Rifle River Fen

By the time we finished our drive the drizzle had stopped and the sky was beginning to brighten. We drove over to the boat launch, hoping to find the rather tame roughed grouse the park employee had told us follows her around every time she's there. No luck, though. It was too early for lunch, so we decided to take the mile nature trail walk around the fen.

A fen is a rare type of habitat that is formed when groundwater seeps through bedrock up to the surface. There are a relatively high number of them in Michigan compared to other places thanks to the glaciers. We have several here in the Brighton Rec Area were we're doing invasive species removal. This fen seemed to be in very good shape.




It was a pleasant walk, and by the time we reached the water the sun had come out, turning the little pond azure blue.



Nothing had had a chance to dry out, though, and the world glistened and sparkled.







Ferns abounded,



making homes for all sorts of creatures.



Bunchberries clung to rotted logs.



The purple pitcher plants were in full bloom. When we were there last August, there were still flowers but they were dry and colorless. This time, the colors were bright and glowing.



The backside.



The purple pitcher plant is the most cold tolerant and the only one I've ever seen in Michigan--which is certainly not to say there aren't other species here. All pitcher plants are carnivorous, meaning of course that they eat meat. The tube-shaped leaves catch and hold rainwater. When an insect falls in it drowns, then sinks to the bottom and decomposes, at which time the plant can utilize it.



Here you can see down into the water filled leaves.



I would imagine that any plant as specialized as this must be quite ancient. Like so many of our native plants, their future is at risk as we continue to alter their--and our--environment. It's good to know there are places like these where this amazing plant still stands a chance.

Solitary Loon

As we drove down the dirt road we kept an eye out for anything of interest. Not too long after leaving the observation tower, someone yelled out "Loon!" There on Grebe Lake, around 50 feet or so off the shore, was a single loon, fishing in the shallows. I waited for it to dive and scrambled down the short bank, ready when it popped back up.



It dove again, and I could see a trail of bubbles on the surface, giving away its under water route. You can see some of the bubble trail in the foreground. When it came back up it had a mouth full of weeds.





It dunked its head, and revealed a fish.



Another dunk and the fish was gone, consumed, I imagine.






After a minute or so swimming around in front of me, the loon dove again and began working its way along the shore, moving farther away. I decided not to follow. What a treat to be so close to such a striking animal.

Soggy Morning

The rain started late Tuesday afternoon so we sat under the RV awning and talked until after dark--no camp fire for us! Just at dusk the whip-poor-wills began to sing, and Lori was thrilled. She said she hadn't heard one in nearly 30 years. The rest of us had never heard one. Our excitement was short lived, however, as the birds sang and sang into the darkness, then started up again at 4:30 in the morning. We started to wonder what whip-poor-will soup tasted like....

When dawn finally arrived Wednesday it was dark and wet, with a fine mist falling. It took us a while to get up and around--you kind of have to force yourself to go out in weather like that, but since it was our only full day at the park we dragged ourselves up and out. Since neither hiking nor kayaking sounded particularly appealing in that weather, we opted to drive the dirt road up to the observation tower. At least we could see stuff and stay relatively dry.

The view from the observation platform offered looks at Lodge Lake (foreground) and Devoe Lake (far in the background) to the west...



and Grebe Lake to the east. As you can see it was quite dark and damp, even at 9 am.



When we got out of the car at the observation deck we saw a critter swimming around that we thought at first was a beaver, and we were all excited. Once we climbed the tower we saw that it was a muskrat. Why a muskrat is any less appealing than a beaver is a mystery to me, but I must say we were all a bit disappointed.



Across Grebe Lake, in a tall, lone white pine, is an eagle nest. This one looks a bit dilapidated. Eagle nests are huge structures, usually weighing 500 pounds or more. Eagles will use their nests year after year, adding more nesting material every year. A park employee told us that one nest weighed in at 2 tons. It's astonishing that the tree can hold that much weight.

We never did see the adults but we could clearly see two large nestlings moving about the nest.



The area was replete with birds, including several warbler species, orioles, robins and doves. This great crested flycatcher perched on the top of a tree and posed.



As dark as it was it was difficult to get images of anything under the tree canopy. Here a blurry yellow-belied sapsucker works its way up a tree branch.



As usual, we heard the pileated long before we saw her. I think there was a pair working their way through the trees, but I only saw the female.



Lori's sharp eyes spotted these pine saps in the woods along the road. Like its relative the Indian pipe, which also grows in this park, pine sap does not produce chlorophyll. They get their nutrients from organic matter in the soil. I had to battle the mosquitoes to get shots of these!



The saturated air had left everything covered with shimmering droplets. Rain won't do this--the drops hit and splash and run. But the fine mist that was falling that morning turned the world into a diamond mine--without the environmental destruction.

Wild rose--not sure which variety. All I know is that it is not the invasive multi-flora, and that makes me happy.



Blue flag iris.


Ox-eye daisy. While not a native, they are not terribly invasive, and have become one of those flowers that I cannot imagine a summer roadside or meadow without.



