South Bar Lake and Glen Arbor

Before leaving Empire Beach on Lake Michigan we hopped across the parking lot to see South Bar Lake. This long narrow lake runs north/south just behind a dune ridge from the big lake. There are several houses on it but is relatively uninhabited.



There's a playground and a nice beach here, and we were following critter tracks on the sand when we noticed this beaver chewed stick.

In the fall beavers will fell many small poplars, or large ones and chew the branches off, and carry them back to their lodges. As winter sets in these branches will serve as their pantry--the beavers eat the bark and then discard the rest of the branch. This one must have gotten away from the lodge. Though we looked for their lodge we couldn't see it, but it was cool knowing there's an active beaver colony here.

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There were also quite a few common mergansers here, and this is the first time I've seen the male of the species.

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I would have loved to stay longer at the shore but we were hungry and daylight was short, so we headed up the road to the little town of Glen Arbor. Hosting a thriving art community, Glen Arbor is a natural place for a bunch of artists to hang out. We had lunch at Art's Tavern and then did a little shopping.

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The Glen Lake Artists Gallery features work by local artists and Lori spent some time talking with the fellow behind the counter about Susan Bullock, an artist she met while up in the area for her artist in residence.

After the gallery stop we went across the street to my favorite place, the local bookstore. I love this little shop, they are super friendly and have a great selection of books. I don't think I've ever seen a cuter shop than this! I bought Ecopsychology, a collection of essays about the importance of nature and wilderness on our psyches.

We stopped by another gallery and the local coffee house where I got a hot chocolate (don't do coffee--yuck!) and then headed out of town, thinking we were going back to Karin's. But I was behind the wheel and you just never know what might catch my eye and send me careening off to the shoulder....

Empire Beach, Sleeping Bear Dunes

Every once in a great while we take a trip for the fun of it. Because we do art shows we spend a lot of time on the road, and so when we have "time off" we generally want to stay home. But our last show was a month ago and we were starting to get itchy to do a little traveling, so we hooked up with our friend Karin, who lives in Traverse City in northern Michigan.

Perhaps I am biased because I've lived here my whole life, but I think Michigan is a spectacularly beautiful state. We have 11,000 lakes, 3,288 miles of shoreline (second only to Alaska) on four Great Lakes, and a variety of terrain from the (almost) mountains of the western U.P. to the marsh lands of the southeast. Four hundred foot sand dunes can be found along the Lake Michigan shoreline. Thousands of square miles of wetlands provide a haven for waterfowl, and the state hosts a rare type of wetland called a fen. There's boreal forest in the north, hardwood forest and stands of old-growth white pine and white cedar 400 to 500 years old. We even have prairie in the southwest part of the state.

I don't have a particular favorite when it comes to scenery or habitat, but just about any time I have a chance, I head for Lake Michigan.

Lake Michigan has some of the most wonderful beaches I've ever seen. Being on the west side of the state and catching the prevailing winds, huge dunes have formed along the shoreline. Great swaths of dune grass, dried to a golden hue, sway and rustle along the dunes. The winds drive the waves too, and the constant rush of water upon shore is soothing and meditative.

Empire Beach hosts one of the best views from shore of the sleeping giant herself, "The Bear".

Ojibwe legend tells of a mother bear and her two cubs who escaped a great fire on the far shore of Lake Michigan by swimming out into the lake. The cubs were young and not strong enough to make it all the way across. Her cubs became the Manitou Islands (South Manitou is just visible on the left side of the photo below, on the horizon) while she became the dune on the shore of the great lake, forever waiting for her cubs to arrive.

I don't think there's a more poignant story out there. Many have retold and illustrated the tale, including my partner Lori Taylor, who also won an Artist-in-Residence at Sleeping Bear in 2007. This is one of her illustrations below.

I love the big water, its moods, its history, its stories. Ever changing yet ever the same, constant in its motion, shifting, collapsing, advancing and receding. I could have sat there for hours, getting lost in the sounds and smells on that warm November afternoon. But there were others places to visit, other waters to explore, so we had to move on, unlike the mother bear, forever perched upon the shore, waiting patiently for her cubs.

Happy 50th Birthday, Lori.

Long Weekend

Off to Traverse City to spend the weekend with my backpacking bud, Karin. We're looking forward to seeing the Big Water and doing a little hiking and hanging with The Fish.

Winter Birds Part 1

As many people who live in northern climates do, I have a particularly soft spot for those birds who tough out our winters with us. While the weather here in Southeast Michigan is not particularly brutal, we do occasionally get very cold, very snowy winters (like the last two). Every morning after a night of sub-zero temperatures and biting winds I am amazed to see any birds at all, much less the crowds that amass on our feeders. While the weather is mild still, they are busy at the feeders all day, putting on fat stores that will help them through the winter.

