A red flash in the dark canopy of the forest caught Teri's attention, causing her to freeze in place. Slowly, she raised her binoculars to eye level and focused on the spot of color. Just as she suspected, a red-bellied woodpecker.
Her pulse pounded a marching cadence in her ears as Teri lowered the binoculars and painstakingly crept forward, petrified that any careless movement would spook the shy tree dweller. This was not a "life" bird for her; she had seen red-bellied woodpeckers before, but had never been fortunate enough to find a nest cavity to observe. She wiped the sweat from her brow. Maybe this would be her lucky day.
Spotting a mossy stump, Teri cautiously sank down, her focal point still on the bird. Carefully manipulating the straps, she slipped off her backpack and let it slide silently to the ground. Reaching inside, she fingered her ever-present birding journal, and carefully pulled it out, along with a pen and her camera. If the birding gods were truly smiling down on her she'd get a picture of the occupants of the nest.
Teri thought about the Red-bellied as she quietly wrote in her journal and watched him search for insects along a thick dead branch. It was a male. Handsome red feathers covered his head from the base of his sharp, chisel-like bill, to the nape of his neck.
The name Red-bellied is something of a misnomer for this sturdy bird, as his belly isn't really red. It has a faint pink wash that is viewed only in optimal conditions. Most people have never seen the bird's pink stomach feathers, so they often confuse him with a Red Headed Woodpecker because the Red-bellied's bright red head is so prominent.
Teri grimaced and shifted position as the hard working bird hopped to the next tree to continue his foraging. "Gettin' old", she thought, "stiffer than a board".
Stretching, Teri scanned the surrounding area for a dead tree with a fresh pile of wood chips littering the base, a sure sign of woodpecker activity. Red-bellies excavate cavities in dead trees 10 to 12 inches deep and 5 1/2 inches across to use as nests. She knew that they carved out these holes anywhere from 5 to 40 feet above the ground.
Teri smiled ruefully. With her luck, if she finds the nest, it'll be closer to forty feet high. That would shoot her chances of a picture all to hell; her tree climbing days were way behind her.
Suddenly, Teri spotted a heap of shavings at the bottom of an ancient deceased oak. Scrutinizing the trunk, she discovered a hole about seven feet high, and detected a gray head peering out. Her excitement mounted. Seven-foot wasn't too high, and there was a huge fallen tree laying next to the oak that she could stand on to look in the cavity.
A victorious grin spread across Teri's dirt stained face. Finally, the break she'd been hoping for.
Teri crawled forward and hunkered down behind an old cottonwood to observe the activity at the woodpecker nest. It was rare to find an unguarded Red-belly nest, as both parents incubate the eggs and tend the young. She didn't want to disturb the adults, so her only chance to see the inner sanctum of the woodpecker's home was to wait for both birds to be absent. This might never happen, but it was important enough to her that she was willing to sacrifice some time; so she got comfortable and kept her eyes riveted on the tree.
As Teri waited, her mind wandered, meandering over bird habitats and the beautiful, but endangered, woodland that she was enjoying on this Memorial Day weekend. It was an easy decision for her to take advantage of the holiday and do some birding in this region while she still could. Teri wrinkled up her forehead as she gazed at the beauty surrounding her. Unfortunately, the threat of development loomed over this magical place.
Perspiration tickled between Teri's breasts. She scratched aimlessly and continued to contemplate.
Homeowners had such an anal penchant for removing all the dead trees and branches from their property, and new subdivisions and recreational areas destroyed innumerable wooded areas. Thus, the natural environment for many species was rapidly declining. Even this once common Red-bellied is endangered in some areas due to loss of habitat.
"Woodpeckers have been on earth for 25 million years," Teri thought morosely, "And their survival in many places is being jeopardized by human self-centeredness." She thought about the awesome Ivory Billed Woodpecker already extinct in the south due entirely to the over cutting of the trees they desperately needed for food. It was just too depressing.
