At this point in time, the farm animal sanctuary is primarily a senior living facility. The three donkeys are well into their 20s. At five, Clive is the youngest of the five pot-bellied pigs. The others, as well as Nemo the big pig, are at least 10. Brownie the Rouen Duck is at least five (I just read that they can live to be five!) As with humans, supplements joint health and anti-inflammatories are part of daily food prep. The residents came here to live out their lives in as much peace and freedom as possible. It’s tough to admit when The Quarry Farm may not be the best place for them to do so.
Tommy the Boehr Goat was bottle-raised by a gentle boy who cared for him. He was initially named “Tongue-ey” because the little goat was unable to keep his tongue in his mouth. When Tongue-ey came here, we hoped that he would become part of the herd. Unfortunately, the other goats kept him at a distance. We found out why when we found him non-responsive on a January morning. We drove him to Ohio State University Farm Animal Services where he spent a week.
The prognosis was probable failure to thrive. His little body was unable to regulate its temperature and he was unable to fight off parasites as healthy goats do with regular treatment. Our friend Tim Jasinki at Lake Erie Nature & Science Center put us in touch with Whispering Acres Farm Animal Sanctuary near Medina. This facility is home to a number of animals with special needs, and many of these animals are ambassadors for hospice therapy and veterans with PTSD. Tiny Tongue-ey—now Tommy—was immediately surrounded by equally tiny goats. Janine Smalley, the director of the sanctuary, sent photos of him at work, providing comfort to someone in need.
…and Sometimes the Best Place is Here
While making arrangements to transfer Tommy to Whispering Acres, Janine asked if The Quarry Farm would be able to accept any ducks. Someone had just surrendered two Rouen drakes. In addition to Brownie, there are two more Rouen ducks here. Brownie and the Brownettes could certainly hold their own. Although it is Spring and the two brilliantly-plumed males are rather obnoxious with the season, Brownie leads them around by their bills.
Conservation biologist Douglas Tallamy [Nature’s Best Hope, 2019] urges us to use our gardens to help fight looming threats to life on Planet Earth, two being shrinking agricultural land and loss of habitat for our vital pollinators. How can we use our little plots to impact such huge issues while also beautifying our landscapes? Dr. Tallamy assures us that our combined efforts can go a long way toward correcting both problems. So, this winter as we pore over gardening catalogs, we who have enlisted in the cause of supporting pollinators should pay extra attention to seed and plant descriptions, looking for evidence of plentiful pollen and nectar supplies for bees, butterflies, hummingbirds, etc.
One small way to focus is by looking for colorful, pollinator-friendly annuals to incorporate among the perennials, herbs, vegetables, native wildflowers, etc., in our garden plans. Annuals that are both ornamental and beneficial include easy-to-grow cosmos, marigolds, sunflowers, coreopsis, salvias, and zinnias. Some can be obtained as nursery starts, while all can be seeded directly into the soil. With proper care, especially deadheading, they can provide color and pollinator food for a season. Their flattish, daisy-like flower heads make rich pollen and nectar supplies easily accessible to bees (the most important pollinators), butterflies such as Monarchs and Swallowtails, and certain flies. [On zinnias, for example, pollen and nectar sources make up a yellow center, easy for pollinators to spot, except perhaps for showy fully double varieties that tend to bury the food supply.]
Plant breeders tempt us every year with exotic cultivars and hybrids of familiar annuals. These promise color and interest, but many fail to feed pollinators. The features that supply rich pollen and nectar may have been weakened or bred out. For example, pollen-free sunflowers touted for cut flower arrangements may be colorful but are useless to pollinators. Cultivars bred from flowers that are normally flat and daisy-like instead may have dense pom-poms that look quirky and cute but make pollen and nectar too difficult for bees and butterflies to reach. Unless a new variety promises great benefits, tried and true standards may be the best bets for pollinators.
A four-year research project by University of Minnesota Extension (2015-2018) studied more than 30 annual varieties and identified the following nine as the most popular with pollinators… (click on the newsletter cover for the full article)
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.
Author Sterling North published the book Rascal in 1963. It’s an autobiographical story about industrial and economic changes, wilderness being lost to industry, and a young boy raising a baby raccoon. The antics of the animal help alleviate the boy’s fear for his brother who is a soldier at war.
I remember reading Rascal and desperately wanting a raccoon as my best friend. A lot of people did. We read it and watched the Disney movie based on the book. For most, the later parts of the story, where the growing animal became destructive in captivity, just didn’t sink in. When an orphaned raccoon did come into my life, my dad was there to intervene.
