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.