October Ends

"Every part of nature teaches that the passing away of one life is the making room for another. The oak dies down to the ground, leaving within its rind a rich virgin mold, which will impart a vigorous life to an infant forest."

— Henry David Thoreau

Devil's Lake State Park felt like the perfect spot to cap off October. While fall color maps show our part of Wisconsin is at peak or already fading, it was still a great outing. I've definitely seen Devil's Lake put on more stunning fall displays in past years, but this one certainly didn't disappoint.

Well, what's this adorable little critter?

It's an American Red Squirrel (Tamiasciurus hudsonicus), though I've always favored the name Pine Squirrel. Older folksy nicknames like "boomer" or "chickaree" fit them well—both inspired by their loud, machine-gun chatter. While ubiquitous throughout the timber and bluffs of Devil's Lake, these small arboreal rodents are far more often heard than seen by passing visitors. 

"Relax, pal ... I'm not going to steal your food."

Finally ...

The squirrel made repeated sorties to the leaf litter, snatching up meals before darting back to the relative safety of the lower tree limbs.

Why not make a stop at the Sauk Canoe Launch on such a beautiful afternoon?

A few Swamp Sparrows were present in habitat along the shoreline, first heard and then seen. Several Ring-billed Gulls stood poised for flight on a sandbar. From across the river came the familiar rattling call of a Belted Kingfisher. A few Eastern Bluebirds passed overhead, heading south. Not a single Yellow-rumped Warbler was found. I do cherish my hearing. It's still my most valuable bird-detection tool, and I'm grateful I didn't destroy it with all that loud music in my younger days.

Surprise! There were at least three Bronzed Tiger Beetles.

I wanted to photograph their elytra to compare against the individual I documented here a few weeks back, but every beetle I found was a different one. Given temperatures pushing into the 70s, it wasn't much of a surprise to find active tiger beetles still out and about along the shoreline. There are enough subtle differences in maculations that it's pretty easy to tell them apart in close-up photos.

You can see that this individual's front maculation is less curved on the rear tip, and it's middle maculation is more flattened compared with the one found two weeks ago. You can see other differences if you look closely. In any case, I have encountered the same individual a week apart, which I've observed with Ghost Tiger Beetles at Sauk Rec. Naturally, when the habitat is crawling with them, it's much harder to repeat, which is the case with Hairy-necked at Arena.

So, my prediction was wrong. Looking at the 10-day forecast for November, there might still be a chance to find them next week. If I do, it will be only the third time I've documented tiger beetles past October.

This time, there were some remarkably large Shoreline Wolf Spiders! They weren't quite as massive as the palm-sized ones I've encountered in the past, but they were still impressively formidable.

 Now you see it ... now you don't ...

Lighting is everything with these super-camouflaged critters.

And so that's it for October. The changing seasons bring different subjects, different challenges, and sometimes a different kind of reward. Before long, the tiger beetles will be gone, the leaves fallen, and most migratory birds will have moved on. But there's no shortage of reasons to get outside. Winter has its own natural history, after all, and I'm not one to spend it looking out the window.

All images © 2026 Mike McDowell

The Last One? I think so.

"Sometimes the sunset is so beautiful, I think it might be the very last one."

― Nitya Prakash 

Sue and I headed back to Sauk on Sunday to see if we could turn up any lingering tiger beetles. The forecast called for only a few hours of clear skies that morning, but the sunshine held throughout the day. Our first planned stop was the canoe launch, where we came up empty. At Sauk Prairie State Recreation Area, however, we managed to find a single Oblique-lined Tiger Beetle. Well, Sue found it first—she has a knack for spotting them when numbers are low. 

As a spring-fall species, this adult emerged earlier this summer, showing only minor damage on one of its elytra. While they typically go inactive for the winter by late September, warm weather can keep a few active into October. You may recall I've spotted Bronzed Tiger Beetles in early November, but this individual might be my final tiger beetle of the 2026 season—though Oblique-lined holds my personal record for the earliest emergence. 

While this individual seemed unable to fly, it could still run super fast, making it a challenging subject to photograph. Naturally, they're exceedingly more difficult to deal with when they can fly.

A four-month hiatus from tiger beetling is a long wait, but the quiet of winter shifts my attention to other aspects of the natural world. It also gives me a chance to catch up on all the reading I've put off since spring. If the warm weather holds, there may yet be a November sighting, but we'll see. Something tells me, though, this one was the last of the season.

Before going to Sauk Rec, we checked the canoe launch on the Wisconsin River where we did not find a single tiger beetle—recall that there was a Bronzed here the previous week. Well, it's a lot of territory to cover for just one insect. We could have easily missed it.

There were a few Shoreline Wolf Spiders (Arctosa littoralis) on the beach ...

