Conservation Farm

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Habitats on The Quarry Farm: The Prairie

The space that is our developing prairie habitat used to be called simply “the back field.” A trail heading downhill from Red Fox Cabin, across Cranberry Run, around the quarry, up a hill, and through the woods leads to eleven acres that were tilled until 1985. The tractor path to the field skirted Cranberry Run for a stretch, where it narrowed to inaccessibility due to erosion. Farming the field had to be abandoned. A new direction for The Quarry Farm took shape: to establish a nature preserve with several distinct habitats, including a prairie in the back field.

As seeds and rootstock in the soil sprang up and spread, the field began to look a bit like a grassy prairie. There were some food sources and cover for rabbits and small animals like field mice and voles. They in turn fed predators like great horned owls, red-tailed hawks, and foxes. Seed-eating and insect-loving birds could feed and nest. In early spring, a visitor might be lucky enough to witness a mating American woodcock rise explosively into the dusk.

That early resemblance to a prairie was deceiving though. Too much of the vegetation was non-native (teasel, for example), offering too little support for native birds, insects, and small animals. In no time, the field began to fill up with honey locust, hawthorn, and black walnut seedlings (native, but unwelcome outside the adjacent woods). Multiflora rose and Asian bush honeysuckle invaded. Clearly, if The Quarry Farm was to have the prairie habitat we envisioned, management would be necessary.

Recent years have been a learning process. We’ve tried to find the most efficient, least harmful ways to squelch invasives and non-natives so that we can eventually claim a true prairie habitat with a balanced ecosystem. Consultants have shared their expertise. Wonderful volunteers and skilled hirees have hacked, dug, and bulldozed trees; cleared ground and spread seeds of native prairie plants; and mowed spent growth to encourage the spread of native grasses and wildflowers. The search for best management practices goes on.

We know the work of developing and maintaining a distinct prairie habitat may never be done, but we’ll have the joy of providing the creatures that find a home there the best chance to thrive. And we can share it with visitors like you.

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Early birds

Great Blue Heron above the wetland
Monarch Butterfly

There is one lone cricket singing in the basement this week. The evenings are so cool now that the outdoor chorus have wrapped their bowstrings in scarves of dried grasses. Birds and butterflies are on the move, winging away early this year due to cooler temperatures. There will be no Fall Migration Bird Hike in the nature preserve this year because we missed the boat, or rather, the airship.

The good news is that Birders Deb Weston and David Smith grabbed their tickets in time to walk the trails and see who is passing through on their southern journey. What they found last week is that Monarch Butterflies (and one tired-looking Pearl Crescent Butterfly) were having a restorative back in the grassland prairie.

Pearl Crescent Butterfly

That same day, they documented 29 avian species, with David IDing all but a Great Blue Heron by their birdy vocalizations. Deb had her camera at the ready once David pointed them out.

“Fall migration is completely different than spring. The birds aren’t singing and they don’t look the same,” she said. “For me, they’re in the “shakes head, beats me” category.”  In order, juvenile Indigo Bunting, Magnolia Warbler and female American Redstart. 

On Monday, the tally increased to 41 species, including short glimpses of 11 warblers. Deb is out there again today. The air is warm enough to remove a sweater now and the droughted grass crackles under foot. The Quarry Farm Birders are a stealthy bunch, though. Can’t wait to see what Deb and her camera found feeding in the goldenrod and ironweed.

Common Yellowthroat
Female American Redstart
Magnolia Warbler
Juvenile Indigo Bunting
Red Spotted Purple Butterfly
Brown Thrasher
Waning Gibbous Moon
Eastern Wood Pee-wee
American Goldfinch
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Different stripes

There was an outdoor art festival on the shore of Lake Erie last weekend. The show was one with a 20-year history and inexpensive. The latest round of tariffs had plunged the S&P so we had no expectations for sales. However, we had the tent, framed pieces and prints, and a need to get away for a bit so we packed up and drove north. 

Except for smoky wildfire haze, the weather was lovely for August in the Midwest. Gulls and a pair of bald eagles cased the shoreline. White caps rolled, keeping the beach closed to swimming but open to big boats in full sail. A steady stream of people perused the festival, eating expensive flavored ices and walking major four-legged investments. I made the mistake of asking a man if his dog was a Brittany Spaniel. He looked at me like I had dribbled ketchup in his latte. 

