Prairie Birds and Blooms

“When trying to identify birds it is important to remember the following motto: I don’t know.”—Chris Earley

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What a beautiful week it is shaping up to be in the Chicago region. Spring has landed in full force. Last night, a crescent moon set in the west, with Venus and Mars nearby. Gemini constellation stars Castor and Pollux glittered bright in the night. Summer! It seems only a breath away.

Waxing crescent moon with bright Venus on the left, then Castor and Pollux glowing just above and Mars at the top left, Glen Ellyn, IL.

The tallgrass prairie, rejuvenated by fire, is aflame with wildflowers.

Wild lupine (Lupinus perennis) and golden alexanders (Zizia aurea), Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL.

It’s easy to be motivated to go for a prairie hike with temperatures in the 70s, few bugs out, and cool breezes.

Cream wild indigo (Baptisia bracteata), Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL.

Each day on the May prairie is an exercise in discovery, from the first tiny Eastern Forktail damselflies that show up…

Eastern forktail damselfly (male) (Ischnura verticalis), Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL.

…to the big charismatic megafauna, lumbering through the tallgrass.

Bison (Bison bison), Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL.

In the mornings, I wake up and sit with my coffee on the back porch where I indulge my latest obsession: Merlin Sound ID, part of the Merlin Bird ID free cell phone app. A decade and a half ago, when cell phones became a thing, I was a reluctant adopter. But the nature apps have changed all that. Each morning, I open up the “bird sound” option on Merlin and let it record as I get my caffeine fix. What an eye-opener—especially during spring migration! I’ve never seen some of the birds Merlin tells me are out and about in my yard; blackpoll warbler, Lincoln’s sparrow (!!), Tennessee warbler, northern mockingbird. But, when I see the name light up and then, listen for that bird calling, I’m often able to match the song to the bird.

Just another day in the backyard (Glen Ellyn, IL).

I keep my Kenn Kaufman Birds of North America and Peterson Field Guide to Birds open by my side and read about each bird’s habitat, food preference, and migratory habits when the bird shows up. What fun! My binoculars are at the ready, as is my camera, but so far I’ve failed at getting good photos from my porch of anything other than the usual cardinals, goldfinches, house sparrows and downy woodpeckers at the feeders. My photos of more elusive birds tend to look like this:

How come so many cool birds hang out in the upper tree canopy? Shy, maybe? Crosby’s backyard, Glen Ellyn, IL.

The neighbors are starting to get nervous as I glass the their trees with my binoculars, or stand at the edges of their lawns with my camera. So far, I’ve not actually gone into their yards, but it’s only a matter of time.

Our backyard feeders are filled and ready for customers. The first hummingbird showed up last Wednesday to check out the territory. I love the ruby-throated hummingbirds! We plant a lot of wildflowers just for them. As summer heats up, they’ll swarm the zinnias, cardinal flowers, wild bergamot, butterfly weed, and even the blazing stars. The sugar water is just a bonus.

Ruby-throated hummingbird (Archilochus colubris), Crosby’s backyard, Glen Ellyn, IL. (2016)

Welcome back, little hummers.

I’ve also been watching for orioles in our backyard this spring, without any luck.

Baltimore orioles (Icterus galbula), Crosby’s backyard, Glen Ellyn, IL. (2020)

Instead, we’ve had this backyard visitor… .

Eastern fox squirrel (Sciurus niger), Crosby’s backyard, Glen Ellyn, IL (2020).

Ah, well. At least I can get a good photo of this species. Always willing to pose for food!

A few weeks ago, John Harris, my prairie co-steward, suggested turning the Merlin sound app on during work mornings to help our little band of prairie volunteers understand what birds are around us as we pull weeds. (Thanks, John). Wow! The list is long—much longer than I would have dreamed. Where before I might notice a bluebird or a cardinal flying along the edges of the prairie, I’m now tuning in to a long list of feathered members of our tallgrass community formerly unknown to me by sight or sound.

