. At the Monarch House, local Monarch expert Barbara Case will tag butterflies for their trip south. Most of them will never be heard about again, but some will be recaptured and help provide scientists with more information on how the butterflies travel.

Originally published in local papers 22 August 2009.

 

Oh Water, How You Teach

By Sarah Hatfield

On Saturday I taught some wonderful children about nature. On Sunday I built a dam in my garden. On Monday I picked dead fish out of my yard.

Sunday afternoon. We (my parents, brother and I) were playing a dice game by candlelight because the power was out. This was nothing out of the ordinary, it usually happened during thunderstorms or windy days. We were in the dining room. Then my mother looked out the window at a car slowing down, and said “Oh my god, there’s a river running through your yard.”

There was. Between my two stately Sugar Maples was a torrent, twenty feet wide, muddy, debris laden, and roaring. In my favorite pink pants (yes, you read that correctly, pink) and tank top I flew out the door and flung my hands in the air and cried, “That’s my garden!” I proceeded to crash through the water in my bare feet and knee deep in roiling runoff. Roar. That’s all I could hear.

A tributary of Akeley Run had backed up – too much water in too short a time. A flash flood. In Cable Hollow? Are you kidding me? No, not in the least. It went around my neighbor’s and made a beeline for the back of my house. Remember that brand new patio I mentioned a few articles ago? Underwater. My garden fence? The water snapped the PVC pipe poles right off. Leftover granite from patio, my dad, brother and a shovel all were instantly enrolled in a crash course about water diversion.

We built makeshift dams to prevent the water from barreling into the house. We dug ditches to divert it toward the creek and not the tomato plants. And then it was over.

The sun came out before the last trickles of water hit the creek. It was like some sort of bad dream. We cleaned up the mess, my family went home, and I exchanged stories with the neighbors, many of whom said, “Oh it gets worse. In ’92 it was bank to bank. Took us a week to clean up.” Great. At least the power was back on.

Neighbors were out in the road, talking, comparing, helping each other, and cleaning up. Those who had left came back, those that stayed shared the play-by-play. Everyone sought some comfort in the company of others in the same situation.

The next storm rolled in at 12:24 am. I waited by the window, wondering what I would possibly do about it all in the dark. No flood that night, but I didn’t sleep.

Monday morning. Of course it was raining. The sump pump had kicked off its hose, there were 14 inches of water in the basement, already over my boots. Great. Donning tools, sandals and work clothes, I headed for the basement. As I was fussing with the pump in freezing cold ground water, I heard the water start the run through the walls. The creek was overflowing again. Roar.

I arrived upstairs in time to watch the wall of water surge across the neighbor’s lawn. Again. Adrenalin is powerful, and I was able to lift massive pieces of granite to rebuild the dams from the day before. I grabbed logs from yesterday that had washed into the yard. I took my two folding eight foot tables and used them as dams. Eventually my two tier dam diverted most of the water from the house. This run was worse than the previous one.

Now there were two feet or water in the basement and it was licking at the furnace. Two trees were down on the phone lines. The road was caving in. I called in reinforcements. I dug the ditches deeper. I built a third tier on the dam for next time. I was lucky.

Water is awesome. I thought that for the first time a decade or so ago watching a documentary on floods. Watching the small, babbling brooks around my house eat mature ash trees and asphalt roads and scare the living daylights out of me reminded me that water is awesome. I respect it more, I fear it a little more. I am more resilient for the humbling I experienced standing in it as it sought its own path rather than the culverts and bridges that we laid out for it.

I watched trees, full blown too-big-to-wrap-your-arms-around trees, wash through my other neighbor’s yard. They lost eight feet of bank and their driveway. Refrigerators, freezers, fifty gallon barrels were among the flotsam careening down Akeley Run. The force of the water started eating the road, and soon it looked at if some starving creek monster had risen and taken a big bite out of it.

Later, I picked up my yard – shingles, tires, logs, hemlock branches, dead crayfish, dead fish, living salamanders and frightened mice and voles. I staked the dams in place, not betting on the forecast of sunshine. The basement reached three feet and the furnace now needs some first aid. I watched two sump pumps pump 4000 gallons of water an hour out of my basement for 11 hours. I am grateful.

I am fine (I feel like I’ve been beat with a 2×4 but I’m fine.) I have my house, with power, gas. My animals are safe. My possessions are intact and undamaged, for the most part. My garden, well, the garden is apparently quite tenacious.

