A New Year

The turning of the calendar is always a time for reflection and planning, looking back on the year that was and looking ahead to the year that will be. The blank calendar, a blank slate full of potential. Another opportunity to write your story and move it in the direction you'd like it to go. There are any number of things you can do to help the Sycamore Greenway and other natural areas as you begin the year.

If you are looking to be healthier in 2018, why not strive to get outside and move on one of your neighborhood trails? Getting out in nature is good for your health, and free. It also provides an opportunity to get to know your neighbors, be they of the human, botanical, or ornithological variety.

Volunteering is another satisfying goal that is easy to achieve. You can help clean up various areas around town, help remove invasive species from Bur Oak Land Trust properties, or just commit to picking up trash along the street every couple of weeks. It doesn't take a lot of time to make a difference.

Reducing waste is an admirable goal, and also easy to achieve. Try to reduce dependence on single-use, disposable plastics like grocery bags, straws, and plastic utensils. How silly to extract oil from the depths of the earth and process it until it eventually becomes a single straw, used once and thrown away? Just a little planning can reduce some of the waste that inevitably accompanies our basic existence: carry reusable grocery bags and mesh produce bags in your car so they will always be handy when shopping; skip the straw or invest in reusable plastic or stainless steel straws and utensils.

New hobbies are always fun, and great for keeping your mind sharp. Take up photography, drawing, or commit to learning to recognize a dozen new birds or plants that you encounter outside throughout the year (that's just one a month!). Keep a journal, or write poems using what is outside your window as inspiration.

If you are politically inclined, you can promote bipartisan legislation among both friends and family as well as your state and local representatives to helps places like the Greenway (without wading too far into the divisive mess of current national politics). Support strengthening and expanding the bottle bill, to keep trash off of our streets (and out of the Greenway). Encourage lawmakers to Fund the Trust, to help pay for clean water and wildlife habitat that will benefit all Iowans.

Even if you are not a gardener, you can easily commit to planting a few native flowers in your garden this spring or summer to provide habitat for our pollinator friends. Small things go a long way toward improving your little corner of the world, and what better time than now to start making your plans?

Reproductive Craftsmanship

Ootheca of a Chinese mantis

At first glance I thought it was an oddly-placed oak apple gall (having just passed a tree with several of the papery brown orbs dangling from its branches like rustic Christmas ornaments). This one was a little less spherical, and was wrapped around the small twig instead of hanging.

Closer inspection revealed it to be an ootheca, the egg case of a praying mantis. The rounded shape of this case and its placement around the twig indicates it is probably a Chinese mantis (Tenodera sinensis), a common non-native. Other mantids' egg cases appear more narrow/long and lay more closely along a branch.  

Side view

Female mantids may lay several of these egg cases each fall, each containing several hundred eggs (with several individual egg chambers sandwiched between each layer). The eggs will overwinter in these cases, protected from the elements, before tiny baby mantids hatch and flow out of the ootheca as temperatures warm in the spring.

Oak apple gall for comparison

Praying mantises of several species are popular both as pets and as garden visitors (the latter for their habit of voraciously devouring a variety of pestiferous insects). The eager gardener may order ootheca online in the hopes of unleashing a ferocious mantid army to protect their tender plants over the summer.




Video of the adorable nymphs hatching (video by Alice Friedman on YouTube):

Lunchtime at the Greenway Diner

It seemed like a quiet afternoon on the Greenway near the Sycamore Apartments, but a few steps along the trail and a quiet cacophony erupted. Apparently, I arrived just in time for the avian midday meal as an assortment of birds took advantage of the warm sunshine to stuff themselves with seeds (and I assume any errant bugs that happened to be out).

First was a bevy of female cardinals, rustling among the the dry stalks as they hopped from stem to stem. Their chunky, bright orange beaks were in constant motion as they selected seeds and worked them for a moment to remove any unappetizing shreds or bits of fluff before sending them down the hatch. They stayed close to one another, flying off together in the same direction when I passed a little too close for comfort.

Tiny goldfinches, emitting thin, squeaky-wheezy titters, were a bit harder to see with their dull tawny winter plumage. They were particularly fond of singing as they flew off far into the distance, just as I was bringing my camera up to my eye.

A couple of downy woodpeckers could be heard here and there, taptapping the rattly stems of cup plant, in search of tasty larvae attempting to make it through the winter in the thick, pithy stems.

In the distance, occasional quacks and honks erupted from the waterfowl hanging out in the wetlands. A single bluejay let out a few squeaky-pump whistles before flying off to the west.