Teri shifted and stared up through the lacey screen of silhouetted leaves at a raptor floating effortlessly above in the unbelievably cobalt sky. A Blue Jay scolded her from a nearby tree limb. She sighed. It was so peaceful in this forest cathedral. She felt more serenity in here than in any church building. In this place, she felt closer to God.
All of a sudden, Teri stiffened as the male woodpecker returned to the nest-hole with a blurred flash of wings. He landed near the cavity and made soft "chirring" noises as he clung to the trunk, his stiff little tail helping him keep his balance. The female popped out to join him, stretching her wings and preening.
"This may be my chance," Teri whispered to herself as she hung the camera around her neck and tensed for action. "If they leave, I'm ready."
Abruptly, both Red-bellies launched themselves off the tree and with their distinctive undulating flight shot into the forest, wings reflecting the patchy sunlight.
Teri raced to the enormous petrified log, grasped the crumbling bark in her hands, and pulled herself up its soft green side. Squatting at the top, she carefully stood up and balancing on her tiptoes peered into the woodpeckers dark nest cavity. Eight shiny little eyes stared back at her.
Teri raised the camera to the opening in the tree and shot several photos. Taking one last look at the precious chicks, she slid off her perch and scurried back to her hiding place behind the cottonwood.
Panting, Teri looked around and saw no sign of the adult woodpeckers, so was reasonably certain she hadn't disturbed them. She leaned back against the rough bark of the aged tree and closed her eyes, tears leaving trails in the grime on her face. What an extraordinary experience!
After catching her breath, Teri brushed the debris off her clothes and put her gear back in the backpack. Slinging the pack over her shoulder, she reluctantly started hiking out of the forest. This area was one of her favorite birding spots, never failing to provide wonderful memories and an occasional "life" bird. She was really going to miss it.
At the edge of the woods, Teri stopped and rested against a regal oak, gazing out over the sun-washed, overgrown field that butted up against the forest. She wanted to soak up just a little more of nature's healing balm before heading back to the responsibilities and craziness of life.
A Kestrel Falcon hovered above some hapless prey in the tall grass, wings vibrating.
The loud caws of crows cut through the sleepy silence of a warm afternoon.
Killdeers, with nests hidden along the edge of the meadow, sped through the blue sky, white feathers shimmering as their distinctive calls mixed with the melodious song of the meadowlarks. This was heaven.
This precious haven had been part of a huge family farm, passed down through generations, natural and wild due to a decade of benign neglect. By this time next year, rows of cloned houses, and tiny, identical yards, mailboxes and yard lights would tame the land. To Teri, that was hell.
The rumor on the grapevine was that a country club, with a golf course, would accompany the sub-division. The whole concept reminded Teri of a motel toilet: nature "sanitized for your protection". Every time she thought of it, she wanted to cry.
The developers planned to name their new project "Wolf Stream". "How ironic," Teri thought. "Chase off all the critters, then name something after them. Nothing ever changes." It reminded her of an old joke she once heard about cutting down all the trees and naming streets after them. Not very funny.
With a great deal of effort, Teri tore herself away from the pastoral scene and trudged towards her car. Pushing through the grassy pasture, the vigorous plants clung to her legs as if trying to keep her with them just a moment longer.
"Memorial weekend is the perfect time to come out here and pay my respects", Teri mused. "I should pay my respects next year on Memorial Day too, after the houses are built." The suburbs always reminded her of cemeteries: graveyards for the wilderness. The yards are the graves and the houses the monuments.
Teri reached her car and glanced back at the forest one last time. A pair of Turkey Vultures circled high over the adjoining field, drifting lazily on the afternoon thermals. The poignancy of the scene was almost too much to bear.
As Teri drove away, tears blurring her vision, she couldn't help thinking that vultures were very appropriate.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
RACHEL CARSON
Yesterday, the birthday of one of America’s pioneering environmental activists, and greatest nature writers, slipped by most of us with little or no fanfare. She was the “canary in the coalmine”, sounding the alarm about the damage chemical pesticides were doing, not only to the environment, but to ourselves.