The tufted titmouse,



black-capped chickadee,

and white breasted nuthatch are three of the most common birds of our winter world. None of these birds has bills strong enough to crack open a sunflower seed, so each will fly up, take a seed, and fly off to a nearby tree. The chickadee and titmouse will hold the seed between their feet and hammer at it until the shell is cracked. The nuthatch, with its long torso, is designed for clinging to a tree rather than perching on a branch, and seems unable to grasp a seed with its feet. This bird will fly to a nearby tree, cram the seed in a crevice, and then hammer at it with its bill to get at the meats.

The northern cardinal,

and the goldfinch have strong bills for cracking seeds, and will sit contentedly at a feeder devouring seed after seed.

The downy woodpecker (this one's a female) usually sticks to the suet, but will occasionally take sunflower seeds, and has to go about cracking them open like the nuthatch.




I think mourning doves are beautiful birds, but I'm happy not to have as many as we did in Ann Arbor. Their light eye ring really makes their eyes stand out, and their lids are light colored too, so you can see when they blink. Makes them seem less reptilian or something. I miss their cooing when breeding season is over.

The dark-eyed junco is not a year-round resident here. They breed farther north, and come down just to spend the winter. I guess this is like their Florida. We saw the first one this year on October 23--last year the first sighting was on October 22. Either we weren't paying attention or they were running late this year!

Now, I know this isn't a bird, but she's too cute not to include, and is certainly a regular at the feeders year-round. As long as they don't chew their way into my studio (from where all these photos were taken) then they are welcome at the feeders.



Missing from this group are the blue jay, red-bellied woodpecker and a sparrow or two. I'll be curious to see if the hairy woodpeckers stick around for the winter--I saw one the other day, but have never seen one in the dead of winter. We also get eastern bluebirds and cedar waxwings, who will come in mid-January to our crab apple tree out front--they tend to hang out at our neighbor's house, who is back in the woods.

Also absent are the winter birds who have yet to arrive, those who breed and nest to the north. Those include the red-breasted nuthatch, common redpoll and pine siskin. This will be our fourth winter here, and it's taken awhile for some of these part-time birds to find us. The redpolls first came two years ago, the siskins last year. I'm excited to see who may show up this winter.

Autumn Olive

For those of you who do not know what autumn olive is, here's a photo:

I too used to be blissfully ignorant of this vile shrub, but I had to go and get involved with the DNR's Stewardship program. There you learn that we are surrounded by nasty alien species that are choking the life out of our native habitats. Now it is difficult for me to go out without seeing what shouldn't be growing, although it certainly makes me appreciate an area where native plants are still holding on (like Teahen Prairie, where I helped with moth collecting).

We all are familiar with Dutch Elm disease (or at least I hope we are!). Then there's the Emerald Ash Borer. In between came American Chestnut blight (if you want to read about the chestnuts, grab a copy of Barbara Kingsolver's Prodigal Summer). These were actual pests, bugs and nasties that ate (or are eating) our native flora, with startling and obvious consequences--lots of dead trees. But more insidious than these are the non-native flora, the trees and shrubs and flowers that grow in abundance and give the appearance that all is well (since it all looks green and pretty) when in fact nothing is as it should be.

We are plagued by non-native plants: black locust, glossy buckthorn, Asian bittersweet, spotted knapweed.... The list goes on and on. Areas that saw the greatest disturbance--logged then farmed or pastured for years--generally have the biggest problem with invasives. Southeast Michigan is filthy with them, and our property is no exception.

Below is a shot of a "grove" of autumn olive. As you can see it is a dense shrub and when it grows like this it blocks out the sun and keeps other plants from growing.

Here is a description from the Tennessee Exotic Plant Management Manual: "Autumn olive was introduced into the United States in 1830 from China and Japan. It has been actively promoted by state and federal agencies for shelter belts, erosion control, strip mine reclamation, wildlife habitat, and was widely marketed as an ornamental. The shrub has now become naturalized in suitable habitats scattered throughout the eastern and Midwestern U.S.... Autumn olive grows well in disturbed areas, open fields, margins of forests, roadsides, and clearings. Because the fruits are eaten by a variety of wildlife, the seeds may be distributed into forest openings or open woodlands."

Yes, we planted this on purpose.

Because it makes lots of edible berries, birds are a huge distributor of the seeds. You will often see trees in an open field surrounded by these shrubs, seeds being dispersed by birds pooping them out as they sit on the branches of the tree. It seems to grow especially well around black cherry but I don't know why, and of course black cherry is the predominant tree on our property.

We began our autumn olive removal last fall and were thrilled with the difference it made. In some places native flowers have already started to make a comeback, in others we planted ground covers like wild strawberry to try to discourage other non-native plants from taking hold.