It’s a great reminder of how invisible much of the natural world is to us, especially when we’re older and our hearing isn’t as good as it once was. Using the app is teaching me to pay attention more closely, using my sense of hearing. Listening has has not always been my first “sense” when hiking or spending time outdoors. In the suburbs, I’m often trying not to hear things: jet noise, highway clamor, the whine of leaf blowers and lawn mowers. Tuning into sounds instead of tuning noise out is an intriguing idea.

Balsam ragwort (Packera paupercula), Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL.

Is the Merlin app perfect? Probably not (although it’s spot on so far). But it’s been a launching point for learning. It wakes me up to wonder.

Swallows (possibly tree swallows —Tachycineta bicolor), Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL.

I love that. So much of my sense of wonder has been sparked by what I see, not what I hear.

Wild lupine (Lupinus perennis), Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL.

Listening is a new adventure.

Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL.

The only downside? My friends and family are going to have to put up with endless chatter about another one of my “enthusiasms.”

Meadow anemone (Anemone canadensis), Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL.

But when I think of ways I can spend my time, attending to birdsong is a pretty good use of my hours.

Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL.

Anything that brings a little more wonder in my world—even my cell phone—is always welcome.

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The opening quote is from Guelph Arboretum (Ontario) interpretive biologist Chris G. Earley (1968-) from his charming book, Sparrows & Finches of the Great Lakes Region & Eastern North America, written for adult readers (Thank you John Heneghan for the book loan). I’m a big fan of Earley’s books, especially his children’s guide Dragonflies: Catching—Identifying–How and Where They Live (2013). I always come away delighted and with a new nugget of knowledge.

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Join Cindy for a program or class!

The Tallgrass Prairie: An Introduction–on National Prairie Day! Saturday, June 3, 1-2:30 p.m. CT, Sterling Farmer’s Market (at the Pavilion) in Sterling, IL. Free and open to the public. Indoors in case of rain.

Literary Gardens Online –-Wednesday, June 7, 7-8:15 p.m. CT, Bensenville Public Library, Bensenville, IL, via Zoom. Free but you must register to receive the link (participation may be limited to first sign ups). For more information and to register, contact the library at 630-766-4642.

“In Conversation Online with Robin Wall Kimmerer,” June 21, 2023, 7-8 pm CT via Zoom. Brought to you by “Illinois Libraries Present.” Number of registrations available may be limited, so register here soon.

Beginning Dragonfly and Damselfly ID — Friday, June 23, 8:30am-12:30 pm CT, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL. Registration coming soon. This class is split between classroom and field work. Fun!

More classes and programs at www.cindycrosby.com

A Little Tallgrass Tranquility

“June comes with its own tranquility, predictable as sunrise, reassuring as the coolness of dusk.”– Hal Borland

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Peace, quiet, and tranquility sound appealing right now.  As meteorological summer arrives, the prairie is a good place to find all three. Let’s take a look.

The dragonflies and damselflies are out at Nachusa Grasslands. Common green darners aimlessly work their way across the pond. A few common whitetail dragonflies hunt for prey in the cool, overcast day.

It’s quiet.

I slosh through what was prairie last season; now a new wetland created by beavers. The dammed pond overflows with water, which runs into the grooves on the dirt two-track alongside it.

These small, ephemeral water-filled ruts teem with life. So many tadpoles!

On the edges, immature eastern forktail females flutter weakly, still in the teneral stage.

Their color gradually comes into focus, like a Polaroid picture. Later, they’ll mature from orange and turn powdery blue.

The male eastern forktails are everywhere, looking for females to mate with.

I watch the females lay eggs—oviposit—into a vegetation mat floating in the pond. Eastern forktails are usually the first damselfly I see each year, and–with a few season’s exceptions–the most numerous species of damselfly I see at both my prairie monitoring sites. They are easy to dismiss, because they are so common. When I first began learning dragonfly and damselfly ID, I was confused by their different appearances. How could one species of damselfly be three different colors? And that’s not including their teneral stage. The most common damselflies have incredible complexity.

