ENHS Nature Trails May 2002 Article 3

May Musings

The mild spring kept the wildflower bloom fresh for a very long time. The trillium are not yet gone to seed and calypso orchids and fawn lilies are everywhere in the mossier parts of the woods behind our house while iris and thermopsis are in full bloom at the top of the hill. At the pond this year we had a first. Two mallard ducks hatched nests of ducklings. One had ten and the other twelve. Unfortunately the mothers take their little ones away after the first few days; they go down into the little creek that flows through our pasture and then into Fox Hollow Creek. There are several ponds and extensive wetlands along the big creek so there is plenty of good habitat and a lot more privacy than at our farm. We don't see the little mallards again until they can fly. At least we presume that the adult female who comes to the pond with a flock of young is the same duck. Perhaps this year we will see two mothers fly in with their families in the late afternoons and then we will have better evidence for this long held presumption. Now that the mallards are gone, we are looking forward to the arrival of the wood duck family. Their chicks seem to hatch a little later than the mallards, and they stay at the pond longer. Our poor lonely Western Pond Turtle basks in the sun on a log by itself every morning. It too will go away for the summer soon. Is it daydreaming to hope that somewhere downstream it finds a mate?

After three springs of total warfare, we can declare victory in the battle with the "lovely" ivy that covered the stream banks 33 years ago when we bought our place. Unfortunately all our chopping, raking and digging left a perfect habitat for trailing blackberry and nothing else. So for the past two springs we have done in blackberries as well as digging out the last remnants of our old growth ivy. This year while we crawled around grubbing out nasties we kept shouting with joy because Indian plum, vine maple, trillium, grouseflowers, and lilies of various species are appearing. So too are seedling cherries. Is another war against a beautiful but non native plant in our futures?

Reida Kimmel

AND MORE MAY MUSINGS

We've been hiking in the coast range this spring, experiencing the poetry of the early flowers and unfurling foliage quietly going about their business whether we're there to watch or not. On our first hike, the Coast Fawn Lilies (Erythronium revolutum) lined our trail for almost three miles and surprisingly seemed to thrive in the middle of a path compacted for many years by hiking boots. The other woodland jewels, the bleeding hearts and all the Fairy Bells and Fairy Lanterns and Maianthemums (the False Lilies-of-the-Valley and False Solomon's Seals), knowing their stature would cover the nodding pink lilies, patiently awaited their turn. The fiddleheads looked tempting, but who could sever their heads before they danced.

The leafless alders and maples both dangled their blossoms to frame our view of the North Fork of the Smith noisily showing off its voluptuous spring flow. And a seemingly lonely Winter Wren cheered on our passage as we forded creeks and maneuvered around huge fallen trees whose branches attempted to thwart our wending through their territory. These fallen giants reminded us of the devastating winds we had all experienced earlier this year in and around Lane County. Only hiking here, away from our aesthetic ignorance, a horizontal tree is not at all unsightly, and can lie languorously renewing the earth with its decay through centuries, providing a livelihood for billions of organisms in time, maybe not so memorable as the pink fawn lilies, but so much more essential.

Melody Clarkson

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