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/.