This one was on the larger side with an unusual coloration—more mottled orange than tan. While this species can match substrate tones during development, the vivid pattern and larger frame might also reflect a recent molt or age. 

A final look at the river habitat framing the lingering fall foliage. We still love visiting in winter, when the shifting ice creates remarkable photographic subjects.

We spent the remainder of the day looking at fall colors, checking the area at the south end of Burma Road near Devil's Lake State Park, which is accessible from Sauk Rec.

On our way back to Middleton we stopped at Indian Lake Park for a late afternoon hike.

The colors were definitely at peak!

Partway down the main trail, we discovered that a new section of the Ice Age Trail opened on Friday, so we decided to check it out. After hiking it, Sue and I agreed it'll be our new favorite trail at ILP, offering a fresh perspective on the landscape and the kettle lake.

Naturally ...

During my final visit with my mom, I told her something I've said to her before: Thank you for giving me life. I said the same thing when she gave me my grandfather's telescope. But the words that followed carried the true weight of a life lived on my own terms—I haven't wasted it.  

 

I think to say this to one's parent isn't just an expression of gratitude—it means looking back over decades of curiosity, patient observation, and quiet discipline, knowing that time wasn't spent idly or lost to distraction, but anchored by being in the present moment. Living life filled with purpose—whether spent studying patterns of the natural world, sharing knowledge with others, or simply standing still in wild places—is perhaps the highest form of thanks anyone can offer for the gift of existence. 

All images © 2026 Mike McDowell

Joanne Louise Kellerman

"Death ends a life, not a relationship."

― Mitch Albom

Joanne Louise Kellerman was born in Pittsville, Wisconsin, on January 31st, 1942. True to her roots—which I traced back through 18th-century Döllnitz, Germany, and then 16th-century Holland—she was a quintessential farm girl. The youngest of five children, she was preceded in death by three of her siblings and is survived by her brother, Martin, of Nekoosa, Wisconsin.

Left to right: Martha, Joanne, Mary, Edwin (my grandfather), William, and Martin.

 

Here's the house, part of a farmstead a few miles east of Pittsville ... 

My mom's older family members, the Kellermans, threshing grain ...

Taken back in 1955, this next photo shows my mom, their family dog, and my Uncle Bill. He took over running the farm following Edwin's passing ...

One of the scariest stories my mom ever told me was how a tornado took out most of the farm—their house endured, but shifted on its foundation. The way she would tell the story, it reminded me of the tornado scene from The Wizard of Oz. 

 

They were all working in the fields when heavy, dark clouds loomed in the southwestern sky. Edwin called for everyone to start heading back to the house. As the storm drew nearer, it was clear it was going to be a bad one.

As the winds intensified, Edwin stayed behind to secure the barn and milk house. From the porch, the family shouted for him to hurry. My mom recalled watching my grandfather fight his way toward the house—clutching his hat and straining against the roaring wind.

Terrified, my mom fled the porch for the safety of the kitchen cellar door. Just as a large pine branch shattered a window, sending glass and debris flying into the room, she reached for the doorknob and heard one of her brothers yell, "The barn is down!"

 

Everyone survived, but their cattle did not. 

 

Though they rebuilt the farm, tragedy struck the barn once more when a lightning strike burned it to the ground.

 

When William passed away in 2006, the farm was sold, torn down, and converted into cropland—a loss that broke my mom's heart. I spent a good part of my childhood there during summers. In fact, it was the very place my brother and I discovered our first tiger beetles. For us, the Kellerman farm was always a place of adventure and discovery.

 

 My mom, perhaps contemplating her move to Madison ... 

Where she eventually met my father and got married ...

She truly was a gorgeous bride!

 

My mom's life, like anyone's, took a few unexpected turns. Before she married my father, she had my older brother, Anthony, whose biological father moved out west to escape responsibility. Families aren't always as straightforward as they might appear in old photographs, and those early chapters of her life helped shape the family I grew up with. Without her letting me use my grandfather's pocket telescope when I was a kid, perhaps I wouldn't have gotten into astronomy and then birding. Had Anthony not left me money when he died in 1997, I might never have bought the nice astronomical telescope that helped me land my job at Eagle Optics.

  

Here they both are on a happier day ... 

There was nothing my mom loved more than her children. She never recovered from Anthony's death—a loss that struck me like a cold slap in the face as well. 

 

I'm tempted to write about how poorly my two sisters handled my mom's decline, but perhaps I'll save that for another time. This blog isn't about them—and you'll note that it never has been. They deserve no space here. Having said that, there's no denying how profoundly Joanne and Anthony influenced my life, helping shape both my vocation and my avocation. It's been a strange path, but one that ultimately led to a deep appreciation of the natural realm. 

 

All images © 2026 Mike McDowell