The wild animal did not become a pet. There was a creek nearby with crayfish. We taught him to catch and eat them. He built strength by climbing trees. He grew a warm coat. As the days passed, we saw him less frequently. One day in December, I saw him along the creek, as I did most days. He hesitated on the path, then turned slowly away, huffing. It was like a switch turned and he was one of the wild things again.
There are more rural residents now, and fewer opportunities to slowly release a rehabilitated animal into the wild. Unless you are trained and licensed to do so, it’s against the law to contain a wild animal. Not only is it illegal, it’s unhealthy for humans and wildlife. Raccoons are especially tricky. They imprint on people very, very easily. There are licensed wildlife rehabilitators who work only with raccoons because these animals take so much time, resources, and territory to “rewild.” And there are certain parts of Ohio where it isn’t legal at all to rehabilitate a raccoon.
The Quarry Farm does not rehabilitate wildlife. When people call here, saying that they have a) a baby bird/rabbit/raccoon/squirrel or b) an injured wild animal, we a) tell them to put it back and/or b) provide contact info for someone else. We do possess educational permits from the State of Ohio for a few non- releasable wild animals that serve as ambassadors for their kind. We have the training to care for them—six years of it before we were allowed to house a Virginia Opossum. That is how Emerson the Raccoon came to live here.
Last spring, we were asked if we were in a position to care for an 8-year-old male raccoon named Elvis. He had quite a backstory. Long-story-short, the raccoon came here in a cage. His mother was shot and killed before she could teach him how to be wild and free. He grew up in a house, and indoors is what he has always known. While a long-ago head injury and neutering tempered the more destructive nature of his kind, he still had a full set of teeth and was absolutely terrified. His diet had to be altered as well, from a reliance on people-food to fruits, veggies, protein bites and absolutely no more potato chips. It took several weeks of coaxing and a name change before Elvis became Emerson, king of the tallest bookcase, keeper of squeaky toys (unless Quinn the Fox steals them), and puller of earlobes. Thankfully, he was litterbox-trained when he arrived and never misses.
Emerson dips his sensitive hands* in his water bowl,“seeing” the grapes and carrots that we drop in. It’s thought that water contact increases a raccoon’s tactile ability. His wild counterparts do the same in streams and ponds. The only other thing that he has in common with wild raccoons is his appearance. Emerson has always lived his life completely contained and will continue to do so. At least he will help us teach people more about how to co-exist with these intelligent, curious animals.
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.
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.
There isn’t much opportunity to travel for us. Someone (someones, ideally) must be on hand who can carry 5-gallon buckets in winter when the water hose is detached and who can suggest to a 700-pound, heat-prostrated pig that she shouldn’t block the paddock gate but rather get up and plunk herself in the cool mud wallow. Someone(s) must know the various bird and mammal personalities well enough to convince them to go in at night and how to distribute breakfast the next morning so that everyone gets enough. It takes a small village, one that doesn’t have a whole lot of residents.
Occasionally, we are able to be away; two of us together. Just a few nights ‘away ‘abroad’ are enough to remind us why we choose to live here in the middle of braying, crowing, wallowing, and leaf whispers. It’s good to return to this place where the cricket frogs still sing in Spring and screech owls screech and make guttural whoops in Fall. They do that last thing, you know. It took us the longest time to figure out that the same little owl with the high-pitched warble also growls.
Lake Michigan at Millard Park
Last Friday, we piled stuff in the car and drove to visit family and an art festival in Chicago. Chicago seems a world away from our one-lane rural road, but it’s only slightly longer than a trip across the width of Ohio. Our route through Indiana featured 3 hours of very dry corn fields before Gary, IN brought us to the Skyway bridge to Illinois (complete with a troll on either side to pay.) The Democratic National Convention had ended the night before, but that traffic was joined by incoming patrons of 2 art festivals (including ours), a world music fest and a tattoo extravaganza. After two hours of Friday evening on I-94, we dipped our sweaty fingers and toes in cool, clear Lake Michigan at Millard Park.
Yellow Jewelweed
Mayfly
Millard Park, as well as other Chicago-area parks, bike paths, and train right-of-ways are undergoing habitat restoration. There are signs informing pedestrians that the Wingstem, Cup Plant, Joe Pye and Iron Weed planted along the paths are part of a concentrated effort to restore the natural balance of the region. The gardens surrounding mansions and bungalows are planted with riots of native purples, magentas and golds rather than specimen cultivars mulched to the stem as is commonly done in Northwest Ohio. The deep roots of those native plants are part of an effort to restore health to soil and to filter impurities from Lake Michigan’s watershed. The lake itself entertains, bathes, and quenches the people, animals, birds, and insects that live there. Deep in the ravine road to Millard Park, orange and yellow touch-me-not Jewelweed camouflages multimillion-dollar home drainage systems.
