Day 46: milkweed rising

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OUR TOP STORY TONIGHT!

monarch's milkweed blooms soon  

Quarantine Day 46: You are staying at home maintaining your social distancing. That's good. And we are exploring the woods, creeks, soggy bottoms and vacant lots to see where nature is happening.

A cold rain moved in while our man-on-the-waterfront was exploring the riparian buffer of the Tennessee River southside and discovered a colony of common milkweed (Asclepias syriace) a plant that was considered a weed until the decline of the monarch butterfly raised its profile. Now it's beloved.

Common milkweed is the host plant of choice for the orange-and-black butterfly that migrates to Mexico in the fall and back in the spring.

Journey North is reporting that some monarchs have been reported in the valley. Our man checked for eggs or larva and found none. 

Declining monarch numbers have garnered so much attention that efforts across the country to grow milkweed may be increasing their overall population.

Now, what are we going to do to save all the other thousands of species of bugs in jeopardy? There's an up to a 70% decline across the board in many worldwide locations as National Geographic reports in this month's issue.

This is bad. No way to sugar coat it. It's bad.   

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Day 45: fetidly macabre

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OUR TOP STORY TONIGHT!

foul smelling flower

Quarantine Day 45: You are staying at home maintaining your social distancing. That's good. And we are exploring the woods, creeks, soggy bottoms and vacant lots to see where nature is happening.

Pawpaw is also in bloom. Its blossoms have an odd color, one reminiscent of meat past its prime. But in this case, the tree's fetid flowers (also known as carrion flowers) have an odor to match. They smell foul, something like rotting meat. This is because pawpaws and other plants with such smelly blooms employ the malodorous strategy to attract a certain kind of discriminating insect. They are pollinated by blowflies or other scavenging flies and beetles.

It rained heavily this afternoon. The day ended wet and misty. Pawpaws like to grow near murky water along creeks, we thought it might be appropriate to end with something from the Master of the Macabre himself:

“A sombre yet beautiful and peaceful gloom here pervaded all things ... the shade of the trees fell heavily upon the water, and seemed to bury itself therein, impregnating the depths of the element with darkness."*

Ob-la-da, ob-la-da.

* From "The Island of the Fay” by Edgar Allen Poe.

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Day 44: mealworms and oranges

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OUR TOP STORY TONIGHT!

bird of brushy places

Quarantine Day 44: You're staying at home maintaining your social distancing. We are exploring the woods, muddy places, overgrown ditches and vacant lots to see where nature is happening. 

We heard from Dr. Louise Conrad this morning. One of her favorite birds, if not the favorite the catbirds are back in the understory around their yard. For years I worked with Dr. Louise. She was the in-house veterinarian who took care of the education animals at the nature center.

Gray catbirds (Dumetella carolinensis) only spend their nesting season in our valley, migrating to the Gulf Coast and beyond in winter. Their favorite foods are fruits, berries, insects and worms. Dr. Louise feeds her backyard catbirds mealworms and oranges. Yum. Sounds better than the canned carrots our staff had to eat the other night.   

In this case, their genetic name "Dumetella" has an interesting provenance. In Latin it basically means "small bird of the thornbushes," and catbirds are often found hiding in blackberry brambles, virtually hiding in their pantry. 

Gray catbirds are mimic learners that sing a variety of learned phrases like a mockingbird and ever so often toss in a "meoooow" that sounds like a cat. Thus the name. 

Enjoy the remains of your day. Find some quiet people-less, abandoned place to sit down and watch the clouds pass over.

Ob-la-de, ob-la-da.

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Day 43: invasive species

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OUR TOP STORY TONIGHT!

a matter of perspective

Quarantine Day 43: You're staying at home maintaining your social distancing. We are exploring the woods, muddy places and vacant lots to see where nature is happening.

Tonight's story is a matter of perspective. 

Empress tree (Paulownia tometosa) is now blooming here. (Bottom photo) Its purple flowers hang in panicles. In Japan, the wood is prized. By tradition, when a girl is born into the family this tree is planted. The tree grows quickly like the young girl and when she becomes old enough to marry the tree is cut and gifts are carved out of the wood for her dowry. It was imported into our part of the world for landscaping, is fast-growing and escaped. It is now labeled a non-native, invasive species and hated. (But not in Asia.) 