Rachel Carson, author of “Silent Spring”, was born May 27th, 1907, in the Allegheny Valley town of Springdale, Pa. She graduated Magna Cum Laude in 1929 with a degree in zoology from Pennsylvania College for Women. She would later win her masters degree in zoology from John Hopkins. She worked for the government at the Bureau of Fisheries, and later would become the chief editor of publications for the Fish and Wildlife Service, all the while writing articles and stories for various publications.
Success allowed Ms. Carson to retire from government service in 1952 to pursue her writing full time.
In 1958, she received a letter from Olga Huckins of Duxbury, Massachusetts, expressing concern over the spraying of pesticides over a private bird sanctuary in Cape Cod. Alarmed, she decided to investigate. As she battled breast cancer, it took her four years to research and write “Silent Spring”, which explained in eloquent writing how life forms are inter-related, and how poisons used to kill insects seep through the food chain to contaminate higher animals, including us.
Of course, industry, the agriculture department, and the more cautious in the media, all staid defenders of the status quo, rallied to viciously attack the dying Rachel Carson. Time magazine called the book, “an emotional outburst” and called her an “hysterical woman”; particularly ironic since now they’ve named her one of the Worlds 100 Most Influential People of the 20th Century.
Worried that she was an alarmist, Reader’s Digest canceled a contract to condense “Silent Spring”, and Chemical World News called it “science fiction”. One member of the Federal Pest Control Board derided Ms. Carson by saying,”I thought she was a spinster. What’s she so worried about genetics for?”
Despite the predicable reaction of corporate America, who always worries about environmental visionaries and their effect on profits, “Silent Spring” became a runaway best seller, with international reverberations. Rachel Carson testified before Congress in 1963, calling for new policies to protect human health and the environment.
When she succumbed to cancer in 1964, scientists were just discovering how DDT damaged the eggshells of nesting birds, and finding the toxin in human milk. Jimmy Carter posthumously awarded her the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1980.
There is still a lot of work to do, but brave people like Rachel Carson, and others, have helped us to avoid, (so far) the potential spring that she so powerfully described.
“It was a spring without voices. On the mornings that had once throbbed with the dawn chorus of scores of bird voices there was now no sound; only silence lay over the fields and woods and marsh."
Yesterday, the birthday of one of America’s pioneering environmental activists, and greatest nature writers, slipped by most of us with little or no fanfare. She was the “canary in the coalmine”, sounding the alarm about the damage chemical pesticides were doing, not only to the environment, but to ourselves.
Rachel Carson, author of “Silent Spring”, was born May 27th, 1907, in the Allegheny Valley town of Springdale, Pa. She graduated Magna Cum Laude in 1929 with a degree in zoology from Pennsylvania College for Women. She would later win her masters degree in zoology from John Hopkins. She worked for the government at the Bureau of Fisheries, and later would become the chief editor of publications for the Fish and Wildlife Service, all the while writing articles and stories for various publications.
Success allowed Ms. Carson to retire from government service in 1952 to pursue her writing full time.
In 1958, she received a letter from Olga Huckins of Duxbury, Massachusetts, expressing concern over the spraying of pesticides over a private bird sanctuary in Cape Cod. Alarmed, she decided to investigate. As she battled breast cancer, it took her four years to research and write “Silent Spring”, which explained in eloquent writing how life forms are inter-related, and how poisons used to kill insects seep through the food chain to contaminate higher animals, including us.
Of course, industry, the agriculture department, and the more cautious in the media, all staid defenders of the status quo, rallied to viciously attack the dying Rachel Carson. Time magazine called the book, “an emotional outburst” and called her an “hysterical woman”; particularly ironic since now they’ve named her one of the Worlds 100 Most Influential People of the 20th Century.