Several little juncos were foraging on the ground along the edge of the trail, their white tail stripes flashing as they scattered to the nearby conifers. Unseen, they continued to berate me with metallic squeaks and tsks as I walked past.

I was hoping to see a few mourning doves, who usually hang out near the apartments, but there was no sign of them. They must have declined the invitation to the luncheon on the Greenway this afternoon.

Connecting Habitat

Imagine you are a tiny pollinator, buzzing around the Greenway. You are a lucky bee, for there are plenty of flowers that bloom there throughout the season, and plenty of other pollinators to meet.

What if your patch were not so big? You would have to buzz off to find other flowers and other bees. You have to cross streets and avoid windshields, and travel over long swaths of green lawn, devoid of any nutritious flowers and perhaps even poisoned regularly to prevent any useful flowers from growing.

But what if instead every block had a yard with a kind owner, who grew a small plot of native prairie plants--perhaps not enough to sustain you for an entire season, but enough for you to stop and refresh yourself before moving on to the next patch?

Instead of having to navigate, say, all the way from the north end of the Greenway to the Terry Trueblood Recreation Area in one long go (impossible for many of our small native bees), you could spend a leisurely few days yard-hopping from one friendly garden to the next.

When you plan your garden for next spring, why not dedicate a part of it to helping the pollinators in return for everything they do for us? Although the ideal would be a completely connected, unbroken corridor between larger habitat areas, imagine if every house in your neighborhood dedicated a small strip of their land to pollinators. Wouldn't that be more attractive, and more interesting, than turf?

Sources/Resources:

• Pollinator Pathways
• Good Neighbor Iowa
• Plant. Grow. Fly. (Blank Park Zoo)
• Pollinator Gardening (Reiman Gardens)

Winter Repose

This time of year is when I reacquaint myself with all my botanical friends in their winter repose. Having cast off their flashy petals and dropped most of their foliage, they can be nearly unrecognizable.

Cup Plant stem and leaves

The easiest to find, for me, is the Gray-headed Coneflower, with its rounded match-heads bobbing gently in the breeze. As winter wears on, the little brown heads are picked over by goldfinches and other birds, leaving narrow, pointed cores.

Cup Plant is another easy one, with their tall stature, sturdy, square stems and large leaves that tend to clasp the stems longer than those of many other plants. The seedheads, similar to other Silphiums, look a bit like dry, brown flowers themselves, until they are emptied of their nutritious cargo by hungry birds.

Stiff Goldenrod

Goldenrods, especially early in winter, have their yellow flowers replaced with fluffy white, and can usually be distinguished by the shape of the inflorescences: Stiff Goldenrod in a tight, flattened clump; Showy Goldenrod in an upright plume, and Canada Goldenrod in a drooping spray.

 

 

Showy Goldenrod

Tall Coreopsis

The delicate stems of Tall Coreopsis may retain their narrow leaves for some time, now dried and curling closely; small rounded clusters of tightly-packed, flattened seeds float airily above, no longer surrounded by bright yellow petals.

Bee Balm

Bee Balm, like the unrelated Cup Plant, also has a square stem but is much less rugged-looking. Its seed-heads are entirely different, looking like rounded clusters of tubes.

And finally, Wild Quinine has the decency to somewhat resemble a negative of its summertime blooms, the white, cotton-ball rounds changing to a dusty grayish-brown. Because it doesn't sport flashy petals in the summer, its shape is largely unchanged in its winter dress.

Wild Quinine

Silphium (Rosinweed) seedhead

Lost & Found

It is hard to get lost on the Sycamore Greenway. A single, flat, paved trail wends its way from Grant Wood Elementary to Kickers Soccer Park with just a few branches leading to nearby neighborhoods. If you wander off the paved trail towards the wetlands, it still isn't difficult to make your way back to civilization.

Hickory Hill on the other hand....

Perhaps it is just me, but just about every time I visit there is a point at which I am bewildered and turned around. At first, I printed a map and carried it folded in my pocket, checking each branch to make sure I knew where I was headed. Inevitably, though, I would forget the map and think I knew the trails well enough to get by.

Nope. I am usually fine in the southern section of the park, but as soon as I head north of the dam I inevitably take a turn and end up in unfamiliar territory. Without a map, I am lost. I have resigned myself to it, and now simply make sure I have an extra hour or two for wandering until I find my way back to a landmark that can direct me out. It is exhausting, and exhilarating. How often do you have the opportunity to get utterly turned around in a beautiful wilderness (or as close to wilderness as you can find, confined on all sides by the city)?