In the quiet, the stress of the last few days fades. I hear a bird that I don’t know–a gallinule, a friend tells me later. A new one for me!

I watch the dragonflies and listen a bit longer before I turn and go back to my monitoring. The wildflowers hum with activity.

I can still hear well, but my eyes are weaker as I’ve gotten older. As I’m scribbling data on my clipboard, I notice one of the “forktails” is moving differently — floating, instead of fluttering. Another seems a bit off-color for a eastern forktail. But I can’t make out the details, even with my binoculars.

It’s not until I’m home and sorting through blurry photo after blurry photo of my “eastern forktail” damselfly photos, that two crisp photos jump out at me.

Sedge sprite! Nehalennia irene. The first time I’ve seen one. They’ve been found at two sites at Nachusa, but this is the first time I’ve found it— and it’s new for this particular area. Sedge sprites are rare and uncommon in Illinois.  The scientific name almost always tells a good story, and Nehalennia, I discover, is the name of a Rhein River goddess. Appropriate for something so lovely.

This male’s length is from the tip of my baby finger to the knuckle. Its lack of eyespots–little color markers on top of the eyes–sets it apart from other damselflies, notes Robert DuBois, author of Damselflies of Minnesota, Wisconsin & Michigan. So tiny. So beautiful.

And then—oh! Look. Another species. Fragile forktail damselfly. Ishnura posita. I’ve seen it here before, but only once. I thought the color looked wrong for an eastern forktail when I was sloshing through the pond perimeter and logging it on my data sheet as such, and I was right. The pale green exclamation mark on the thorax is the tip-off.

The fragile forktails fly from May to September, so I should see them again here as I walk my route this summer. I had to go back and revise my data submission. Next time, I’ll pay more attention. I’ll wait to log it until I review the photos.

Later, Jeff and I hike and marvel at the smallest wildflowers in bloom. Long-leaved bluets.

Blue toadflax, so minuscule I struggle to get my camera to focus on the flower.

Rushes—so many to try and name—are woven into the wildflowers and grasses. The light casts them into silhouettes.

Small moths lay in the tallgrass like winged ghosts.

A flycatcher—possibly an alder flycatcher but likely a willow flycatcher—talks to me from a scrubby shrub. As I wrote this, I tried to remember the exact call, as this is one of the ID markers between the two.  Cornell’s All About Birds website describes the sound of a willow flycatcher as someone quickly zipping up a jacket. Alder flycatcher is described as free-beer! I wish I had paid more attention so I’d be sure of my identification.

These fleeting moments are easy to miss. I try to remember to listen attentively. What else am I overlooking today?

Pale beardtongue’s bright flowers are difficult to pass by without pausing.

Up close, they are surprisingly hairy.

A contrast to the pea-like blooms in the tapered spikes of violet lupine, the color of summer’s last light on the clouds at dusk.

The startlingly clear purple-blue of the spiderwort always fails description. Such a color!

I soak it all up.

For a while, I forget the outside world.

Thank you, prairie.

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The opening quote is by Hal Borland (1900-1978) from Sundial of the Seasons, a selection of 365  outdoor essays that follow the days of the year. Born in Nebraska, he wrote more than 1,200 essays, many published in the New York Times, often about the passing of the year on his Connecticut farm.

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All photos and video copyright Cindy Crosby and taken at Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL (top to bottom):  Clear Creek Knolls; beaver pond; new pools in the gravel two-track; video of tadpoles in the ephemeral pools and tire track ruts; eastern forktail damselfly (Ischnura verticalis)); eastern forktail  damselfly (Ischnura verticalis); eastern forktail damselfly (Ischnura verticalis); video of pond; unknown bee on common yarrow (Achillea millefolium); great Angelica (Angelica atropurpurea): sedge sprite damselfly (Nehalennia irene); fragile forktail damselfly (Ischnura posita); long-leaved bluets (Houstonia longifolia); blue toadflax (Nuttallanthus canadensis); unknown rushes (correction — Juncus spp.); unknown moth (possibly one of the Scopula genus); possibly a willow flycatcher (Empidonax traillii, they are difficult to tell apart from alder flycatchers except by song); pale beardtongue (Penstemon pallidus); pale beardtongue (Penstemon pallidus); wild lupine (Lupinus perennis); Ohio spiderwort (Tradescantia ohiensis).