Worried that she was an alarmist, Reader’s Digest canceled a contract to condense “Silent Spring”, and Chemical World News called it “science fiction”. One member of the Federal Pest Control Board derided Ms. Carson by saying,”I thought she was a spinster. What’s she so worried about genetics for?”
Despite the predicable reaction of corporate America, who always worries about environmental visionaries and their effect on profits, “Silent Spring” became a runaway best seller, with international reverberations. Rachel Carson testified before Congress in 1963, calling for new policies to protect human health and the environment.
When she succumbed to cancer in 1964, scientists were just discovering how DDT damaged the eggshells of nesting birds, and finding the toxin in human milk. Jimmy Carter posthumously awarded her the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1980.
There is still a lot of work to do, but brave people like Rachel Carson, and others, have helped us to avoid, (so far) the potential spring that she so powerfully described.
“It was a spring without voices. On the mornings that had once throbbed with the dawn chorus of scores of bird voices there was now no sound; only silence lay over the fields and woods and marsh."
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Rock Island Trail, Woo Hoo!
I know the process, especially the ending, was messy and unsatisfying to some, but I’m excited and ready for the Rock Island Trail expansion. I’ve biked to the current end, stared down the debris strewn Kellar Branch, and wondered, "When?" It seemed such a waste.
The six-mile long, Kellar Branch, will hook up the Rock Island Trail with Peoria’s Riverfront, and eventually East Peoria, and Morton, making part of a network that stretches more than fifty miles.
So, trail users could conceivably get on the trail anywhere from Morton to Toulon, and walk, bike or cross-country ski to any place in between. It will link nine Central Illinois communities. How cool.
I admit I have a bias on this issue. I had a “Build the Trail Now” sign in my yard and owned a bumper sticker. I bike, hike, and bird the trail and love it. The habitat along the route is beautiful and diverse, a real balm for the soul.
For too long commercial desires took precedent over the quality of life issues of the populace.
It’s not just tree hugging, ex-hippies that use the trail, I’ve shared it with seniors in visors walking as groups, bicycling moms getting some exercise, and working persons on their lunch hours in their business casual and tennis shoes. Whole families use the trail together, with kids on little bikes or in trailers behind their parents. People walk their dogs, jog, and hunt for flowers and birds. Folks walk intently, pedometers clicking while trying to lose a couple pounds. There are casual bikers and serious cyclists in training, heads down and resolute.
It’s been a long time coming. Now is the time to rinse the bad taste of the ignoble ending out of our collective mouths and move forward. Make whatever few deals are left, and dive into the “sweat on the brow” hands on part of the project. All I have to say is, let’s get going and "Build the Trail Now"!
I know the process, especially the ending, was messy and unsatisfying to some, but I’m excited and ready for the Rock Island Trail expansion. I’ve biked to the current end, stared down the debris strewn Kellar Branch, and wondered, "When?" It seemed such a waste.
The six-mile long, Kellar Branch, will hook up the Rock Island Trail with Peoria’s Riverfront, and eventually East Peoria, and Morton, making part of a network that stretches more than fifty miles.
So, trail users could conceivably get on the trail anywhere from Morton to Toulon, and walk, bike or cross-country ski to any place in between. It will link nine Central Illinois communities. How cool.
I admit I have a bias on this issue. I had a “Build the Trail Now” sign in my yard and owned a bumper sticker. I bike, hike, and bird the trail and love it. The habitat along the route is beautiful and diverse, a real balm for the soul.
For too long commercial desires took precedent over the quality of life issues of the populace.
It’s not just tree hugging, ex-hippies that use the trail, I’ve shared it with seniors in visors walking as groups, bicycling moms getting some exercise, and working persons on their lunch hours in their business casual and tennis shoes. Whole families use the trail together, with kids on little bikes or in trailers behind their parents. People walk their dogs, jog, and hunt for flowers and birds. Folks walk intently, pedometers clicking while trying to lose a couple pounds. There are casual bikers and serious cyclists in training, heads down and resolute.
