vermicomposting

My worms arrived last week, another bundle for the bin. And because it is January, and because it is Minnesota, they arrived in that tight wad, jittering against one another, trying to stay warm. Now they've spilled out, spread to the crevices, have found warmth and damp and plenty to consume.

colville: eagle watching

My parents came for a weekend visit, and in this quiet town with not a whole lot to do, in the dead of winter, when the temperatures stubbornly stick, when you ought not bring out the vegetable leavings to the compost tumbler when your hands are wet (as they will painfully stick to the metal latch), you have one biting thing to do, and that is to head to the backwaters of the Mississippi River and watch the eagles soar.

I've learned:
- a group of eagles is called either an aerie or a convocation
- aside from caring for young, eagles don't tend to travel in groups, so knowing this isn't as handy as one might expect
- while the bald eagle is still protected, it was taken off the Federal Endangered Species list in 2007
- males and females are identical in plumage coloration, though the female is often 25% larger
- in the wild, the bald eagle can survive up to thirty years


There are also plenty of ducks and crows about in the park.


It was a gray day, typical of winter here. The wind was bold, but in many ways, it was good the sun was not out: clear days are often much more bitterly cold. Since this park is known for its attraction to eagles, there were many cars chuffing away, passengers holding cameras at the ready.

chick-a-dee-dee-dee

I have a soft spot for the small birds.



Perhaps, one day, I too will become a human birdfeeder.



I've been reading about the whistling chickadees in Minnesota Nature Notes. It's one of the birds that brave our winter climate, and the fee-bee call is not to be mistaken for the phoe-be or fi-bree of the eastern phoebe, a bird that only comes to our corner of the world in spring and summer.

I want to know bird calls, especially when we're waking up while camping, dirt and pine needles skittering across the tent floor, and little feathered creatures are ushering the morning in.

phenology

Flickr's most recent blog post is called "Your Best Shot 2009: In the forest." The above photo is from Ryan and my weekend walk up Barn Bluff (my favorite "in the forest" of 2010--thus far) and below are a few photos from just a smattering of our 2009 forest adventures below.


I started reading Jim Gilbert's Minnesota Nature Notes this morning, and in the introduction, he introduces me to a term I'd never heard before, which is "phenology":

"Phenology is simply observing the natural world and keeping a record of it. But it is also the science that studies the timing of natural events--for example, lake ice-out dates or the blooming dates of spring wildflowers--that mark seasonal (and sometimes climatic) changes to the environment. The Swedish botanist Carolus Linnaeus (1707-1778) is considered the father of modern phenology. In Philosophia Botanica (1751) he clearly described phases of plant development and outlined purpose and methodology of observations that are still valid today. He established the first network of observation stations in Sweden--eighteen in all--and stipulated that the main purpose of these study stations was to compile annual "plant calendars" of leaf opening, flowering, fruiting, and leaf fall, together with climatological observations 'so as to show how areas differ.'

The study of phenological data helps us establish the patterns of interdependency of all things. In this beautiful world of ours, nothing exists on its own. Most events in the annual cycle recur in regular order on or near the same date for any certain location."

Gilbert, Jim. Minnesota Nature Notes. Minneapolis: Nodin Press, 2008. 13.

It's not quite what I seek out to do here (I have no scientific background; I'm a student of poetry), but it's getting closer. I do hope this place becomes a version of my own nature notes, my own learning experiences, and, like I wish my cooking would do more often, stay in season.

Winters are long here in Minnesota. I know the three-month parcels of time that make up seasons, but in my mind, winter runs from mid-November until some time in April, as this is how long snow, in varying amounts, lasts in my parts. And when it greens, oh how that green makes my heart soar.

first curiosity

Ryan saw it first, when I was sleeping in. He took the dogs up to the bluff, a kind of regular weekend activity, and snapped a few blue-ish photos with his cellular phone. I couldn't make it out--just thought it was snowfall on top of branches. It was lovely, and I told him I'd get up early enough for another hike the next day.


But this was different--little ice crystals spreading on the ground, clinging to rocks and branches. I looked at my knit mittens and the same squiggly slivers of white were rising, catching the heat from my hands. My scarf was doing the same, turning into ice from my breath's condensation. Why, all you have to do is look at our dog Zephyr's snow-beard to see.


This one bush was really spectacular though--and when we looked at it with the sun behind it, we saw the steam rising up.


I squatted down, the cold earth reminding me not to dip too far, and snapped a few photographs of the dead leaves and bracken along with the strange snow-ice formations. I wasn't certain if the decomposing leaves were composting enough to heat the ground; we couldn't spot another explanation.

I've done some internet searching but can't seem to find the right combination of key words to reach possible explanations. Any ideas? The composting doesn't seem to stick for me, particularly due to the sub-zero temperatures. This bluff is used regularly by cross-country skiers in the winter, and in the summer, tourists drive up to get a good view of our town, but there are no usable buildings that would require pipes, etc.

PS: To see a full set of the hike, complete with a flying Zephyr, click here.