Others are worse off. I understand flash floods better. I respect nature more, especially water. Thunderstorms will probably scare me more now. I’m going to build some stone walls on the east side of my house. I have to rake some rocks and plant some grass and build a new fence. I’ll help the neighbors first, though.

Originally published in local papers 15 August 2009.

 

The Pleasure of Field Trips

By Sarah Hatfield

Field trip! Those are magical words. Those two words mean you get a break from the mundane and get to go do something out of the ordinary when you “should” be doing something else. Field trips are like a breath of fresh air on a stagnant day, they are the view of the stars after a week of cloudy nights, they are…fun! Exciting! Different!

I remember in second grade (I think it was second grade) our school field trip to see the Brig Niagara. It was a scary ship then! Out of the water, and you could go down in it where the paper mache surgeon was operating on some sailor’s leg…creepy! But I remember.

A field trip is a journey by a group of people away from their normal environment. That’s an official definition. Some others include words like educational, excursion, observation, first-hand experience, and more. Usually a field trip is taken by students, but aren’t we all students, always? Learning doesn’t stop when outside the classroom walls. It happens all the time, especially when you are out of your “normal environment.” I would go so far as to say that the more often you take field trips, of any sort, the more you learn. Routine doesn’t teach much more than routine…

My recent field trips are almost always to the woods or to the beach. Field trips rest me, inspire me, and seem to breathe a quiet but intense energy back into my lethargic mind and somnolent soul. Sitting on a teeny tiny stone dam built in the 1930’s by the Civilian Conservation Corps, watching amber-winged dragonflies skim the surface and a snapping turtle slowly rise to the surface as the sun peeks above the trees is delight in its purest form. I might see an animal I’ve never seen, or learn something about myself, or realize a trait of a fish I’d never noticed, or talk to someone I just met and will likely never see again. I am changed for the experience. I have learned something.

You can take a field trip for many different reasons – to celebrate the end of school is the most common thought when someone says field trip. But there are so many other reasons! You can take a field trip to learn something. The places to go to learn are innumerable. Museums, nature centers, walking tours, galleries, libraries, lectures; the list goes on and on. You can even learn something in your own backyard with the right book and your own five senses.

As an education staff here at Audubon, we take field trips. Usually we go to other nature places to learn and get ideas about exhibits and things like that. And we ALWAYS learn something! It’s fun because it’s not the regular work day, and because we can share ideas and comments and criticisms, it makes for a lively and entertaining trip. Some are close and for more, um, mundane reasons (think “getting ice cream in Frewsburg to test out the van before camp”). But others are educational, like our recent Volunteer Thank You trip to Reinstein Woods near Buffalo. It was our way of expressing our gratitude to our trail guide and animal care volunteers, and a field trip to visit another nature center.

Entertainment is another reason for a field trip, of course. Amusement parks, zoos, aquariums, plays, opera and tons more are places you can go or things you can do to be amused. You’ll probably learn something, too, but the whole plan is to occupy your mind and time. Again, as simple as a beach or a local creek can be an entertaining field trip. Collect rocks or shells, watch birds, fill buckets with crayfish then let them go again. Just go.

In case you’re looking for an opportunity to go on a field trip, there is one on August 17, Monday. It is a trip to Presque Isle, in Erie to see the Purple Martins and visit the Tom Ridge Environmental Center. The trip will include the 4pm showing of the Mysteries of the Great Lakes movie, a stop for food, and then a caravan or carpooling to the roosting site of the Purple Martins.

If you’ve never seen this, it is beyond spectacular. Up to tens of thousands of Purple Martins flock in to roost at peak season, so many that it shows up on Doppler Radar as a mass. It is truly a fabulous field trip, virtually in your backyard.

So, play hooky that Monday. Take a field trip and take a break from what you “should” be doing to go on an excursion with a group of people, to see something first-hand that is totally outside your everyday experience.

Originally published in local papers 8 August 2009.

 

River Adventures

By Rex Everett

Every once in a while I need to do something to satisfy my sense of adventure. Early this July that meant spending six days paddling down the Allegheny River, Kinzua to Emlenton, 107 miles. It was a trip that I had dreamed of for years, but the planning and preparing had never come full circle until the morning of July 5 as my good friend Andy Thies and I slid a 13ft aluminum canoe crammed full of gear into clear water below the rumble of the Kinzua dam.