It’s been a long time coming. Now is the time to rinse the bad taste of the ignoble ending out of our collective mouths and move forward. Make whatever few deals are left, and dive into the “sweat on the brow” hands on part of the project. All I have to say is, let’s get going and "Build the Trail Now"!
Monday, May 10, 2010
JUST A COUPLE QUICK THOUGHTS
It seems like Sarah and her conservative cohorts are mysteriously silent about off shore drilling (or any drilling in sensitive areas) since the oil rig explosion, and major environmental disaster in the Gulf of Mexico.
After years of hearing from her and her ilk, that drilling was perfectly safe for delicate ecosystems, (can we say ANWR), and endangered species or wildlife areas had nothing to fear from the oil industry, we’re now hearing dead silence.
Where is the “raping and pillaging of the environment” poster girl now? I don’t hear her screeching “Drill baby drill”. Maybe she could scream “Spill baby spill”, better yet, “Kill baby kill”, because that is a perfect mantra for the situation in the Gulf.
The Deepwater Horizon explosion and oil spill is killing millions of creatures, both land and sea. Its devastating flora and fauna along the coast of several states, endangering wetlands, and coastal national treasures. And if the plight of the environment or of non-human creatures does not touch your heart, then maybe the economical impact can get around that hole in your soul and cause some emotion.
According to Felicia C. Coleman, Director of the Coastal & Marine Laboratory at Florida State University, "many of these communities rely entirely on the high ecological productivity of the northeastern Gulf of Mexico, whether they are involved in commercial or recreational fishing (valued in the billions of dollars in this part of the country) or tourism (yet more billions). In some areas, it's not a question of recovery. It will mean the loss of a way of life.''
The personal impact this disaster will have on humans is mind numbing. If money is your passion, and you don’t care about other people, or the environment, this catastrophe should still cause you to think about what we’re doing to the earth. Ill conceived actions, and mis-managed energy priorities affect everyone, even conservatives, whether they accept it or not.
It seems like Sarah and her conservative cohorts are mysteriously silent about off shore drilling (or any drilling in sensitive areas) since the oil rig explosion, and major environmental disaster in the Gulf of Mexico.
After years of hearing from her and her ilk, that drilling was perfectly safe for delicate ecosystems, (can we say ANWR), and endangered species or wildlife areas had nothing to fear from the oil industry, we’re now hearing dead silence.
Where is the “raping and pillaging of the environment” poster girl now? I don’t hear her screeching “Drill baby drill”. Maybe she could scream “Spill baby spill”, better yet, “Kill baby kill”, because that is a perfect mantra for the situation in the Gulf.
The Deepwater Horizon explosion and oil spill is killing millions of creatures, both land and sea. Its devastating flora and fauna along the coast of several states, endangering wetlands, and coastal national treasures. And if the plight of the environment or of non-human creatures does not touch your heart, then maybe the economical impact can get around that hole in your soul and cause some emotion.
According to Felicia C. Coleman, Director of the Coastal & Marine Laboratory at Florida State University, "many of these communities rely entirely on the high ecological productivity of the northeastern Gulf of Mexico, whether they are involved in commercial or recreational fishing (valued in the billions of dollars in this part of the country) or tourism (yet more billions). In some areas, it's not a question of recovery. It will mean the loss of a way of life.''
The personal impact this disaster will have on humans is mind numbing. If money is your passion, and you don’t care about other people, or the environment, this catastrophe should still cause you to think about what we’re doing to the earth. Ill conceived actions, and mis-managed energy priorities affect everyone, even conservatives, whether they accept it or not.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Healthcare Reform
I’m not emotionally attached to my health care insurer, and I’ll take bets it couldn’t care less about me. I’m just a potential drain to its corporate profits.