Black locust (Robinia pseudoacacia) is now blooming here. (Top photo) Its white blossoms hang in loose drooping racemes. Here its wood is prized for its durability and rot-resistance. It was valued by our ancestors as being perfect for any wooden structure in contact with the ground included fence posts. It was imported into other parts of the world for landscaping, is fast-growing and escaped. It is now labeled a non-native, invasive species and hated. (But not here.)

Your backyard naturalist signing out. 

Ob-la-de, ob-la-da.

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Day 42: wetter than wet

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OUR TOP STORY TONIGHT!

wetland wetter, lusher

Quarantine Day 42: You're staying at home to be safe. We are exploring the muddy places so you don't have to.

There's an old bit of barber shop wisdom: you can't get wetter than wet. 

Taking advantage of this sloppy, drizzly day, our man-in-the-wetlands went exploring, back to where he went three weeks ago.

He was curious about the frogs most notably the green frog (Rana clamitans) he found on April 9. (Photo at right) This was a mystery to him because the standing water ponds didn't seem to be big enough to support this species. And the one he photographed was in the tire ruts of the utility road that leads into the wetland. Today? He didn't see it but heard his familiar "grunnnk" in a large pool.


Also, would the barred owl make itself known? It did when a group of robins was heard fussing in the treetops. Their mobbing forced our man to look up and there the owl was watching for food. (See photo at top of page.) It was very near to where the green frog was heard. Is there trouble in this lush paradise? Owls have excellent hearing. If you are a male green frog you have to hide your grunnnk.  

Here we pause to hum the "Circle of Life."  

Barred owls (Strix varia) preferred habitat is woods near water because a large portion of their diet is cold-blooded animals like frogs, salamanders, crawdads and even fish.

With more rain to come, the wetland should get wetter than wet. 

NNN signing out. Ob-la-de, ob-la-da.

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Day 41: flow like water

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OUR TOP STORY TONIGHT!

first snake of the year

Quarantine Day 41: You're staying at home to be safe so we are out exploring your world to let you know what's happening. 

This was an easy choice for the staff. Snakes are mesmerizing to watch and the first one encountered every year is a joy to behold. seeing one you know it survived the winter. Their body temperature is the same as the ambient air around them so snakes need a warm spring day to feel mobile. 

Over the years I met so many many people absolutely terrified of snakes. Terrified beyond any sense of reason. True. Their form of locomotion is completely alien to us bipedal hominids. Snakes are sleek and fluid. They flow like a stream of water.

We know the Maroon 5 song boasts I got "Moves like Jagger" but for me, give me moves like a Pantherophis guttatus, i.e. a corn snake. They are generally found in overgrown fields, old farms, rocky places or forest openings where they mind their own business eating small rodents and probably a skink or two. They are listed as common in Tennessee but "rarely encountered," such is their shyness. We rarely do happen upon one.

For years I helped care for an adopted corn snake at Ijams Nature Center and cannot remember how many Earth Day celebrations I attended at UT or other places with her wrapped around my left arm and hand. She was as docile a creature as I have ever known. Gentle. Smooth, she flowed like water.

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Day 40: wood thrush are here

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Finally, this afternoon a singing wood thrush returned to the woods behind my deck. For thirty-two years in a row I have had wood thrush to serenade me with their flutelike song. In late April, I cannot imagine life in a hammock without it, especially this year of isolation. And I wonder, oh I wonder, if the thrush I provided aid and comfort for in September 2017 has come back to its summer home?

Wood thrush spend their winters in Central America and their summers in the eastern U.S. into southern Canada. But the news is not good. They have experienced a 50 percent population decline since 1966.

Yet, birds are site loyal. They return to their own chosen nesting grounds if they are able. Could it be?

Click: Aid and Comfort. 

Ob-la-de, ob-la-da.

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Day 39: don't fear the reaper

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OUR TOP STORY TONIGHT!

bird chow chow!

Quarantine day 39: The staff here at the Nature News Network had to dust off our copy of Blue Öyster Cult to write this one.


Simply put “Don’t Fear the Reaper.” The webworms are out and yes they are reaping the lush green leaves of wild cherry trees and a few others. But chill out, put away your pesticide.

The eastern tent caterpillar (Malacosoma americanum) is the larva stage of a rather nondescript small brown moth. Early last summer, the females laid their varnish-coated egg masses — hundreds of eggs — in the crotches of trees. They were very particular. They only laid their eggs on the trees whose leaves their young would eat. Cherries, apples and crabapples are their most common host plants.

The eggs remain there for over nine months like little time capsules. In early spring the tiny larvae hatch and begin spinning a small silken tent where they live protected during the day. At night the caterpillars venture out in mass to eat leaves; their sole purpose in life.