On this occasion, I was playing a game of taking a photo every 100 steps (having resigned myself in advance to getting lost, so it wasn't terribly upsetting when wandered past the Conklin Street entrance after thinking I was a ways east of there). It was challenging in many spots, having walked past brightly colored leaves or interesting tree trunks, only to end up on my 100th step in a gloomy, weedy patch with nothing of interest. I often fell back on my friends the smartweeds when I could find nothing else worth shooting; their cheery, bright pink inflorescences popping up along the trail throughout the park.

Birds chattered teasingly near, just out of sight: cardinals, chickadees, a variety of woodpeckers, robins. A cluster of sparrows burst out of a grassy tussock like grasshoppers as I passed, taking cover in a nearby thicket. A weedy, quavering rendition of their normal song emanated from the underbrush; I imagine it being a young, insecure sparrow just trying out his voice in preparation for pitching some woo at the ladies next spring.

At one point, on step 46 of my assigned 100, I look up to find a deer nonchalantly browsing on the trail directly in front of me. She eyed me as I fumbled with the camera (after a brief internal struggle with my overzealous conscience telling me I had to finish the required steps) and continued on her way as I continued on mine.

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Another Note in the Greenway Symphony

I heard them this morning before dawn. The rolling, gutteral clamor of the resident Sandhill Cranes carried over a mile from the Sycamore Wetlands to my neighborhood as I walked the dog. Earlier, I started at several clusters of bangs--I assume hunters--from roughly the same direction. I wondered if the sound of the shots roused the cranes or if they were starting their day regardless.

It is such a joy to have a resident family of Sandhill Cranes living near the Greenway. Tall birds with slender necks and legs and a ruffly bustle of feathers over their rump, they evoke elegance and grace as they stride through a stubbly corn field or cross the sky with strong beats of their wings, both legs and necks outstretched. Cranes around the world are known for their courtship dances, with mates leaping and bowing.

At the same time, there is an undeniable prehistoric feel to these birds. Their call, so distinct from that of our other, more common birds, has been heard over the Great Plains for more than 2 million years as they migrate in huge flocks of hundreds of thousands of individuals.

As I strolled along the Greenway later the same morning, I again heard the cacophony of cranes among dozens of honking geese and hundreds of squabbling ducks hanging out at the wetlands. Against the morning light, three cranes winged over the water, calling the entire way as their wings arced and their bodies pivoted to a slant prior to descending.

A short time later, I could hear the cranes calling again, this time from beyond the soccer park. The raucous sound mingled with the excited shouts of children and their families, two extraordinarily different journeys coming together along the Greenway.

Good Neighbors

In mid-October, in the mowed grass edging the Greenway trail on either side, tiny umbels of Queen Anne's Lace flower just a couple inches off the ground. These scrappy immigrants from Europe insist on thriving under the most adverse conditions: poor soil, blazing sun, constant mowing, you name it. Their bright white, flat-topped clusters of flowers, soft to the touch, can be seen almost anywhere from mid-summer into fall.

When the Greenway is beginning to tuck itself in for the winter, the once-lush greenery crisping to a dry brown, these late bloomers offer one last source of sustenance to our pollinator friends. Most of the native prairie plants have gone to seed, save a few gray-headed coneflowers struggling to squeeze in one last bloom past their prime. As scarcity creeps into the landscape the Queen Anne's Lace and the Red Clover--both non-native and widespread--bear a closer look to discover who is taking advantage of their floral bounty before winter sweeps in.

Easy to spot or the varieties of syrphid flies, with shiny yellow and black striped abdomens. They have stubby antennae and very large eyes that usually touch at the top of their heads. Then there are the tiny bees, with longer antennae and smaller eyes on the sides of their heads, with hairier legs and bodies. And any number of even tinier insects barely visible with the naked eye.

It's a clear demonstration of how important flowers are in the landscape, even non-natives. With a lawn full of perfect turf, these little fellas would have nothing to eat. Those yards whose owners shun pesticides, however, offer a much-needed refuge for pollinators and other insects. Those weeds--Queen Anne's Lace, clover, dandelions--are beautiful to a hungry bee.

It's not just about the pollinators. For more information on being a good neighbor visit https://goodneighboriowa.org/.

Drizzly Afternoon Encounters

On a blustery Saturday afternoon, when the sky is marbled with clouds and the little tree out front is bending in the wind, what better to do than head out to the Greenway for an outing?

As the wind pushed back my advance and gusts covered the sound of whatever might be out and about, I saw a few daredevil birds tumbling in the sky, black specks hurtling across the sky with barely a flap. A light drizzle built into a light rain, lasting just long enough to uncomfortably moisten my clothes before receding.