That’s why I find the passionate reaction many are having to the passing of health care reform, and their weepy attachment to the status quo, very peculiar. Especially when I’ve known many people with the “keep my fingers crossed that I don’t get sick until I’m 62” health care plan.
The United State’s abysmal infant mortality rate, which ranks us 33rd in the world, behind such nations as Canada, the United Kingdom, and even Cuba, and our life expectancy ranking of 43rd in the world, shouldn’t cause the warm fuzzys. The only area of health care in which we can claim a leadership role is most money spent.
Whacky tea baggers have declared that health care reform will take away our freedom to choose. How would that be different from now? Our health care provider tells us what doctors we have to have, what hospitals, and even what pharmacy. We’ve never been able to chose. If you had a pre-existing condition, changing providers was not an option.
I’ve heard that reform will get between the patient and their doctor, causing health care rationing, and interfering with treatment. Once again, how is that different from now? Last time I saw a doctor he informed me that his partners were meeting with representatives from my insurer to get their marching orders on what tests they could and could not order. And let’s face it, if the health care insurer doesn’t pay for it, most of us aren’t going to get it. Who can whip $4,000 out of their back pockets to pay for a test?
Insurance companies get between patients, and their treatments all the time. Think of the fundraisers people have to pay for life saving transplants, or their exorbitant medical bills. People shouldn’t have to sell cupcakes to live. Insurance companies don’t care about saving our lives.
The attempt to prey on American’s emotions by invoking the image of the so called “death panels” is pathetic. If they think doctors don’t do “end of life” counseling already, then they have never had an elderly or terminal relative. We were grateful for the counseling we received every step of the way with our family.
And lastly, Canada’s socialized medicine is an urban myth. They have national group insurance. Our relatives in Canada love their health system. One of them had a serious illness during a visit to the States last year, and hotfooted it back to Canada for treatment.
I’m an American, and I’m glad they passed health care reform.
I’m not emotionally attached to my health care insurer, and I’ll take bets it couldn’t care less about me. I’m just a potential drain to its corporate profits.
That’s why I find the passionate reaction many are having to the passing of health care reform, and their weepy attachment to the status quo, very peculiar. Especially when I’ve known many people with the “keep my fingers crossed that I don’t get sick until I’m 62” health care plan.
The United State’s abysmal infant mortality rate, which ranks us 33rd in the world, behind such nations as Canada, the United Kingdom, and even Cuba, and our life expectancy ranking of 43rd in the world, shouldn’t cause the warm fuzzys. The only area of health care in which we can claim a leadership role is most money spent.
Whacky tea baggers have declared that health care reform will take away our freedom to choose. How would that be different from now? Our health care provider tells us what doctors we have to have, what hospitals, and even what pharmacy. We’ve never been able to chose. If you had a pre-existing condition, changing providers was not an option.
I’ve heard that reform will get between the patient and their doctor, causing health care rationing, and interfering with treatment. Once again, how is that different from now? Last time I saw a doctor he informed me that his partners were meeting with representatives from my insurer to get their marching orders on what tests they could and could not order. And let’s face it, if the health care insurer doesn’t pay for it, most of us aren’t going to get it. Who can whip $4,000 out of their back pockets to pay for a test?
Insurance companies get between patients, and their treatments all the time. Think of the fundraisers people have to pay for life saving transplants, or their exorbitant medical bills. People shouldn’t have to sell cupcakes to live. Insurance companies don’t care about saving our lives.
The attempt to prey on American’s emotions by invoking the image of the so called “death panels” is pathetic. If they think doctors don’t do “end of life” counseling already, then they have never had an elderly or terminal relative. We were grateful for the counseling we received every step of the way with our family.
And lastly, Canada’s socialized medicine is an urban myth. They have national group insurance. Our relatives in Canada love their health system. One of them had a serious illness during a visit to the States last year, and hotfooted it back to Canada for treatment.
I’m an American, and I’m glad they passed health care reform.
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