I think that a sense of adventure is something as primal as the sight of a great blue heron stalking fish in morning river fog and as innate as man’s attraction to water. We all have a sense of adventure, but it can mean a whole spectrum of things depending on who you are talking to. To some it might just mean a visit to Walmart, to others, Everest. For Everett and Thies (because of course that sounds adventuresome) it meant paddling twenty miles a day, camping on wilderness islands, and cooking over an open fire. It meant discovering a sense of isolation, falling into the rhythms of nature, just getting away.

And we did. We got far away, further every day. Our arms ached every morning but it was a good ache, an invigorating one. As our paddles cut through the water we knew we were getting closer to something, and not just Emlenton. We were approaching a balance between man and nature. Life was starting to make sense.
And it’s true, life on the river makes a lot of sense. Things slow down. Worries are basic: food, water, shelter. You don’t care what’s on tv, a good campfire is your nightly entertainment. You might even forget, if only for an instant, that tv exists altogether.

Fireflies, sunshine, birds, trees, the leathery looking carapace of a basking softshell turtle…you pay attention to them. You think, “Who needs a car when you have a canoe?” Mornings aren’t something you dread to wake up to. Mornings are glorious: The water is calm, the blanket of fog that has settled overnight begins to lift, birds sing and fish splash. When you are living day-to-day, simply, without worry, eager to see what’s around the next bend, it’s hard to imagine any better way to live. Discovering that feeling, that one of belonging, that lifestyle of being, that’s what adventure is all about.

Three thirty AM, day three. A crack of lightning pierced the sky, the earth was rattled by thunder. I’m surprised I didn’t fall out of my hammock. As we pulled clothes off the line to throw in Andy’s tent and made sure tarps were fastened I paused to look across the churning river. Full moon, a red-tinted clear sky threatened by a single menacing cloud. I didn’t sleep the rest of the night, but moments like those were why I went on that trip. Moments where I felt humbled by nature and time.

A few stand out: Watching hundreds of bats skim the calm evening water in search of insects, looking skyward to the awesome majesty of an eagle taking flight from a branch above my head, portaging around rapids and paddling through others, seeing the first bear of my life lumber into the woods.

Some people’s lives are a continuous adventure. Photographers for National Geographic, bush pilots, and rock climbers certainly fall into that category. On the other side of things, I’m sure some people have yet to experience an adventure. That’s okay too, but adventure can and is much more than traipsing around in the wilderness. Adventure involves exploration, and not only exploration of things, but exploration of self. An adventure lets you find out things about yourself that everyday life keeps hidden.

On my canoe trip I discovered that I really can survive a week without showering…not that that is really that important to know, but you get the idea. So get out there and find an adventure. Take a hike through the woods, climb to the top of that mountain you drive by every day but have never taken the time to explore. Satisfy your inner adventurer and have fun doing it.

On the last day of the canoe trip the sun reflected off the silt-stained water as Andy and I reflected on five days of excellent paddling. The water wasn’t always silty. Below the dam it was as clear as glass. It was a changed river now, broader, slower. And I think the two adventurers in the canoe changed a little bit too. Even if it wasn’t a major change, we approached the sound of the I-80 bridge that signaled the end of our trip knowing that, like the river, we too were somewhat broader. We walked away with a better understanding of life, and with the privilege of having seen some of the most beautiful sights that this corner of the world has to offer. You really can’t get much better.

Originally published in local papers 1 August 2009

 

In Their Words

By Sarah Hatfield

I spend my summer teaching Day Camp. This means that I am teaching kids about nature, in nature, most days of July and August. I wonder if they get anything out of it, if they learn anything, if they even enjoy themselves. It’s hard to tell sometimes, but one week of camp this year was eye-opening and I still smile thinking about it.

A great way to catch what the kids think is to have them tell you – either in a sharing circle, a survey or a quiz. Wild Birds Unlimited gives us a grant every year (thank you!) to help assist families in sending their kids to camp. One thing they want to hear, though, is the kids experiences in their words. A few kids volunteered to write essays for the program, and so I thought I would share pieces of their experiences with you.

Venya Jenkins wrote: “My favorite day at Audubon Camp was when we went pond dipping. Pond dipping is when you get into the pond looking for stuff. We found snakes, bugs, turtles, and dragonflies. You can get in the pond and get wet and muddy. I like to get muddy and my mom says the muddery I am, the more fun I had.”