Columbine. The cultivated varieties are nice, but I still prefer the more subtle wild variety.



By the time we finished the drive the drizzle had stopped and the weather was starting to brighten up. We decided to walk the mile long nature trail loop that works its way around a fen. But before I take you there I have one more treat for you from the drive that morning.

Rifle River Orchids

With so many places to go, places I've never been, it was not an easy choice to make to go back to a place we had just been last August. As I mentioned in a previous blog, the impetus was that we knew there was a breeding pair of loons on Devoe Lake--or at least we assumed they nested on that lake and not a nearby lake. So we went back there hoping to find a fuzzy little loon chick or two being fed minnows by their red-eyed parents. Well, I'll tell you now that we did not find any chicks. We did see two pairs of loons, but the park employee we talked to didn't know of any nests this year, and we didn't see any. Ah well, there's more than just loons in this world--there are, for instance, orchids.

The drive into the park is gorgeous, if bumpy. For those of you who don't know, we have a 20 year old Gulfstream we bought a few years ago mainly for art shows, and we feel and hear every rattle and bump in the thing. The Ranch campground is a large grassy area with some young thick trees and tall grasses between the sites. The sites are large, with plenty of room for our RV and our friend Karin's tent and screen room. It's nearly two miles into the park, and the road crosses many creeks. The first of these is Gamble Creek, whose water was running high thanks to some recent heavy rains.





After we got camp set up and situated, (we opened the awning on the RV for the first time, hoping against hope to find it intact, and it was), Lori and I headed back out to explore the roadside. Why? Because on the way in we saw these:


Showy lady's slipper orchids. Now, I am not an orchid nut. I've only ever seen one orchid that I know of, the pink lady's slipper. It's possible I've seen others and not known what I was looking at. Newcomb's says that this is a fast disappearing orchid that thrives in marshes an bogs. Interesting that we found it along the road and a big paved parking lot.

Newcomb's, by the way, is perhaps the best guide for identifying flowers. It's not a lazy person's guide--you can't just flip it open and look for the picture that matches the plant you've found. It asks you questions about the plant--flower type, plant type, leaf type. Depending on your answers, it will send you to a page that best represents your answers, were you'll find an excellent illustration and description of the plant you're looking for. Answer the questions wrong and you'll end up at the wrong plant, which can be frustrating. But what I like about it is that it forces you to really look at the plant and learn something about it that may help you remember it the next time you run across it.

Anyway, it is hard to not be impressed with these plants. In Stan Tekiela's book Wildflowers of Michigan, he notes that they are highly specialized plants, requiring very specific habitats. They are aided in growth by a fungus that lives on its roots. It is therefore nearly impossible to transplant successfully, though many have tried. And while they are long-lived plants, they also take up to 15 years to reach maturity and produce blooms.

This photo makes me think of two English ladies having tea.



Here are some other showy orchids, with last year's dried seed pods next to them. The seeds too require an invasion by a fungus in order to germinate. It's a wonder any of them ever grow!




The photo below was actually taken the following day after a morning of drizzle, which left everything dripping and glistening.



I spoke to several folks at my last two shows about orchids. I have a set of three wildflowers that I did when I first started working with ink pen and colored pencil, one of them being the pink lady's slipper I mentioned earlier. I clearly remember remarking to them that I had never seen a yellow lady's slipper, so imagine my excitement when we saw these, also growing right along the road side!



More delicate and refined, they have a subtlety that the other, gaudier lady's slippers lack. Like the showy, they also prefer wetter areas, and it was certainly wet along the road. I love the corkscrew petals that twine around the flower like curls on a Victorian lady. Or perhaps Pippy Longstocking's braids. Take your pick.



I was thrilled to see these flowers and am excited now to draw them both and have a set of lady's slippers.


Again, this was taken the next day, after it rained.



Before we headed home Lisa, Karin and I took a short hike along the Rifle River that passed through some swampy areas but was mainly high and dry. Here we discovered the remnants of a pink lady's slipper. Earlier bloomers than the other two, and preferring drier ground, they were nearly finished--this was the only one we found that still had a flower on it.



So who knew the Rifle River Rec Area would be so full of surprises! The rain moved in that evening so we didn't do any more exploring that day, but we made up for that the following day with a visit to the observation tower, a nature trail hike, and kayaking on Devoe Lake.

More to come!

Artwork--eastern bluebird

Just a quick post of a work in progress, this of a female Eastern bluebird that was hanging out on our balcony several winters ago. I'll post again when it's done, which will be before next weekend as I plan to have it done before my next show.



As for pics from our trip this week to the Rifle River Rec Area, I hope to get that going this afternoon. There were orchids and loons, birds and flowers galore!

Artwork

Just a quick post before I am off to the great north woods. OK, not so far north and maybe not so great, but I'm going north and there are woods. We are headed back up to the Rifle River Rec Area (see my posts from last August/September) to look for loons with babies and do a little hiking. Here's hoping the weather cooperates.

I have finished two more pieces in the past few weeks, little 6x9's of two of my favorite birds.

