Flu season is early, they said. Here it is, my body said. After days of that anatomical fog, I bundled up and stepped outside into a heavy, school-delay/closing fog.
When I was a young girl waiting for the school bus after such a delay, I would cup one hand around one eye to block view of the field corn across the road and imagine that what was still visible, the drop to the creek valley, fell fathoms. What I could see in the shelter of my hand was the rise of a Great Smoky Mountain peak, trees dripping away fog. Having been to those mountains with my mom and dad, it was easy to imagine that I saw the same here.
Today, I cupped my hands around the science camera that I didn’t have then. I saw the same drop from upland black walnuts into blurred shapes in the valley. Jays scolded from above and below in the Cranberry Run floodplain, their calls amplified by airborne water droplets. The quarry wetland was barely visible over the land that bridges it and the Run. The cell phone caught some of this, but not as vibrantly as the real thing. In such a fog you can hear a leaf spin and drop into the creek flow. You can feel the fog leave drops on your exposed skin. You can startle and laugh when a fox squirrel shouts from its tree hollow.
My dad was born in the Appalachians. I wonder now if he stood outside with hot coffee and looked out through fogged-in treetops and saw something like his boyhood home. I wonder if that’s why he helped preserve this flatland place. I never asked. He did find a derelict cabin in West Virginia and brought it northwest, piece by piece, to restore on The Quarry Farm. So, maybe.
A large oak tree grows in Pony Hollow, the area of the nature preserve that is as Old Growth as it gets here on The Quarry Farm. Pony Hollow is so named because, once upon a time, two ponies named Cookie and Babe pastured here. They seemed to prefer its steep slopes above Cranberry Run and the shelter provided by two established Black Walnuts and that one significant oak.
Last spring I walked the property with Dan Bartlett, a forester with the Ohio Department of Natural Resources and Kevin Edinger, District Conservationist with USDA/NRCS Ohio. Dan was excited to spot a young Chinquapin Oak growing in the upland woods at the intersection of the Wetland Forest and Upland trails. I led the two visitors down into the Hollow to show him the large oak. He told me that the tree is one variety of White Oak—a Chinquapin. As we followed the trails, we spotted more young oaks, all the same species, likely the progeny of the great oak that resides in the Hollow.
When we think of Ohio’s remaining native keystone species, if we do, what comes to mind are big mammals like White-tailed Deer and flashy birds like the Bald Eagle. Those are 2 that are always shouted out when we ask students for examples. But never has there been a shout for plants. And if you’re going to shout, oak trees are a keystone species that deserves significant shouting.
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According to research touted by the USDA and U.S. Forest Service, oaks provide numerous ecosystem services that support human well-being: providing shelter, regulating the environment, and enhancing culture and aesthetics. And without a food chain leading up to humans, our well-being would be moot. Oaks play a significant part in that ladder. In a single region, up to 2,300 species—including birds, insects, fungi, lichens, and mammals—are associated with oaks. Doug Tallamy, a leading entymologist and conservationist, states that oaks sustain a complex, year-round web of life, creating habitat and resources for countless species, from caterpillars right on up the food chain. They store significant amounts of carbon, helping mitigate climate change.
Oak trees appeared on this planet about 65 million years ago. Unlike other forms of life they have not gone extinct because their seeds are encased in a hard shell. These seeds and oak leaves are coated with tannic acid, which prevents fungi and insects from harming them. Oak trees can continue to grow and produce acorns for 700 years. One tree can produce about 10 million acorns during its lifetime, even though they don’t begin to produce these seeds until they are at least 50 years old. Yet oaks are in decline due to the combined stress of climate change, drought, and pests and pathogens. Tallamy writes, “We cannot casually accept the loss of oaks without also accepting the loss of thousands of other plants and animals that depend on them.”
Despite significant deforestation and drainage efforts, white oaks are our best hope for survival in Northwest Ohio. They are ecologically adaptable, historically dominant, and well-suited to the region’s soils and climate. They just need our help. It takes many arms to hug the Mama Oak in Pony Hollow. Even though she and other Chinquapin oaks seem to be standing strong on The Quarry Farm, the Gardener allowed a chinquapin oal seedling to grow in the pollinator garden, deciding it’s ultimately more valuable than the flowers. We planted a little Chinquapin on the farm animal sanctuary this fall. It is surrounded by goat fencing. I stroke its leaves and pray for it to survive because we all need it to.
Carl Sagan, American astronomer and planetary scientist, offered a really good reason for that need, I think. “This oak tree and me, we’re made of the same stuff.”
First of all, let me clarify that the current Mr. Fabulous is not the first rooster to bear this name in the farm animal sanctuary. Several years ago, another tall, golden rooster patrolled the premises. He was by no means the cock of the walk, the bird who ruled the pasture and protected the flock from small predators and young upstart roosters. He was just very handsome and knew to keep out of the way of Big Red and Bernie, the roosters who truly did run the show.
Nor is the current Mr. Fabulous the only bird to bear this name. A couple of years ago, we adopted several young chickens who needed a home. Because people often purchase chicks without knowing the sexes of the babies*, they find that their birds are laying dozens of eggs per day as promised or are never going to lay eggs because they are males. So if we have space, they come here.
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Such was the case with these new birds. Two grew to uncannily resemble the first Mr. Fabulous in both appearance and temperament. We refer to them as “The Fabuli” when they are together. Caramel, a rooster with a bit more red in his ruff, is the stern top of the pecking order. The easy-going Fabuli don’t give him any guff. They just gleam brilliantly in the summer sun as gentle breezes toss their tawny, flowing locks. They could be on the cover of a summer beach read. Instead, they chase insects and take dust baths on The Quarry Farm.
*Babies grow! Please don’t buy ducklings and chicks without good intentions for their continued care. The same goes for puppies, kittens, bunnies, and every animal that is frequently gifted or bought on a whim. Everything has a right to live and be treated with compassion.
Last month we flew over Kansas on a flight west. As the plane passed over the western part of the state, we noticed big swaths of charcoal land, many field acres still actively burning. You could see smoke rising from 30,000 feet above. Cousin Mark sent me a link to an article about those fires and subsequent evacuations. A few days later we scouted for breakfast before tidepooling at Point Lobos State Nature Preserve in Central California. There was a light mist and maybe one or two drops that landed on skin. I commented to the coffeeshop owner that rain was forecast. He said, “It is raining.”
Tule Elk at Tomales Point, Point Reyes National Seashore
We drove between the Coastal Ranges where the vegetation of the subranges indicated quite clearly which would climb fastest on the posted fire-risk meters. The western-most subranges were dotted with green, even on the slopes with their back to the Pacific Ocean. To the east, the mountainsides were golden straw grasslands. The region’s native Monterey Pines and coastal willows bore burn scars but survive in their respective microclimates. Flowering radishes and other agricultural escapees are subject to rapid burning while native California Poppies, Seaside Daisy, Coast Indian Paintbrush, grasses and sage brushes step in reclaim their footing through intense restoration efforts. I was excited to see Ice Plant covering sand dunes. flowering pink and yellow. You can buy this succulent here in pricey greenhouses. Then I found out that Ice Plant was introduced to Central California for erosion control. That effort didn’t work and now Ice Plant is a west coast scourge. We have introduced aggressive Amur Honeysuckle; they have Eucalyptus trees that explode in wildfire events. We both have Poison Hemlock.
Ohio has the fresh water that California and other states covet. While we were away, our part of home received lots of rain. The vegetable garden sprouted. The Prickly Pear Cactus bloomed. The lush green that we returned to was a sight for sore eyes. The birds here squeal, chirp, and warble under cover of glossy leaves fully veined with moisture. Some show their Springtime faces long enough for Deb Weston to take photos of them. There is a skunk that sometimes joins her on the nature preserve trails. Ottawa Elementary students and Owens Community College Early Learning Center collected some of the green leaves and grasses to paint shirts with rainwater and Rit Dye. Findlay Art Camp walked the trails, took photos, and planned art projects on the trails and in the pollinator gardens. Putnam County students mixed water with vinyl patch to create steppers. Cranberry Run was full and flowing for the Putnam County Educational Service Center Summer Camp. Campers did their annual wade through the Run after hiking with honeysuckle staffs and making t-shirts and bark masks.