But here’s the deal and it’s a very big deal. Caterpillars are bird chow. And the carefully woven silk nests are nature’s bird feeders.

Bluebirds and other nesting birds feed their nestlings caterpillars by the dozens. Of the hundreds of tent caterpillars carefully laid en masse by their mamas, probably only 2 or 3 survive to repeat the process. (Notice I said "probably" I have no real data. But I also do not have 100,000 tent caterpillars, offspring of last year's clutches.)

As the song goes, “Come on baby, don’t fear the reaper, Baby take my hand, don’t fear the reaper, We’ll be able to fly, don’t fear the reaper.”

And we’ll close by adding more cowbell.

NNN signing out.

La, la, la, la, la.

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Day 38: shy birds

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OUR TOP STORY TONIGHT!

female towhee on guard

We have to admire these two photographs by nature-spotter and local artist Vickie Henderson because this is one backyard species that is shy. If you see a towhee for long that's one thing but to be able to focus your camera and squeeze off a shot or two is another.

A eastern towhee (Pipilo erythrophthalmus) has to feel completely comfortable with you and your yard before if will ever show itself. Why? This species is very grounded.

Indigo buntings like to be in the tops of the trees, cardinals in the understory but a towhee's niche is the bottom floor, terra firma. They search for food on the ground under the dead leaves and often build their nests on the ground or close to it. Secrecy is a must because that is where the predators are lurking: we're talking cats, raccoons, black rat snakes.

Vickie also witnessed an often unseen behavior, an aggressive female towhee.

"I have a crazy female towhee pecking at the window at her own reflection and the poor male following her around," Vickie emailed.

Once again: Write this down and underline it. "The males are not in charge. The females lead the way." Yes, the males tend to be more aggressive because it is their chief responsibility to guard the territory. But some females take an active role in the security patrol. She has a lot at sake and she does not want another female in her yard even if it is only her own reflection.

And remember: while you are keeping it safe, we are watching your world. This ends Day 38 of our quarantine. 

Ob-la-de, ob-la-da.

Top photo: female towhee. Bottom photo: male towhee.
Photos by Vickie Henderson

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Day 37: crestfallen

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BREAKING NEWS!

baby vulture is crestfallen

crestfallen means you are sad and disappointed.

cliff-fallen means you are sad and disappointed that you find yourself at the bottom of a cliff

From time to time the editorial we is called upon to transport an injured or orphan animal from UT Veterinary Hospital to wildlife rehabilitator Lynne McCoy in Jefferson County. This time it was a lone orphan baby possum. Lynne is already taking care of several. 

The surprise came when we got to her home. She had been brought an orphan baby black vulture that had fallen off a cliff in Newport. Vultures often nest on rocky overhangs. Lynne was feeding it small pinkie mice as it grunted its approval.

(We know. It looks like a little old man in fuzzy muppet suit. Please don't snicker. It has suffered enough.) 

Locally, we have two species: turkey vulture and black vulture. They look quite similar. There is a size difference, the turkey is larger with a wider wingspan and there is a plumage difference. But, perhaps the most interesting difference is how they interpret their world. 

From high above, black vultures see carrion on the ground while turkey vultures actually smell it. As a rule, birds have a very weak sense of smell, yet the turkey vulture has a highly developed one. How it evolved is most curious because we have no clue.

Ob-la-de, ob-la-da.

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Day 36: a rosy day

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OUR TOP STORY TONIGHT!

rosy spent the day

This one came—plop!—placed before us like strawberry pancakes at IHOP. We were in the breakfast nook with morning coffee watching the feeders, planning the day's chores, then there it was. Plop!

OK. Chores can wait until tomorrow. Let's watch this instead. Don't you just love that red messy bib? It does look like he has dribbled strawberry or, better still, cherry syrup down his chest.  

We were expecting this migrant but were still surprised when he flew in. 

Rose-breasted grosbeaks (Pheucticus ludovicianus) are one of the few long-distance migrants that will come to your feeders and eat seeds. Most migrants are primarily insectivores and wait to arrive until the trees are filled with caterpillars. 

Related to cardinals, the rosies have those large sunflower seed crunching beaks. After flying all night through the rain, it must have been hungry because it spent the day on our second floor deck bannister eating from a special dish we prepared. We wanted to be able to watch it at eye level.


We expect it to move on tonight, but he was our special guest today.

Ob-la-de, ob-la-da. Life goes on.