First, the Red-breasted nuthatch, a winter resident for us. Small and quick, getting good shots of one can be quite a challenge. This one was hanging on a suet feeder but I put him on a black cherry for aesthetics.




Next a Black-capped chickadee, one of our year-round residents. What's not to love about the chickadee? Cute, gregarious, and personable, they will come up and take seeds from your hand, if you're patient enough. This bird was on our balcony a few years ago--this is not the bird from the Shiawassee NWR. I already had this piece set up and ready to go when I got the shots of the other bird.



So be well, ya'll, and hopefully next time I'll have fuzzy loon chicks to show you!

Disaster

As a nature artist and environmentalist, to not write about the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico has been like ignoring the 800 pound gorilla in the living room. It's constantly on my mind, leaving me with a vaguely sick feeling of helplessness and grief.

Well, that grief came on full bore last night when I checked the news on line and saw that some reporters and photographers had finally reached a beach where the oil is thick and the birds are dying. Worse than dying, I suppose, the birds are suffering. As you may know, BP has strictly forbidden its clean-up workers from taking photos of oil covered animals, and forbidden them from speaking to the media. BP understands that while intellectually we know what is happening out there even if we can't see it, to see it brings it all to a whole new level--and frankly, I absolutely did not expect to see anything like this:



When the images of these ravaged birds came up on my screen, I cracked. I bawled like a baby. I have entirely too much empathy, too easily imagine what these stricken animals are going through. Not only coated and immobile in many cases, but this stuff burns, it burns skin and burns respiratory tracts and digestive systems. These animals don't understand what's happening to them--this is something completely beyond their experience and their ability to comprehend, and I imagine the panic, the confusion, the utter fear they must feel being literally glued to the beach and smothered to death.

I know my anger over BP's incompetency has been growing and growing, and my anger and disappointment in our government's response has grown right along with it. I don't really know how exactly I feel about government--more or less, Democrat or Republican, none of it really seems to make a difference. What I do know is that I am frightened--literally frightened--to live in a world that is run not by a sense of responsibility to the continuation of life on this planet but by greed and individual comfort. When corporations are bigger than government, when governments can be bought, when we as individuals don't know when we have enough, this is what happens.



BP saved money by not installing a particular type of shut-device that would have closed off this pipe when the rig blew. This shut off wasn't required by our government--although it is by other governments in other countries were off-shore drilling occurs--because there are people in our government who get money from these companies to keep regulations like that off the books. From politicians to the lobbyists who schmooze them, to regulatory officials and oil rig inspectors, everyone has a price, it seems. Was it worth it? Was it worth a new big screen TV, a Porsche, crystal meth and a lap dance at the local bar? Take a good long look, folks. Was it worth it?



It is not just these birds, turtles, dolphins, fish etc that are suffering. Clean up crews are falling ill. Fishermen are losing their livelihoods. Environmentalists who have worked so hard to restore habitat and get animals and birds like the brown pelican off the endangered species list have seen decades of work destroyed in the time it takes an oil rig to blow--or an envelope with a little extra cash to change hands.

What does this say about us? What does this say about the future of mankind? So many people who hold disdain for environmentalists like to dismiss us, calling us tree huggers, assuming that all we care about are spotted owls, snail darters and brown pelicans. What they don't seem to realize is that we understand that protecting those things also protects us. That when we have an environment that is safe for the brown pelican we have an environment that is safe for us.




Because what is left once we've tainted the water we drink, the air we breathe, the soil in which we grow our food? We are at the top of our food chain. We will face the cumulative effects of the pollution and contamination that we are now heaping upon our furred and feathered friends. We like to think we are immune, that our technology will continue to save us from our own stupidity, but it seems to me like we are just putting off the inevitable. The oil spill in the Gulf is huge, dramatic and attention-getting, but there are smaller, insidious catastrophes happening every day: Dioxin contamination of rivers with warnings not to eat the fish or fowl; CAFO (Concentrated Animal Feeding Operations) wastes polluting streams, lakes and croplands and sickening people who live nearby with toxic fumes; giant masses of plastic wastes floating on our oceans, absorbing toxins, breaking down and entering the food chain; mercury fallout from coal-fired power plants contaminating lakes and streams and the food that we eat (I have a theory about autism I'll talk about some day). The list goes on and on and on. In our quest for more and more stuff, for a higher and higher "standard of living", we are slowly killing ourselves and putting the future of our own species in doubt.


I wish I could have gone down to the Gulf, gone down the day this started, because it was clear to me even then what was coming. I wish I could have gone down there and talked to those animals, the pelicans and gulls and terns and plovers, the turtles and dolphins and shrimp, and told them to get the hell out of town. Swim. Run. Fly. Save yourselves because we aren't going to be able to do it for you. Leave your homes, leave your nests, and save yourselves. Pain and suffering are coming your way, and we don't seem to have any way of stopping it. Maybe some day we will figure out what's really important, that we can't eat money (or oil), but until then, save yourselves and fly away.



Fly away.