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Join Cindy for a class online!

“Tallgrass Prairie Ecology Online” begins June 7. Work from home at your own pace for 60 days to complete the material, and meet other prairie volunteers and stewards on the discussion boards and in the optional ZOOM session. Register here.

“Dragonfly and Damselfly Beginning ID Online” through The Morton Arboretum. July 8 and July 10 –two morning classes online, with a day in between for you to work independently in the field. Register here.

Coming in June! Chasing Dragonflies: A Natural, Cultural, and Personal History. Pre-order now from your favorite indie bookstore such as the Morton Arboretum Store and The Bookstore of Glen Ellyn, or online at bookshop.org and other book venues. Or, order now direct through Northwestern University Press and receive 25% off — use coupon code NUP2020.

Want more prairie while you are sheltering in place? Follow Cindy on Facebook, Twitter (@phrelanzer) and Instagram (@phrelanzer). Or enjoy some virtual trips to the prairie through reading Tallgrass Conversations: In Search of the Prairie Spirit and The Tallgrass Prairie: An Introduction.

Prairie Bugs and Blooms

“When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the Universe.” — John Muir

It’s August. The prairie shimmers with heat.

 

Even the cumulus clouds fail to dial down the temperature and humidity.

 

Dragonflies wiggle their bodies into cooler positions.

As the temperatures rise, big bluestem unfolds seedheads. You can see where it gets its nickname, “turkey foot.” Autumn seems to draw closer.

 

Blazing stars light their torches, showing the way to a new season ahead.

 

Tiny black bugs beetle their way across the blooms. When I shake a flower spike, there’s a tap-tap-tap of bugs falling into the tallgrass, like the patter of raindrops.

 

Some of my friends won’t walk with me on the prairie in August. “Too many bugs.”

Most of us find it easier to appreciate blooms…

 

…than to enjoy the complex world of insects.

Some people, longing for a insect-free yard, even contract for companies to spray and destroy everything that flies, crawls, creeps, or hops across their lawn.

But when we realize that there is a butterfly effect–that small actions can have a big influence on all living things…

…that everything is related, we consider this:

 

The bugs and blooms need each other to exist. When we lose one living thing, others go with it.

Then, we begin to appreciate the bugs of late summer along with the flowers.

Yes, we may brush a few insects off our clothes, and there might be a crawly critter lurking behind a petal or two.

 

But without bugs, we wouldn’t have blooms.

And who would want to live in a world without flowers?

 

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The opening quote is by John Muir (1838-1914) from My First Summer in the Sierra.  Muir was a naturalist, a preservationist, an activist, and the father of our national parks.

All photos copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom): stiff goldenrod (Solidago rigida) and little bluestem (Schizachyrium scoparium), The Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; eastern amberwing dragonfly, female (Perithemis tenera), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; big bluestem (Andropogon gerardii) unfolding and open, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; prairie blazing star, (Liatris pycnostachya), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL;  prairie blazing star (Liatris pycnostachya), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; swamp milkweed (Asclepias incarnata), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL;  eastern forktail damselfly (Ischnura verticalis), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; great spangled fritillary butterfly (Speyeria cybele) on beebalm (Monarda fistulosa), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; the tallgrass in August, Kickapoo Mud Creek Nature Conservancy, Oregon, IL; rattlesnake master (Eryngium yuccifolium), viceroy butterfly (Limenitis archippus), and some other assorted critters, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; obedient plant (Physostegia virginiana),  Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL;  late August, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL.