The water pans and buckets could still be filled by the outdoor hose two weeks ago. Yesterday, we woke to an inch of snow and a wagon full of frozen Hilty Farm pumpkins. Dave and Jane brought their juicy orange produce last week to rave donkey and pig reviews.
Today, snowmelt is pooling in the dry Cranberry Run bed and David Seitz is still removing invasive evergreen Amur honeysuckle from the southeast property line.
The wind is cold and blowing from the southwest open field across road 7L. In the forest, birds and squirrels scold in the calm of the trees. The wind won’t settle but temperatures are to rise. By Saturday’s “National Hiking Day Hike at Night”, temperatures will be in the 50s Fahrenheit as is fairly normal for November in Ohio. Put on good walking shoes, weather-appropriate clothes and join us on the nature preserve trails to enjoy the mental and physical health benefits of hiking.
Over decade ago Cady joined our family. She had been found in an apartment, a bred to pieces and abandoned, her ears cropped close to her head and her beautiful “blue” coat stretched tight over her ribs. My Steven brought her home from the shelter to bond with all of us, most especially Lolly. Both walked in the Welcome Santa parade, left paw prints on the trails and impressions on the couch. Cady smiled and loved every face with kisses.
The worst part of loving Cady came today. But as Steven said, without that we wouldn’t have had all the good. We will miss her and remember.
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 YellowthroatFemale American RedstartMagnolia WarblerJuvenile Indigo BuntingRed Spotted Purple ButterflyBrown ThrasherWaning Gibbous MoonEastern Wood Pee-weeAmerican Goldfinch
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.
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.
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.
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.