I wondered at my judgment in venturing out on this restless fall day, carrying the threat of winter on rushing gusts. If nothing else, I thought, I could get some photos of the picturesque clouds looming over the wetlands. Any bird or insect would probably have better sense than me and keep hunkered down in the brush.

But it was apparently lovely weather for the herps!   Almost immediately I came across a little snake sitting on the pavement at the edge of the trail. It played along with me while I took some pictures before winding off into the grass.

Then a bright green bullfrog in the middle of the trail, jewel eyes unfazed by my lens. This guy resisted my gentle urging to move off the trail to the safety of the grass, so I did not insist.

Another snake. Another bullfrog. Many grasshoppers, live and dead, also littered the trail.

Not long after, high-stepping awkwardly along the edge of the trail like a miniature dinosaur, a tiny snapping turtle the size of a half-dollar. With a faintly irritated expression, it observed me as intently as I watched it.  Its long, pointed tail--almost the length of its entire body--dragged behind the ridged back end of its shell. It carried a tiny, adorable hint of the crushing aggression that characterizes full-grown snappers; I backed off to let it go its way unhindered, watching it  ponderously climb into the grass and head towards the wetlands.

There have been very few times I have regretted going for a walk along the Greenway. Regardless of the weather or the season, there is always a chance to encounter friends and neighbors who enjoy what I might consider less than ideal conditions.

The Pollen-Bellied Leafcutter

Most people are familiar with bees that collect and carry pollen on their legs in either specialized pollen baskets called corbiculae or on long bristles called scopae. Only females have these structures, and they carry pollen back to their hives or nests, where the sweet, nutritious bits are used to provision egg chambers for their (or their queen's) offspring.

A slightly different strategy is used by bees in the Leafcutter family (Megachilidae). The female Leafcutters have scopae on the underside of their flattened abdomen, which collect pollen as they forage and give their underbelly a dusty, glowing golden hue. This method of pollen collection is a bit sloppy, and the pollen scatters easily as the bee forages, making her a very good pollinator (at her own expense--she will need many more foraging trips to supply her egg chambers compared to honeybees, who moisten the pollen with so it sticks together and stays tidily within the pollen baskets).

Leafcutter bees are solitary, and each female constructs chambers for her eggs in cavities found in wood, plant stems, or sometimes in the ground. Their name comes from their habit of neatly chewing circular bits of leaf that are used to line and separate each egg chamber (one egg and a supply of "bee bread"  in the form of pollen or a pollen/nectar mix). The larva with survive on these provisions within the chamber through several instars, or molts, until they pupate and emerge from the chamber as an adult.

The Leafcutter is a busy bee, and a wonderful neighbor. Consider her before cleaning up stems and branches in your garden, as she may make use of them for her eggs. You can also purchase houses, or bundles of tubes, to encourage her to make her brood chambers near your garden. 

The Northern Paper Wasp

Poor wasps. Reviled as a menace to humanity; sprayed and poisoned and swatted without any pang wherever their homes are sighted by humans. The sleek, dangerous alter-ego to the fluffy, friendly bee.

I encountered this Northern Paper Wasp (Polistes fuscatus) foraging for nectar along the Greenway, mingling with a motley assortment of bees, flies, beetles and others enjoying the last morsels of sweetness before the waning warmth of fall gives way to a winter chill that sends most of them to their peaceful, eternal rest....

But I digress. This wasp charmed me, starting with the adorably curled tips of its antennae and the striking pattern on its abdomen: black and yellow stripes, with a pair of smoky two-tone spots near its thorax. Its slender frame and waist and lack of hair on its legs and body distinguish it from its bee relatives. This (or rather these--the photos show two different wasps, as can be seen by the markings on the thorax) appears to be a male, based on the curled antennae and yellow face, though not all sources remark upon this as a distinguishing factor between males and females. The absence of a stinger is common to all male wasps and bees.

While foraging wasps generally don't pay much attention to paparazzi and other humans, it is a different story if one were to threaten their nests. Paper wasps get their name from their elaborate nests constructed of bits of wood, chewed to a pulp and formed into papery chambers where one or more dominant females will lay eggs. Theirs is a complex society, with elaborate social hierarchy complete with recognition of nestmates based on both behavior and individual facial features.

Nests will be aggressively defended both from predators and other unrelated wasps. The egg-laying queen(s) are among the most vigorous of the defenders, since their genetic investment in the eggs and larvae is the greatest. In spite of the risk, wasps can be valuable allies in the garden, where they will capture caterpillars and other pests to feed to their young.

