"Reader, if you wrest my words beyond their fair construction, it is you, and not I, that are the April Fool."
― Charles Lamb
Happy April! For the last day of March temperatures hit the low 60s, which meant it would be a little warmer at Spring Green Prairie. Tiger Beetles per chance? It seemed like a good idea, but there was only going to be about an hour of sunlight in the early afternoon, followed by severe thunderstorms. You may have seen all the tornado reports in today's news.
It's still a very monochromatic time of year, but the astute observer can find Nature's palette in the aves, insects, and wildflowers. The bird of the day was Eastern Meadowlark Sturnella magna ― they where perched on just about every stalk and tree throughout the prairie singing 'spring of the year' songs. That isn't at all what they sound like to me, though. There's undoubtedly regional dialects at play, but I hear a descending and slurred 'tee-deedle, de-tee-deedle'. This is a species in decline and has plummeted a whopping 75% over the past four or five decades. Its present population is in the millions, but estimates vary.
You know how the prairie burn craze renders a near cult mindset? "Oh, we've got to burn the prairie every year. You've got to just do it ― it's greatest tool in our arsenal to eradicate invasive plant species." You know you've heard it. Did you know that studies show prairies that are burned annually are less attractive to Eastern Meadowlarks? Nest success is also lower in burned versus undisturbed tall-grass prairie. And I can only imagine what rigorous annual burns must be doing to insect populations. Rotate and patch-burn those prairies, my little pyromaniacs.
Once the sun came out I was hoping for an Oblique-lined Tiger Beetle to emerge on the sandy blowout, but none were observed. However, I did find my first cicadellid of the year: a type of sharpshooter plant hopper called Cuerna fenestella. Perhaps so named for their feeding methods and the colorations of their faces, but I'm only guessing. There are 26 species in the genus Cuerna and you can see some of the others at this BugGuide link.
You may recall I first bumped into these hoppers last April ― they are easily overlooked, as there's little doubt in the two decades I've been visiting Spring Green Prairie I must have done so on many occasions. They're highly susceptible to disturbances and make repeated short escape flights into dense grass, thus presenting a very challenging macro photography subject. Having cohabitated with a variety of tiger beetles, their skittishness and speed works to their survival. Ants are likely easier prey for the beetles.
After being pretty through at Spring Green Prairie, Baxter's Hollow seemed like another good place to see how spring is shaping up. I was thinking there might be an early Louisiana Waterthrush, but about the only birds present were a few Golden-crowned Kinglets. With the dim lighting, I decided to spend some time taking timed exposure photographs of Otter Creek. It's a nifty effect and technique to see the motion of water in a slightly altered state.
Rather than a snapshot, it renders more of a process in a single frame. Time-lapsed video sequences of Nature's processes are also fascinating, but I've never attempted it. Wouldn't it be interesting to do something similar over the course of an entire organism's lifetime. Or, take yourself for as an example ― what would a single image of you look like from birth to death if it could be put into a single frame? That might be something akin to a godlike view of a human being; something that doesn't see us for only our faults, or only our successes, or at no particular age ― but the totality of our existence in a single-glance perception.
Since an omniscient entity would always have this view of you, how could you ever change it? Free will is all fine and well, but I've never heard an adequate explanation as to if such a being knows exactly how things will go for the entirety of existence down to the smallest quantum fluctuation, how could it be anything other than an exercise in futility to alter our own course or destiny. We're basically being laughed at as we're tossed into the Lake of Fire for what must seem like trivial offenses in the grand scheme of human behavior for all time ― what a waste of souls just because of what part of the planet you were born on. How utterly absurd.
The endless river contained in the present moment.
Another ...
And a final one.
Skunk Cabbage really does stink ― I accidentally stepped on one and almost immediately regretted it. Though I felt bad for destroying the plant, I'm glad I finally got to experience this aspect of its namesake; negative to me, but not to the plant. There were no other spring ephemerals I could find, but I suspect by next weekend the forest floor will be covered with hepatica, bloodroot, spring beauty, and more. I shall return.
All images © 2023 Mike McDowell