“She is actually an Aussie.” I apologized, muttering something about just noticing the blue eye and freckles on her nose and wondering what was offensive about having a Brittany Spaniel even though they are not currently a trendy breed. There were Dachshunds, French Bulldogs, Golden Retrievers, a Great Dane, a Greyhound, a Jack Russel Terrier, Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, Corgis, Lhasa Apsos, Chihuahuas in strollers and backpacks, and many more Aussies. The only dog that was in the middle of one minor altercation was the Jack Russell. Steve and I laughed about how the two country canines in our family would (not) behave in a crowd. And we loved on the one mutt that we saw during the two full days at the lakeside.

Please don’t misunderstand me. I adore dogs of all stripes and spots. Just as there are with humans, there are jerks in the canine club. But by and large, dogs are open and honest with their feelings. Animal shelters are full of purebreds as well as mongrels, all in need of love and good, forever homes. There is a rescue for every breed.

When we got home Sunday evening, we took a few minutes to listen and watch the variety of stripes and spots that mark the furred and feathered ones that share The Quarry Farm. We always do after being away for a time. There are mixed breeds and purebreds in the pastures and trees. Some are clearly of a certain pedigree, with the scripted markings, structure and gait of textbooks. Four of the goats faint when startled. Their limbs lock, sometimes causing them to fall over until blood flow returns. When this happens, the muttier goats stare at them and walk away. Some are “fancies” without the proper trimming, like Sidney the Silkie Rooster who lacks the curly feathered feet of snowbirds. Thank goodness for this because those luxurious boots bog down in weather and prevent the birds from walking. Bare-booted Sid is a fast force to be reckoned with no matter what the forecast brings.

Genetics is a wondrous field of study. Genetic modification can increase yields, lifespan, ear and nose shape, etc. I planted a golden Coleus in the garden this spring. This morning, I saw that the gold blooms were being replaced by a triumph of its magenta stock. Pockets, a marvelous red, brindle and white rooster of indeterminate parentage strutted through the plants on long, strong legs while Patches the Cow Goat (so named because he looks like the offspring of Holstein cow and a Nigerian Goat) munched on spent snow pea vines. 

Humans can play. Nature always finds a way.

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The Great Pumpkins return

I learned this week that a blog post should always tell a story, beginning with, “Once upon a time.”

Once upon a time, there was a four-acre hillside that housed seven potbelly pigs, one potbelly pig, three donkeys, eight goats, two turkeys, nine geese, eight ducks, and an indeterminate number of chickens because that number seem to fluctuate every morning when new roosters appeared. Very mysterious. All of these animals were disgruntled. They didn’t get second breakfast.

No matter how sad they looked when a car passed their fence, when the house people that they just knew could hear them disgruntling didn’t give them their second breakfast, and the door to the hay mow didn’t open no matter how hard they banged on it, food did not appear.

November nights were sometimes warm and sometimes cold. The animals buried into the straw on cold nights and dream that the next day’s breakfast would multiply until suppertime.

On November 7, a car did stop. Only it wasn’t a car. It was a truck. It was a truck pulling a wagon. The wagon was full of pumpkins: big round juicy seed-and-pulp-filled pumpkins. Magic Dave and Jane had arrived! Dave and Jane were the best people in the whole world. When these Great Pumpkins visited, squash rained from the sky. Orange fruits hit the ground and burst open with squashy orange goodness.

The animals ate until their bellies dragged on the ground. The sun warmed the chilly November ground and their full bellies. When evening came, they ate their supper and finished what juicy bits were on the ground for dessert. Donkeys kept watch over the wagon. Pigs snored, dreaming of lip-dripping squash threads. Fowl purred contentedly in their roosts. Goats burped (they always burp.) The people in the house sang songs of praise for peace, delivered by Great Pumpkins.

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Upside-down Bird Day

No, you didn’t miss an event at The Quarry Farm. There was no official activity today to commemorate avian acrobats. There was, however, a walkabout in the nature preserve to see who is flitting about in the lead up to the October 9 Fall Bird Migration Hike. Birders Deb and David were on the trails bright and early to document birds that are either back “in town” for the cold months or who are passing through on their way further south. They identified 36 species.

