"Sometimes I feel like if you just watch things, just sit still and let the world exist in front of you―sometimes I swear that just for a second time freezes and the world pauses in its tilt. Just for a second. And if you somehow found a way to live in that second, then you would live forever."
― Lauren Oliver
Early Saturday morning was a foggy scene ― it took around an hour for it to burn off. What can one say about fog? I like the way it makes the prairie seem more ethereal and dreamlike. Patches drifted over the prairie as if retreating westward away from the sun. There was a fog bow, too, which you can see a little corner of in the photograph below on the lower left. For three individuals at Spring Grove yesterday, it was the last fog they'd ever experience. Judging from the circumstances of the accident, I doubt fog-watching was ever on their list of life's priorities ― what a beautiful sky they didn't get to see. Many of you from Wisconsin likely heard about the three teenagers that were killed in a rear-ending collision on Mineral Point Road a week ago. The simplest of errands may end in tragedy, even when close to home.
For me, thinking about deep time prompts uncanny thoughts about our human existence: Do you recall the 14 billion years since the scientifically described beginning of time? Of course not. We were non-existent (dead) all that time and yet all of this stuff in Nature was going on, just as it will after we die ... for billions of years. At best, Homo Sapiens has been around for 250,000 to 300,000 years (hominids before our species were likely of similar potential intelligence and sentience). But even when we stretch all the way back to the most recent common ancestor of all Hominidae, we're still looking at a mere 14 million years, which is barely a spec on the grand cosmological timescale.
And yet here you are spending time reading my blog.
And yet here you are spending time reading my blog.
As Richard Dawkins wrote: "We are going to die, and that makes us the lucky ones." That's to say given DNA, there are potential trillions of people who will never be born to have that finite window of time opened for them. For an extremely brief snapshot in time, the lucky ones get to play in an infinitesimally tiny corner of the Universe and have opportunities to explore and consider the mysteries in its myriad flora and fauna.
The naturalist seeks to understand and admire the natural realm during our brief visit with reality, but for too many this connection to Nature is never made. I don't mean to sound boastful or arrogant about this point, but I see it almost daily in one form or another. I'm sure you see it, too.
Consider what Sam Harris said in his 'It is Always Now' lecture:
"Now most of us do our best to not think about death. But there's always part of our minds that knows this can't go on forever. Part of us always knows that we're just a doctor's visit away or a phone call away from being starkly reminded with the fact of our own mortality or of those closest to us. Now I'm sure many of you in this room have experienced this in some form. You must know how uncanny it is to suddenly be thrown out of the normal course of your life and just be given the full-time job of not dying or caring for someone who is. But the one thing people tend to realize at moments like this is that they wasted a lot of time when life was normal. It's not just what they did with their time. It's not just that they spent too much time working or compulsively checking e-mail. It's that they cared about the wrong things. They regret what they cared about. Their attention was bound up in petty concerns ― year after year when life was normal. And this is a paradox, of course, because we all know this epiphany is coming. Don't you know this is coming?"
On this morning, and hundreds preceding it, my time and attention were focused finding and photographing boreal sparrows ― is this trite? In the sentiments of Mary Oliver, was there something else I was supposed to do with my time? I shouldn't think so. The dissipating fog rendered the air thick and opaque making the first round of images less contrasty. I bumped up the levels in Adobe Photoshop, but you can tell the first two aren't quite as brilliant as the images that follow. Still, they're pretty cool avian portraits. I have to say my luck with Lincoln's Sparrows this fall as been exceptional!
Fog-free images ...
Look a the bib-stripe differences between these two.
And a nice side-by-side comparison with a Song Sparrow:
The closely related but more diminutively plumaged Swamp Sparrow:
And a couple Zonos:
White-throated Sparrow
White-crowned Sparrow
There were many Palm Warblers with a few Yellow-rumps and Common Yellowthroats. So, we're down to just three warbler species. Oh, I'm sure more Orange-crowned Warblers are still on the way.
During the fall season one can observe Oil Beetles Meloe americanus trekking across paths in search of vegetation to eat. They have an interesting ecology, which I encourage you to read about. They're so-named because they'll release a golden oily liquid from their joints when disturbed. Meant to ward off predators, this thick oily fluid contains cantharidin, which is a poisonous chemical that can cause painful blistering of the skin, which is why they're also known as Blister Beetles. So, do not touch or handle!
Chewing, and and more chewing ...
And feigning death ― yeah, they do that, too. To prompt this behavior, I merely cupped my hand over the beetle for a few seconds. Looks totally dead, doesn't it? After a few minutes, the insect slowly stirred as if awakening from a deep slumber, and then continued scurrying across the gravel trail in search of its quarry. Alas, there were a few truly deceased Oil Beetles here and there, but it's unknown whether they were intentionally squished or casualties from the unobservant.
While photographing the comparatively slow Oil Beetles (undeniably not nearly as much fun as tiger beetles), I spotted a Dekay's Brownsnake Storeria dekayi slithering across the path. When I made a subtle movement to photograph it, the snake paused providing me an opportunity for a portrait taking in environmental cues to its vomeronasal organ via its tongue. Since the trail has many bicyclists on it these days, I guarded the snake as it made its way to the other side. Hopefully all the critters I met today will live full lives, experiencing their own little windows to the Cosmos ― the only ones they will ever have.
Pheasant Branch Prairie
Oct 9, 2021 8:00 AM - 11:00 AM
45 species
Canada Goose
Mallard
Ring-necked Pheasant
Mourning Dove
Sandhill Crane
Killdeer
Great Blue Heron
Cooper's Hawk
Red-tailed Hawk
Red-bellied Woodpecker
Downy Woodpecker
Hairy Woodpecker
Blue Jay
American Crow
Black-capped Chickadee
Horned Lark
Golden-crowned Kinglet
Red-breasted Nuthatch
White-breasted Nuthatch
House Wren
Winter Wren
Sedge Wren
European Starling
Gray Catbird
American Robin
Cedar Waxwing
House Sparrow
American Pipit
House Finch
American Goldfinch
Clay-colored Sparrow
Dark-eyed Junco
White-crowned Sparrow
White-throated Sparrow
Savannah Sparrow
Song Sparrow
Lincoln's Sparrow
Swamp Sparrow
Eastern Towhee
Red-winged Blackbird
Common Grackle
Common Yellowthroat
Palm Warbler
Yellow-rumped Warbler
Northern Cardinal
All images © 2021 Mike McDowell