Not nine and fifty, but still a lot of swans
On Tuesday, Raphael and I went to Elm Creek Park Reserve. After a generally lovely hiking season, we'd missed three weeks in a row: one because it was too hot, one because of a dental appointment and Cats Laughing concert, one for reasons I can't recall, but that probably included inertia.
Tuesday was forecast to have a high of 83 F and to be sunny but very windy. We don't normally go hiking when the wind is gusting to 30 mph because it makes photography difficult or impossible. But summer is ending and our weekly hikes with it, so we went. We had gone to Elm Creek in the spring to see ephemerals and the wild plum blooming, and on the pond by the Nature Center we had seen a pair of trumpeter swans.
When we went out onto the boardwalk, there were a lot more than two swans on the pond. A woman who had been observing them through binoculars came and talked to us. "There are eight cygnets," she said, "And there's the male, on the left." There was another large all-white swan on the right. The rest were a mottled gray, though almost as large as their parents. She told us that Lake Rebecca (I think; another Three Rivers Park District park) had four cygnets and that there had been a sandhill crane with offspring on Goose Lake, though they had disappeared sometime in July. We expressed pleasure at all the good swan news, and she wished us a beautiful day and left.
The adult swans were stationed on either side of the mass of young ones, which mostly moved as a group. Looking at one adult through binoculars, we saw that there was quite a large group of ducks on the bank behind it. It was very shady over there, and at first all I could see were some of their orange feet. Raphael, with better vision and better binoculars, said some of them were wood ducks, and once I had that clue, I could see their markings. A couple of them eventually slid into the water and swam around into the sunshine. A parent swan swam by, dipping its large black feet in and out of the water like oars, followed by one young one, the wind ruffling its mottled feathers until some of them stood straight up. There was a partially-submerged log full of painted turtles of various sizes, with their heads all pointed in the same direction. A green darner swooped over the reflection of sky and clouds. All around the pond, small yellow flowers bloomed profusely. I think they were Nodding Bur Marigold. I've seen them near water for years but never looked them up before.
As we were leaving the boardwalk, Raphael pointed out an Eastern phoebe in a dead tree.
We had a sandwich, refilled our water bottles, and head out to the prairie restoration. On the way there, abundant stands of goldenrod (possibly showy, but anyway one of the kinds with a feathery flower head) and clouds of blue and white asters lined the path, with a few larger purple ones for contrast. The leaves of sumac were beginning to turn candy-red. Once we got to the prairie proper, there was stiff goldenrod with its flat flowerheads, and more asters, including one large pink one that looked a little unsure of its welcome. The liatris had mostly gone to seed, but we found one or two plants still blooming.
At the top of the hill is a bench beside a red-stemmed dogwood bush, with a small oak tree across from it. We sat down for a while. Blue asters were growing up through the red branches and red-spotted leaves of the dogwood. Everything rushed and rustled in the wind. The bluestem was turning golden brown at the top, and if you looked across the hills, at first they seemed all grass. Within the grass, held upright by it, were goldenrod and asters and the dull green of leadplant with its seedheads very dull purple.
The restored prairie runs downhill to a bike path, on the other side of which is a shrubby meadow backed by woods. As I remarked to Raphael, I have probably a dozen photos of that view from later in the autumn. Today most of the trees were still green, but there was one on the horizon with a puff of orange at the top, and some poplars far off to the left that were turning pale gold. We got up and walked down the hill. Just short of the bike path was what used to be a river of goldenrod, now being infiltrated by bluestem, with islands of aster and red clover. Raphael said it was the quintessential Three Rivers Park meadow, on what used to be farmland and hasn't yet been completely restored as prairie. We reminisced about our first visit to the park, when we had hiked the meadows on the other side of the pond. They had contained almost no native grasses or plants, but reminded me of the floral background of a medieval tapestry in their variety and precision.
It smelled like autumn, though most of the leaves were still on the trees and green.
Because it was September, I said to Raphael as we crossed the bike path, "Let's get a ring and take it to Mordor, shall we?" Raphael suggested that it would be easier to sell the ring on Craigslist. "Some might consider that irresponsible," I said. Raphael noddd. "Wizards, what are you going to do." "Really. Making marks on people's doors and ruining their paint jobs." "You could sell it as scrap," suggested Raphael. "Yes, then somebody else would melt it down for you." "It might end up as a filling, though." "That would be bad." "Chips have gold in them. You might end up with a secret computer."
We went through small oaks and leftover fruit trees, around a corner dense with reddening sumac, and onto the wooded creek path. We had taken it in the spring when all budding shrubs and trees were full of fantastical half-open leaves in many shapes and colors. There was blue wood phlox blooming. Now it was dense greenery and goldenrod. All the time the wind whooped and roared and swooped and all the leaves rustled and the grasses and goldenrod bent and rippled. We saw a bird riding the wind like a child on a scooter. It was small but very raptor-like, with a pale underbelly. We couldn't get a clear look at it, but it was lovely to see how the wind was its element.
In the deeper parts of the woods, the wind died a little and mosquitoes started trying to eat me. I moved along as fast as I could, but it seemed very hot. Eventually I got out my phone and was affronted to see that it was 88 degrees. At least the humidity had dropped a great deal. We were glad of the wind.
We went down to the bridge over the creek and along to a clearing that has a vault toilet and a couple of picnic benches, because I needed to sit down. The clearing has the creek on two sides; you can't see it when things are so lush, but you can hear it, and the light over it is different. There are maple, basswood, and birch trees in the clearing, and a tumble-down stone oven. Bluejays yelled over our heads, and chickadees explained things to one another. Eventually the mosquitoes found us, and we went back over the creek, past the dense sumac hedge and the river of goldenrod islanded with its asters, up the steep hill to the bench and the tiny oak. We sat for a while, and then came gently downhill, looking at the backlit golden grasses and the leaves on the oaks and lindens.