Highlights on this gorgeous day included:

2 Yellow-bellied Sapsuckers

5 Ruby-crowned Kinglets

1 Red-breasted Nuthatch

2 Winter Wren

3 White-crowned Sparrows

10 White-throated Sparrows

2 Lincoln Sparrows

1 Tennessee Warbler

3 Nashville Warblers

1 Common Yellowthroat

6 Yellow-rumped Warblers

1 Painted Lady Butterfly

Lucky for all of us, Deb was packing her camera.

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Where are You, Woolly Bear?

Have you noticed, as we have on The Quarry Farm, an absence of Woolly Bear caterpillars this fall? Typically, the fuzzy black and brown creatures are a common sight in late summer/early fall, crawling on the warm pavement of our country road. Not so this year. Here’s a brief look at the life of our fuzzy, bristly friend, to know it better and attempt to understand why its scarcity matters.

Woolly Bears are the caterpillar form of several related moth species, including the orange-yellow Isabella Tiger Moth (Pyrrharctis Isabella), which ranges across the U.S, and Southern Canada. The moth typically produces two broods a year. It lives about two weeks, nectaring on a wide variety of flowers. It mates, lays eggs, and dies. The caterpillars we see in the fall are the second brood. They’ve grown fat on leaves such as violets, nettle, sunflower, maple, and elm, and green grasses, and they may have shed five or six times while growing. When the fall brood is ready to pupate, it finds protective winter cover under leaf litter or logs or rocks. During the winter it pupates in a cocoon made from its bristly hairs and emerges as an adult in the spring. The cycle repeats to produce a summer brood.

The second-generation caterpillars that we see in the fall (in a normal year) have eaten their fill, are preparing to hibernate, and are out and about because they’re looking for cover. They are not going to poison us if we pick them up (although they can feel prickly). And sadly, they can’t predict our winter weather—by coloration or by size of the brown band around their middle. Those features are influenced by stage of development, belonging to a particular tiger moth species, and diet. There is no special little weather sensor embedded under the fuzz.

So why are we seeing so few Woolly Bears? First and foremost, no doubt, is the serious decline of many moth species worldwide—for all the reasons that we know too well and are struggling to deal with: climate change, habitat loss, light pollution in populated areas, pesticide and herbicide use. Also, we could look around us recently at a bleached, drought-ridden landscape and see little food for Woolly Bears preparing to hibernate. Their absence matters because, as pollinators and a major food source for birds and other animals, moths are an important link in the food chain that sustains us.

—The Gardener at The Quarry Farm

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There’s a hole in the bucket

Twin sycamore trees stand tall on the west ridge above the quarry wetland. They have since the quarry was not yet a wetland, before channelization of Cranberry Run led to sediment-loads of eroded streambank and field being deposited steadily into its bed. The twins are two trees that grew together into what is known as a multi-trunk tree. As the trees got larger the trunks fused together (called grafting) and looked more like a tree with low branch structures.  If you were to cut these down they would show multiple sets of growth rings, confirming separate trees. 

As of this morning, little effort need be made to see these growth rings. Earlier this spring, the southern twin was twisted in a swirling night storm, breaking the trunk about five feet from its ground base. The top fell east, laying down to span Cranberry Run with the tip of its crown in the quarry. David Seitz engineered the crown removal and left the remains of “Moby Dick” on the slope for wildlife shelter and visitor commentary. In the early hours of today, the northern-most edge of a large, powerful storm system blew in, tossing silver-sided cottonwood limbs and leaves, refilling Cranberry Run and felling the northern twin in the opposite direction over Road 7L. There is no help for that but disassembly and removal.

Baltimore Orioles nested in the canopy of the twin trees. Raccoons wintered in the hollows of the southern trunk and Eastern Fox Squirrels scolded from the branches above. Artists photographed and painted portraits of the twins for their distinctive bark and silhouette. They were majestic by daylight and ghostly in moonlight.