The same plants live on The Quarry Farm. Goldfinches burst from the riot of color planted along Chicago Transit Authority’s Purple Line just as they do next to Red Fox Cabin. Jewelweed pods pop from a dragonfly’s touch along Cranberry Run. The more Jewelweed the better. Its natural astringent powers stop the itch of poison ivy that it grows alongside.
Many of us Midwest/Easterners also experience the late summer emergence of cicadas. A couple of weeks ago, My Steven worried that he hadn’t heard them much recently. Two broods emerged in Illinois this year, including in Chicago. This is the first time these two specific broods have co-emerged since 1803. The first brood thrummed above the streets and sidewalks in June. They suffered from over-active libidos when Massospora cicadina—a puppeteer fungus that rivals the post-apocalyptic mushroom heads featured in “The Last of Us”—replaced about a third of each insect’s body, including the parts that fuel reproduction. Currently, the city is being serenaded by the second brood. On the ride home, I heard a news report about these cicadas’ eggs are being invaded by Oak Leaf Itch Mite populations. The mites are always around. They normally invade other insect eggs housed in the galls on oak leaves. But the mites are having Chicago field days this summer. They feast on the eggs of some trillion Brood XII and Brood XIX cicadas. The frenzied mites fall from the trees and keep munching. Tasty humans are advised to wear long sleeves rather than spray.
Juvenile Grackle hunts for cicadas
A beneficial, art-enthusiastic Red-lipped Green Lacewing (larva)
But spray they do. As we shaded under American Hackberry trees at the Bucktown Arts Fest, a citronella candle burned in the park oval. A juvenile Grackle hopped in and out of artists’ tents, dismembering and eating cicadas every few feet. He hopped over to the candle, tried to perch on the rim and, shrieking, scurried under an awning. He was chased back out. The chaser sprayed a stream of DEET up and down their thighs, complaining of insect bites. A dead Assassin Beetle larva—a beneficial insect—fell from the air onto my watercolor paper.
Willy and Pluto
We drove through our front gate on 7L on Monday evening. Our bellies were still full of deep-dish Chicago pizza and 7-layer halva. It was hot and sticky and cicadas were singing in the nature preserve. Quinn screamed and wagged her tail. Steve collected tufts of shed fox fur that she left in her wake and we remembered why it’s good to get away and come home again.
“Eclipse” was the headline online and in print before and after April 8, 2024. The total solar eclipse that occurs when the dark silhouette of the Moon completely obscures the bright light of the Sun was going to be either A) the end of the world as we know it, with hoards of outsiders streaming across Ohio to rob us all of our lives and livelihood. Or B) this natural phenomenon that occurs every 18 months or so somewhere in the world was going to be a great big ol’ treat, right here.
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The actual title is offered in gratitude for something that brought a whole bunch of people together—in peace—for four awe-inspiring minutes. The total solar eclipse of 2024 brought people from across the United States to the gardens, creek bank and pasture of The Quarry Farm on April 8. People from Ohio, New Hampshire, Michigan, Indiana, North and South Carolina, and Virginia chose to view the phenomenon from the comfort of camp chairs, alongside the farm animal sanctuary residents, or hiking in the nature preserve.
One gentleman arrived after totality. He had driven here from Eugene, Oregon but heavy traffic held him at a Maumee River crossing. He pulled over to watch then drove south to Road 7L where he walked the trails and sampled eclipse baked goods in the summer kitchen bakery. I didn’t speak with him but others did. I wonder if he will make the trek down under for the next totality.
Board member Martha Erchenbrecher observed the behavior of Bruce the Turkey and K the Canada Goose during the eclipse. K took notice, bobbing his head in surprise. Bruce stayed still. Her observations were shared with the Solar Eclipse Safari Team of North Carolina State University and Arizona State University. We all noticed that both wild and domestic animals fell silent during totality. The farm animals headed for the barns but went back for more visitor attention at the fenceline.
As for me, I didn’t decide ahead of time where I would watch. A couple of hours before, I listened to an interview with a retired astrophysicist known as “Mr. Eclipse”. He has traveled far and wide to see the sun eclipsed completely and partially. He advised that, when the day and time of an eclipse arrives, one shouldn’t think too much about who you ought to be with or how you should view (other than to be safe about it.) One should just be in the moment. So as the moon began to block the sun from view, I found a pair of eclipse glasses that one of the hikers had dropped on the path to the prairie. I parked myself on a quarried boulder beside the quarry wetland. I could hear cheering from up in the gardens and Red Fox Cabin. The sound didn’t budge two turtles that were perched on a log, but the smaller of the two dove under when the astronomical curtain fell.