Pond dipping seems to be a great hit with the campers. Liam Ndiffer says: “Last summer when we went pond wading there were lots to look out for and catch. Pond wading is when we try catch living things in the pond with nets. Among the things we catch are tadpoles, water bugs, and also finger nail clams. My favorite thing to catch is tadpoles because they are so funny to watch. After observing the things we catch we always let them go which is makes me feel proud! Our teacher tells us which things to avoid in the wild and what things are alright to touch. We learn tons of great facts and information about how animals live and survive in the wild.”

Day Camp is often a time when kids discover that they are ok outside their comfort zone. Anthony Frangione writes: “I’ve never really been a kid who likes being around bugs, or to touch creepy crawly things too much. But my parents thought it would be a great time for me and I thought it would be too. I was surprised at how much I loved being there, and I have to say that I really enjoyed my week at camp.”

A few specialty camps made an impact with the kids too. Kaitlyn Healy, a regular Day Camper, shares about Art Camp: “I loved it when I went to Art Camp last year. We were told we were going to paint a tree that represented us, not a regular real tree. First we went on nature walks. We saw that trees weren’t just brown but are different colors, reds and purples! After we looked at a lot of different trees, we started to sketch the tree that we would paint. I sketched 2 trees before I got mine perfect. My tree was hot pink on a bright blue background, with bright stars and swirls coming off its branches instead of leaves. Next we wrote about our tree. This is what I wrote:

My Tree Story

I am a fantasy tree.
I like swirls, diamonds, hearts, and stars.
I am pink.
I like that.
I am fun, exciting and fresh.
I grow fun, giggles, laughter, and great memories.

My tree is about intelligence and individuality and fun. My tree is original in its own special way. It was so much fun to combine art with learning about nature.”

I taught a Survival Camp this year to a group of mostly fifth graders. It was enlightening and one of the best experiences I’ve had teaching camp. The idea was to give them basic tools and information to survival getting lost in the woods. I was amazed at the shelters they built, their attentiveness and how much they remembered. This experience for me gave rise to the brainstorm of actually taking them out in the wilderness with minimal supplies and doing a three-day survival expedition. I would take that group of kids in a heartbeat.

I learn a lot every year from teaching camp. This year will be no different. Kids impress me every year with their energy, their minds and their passion. I hope that their camp experiences are just as exceptional as mine are, that they learn and play and enjoy and feel at home in nature.

When I’m smiling at the end of a camp week, it was a great camp. I am still grinning.

There are openings left in some of our camps. If you know a kid in third-seventh grade, give us a call and send them to camp. We’d love to learn from them, and hope to give them an opportunity to learn.

Originally published in local papers 25 July 2009.

 

Musical Wrens

By Ann Beebe

Instead of naming a bird and then describing it, this time I’m going to give you description clues and see if you can guess it. Ready?

Bird one. One of this bird’s voices is a series of trolling trills that descend. You might find it in hedgerows, brush at the edges of woods or in overgrown gardens. Need more clues? It is small, slender, dull brown in its upperparts and paler underneath, and has a very faint eye ring. When the male gets excited, his tale moves into the straight-up position.

Do you know what it is? A House Wren. The one in my yard first came in May. He started calling behind the barn where the bluebird nest boxes are. After raising the first brood, he came to the box that I put up several years ago for a Carolina Wren that was in my yard. That was not successful, so the box had never been used.

Usually, the male cleans out a nest before building his own. This one had an easy time, since the box was never used. The male started placing short sticks in the box. Now they protrude out of the box. Very messy-looking. The female has lined the nest, that’s in the back of the box, with soft materials like feathers or grasses. Tonight I can just see her head in the back.

Five to six eggs will soon be laid. The female alone will incubate them for twelve to fifteen days. After the young hatch (usually in the same day) both parents will feed them for sixteen to seventeen days. At first the male gives the female food who then feeds the young. He quivers his wings as he does this. Later, he will enter the nest when she is gone.

In a couple of weeks, the young will fledge. The parents will still feed them for about two weeks. It is a fun time to watch the whole family together.

Let’s try another mystery bird. Unlike any other eastern bird, it is dark gray with a black cap and tail. It lives in the understory of woods where there is thick vegetation. There it will eat insects and berries. Its song rambles through many individual sections that don’t repeat. The giveaway is its mewing when it is alarmed.

Did that last clue tell you this bird is the Gray Catbird? Good. These birds might still be building their nest now in my yard. Both begin the process, but then, the female finishes alone. It takes from five to eight days. The deeply cupped nest is made up of twigs, grapevine, leaves, grasses, paper, and weed stems. It is hard to distinguish it from the nest of mockingbirds, but it has fewer man-made articles in it.