Last week, I visited Fort Wayne’s Foellinger-Freimann Botanical Conservatory. While others lined up to watch butterflies strain their net enclosure, I enjoyed the Desert Garden. I don’t know that I would have prior to hiking in Central California, across the sandy fissured trail of Tamales Point and appreciating the riotous succulent walled yards in Seaside. Almost every inch of California coast that we hiked, from Carmel north to Inverness, was draped in blue sky and rolling Reseda Green beauty and a wild salted Pacific. It is a different color palette for this Northwest Ohioan. A young Californian boy who was volunteering at a park restoration event overheard me say that I was visiting from Ohio. “I love Ohio!” he exclaimed. Back home, I breathe in waves of rain on this June night and know that I do, too. This place is worth staying home (most of the time) and fighting for.
One tiny pinkish piglet came to The Quarry Farm after a fierce tumble from a transport truck on I-270 Columbus. We named the little one Nemo, not for the Pixar clownfish but with the Latin word meaning “No One.” She fell from a semi, just one of many piglets that meant nothing on their way to “finishing.” She was found and given shelter by a kind person who drove her to where no one would hurt her ever again.
With a North Carolina tattoo in her ear, road rash, and a healing leg break, Nemo snuggled into our lives until she found her footing. She housebroke easily, following the lead of the dogs. She raced from room to room, confounding the cats until she grew too large to run indoors. She stretched her 700 lb. self outside on the sunny deck and in the shade of trees, often in the company of her potbellied friend Carlton. In winter, she wore chickens on her warm arched back (or they wore her long pale hair on their scaled feet) as she rooted for snowbound roots. In summer, she strained the fence in her quest for wild raspberries and cherries. In spring and fall, she won over visiting school groups and families with her enthusiasm for juicy apples and roasted peanuts.
In the last couple of years, Nemo was less inclined to greet newcomers at the gate. The old leg break slowed her gait from a full-on gallop to a cautious walk. Rather than snuffle-chomping offered treats, she preferred belly rubs that made her breathe big rumbling sighs. She slept in her barn bed more than she grazed, burying her snout in straw and stretching her arthritic bad leg behind her. When she decided not to stand last month, we fed her pans of warm oatmeal, bananas, and feed to combat the bitter cold. Today, she died in that bed under warmed towels. We knew she was going because Buddy the Donkey stood just outside her door, joined by the hens and turkey. They always know and stand watch. They tell us when to come and be present.
Living with a 700 lb. toddler is a challenge, for that is what a grown pig is. They are whip smart beings with the intelligence and emotions of three-year-old humans. Nemo was capable of opening an unchained gate. Fortunately, alarmed strangers confused and frightened her so that she ran home when she heard her name called. For she had a name, unlike her siblings, and every bit as much soul.
Truthfully, this Winter 2026 newsletter doesn’t include any moss. Click on the cover to download to the left to see what we did have room to include. The beauty of a blog is that there is room to add those photos and finds that don’t fit on a 2-sided, 11 x 17 piece of paper.
There is finally water in Cranberry Run after a drier-than-dry summer and fall. On a walk to treasure the leaf-tannin-rich flow, we saw a lovely quarry boulder sporting a moss that we hadn’t seen before. I turned to Bill Schumacher, former neighbor-over-the-creek and current mosses, lichens, and liverwort expert. Although Bill is busy with a water quality project in Bangladesh, he responded generously to my “What is this?”
Plagiomnium cuspidatum
“To confirm definitely would need to look at myself. But this one it looks to me like Plagiomnium cuspidatum (woodsy thyme moss or baby-toothed moss). Note the oval shape of the individual leaves. It has a costa (midrib) that goes to the top with a pointy end outside the leaf. Also, the leaf should be toothed in the upper half but not in the bottom half. Plagiomnium cupidatum is a common moss that is in the woods and by the creek. I saw quite a bit of it when we did the moss survey on The Quarry Farm. Although common, it is one of my favorite mosses. Think it is very beautiful, and greatly accentuates the forest system.”