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Day 35: hooded swooner

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OUR TOP STORY TONIGHT!

a hooded passes through

The staff here in the NCN newsroom almost went moth-crazy over this one. We were unloading a few paltry pantry provisions from the staff car when we heard it by the driveway. Could it be? A song you here briefly, maybe only a few times a year. 

It's a sneezy song. Reminds us of "Ah-ah-ah-Ah-chew!" Or some folks prefer the mnemonic, "the red, the red t-shirt!"

Whatever, we grabbed our 'nocs and walked slowly down the driveway and in the understory by the mailbox, there he was low to the ground as they often are.

Hooded warblers (Setophaga citrina) only pass through our woodland here in the foothills briefly on their way farther north or up into the Smokies where they nest in the understory, rhododendron thickets, etc. This is a New World warbler you almost always see eye-to-eye because their happy place is in the shrubs, but the "I see you" is brief. Still, it is breathtaking. Such a jewel to honor us with a peek. The yellow face is so intense,

“O, he doth teach the torches to burn bright!

It seems he hangs upon the cheek of night

Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear;

Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!" 
to steal from the Bard. 

Now, go on and claim your territory and find a mate dear Mr. Hooded.

Concern #1: We have yet to hear a wood thrush in our woodland even though we know they are back in town.

Concern #2: We have yet to hear chimney swifts fly over even though we know they too are back. 

These two species are on the decline because of habitat loss or alteration. We are concerned.  

Stay-at-homers be safe. 

Ob-la-de, ob-la-da. 

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Day 34: rare rail

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OUR TOP STORY TONIGHT!

a rare rail at Rocky Hill

We are now in the thirty-fourth day of our quarantine, i.e. confinement, introspection, isolation. We are staying at home, working from home, eating our home-cooking, keeping our distance, keeping it safe. 

Or like the adventure we reported yesterday of Betty Thompson, we hop in our car and drive a long way to where there are no people and if we are lucky, we might see a species of bird we had never seen before.

Or, a little easier, we go out to mow the lawn and find one timidly lurking in the shadows of the shrubbery instead. 

"Is this a Virginia rail?" read the text from Paul James with the Knoxville History Project. Paul and I have a history of driving great distances to see odd-looking birds. 

"He seems a little out of his natural habitat and came out of the bushes when I went by with my lawnmower," continued Paul.

Say what? Virginia rails (Rallus limicola) live in freshwater and brackish marshes, even some times in saltwater marshes in winter. They are smallish and secretive, usually not turning up hiding in the bushes of suburbia. They are more often heard, not seen unless you pass through their wetland pushing a lawnmower but that rarely happens.

The TWRA website states that in Tennessee,"This rail is a rare permanent resident, and uncommon migrant." But April is the month they tend to pass through on their way to parts more northern and far wetter.

As a naturalist you are taught to never think something is impossible, because nature has a way of proven you are wrong. 'Nuff said!

Signing out: Ob-la-de. ob-la-da.

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Day 33: says hey

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OUR TOP STORY TONIGHT!

Says hey, Betty gets a lifer

Well, you don't always have to stay at home during this crisis. You can hop in your car and go look for birds. Cornell lists 2,059 species in North America. That should keep you busy until the pandemic is over. Just stay a safe distance away from other people. The experience becomes more intimate especially if they play a little cat and mouse with you.  

Betty Thompson, our eye-to-the-sky in Kansas needed a nature fix and drove to the Quivira Wildlife Refuge and found a bird she had never seen before. 

"The pictures are not the best, but it was great fun chasing it from post to post, down a dirt road, in the grassland," emailed Betty. "Such a tease this one, just as I was ready to zoom in, away it would go!"

Very much like our own Eastern phoebe, the Say's phoebe (Sayornis saya) is a flycatcher and nervous tail-bobber that darts out from a perch to hawk a flying insect. Thomas Say was the first trained naturalist to encounter the species in Colorado in 1819. The species honors Say. And it's a species with a penchant for lonely places. 

Betty's photo at the top perfectly illustrates their choice of habitat. Grasslands, badlands, sagebrush, open country, dry barren foothills are the desolate places you will find a Say's. And more than likely you and the bird will be the only two there.

A species that somehow must feel like we all do, isolated.

Ob-la-de, ob-la-da. 

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hidden

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We are always surprised when a post from the past sudden gets a lot of visits. We don't know why or from where, it's just that the visits shoot up. So we decided to repeat it. This one is from 2009 and it's just as true today. 