I’ve heard catbirds in my shrubs on the hill for years. This year, though, they are building a nest near my Mock-orange tree right near my barn door. At completion, the female immediately lays one egg a day, until she has a clutch of three to four eggs. The female incubates by herself for thirteen days. I have not heard the catbird now for a while. I presume that the eggs are laid. The male will guard of the nest, by watching it a few yards away, while the female feeds. He informs her of his arrival by giving a short low sound. He also flicks out his wings repeatedly.

After the young are born, the female sits on them for a few days. The male brings her food to feed them. At first, both parents eat the fecal sacs. During the second half of the nestling phase, the sacs are carried away. This entire phase lasts from seven to fifteen days.

When the young first fledge and perch on a branch, both parents feed them. The male will finish feeding the first brood, while the female builds a new nest for a second brood.

You can locate a nest at this time of year when the parents call the “Meow” sound to you. If you get too close to the nest, they will make short low sounds.

This is a wonderful time of year to watch bird behavior. However, if you don’t want to lose your privacy in the bathroom, don’t place a nest box outside its window. Instead,
you can watch bird families at the Jamestown Audubon.

Originally published in local papers 18 July 2009.

 

A New Box of Crayons

By Sarah Hatfield

Have you ever noticed that there are so many shades of green that don’t even have names? I’m all for the Crayola crayons, especially the big box with 64 colors. But I’m sure that there are more than 64 colors of green alone! Just look at the world around you and you begin to see that a color is so much more than a word.

This notice of color will get you noticing other things. Perhaps the shape of a fern leaf is particularly pleasing to you. The yellow of a cinquefoil becomes an obsession. Filtered sunlight through a pine stand invokes a silent awe. Nature is pretty stunning, and that’s why it is often photographed, painted, sketched and transformed into art in so many ways.

During Audubon Day Camps, there are two sessions of Art Camp, taught by artist Lori Rothfuss. She works closely with kids as they establish a connection between themselves and nature, and the end result are some stunning pieces of art created by children. It is never to early to grasp that connection and learn to express it in an art form.

To celebrate that connection to nature through art, Audubon is hosting Art In The Woods on July 18 and 19. This is an art show and sale designed to showcase creations inspired by nature. Paintings, carvings, jewelry, photography, collage and more mediums will be on display and sale, all with a natural theme or feel.

Many of the artists will be working on a piece while at the festival and all will be on hand, so if you want to ask questions about how they are inspired by nature, or how they connect and interpret nature into their art, you may. You may get inspired yourself by hiking along the trails. The sun might be hitting a Green Frog just right and it makes you pause. Or the dew in the morning under a big maple might captivate you for a moment with a sparkle and gleam.

A friend and I started a nature crayon list one year. Among the amazing colors we baptized Skunk Cabbage Leaf Green, Colt’s Foot Yellow, Muskrat Brown, Cardinal Flower Red, Lichen Gray, Bone White, Serviceberry Pink and Slug Slime Orange, which might, quite possibly, be one of the most fabulous colors in the world. It made us look at color and appreciate all the shades of green in the forest and field and pond.

Here’s an experiment to get you started – go to one of the hardware stores or home improvement stores and get a few of those color chip cards. Green is the most versatile, but you can choose any color. Take them outside and see how many colors you can match. I think you’ll be surprised. It will open your eyes to a whole new world of color.

If you come to Art In The Woods, you should stop and ask the artists what got them hooked on nature as their inspiration. Was it color? Maybe it was light. What about the feeling you get when you walk into a forest? That could be an inspiration. Stop by on Saturday from 10am until 6pm and Sunday from 10am until 5pm to view the artwork.

Audubon isn’t just promoting a connection to the planet through art, though. Since there is going to be food served during the festival, we make an effort to use environmentally friendly dishes. That might mean that they are compostable, biodegradable, made from 100% recycled content, able to be recycled, or reused. That message of wise resource use compliments our energy saving measures, which you can learn more about in the exhibit.

Connecting to the planet can happen in so many different ways, from inspiring a sculpture to bringing your own beverage container to a festival. It can be as simple as taking a walk in the woods, or as complex as establishing native plants in your yard to mimic different native habitats to encourage wildlife. Even attending a program at Audubon can help you connect to the planet, like the Little Explorers program this Saturday morning from 10-12 or the Cold-blooded Tales program this afternoon from 1-3. You can call for more information about both of those programs.

Originally published in local papers 11 July 2009.