Pamela
Tuesday was forecast to have a high of 83 F and to be sunny but very windy. We don't normally go hiking when the wind is gusting to 30 mph because it makes photography difficult or impossible. But summer is ending and our weekly hikes with it, so we went. We had gone to Elm Creek in the spring to see ephemerals and the wild plum blooming, and on the pond by the Nature Center we had seen a pair of trumpeter swans.
When we went out onto the boardwalk, there were a lot more than two swans on the pond. A woman who had been observing them through binoculars came and talked to us. "There are eight cygnets," she said, "And there's the male, on the left." There was another large all-white swan on the right. The rest were a mottled gray, though almost as large as their parents. She told us that Lake Rebecca (I think; another Three Rivers Park District park) had four cygnets and that there had been a sandhill crane with offspring on Goose Lake, though they had disappeared sometime in July. We expressed pleasure at all the good swan news, and she wished us a beautiful day and left.
The adult swans were stationed on either side of the mass of young ones, which mostly moved as a group. Looking at one adult through binoculars, we saw that there was quite a large group of ducks on the bank behind it. It was very shady over there, and at first all I could see were some of their orange feet. Raphael, with better vision and better binoculars, said some of them were wood ducks, and once I had that clue, I could see their markings. A couple of them eventually slid into the water and swam around into the sunshine. A parent swan swam by, dipping its large black feet in and out of the water like oars, followed by one young one, the wind ruffling its mottled feathers until some of them stood straight up. There was a partially-submerged log full of painted turtles of various sizes, with their heads all pointed in the same direction. A green darner swooped over the reflection of sky and clouds. All around the pond, small yellow flowers bloomed profusely. I think they were Nodding Bur Marigold. I've seen them near water for years but never looked them up before.
As we were leaving the boardwalk, Raphael pointed out an Eastern phoebe in a dead tree.
We had a sandwich, refilled our water bottles, and head out to the prairie restoration. On the way there, abundant stands of goldenrod (possibly showy, but anyway one of the kinds with a feathery flower head) and clouds of blue and white asters lined the path, with a few larger purple ones for contrast. The leaves of sumac were beginning to turn candy-red. Once we got to the prairie proper, there was stiff goldenrod with its flat flowerheads, and more asters, including one large pink one that looked a little unsure of its welcome. The liatris had mostly gone to seed, but we found one or two plants still blooming.
At the top of the hill is a bench beside a red-stemmed dogwood bush, with a small oak tree across from it. We sat down for a while. Blue asters were growing up through the red branches and red-spotted leaves of the dogwood. Everything rushed and rustled in the wind. The bluestem was turning golden brown at the top, and if you looked across the hills, at first they seemed all grass. Within the grass, held upright by it, were goldenrod and asters and the dull green of leadplant with its seedheads very dull purple.
The restored prairie runs downhill to a bike path, on the other side of which is a shrubby meadow backed by woods. As I remarked to Raphael, I have probably a dozen photos of that view from later in the autumn. Today most of the trees were still green, but there was one on the horizon with a puff of orange at the top, and some poplars far off to the left that were turning pale gold. We got up and walked down the hill. Just short of the bike path was what used to be a river of goldenrod, now being infiltrated by bluestem, with islands of aster and red clover. Raphael said it was the quintessential Three Rivers Park meadow, on what used to be farmland and hasn't yet been completely restored as prairie. We reminisced about our first visit to the park, when we had hiked the meadows on the other side of the pond. They had contained almost no native grasses or plants, but reminded me of the floral background of a medieval tapestry in their variety and precision.
It smelled like autumn, though most of the leaves were still on the trees and green.
Because it was September, I said to Raphael as we crossed the bike path, "Let's get a ring and take it to Mordor, shall we?" Raphael suggested that it would be easier to sell the ring on Craigslist. "Some might consider that irresponsible," I said. Raphael noddd. "Wizards, what are you going to do." "Really. Making marks on people's doors and ruining their paint jobs." "You could sell it as scrap," suggested Raphael. "Yes, then somebody else would melt it down for you." "It might end up as a filling, though." "That would be bad." "Chips have gold in them. You might end up with a secret computer."
We went through small oaks and leftover fruit trees, around a corner dense with reddening sumac, and onto the wooded creek path. We had taken it in the spring when all budding shrubs and trees were full of fantastical half-open leaves in many shapes and colors. There was blue wood phlox blooming. Now it was dense greenery and goldenrod. All the time the wind whooped and roared and swooped and all the leaves rustled and the grasses and goldenrod bent and rippled. We saw a bird riding the wind like a child on a scooter. It was small but very raptor-like, with a pale underbelly. We couldn't get a clear look at it, but it was lovely to see how the wind was its element.
In the deeper parts of the woods, the wind died a little and mosquitoes started trying to eat me. I moved along as fast as I could, but it seemed very hot. Eventually I got out my phone and was affronted to see that it was 88 degrees. At least the humidity had dropped a great deal. We were glad of the wind.
We went down to the bridge over the creek and along to a clearing that has a vault toilet and a couple of picnic benches, because I needed to sit down. The clearing has the creek on two sides; you can't see it when things are so lush, but you can hear it, and the light over it is different. There are maple, basswood, and birch trees in the clearing, and a tumble-down stone oven. Bluejays yelled over our heads, and chickadees explained things to one another. Eventually the mosquitoes found us, and we went back over the creek, past the dense sumac hedge and the river of goldenrod islanded with its asters, up the steep hill to the bench and the tiny oak. We sat for a while, and then came gently downhill, looking at the backlit golden grasses and the leaves on the oaks and lindens.
Pamela