Chris Brown’s 7th Grade Science students from Glandorf Elementary visited The Quarry Farm on March 15 to demonstrate how to safely view the April 8 total solar eclipse and to make a solar eclipse viewer from a cereal box, as well as one made out of a paper towel roll. Videos of the students are posted to The Quarry Farm YouTube Channel and Facebook page. The videos, recipes and posters were also designed by the students and those are shared on Facebook. The farm animal sanctuary residents provided video commentary.
Debbie Leiber, Deb Weston and David Seitz have been working hard to keep the trails clear, what with all of the high winds dropping branches from treetops. They have been harvesting bush honeysuckle trunks which are made into hiking sticks throughout the year. The Quarry Farm is part of Toledo’s Imagination Station Ambassador program. As such, we were provided with lesson plans, solar eclipse glasses and photo-sensitive beads that will change color during totality. Those beads will be available for registered participants to string on the handles of hiking sticks during our April 8 “Total Eclipse on the Prairie” program.
March 1 was a bit chilly starting out, but a good day to work in the woods, according to David Seitz. He posed here next to one of the mammoth, invasive bush honeysuckle shrubs that he has been removing from the nature preserve for five years and counting. He does a brushcutter sweep periodically to keep fast-growing seedlings from filling back in. This gives native wildflowers and trees a chance to grow in their place. Dave has also cut scores of wild grapevine and poison ivy that pull down and siphon energy from the native trees.
In one county to the east, toads and spring peepers sing in wetlands, warmed in the urban heat island. They are quiet here on The Quarry Farm. There is no hint of green as you look over the lowland treetops. Spring wildflowers have better sense than Golden-crowned Kinglet that conceal themselves as much as possible in bare treetops, calling their thin, high-pitched call to anyone that arrived a tad too early.
Tracking preying mantis cases
It was chilly enough for coats for the March 2 hike. We followed White-tailed Deer, Eastern Fox and Gray Squirrel and Wild Turkey tracks in the nature preserve. A Great Blue Heron left a nearly complete fish skeleton for us to find on the south bank of the quarry wetland. The birds were quiet, for the most part. Two days later, I counted 16 avian species in the short walk between the farm animal sanctuary and the pavilion. The temperature hit 74 degrees F. This weather is crazy. Today, the toads, salamanders and spring peepers remain burrowed deep under the quarry and oxbow water and forest floor leaf matter in anticipation of a weekend of rain and wet snow.
As the weather changes its mind, the wild and domestic animals here do not change theirs. Two weeks ago, our beloved, elderly Sophie, the best porcine educational ambassador ever, died. As always, the animals gathered around the grave until the ground was smoothed over. Donkeys Lucy and Silky had to be whispered to and hugged. Everyone slowly wandered away. Two weeks later, everyone is love-struck and besotted; infatuated and obsessed. Spring will be here officially on March 21. Spring twitterpation is now. The fostered re-wilding Canada Geese call to the wild ones on Cranberry Run. The goats bark and huff, bumping foreheads across the paddock. Patches, Pockets, Gerald, Mr. Fabulous, Caramel, Sydney and Chicken Ricky crow their rooster hearts out when American Woodcocks hurtle through the evening sky. Tom turkeys Edgar and Bernard strut their impressive stuff while turkey hen Souix does her best to avoid them. There is whole lot of “Get off my lawn!” happening this season.
Chicken Ricky and Nemo
During Winter’s coldest, the chickens warm their feet by riding around on the donkeys, pigs, and goats. I’m sure the feathered spot of warmth is soothing on the mammals’ backs. In the midst of Spring chest-thumping and display, two individuals share a daily lesson of tolerance and respect. Tom Turkey Bruce has always been unsteady on his feet. he came here a few years ago after being dumped in a park. He was found spinning in circles, unable to walk more than a few steps due to probable fattening in close confinement. Canada Goose “K” (named for the tag around his left ankle) prefers the company of Bruce to the rest of the Canada geese. K keeps an eye on Bruce, making sure the two are never far apart. In the evening, K will match steps with Bruce as he makes he slow way into the barn. On Monday, Steve watched the two approach the door. Bruce waivered when he got to the steps. As he turned away from the enclosure, K reached out and gently prodded Bruce into the building before hopping in behind him.
Three weeks from now, 31.6 percent of the global human population will celebrate a man who made the ultimate sacrifice for all. We observe the time leading up to the observance by meditating on written word, coloring eggs and eating fish on Fridays, all the while arguing—warring—about who should be even our most distant neighbor. What if we share the fish, and not just on Fridays?