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.
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.
Birder Deb had a first yesterday, for herself and The Quarry Farm. Among the 52 bird species that she reported on eBird, “I heard and saw a Connecticut Warbler on the trail before the creek overlook,” noted Deb. “I have a friend in California, Tim. He told me before we moved to try and see a Connecticut Warbler. They are tough. They sing, but rarely show themselves. A few years ago one was reported at the Bluffton Preserve. It was hotter than fish grease and I stood in the sun for an hour trying a catch a glimpse of it while it sang and sang. Zero, zilch, no luck on a visual. I won’t count a bird for the first time unless I see it. So today when I heard it, I couldn’t believe my ears.”
The app Merlin confirmed the Connecticut Warbler’s song as it sang over and over again. Deb scanned with her binoculars and finally the elusive bird popped up for 2 seconds and disappeared again. Deb stood with her camera ready for about 20 minutes, but it never came out again and eventually stopped singing.
Deb and David Smith are in the nature preserve this morning. Maybe the Connecticut Warbler—TQF Bird #151 on eBird—will pose. According to Deb’s friend Tim, these $%$@ birds are hard to spot. Deb did capture some portraits of more cooperative avian species: Great Blue Heron in a tree on the far side of the quarry, an Eastern Wood-Pewee and an Indigo Bunting who seemed amazed to see a Deb below its tree.
Two Canada geese named Johnny and Stella introduced us to the richness of a life shared with wildlife educational ambassadors. I would say the introduction was a gentle one, and it was, until we found Stella’s body floating in their water tank. No one could tell us why. She looked fine externally. Wild animals naturally fight tooth, nail, beak, bill, and claw to stay away from humans, probably because humans are at the top of the food chain and every other species knows to keep their distance. If wild things allow humans to approach, there is something not quite right internally, in their nature or nurture. Their most natural state of being has made them vulnerable to our opposable thumbs, our intelligence, or lack thereof. A lifetime of living with other species makes me certain of the latter, especially as I write this there are military maneuvers going on in the sky outside my window.
Estella
Although it is tragic thing when a wild animal can’t live safely in wildness, it is a gift to spend some part of one’s human lifetime in their company. Some live for a few years. Others for a decade or more. Right now, we often tearfully refer to the farm animal sanctuary as the geriatric home. It’s been 14 years since Johnny and Stella moved in. Many mammals and birds have lived what remained of their lives here. The last 12 months have been hard on our hearts as several friends have, as we say, “gone over the fence.” This month, as we planned for an all-day offsite event about living side-by-side with wild creatures, we intended to feature Estella the Virginia Opossum. Estella was almost 4 years old, pretty ancient for this marsupial. She died in her sleep on Sunday.
Winston
In February, while I was in Columbus for a conference, my phone pinged with a text regarding an adult male, caught-by-dog Virginia Opossum. A Proctorville wildlife rehabilitator rescued him in the Fall. Angie named him Winston, and healed his severe wounds and fought infection. He weathered several veterinary appointments and possible pneumonia. But Angie got him through. Because Winston has mobility issues and hairless scarring on his hindquarters due to his injuries, it was decided that he could have a good future as an educational ambassador. Three weeks ago, I met Angie and Winston in Columbus for adoption.
On Tuesday, May 13, Winston represented his amazing, vital species at Miller City-New Cleveland Elementary School’s “School is Cool” event. Board Member Rita used owl and bat puppets to demonstrate the horrors and harm of using traps and poisons to control wildlife. Tyree the cornsnake, all shiny coral from a recent shed, represented the benefits of encouraging snake residents on a farm and in your garden. Winston growled a bit at first, but his scars are itchy. With ongoing scritches, he settled into his ambassadorship. No one knows exactly how old Winston is, but he will be comfortable and at peace at The Quarry Farm for as long as he will give.