Camouflage works both ways.

Not only does it allow a mousy gray-brown prey animal hide on the forest floor, but it helps a motionless tree-toned predator blend into the barren canopy.

If you have ever wondered why a barred owl is colored and patterned the way it is, one picture is worth a thousand words. What first appeared to be an oddly shaped tree at Ijams Nature Center, proved to be more. Bright yellow works for a goldfinch, but an owl of the same color simply would not blend in.

The opposite is true for that poor goldfinch. He is right yellow to attract the attention of a female, but that means a Cooper's hawk can see him as well. 

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Day 31: more survival food

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OUR TOP STORY TONIGHT!

Bear corn is edible, barely

Just in case we have to pull up stakes and run for the hills, bear corn is said to be bitter yet edible and is listed as survival food. Well, at least the bears will eat it in spring when wild foods are scarce.

Bear corn (Conopholis americana) is an odd thing. It looks like the cob after the corn has been eaten. It's a plant that is not green. Therefore, it does not make its own nourishment as green plants do, but rather is a perennial parasite that grows and steals food from the roots of oaks and a few other trees.

Native Americans used it as a medicinal herb most commonly as a poultice to reduce inflammation since the odd thing is an astringent.
   

Although our staff said they might try a taste, most agreed that they would rather take off their dirty t-shirts and cook and eat them. Yet, just in case, we know where some are growing and sucking the carbohydrates out of oak roots in the woods east of the newsroom. Instead, the staff opted for a can of cooked carrots they found in the back of our pandemic pantry that was only 3 years out of date. Well, at least it is a root thing too.   

Signing out: Ob-la-de, ob-la-da. 

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Day 30: ee-oh-lay

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OUR TOP STORY TONIGHT!

Wood Thrush are Back!

With a very brisk, cold wind blowing in from the northwest, it feels more like a November chill than an April blush. But what did T.S. Eliot say, "April is the cruelest month breeding lilacs out of the dead land."

Yet. No month could possibly be called cruel with the song of a wood thrush, "ee-oh-lay, ee-oh-lee" echoing flute-like from the hollow. Local artist Vickie Henderson sent this report into our Nature Calling News-Desk. The alluring song of perhaps our finest singer is back in the woods around her home. After their long flight from Central America, they are here to serenade.

"Singing so beautifully. I feel so privileged," Vickie emailed.  

The song of a wood thrush (Hylocichla mustelina) is hollow with a bit of reverb because the singer has the equivalent of two sets vocal cords that allow him to sing two overlapping song phrases, essentially singing a duet.

Hearing one harmonize with himself is a highlight of a month anything but cruel.

Ob-la-de, ob-la-da. Yes. Life indeed goes on.

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Day 29: doves survive

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OUR TOP STORY TONIGHT!

Stay-at-homers, stay safe. Maintain your distance.  

Our nature news staff is here to watch your world. Well, we mean the trees, birds, flowers, frogs, crawdads, millipedes, etc. but not your house. That is your job.  

We just met and decided the top story tonight is that

The Doves Survived!

And so can you!

As if we all were not anxious enough from the pandemic, yesterday we were greeted with the Flashing Weather Alert: thunderstorms, heavy downpours, hail, lightning, flash floods, strong winds even tornadoes, Old Testament raft. What no rivers of blood or locusts? Jeez! And we waited pensively all day for it and around midnight it did not disappoint. Our world was rocked for several hours and our news staff crawled under their comforters. So that is why they are called that!

This morning our staff checked on some of the bird nestings we have been monitoring. As a rule, the birds that live in the Tennessee Valley year round: blue jays, chickadees, titmice, bluebirds, robins, Carolina wrens, towhees nest first. They are here so why not get an early start. It’s the spring migrants that nest later after their long flights back from Central and South America.

We were not overly worried about the secondary cavity nesters. They were tucked away in hollow trees and nestboxes. It’s the open cup nesters like cardinals, mockingbirds and robins we were concerned about and especially a mourning dove nest in a second floor flowerbox at the home of Charlie Morgan. They were exposed and mourning doves are minimalist nest builders. They only pull together a few sticks.

A text from Charlie this morning eased our worries. They had survived. But wasn’t it a dove that returned to Old Testament Noah letting him know that the storms were over and the water receding?

Mourning doves (Zenaida macroura) are actually pretty hardy, they may look like fluff-balls but a pair of them can have up to six broods a year from February to November. For them. Life truly does go on and on and on and on.

Ob-la-de, ob-la-da.

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