I have been eager to start removing more of this shrub (fall is the best time to do so) and the recent warm weather has provided me with the perfect opportunity to get started. My "target area" today was near and around a cherry, seen in the background in the photo below. As you can see, the tree is virtually hiden by the shrubs, even though there are no leaves on them!

Here are the tools of the trade. The control for this, as with many other invasive shrubs is simple: Cut the plant near the ground and treat the cut ends with Glyphosate, better known as Round-Up. However, Round-Up is only a 2% solution, and for this a 20% solution or stronger is recommended. Solutions of 40% can be purchased just about everywhere, and I do not dilute it--I don't want these little buggers growing back! I use the dish soap scrubber to apply the herbicide and keep it in this container so that I don't drip it all over the place. A sharp saw and a good pair of loppers are essential, as are good, thick gloves--autumn olive has sharp pokey bits!





After toiling away for the better part of the day, it went from this:

To this:

Now ain't that pretty! I hope to get this area reestablished with some native grasses, namely big bluestem, and some native flowers. Now I can't wait for spring! But in the meantime, there's more autumn olive to annihilate!

And what a beautiful shape this tree has, now that you can see it.

An Autumn Meadow

As I've said before, I love meadows. I like the open spaces, being able to see the sky, while also feeling the protection of the trees around me. I was so busy late this summer that I never made it out to see the goldenrod in bloom, so I had to settle for seeing it going to seed instead.

This milkweed plant was growing alongside the trail--it may even be the same one I photographed this past summer. I love the hard, sturdy pods, revealing as they crack open their delicate cargo. I am always amazed at the different ways plants have evolved to disperse their seeds--this has got to be one of the prettiest.

The butterfly weed, a close cousin of the milkweed, has a nearly identical seed. Pass an unmowed field this time of year and you'll see dozens of these puffballs of seeds, ready for a stiff wind to carry them to new places.

This pearly everlasting doesn't look so everlasting. Wonder if some bird fancies its seeds and picks it apart....

On the edges of the meadow are the ferns, which turn their own unique shades of gold and brown in the fall. One theory about fall color is that when photosynthesis stops and the leaves lose their chlorophyll, they turn back to their natural color. Essentially, the leaves are naturally the colors we see in the fall but chlorophyll production turns them green.

Also living in and around the meadow is this rather intimidating looking fellow, all prickly and pokey. I believe it's a blackberry cane. Its color is irresistible, shining brightly when so much else has already lost its color.

After leaving the meadows the trail passes over some pretty hilly terrain and through a forest of fairly mature trees. It's a beautiful woods with towering trees and an open understory, free for the most part of autumn olive and multi-flora rose (two horribly invasive species). I like woods like this, with long, open sight lines that allow you to see the contours of the land.

Toward the end of my hike the trail passes near a marsh, allowing for the backlighting of the forest, even on this dark and cloudy evening.



Bring on winter.

The Red Squirrel

(I will apologize in advance for the blurry photos in this post. It was late afternoon on a cloudy day and I did not have my tripod.)


Only a hundred feet or so down the trail from where I'd been photographing the tamarack from my last post, I spotted a fresh pileated woodpecker excavation in a dying black cherry. I stopped and pulled out my camera--you never know when you may want to put a pileated excavation in a piece of artwork--and took a picture.

I noticed then some movement on the ground at the base of the tree and looked to see a red squirrel with a bundle of leaves in its mouth, apparently preparing a winter nest.

Instead of making its way to the pileated hole, it went up a different trunk and into a hole most likely made from a branch that had broken off years ago. Shortly after entering the squirrel reappeared but hung out around the entrance. I think I'd been spotted, and the little squirrel seemed reluctant to leave its nest site.

It finally settled on the knot at the top of the hole and sat for a while watching me.

After a minute or so it moved down to the opening and went inside...

...then turned and popped it's head out.

I know many people are not fans of these little squirrels, but I find them to be quite attractive and full of personality. Their cinnamon coloring with the black stripe down each side and white belly reminds me of a 60's muscle car, and if you've ever watched one run through the tree canopy you'd think that description wasn't far off. They seem to be more gregarious than the other squirrels and more apt to stick around and defend their territory than their cousins.

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We used to get them in the attic at the house in Ann Arbor, where they'd chewed through the cedar siding at the base of a dormer. Apparently they could not get back out as we'd see one scampering along one of the attic's widow sills, frantic, back and forth, and would have to go up and open a window to let it out. Then there was the time one got into the house and we trapped it in Lisa's office, chasing it in circles as it motored across bookshelves, the computer desk, across the widow sills and up the blinds, around and around for a good five minutes before it, purely by chance, fell into a box and we scooped it up and ran it outside.

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Here at home they are the one animal we have been unable to keep off our balcony and out of the bird feeders we have there, but I figure anything clever enough to outwit us deserves a reward.