The southern twin—the bigger of the two—is sporting a thick crown of new green branches. Its roots are viable. There is, however, a hole in the view and heart of this place, for now. Just last weekend, 2023 ACE Day participants from Ohio Northern University volunteered here, sealing picnic tables and pulling bagfuls of amur honeysuckle to make way for native plants and trees. We’re thinking that one tree will be an American Sycamore, one strong single-trunk, on the slope above the creek.

Ohio Northern ACE Day participants made way for more native trees (like a strong single-trunk American Sycamore) and plants on August 19, removing amur honeysuckle by the bagful. They also sealed chairs and picnic table in the pavilion—the better to enjoy the sounds and sights.
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Scenes from a year of hikes in the floodplain

Each fall, the trail cams come down for maintenance and are rehung for the next four seasons. Paul installed the north trail through the floodplain several years ago, opening that area to bird watchers and hikers of all species. It’s a popular resting stop for migratory songbirds. Birder Deb captures beautiful photos there as they flit through.

Here are a few photos that feature the humans who passed the camera on that path. It begins with David, the master who keeps the trail cleared and curbs the further spread of invasive plants species.

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birds and burr-d

The birding team of David Smith and Deb Weston are stepping up their Quarry Farm game again in anticipation of fall migration. As we watered and fed the farm animal sanctuary residents, Deb’s car passed the front gate sometime around 7 this morning. Shortly thereafter, a large heron-ish bird flew up from the nature preserve and overhead. To say that it flapped its great wings in its journey southwest just doesn’t sound like the correct adverb for such a graceful movement.

Stick-tights hitched a ride with Birder David.

“So jazzed to see the Great Egret,” texted Deb from the trails. She said that David and his wife Julie have seen them in Putnam County. “But it was super cool to see it in the quarry actively hunting—until it saw us.”

There was a Great Blue Heron stalking the quarry wetland, not far from the egret, and one lone female Wood Duck.  They heard but didn’t see the Red-breasted Nuthatch and were pretty certain that they saw an Ovenbird but neither of them felt confident enough to add it to today’s ebird list. Today’s list also included nine warblers: Black and White, Tennessee, Nashville, Common Yellowthroat, American Redstart, Northern Parula, Magnolia, Bay-breasted and Blackburnian.  

“Our record for fall from last year is 42 and that’s what we got today,” Deb added.  

The Quarry Farm tally on ebird is now at 138 species.

As Deb waits in the leafy shadows for landing birds, she trains her hefty camera on insects. Gerald O. Coburn would be thrilled. He photographed and documented most of the dragonfly and butterfly species noted here, as well as many birds. Deb told me last week that she would have really liked my dad. I told her that I think the admiration would be mutual. Dad would have seen her car pass by his own driveway, fired up his ATV and firmly directed her to grab her camera and hop on, wasting no time to see everything that sought warmth and breakfast with the sunrise.

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Goats ate the Jewels of Opar

Today was Spring Family Day on The Quarry Farm. At 1 p.m., the temperature was in the 90s, sending a puddle of honeybees up the side of the north hive to cool…maybe. We are very, very new to beekeeping so I don’t know why they are washboarding backwards and forwards above the hive entrance. But I did learn this week that this inch-by-inch dance is called ”washboarding” and I would do it to cool off outside my hive if I were a honeybee.

So a little before 1 p.m. the first family arrived. The Rita the Greeter’s table and umbrella was up, ice water and cookies were in the pavilion and “staff” appeared as coolly collected as anyone could be during a Midwest heatwave. Dragonflies swanned in and out of blooming Lizard’s Tongue on the quarry wetland. Pearly Crescent Butterflies flickered orange under Buckeye tree leaves. Nemo cooled in her mud bath and Beatrice emerged from her own spa to visit with her piggy admirers.

“It’s all so peaceful,” someone said.

I smiled, making a mental note to take my new plants out of the truck as soon as possible. At 6 a.m. this morning, My Steven saw the donkeys at the front door, Nemo lounging in the flowering herb bed and several goats munching away at the blossoms. I forgot to latch the lower chain on the south gate last night. While Steve sold his bread at the Bluffton Farmer’s Market, I bought new herbs from Ann Boyd’s My Own Backyard.

“Yes it is,” I replied.