 

Vanessa Invasion

If you've set foot outside in the past couple of weeks and found yourself in the vicinity of any flowers, you have probably noticed an abundance of medium-sized, orange and black-colored butterflies swarming sedums, goldenrod, asters, and just about any other flower they can find.

These are Painted Lady butterflies, (Vanessa cardui), a migratory species that has begun its return trip to Mexico and California as its more famous counterpart, the Monarch, will begin in a few weeks. Also similar to the Monarch, the Painted Lady have multiple generations each summer before returning to their overwintering grounds.

Due to favorable conditions earlier this year, the Painted Lady population has exploded, increasing drastically through each generation over the summer. At Reiman Gardens in Ames, their regular count from last year tallied around 20 individuals, but this year the number exploded to 747 individuals.


Why does the Monarch population struggle year to year while other butterflies thrive? It is the old story of a specialist versus a generalist: where Monarchs utilize only a single type of plant--milkweeds--as hosts for their caterpillars, Painted Ladies are not nearly as discriminating and may use any of over one hundred different species as hosts.

In addition, habitat loss has struck Monarchs particularly hard and left them with a very small overwintering patch in Mexico, where they are vulnerable to winter storms. Painted Ladies, with a range throughout much of the globe, are better able to withstand occasional local disasters as their population is not centralized in any single place.













Sources/more information:

• http://whotv.com/2017/09/08/painted-ladies-enjoy-iowas-great-fall-like-weather/
• https://www.butterfliesandmoths.org/species/Vanessa-cardui

A Rare Sighting

Not long ago, I would have strolled past this botanical unicorn without a second thought. I probably wouldn't have even noticed it, hunkered down in the mowed strips alongside the Greenway, pearly white leaves gleaming in the sun.

But now--now I know to stop and take a closer look. It was an albino--I tentatively identified it as a smartweed (perhaps Swamp Smartweed, Persicaria amphibia), with tapering leaves and fine short hairs covering the leaves and stems. A couple feet away was were some standard-issue smartweeds, looking for all the world like my ghostly mutant only bearing the expected green tint.

Given that the green coloration in plants is due to chlorophyll, the pigment that makes photosynthesis possible, how can a pure-white plant like this one survive? Normally an albino seedling might grow briefly until its food stores from the seed are depleted, then starve when it is unable to feed itself. Some albinos, such as the famed albino redwoods, can survive for years by parasitizing the roots of nearby normal redwoods. This allows the albino to tap into the root system of other trees that photosynthesize normally, presumably without deleterious effect on its hosts.

I suspect my albino smartweed has a similar understanding with its neighbors: perhaps it is able to sustain itself by tapping into the roots of the nearby plants, or it is itself a mutated shoot from underground rhizomes of a nearby parent. Though it seems to be surviving well enough right now, save for some singed leaf-tips, it likely will not be long for this world. The combination of mowing and bright sunlight will stress its already fragile leaves, and its inability to photosynthesize is something of a deal-breaker in the botanical world.

Possible host for the
nearby albino

I confess to a momentary temptation to dig up the albino and bring it to the safety of my yard, before realizing that such an effort would probably hasten its demise. Unless its generous host could be identified and carried off in tandem, the little white weed would certainly starve on its own.

So my ephemeral, unpigmented friend will be all the more lovely for its brief stay on the Greenway.

Variation: Mines of Spain

Biennial Gaura

This week we take a little vacation from the Sycamore Greenway to visit the Mines of Spain near Dubuque. This gorgeous park is a must-see for anyone who enjoys nature, geology, or history--you can hike on numerous trails through prairie, woodlands, and bluffs with scenic views of the Mississippi River. Northeast Iowa, including Mines of Spain, is part of the geologic Driftless Area, an area that avoided the glaciers that smoothed out much of the rest of the midwest over the past several hundred thousand years.

Indigo Bunting, juvenile male

These photos are from Horseshoe Bluff, one of my favorite places to hike. It is interesting to see the different wildflowers in bloom in a wooded state park compared to those on the newish and entirely constructed Sycamore Greenway.

Young Cedar Waxwing, looking considerably less elegant
than its sleek, velvety elders.

Blue-winged Warbler (Vermivora cyanoptera). The entertaining
genus name Vermivora translates to "worm eating."

False Foxglove (Agalinis sp.)

Wetlands

Flowering Spurge (Euphorbia corollata)

View of the Mississippi from the scenic overlook

Geologic layer cake

Evening Primrose (Oenothera biennis) and well-camouflaged
guest (Crab Spider, Mecaphesa sp.).