Wednesday, December 27, 2017

Winter Foraging

This must have been the first time since I lived in New Orleans that as winter solstice arrived, my Christmas tree remained undecorated. I cut down my rangy cedar on December 7 and it stood sentry inside in the corner window without lights, but with a continual supply of fresh water. It wasn't until December 22, the night before I set out for Louisiana, that I wrapped our C7 bulbs around this beautiful cedar and set out about 100 of our favorite old ornaments including many handmade by my grandmother Marie. As a veteran Episcopalian, the tree will remain decorated until Epiphany, the beginning of Carnival. Afterwards, it will join the other (now decaying) Christmas cedars in my brushpile for the white-throated sparrows to hide in as they protect themselves from the neighborhood Cooper's hawk and that awful patrolling orange cat.

Several years ago, I made a discovery at the local Lowe's hardware store that all of the trimmings from their Frazier firs, Douglas firs, and Scotch pines are heaped into huge cardboard boxes and made available for free to anyone who wants the greenery. I make swags for my neighbors, I use the greenery as finishing touches for gift wrapping, and I set it out around the house on bookshelves and window sills. For at least a few days, the house smells like Christmas rather than three dogs. So, by December 7 I at least had greenery and a few Christmas knick knacks scattered around. And then there's my wreath.

Every year in late fall, as native plant material begins to cure, I begin collecting dried material from my yard and from a friend's property nearby to decorate a grapevine wreath I made. Several years ago, I added thick handfuls of beautiful inland sea oats, an aggressive native with persistent drooping khaki seedheads. As I took apart the wreath, I threw all of the material over the porch railing; two years later, I witnessed a big stand of this pretty grass exactly where I threw the dried material. Today, I have my own source of this charismatic dried plant and the goldfinches love it.

I really like finding huge aster bracts (oblongifolius is a good one) and some of the later goldenrods that continue to possess yellow stalks long into winter. In recent years, I've started adding silvery Baptisia stalks. While I'm generally not a fan of big clumps of buckbrush, the berries are really quite pretty though lack real nutrition for birds. Unfortunately, too, multiflora rose possesses multiple rosehips that are a brilliant red. I never add multiflora rosehips because the Carolina wrens often gorge on my wreath seeds and I do not want to be responsible for spreading this horrible plant. New this year is donated river birch bark that a friend gave me; I have quite a bit of it, so it will surely come back next year.

As the days imperceptibly grow longer, thoughts turn to the necessity of our fire regimes for the sustainability of all of these lovely winter stalks. I once read that folks in the Ozarks historically used green Christmas fern fronds for their wreaths because of the lack of cedars. I think next year I might try that.

Sunday, December 17, 2017

Christmas Bird Count Begins

Yesterday morning at 7:30, the sun barely crept up above the hills at the nature area I was assigned to canvass for my Audubon chapter's annual Christmas Bird Count. Stepping out of the car and zipping up my coat, I immediately tallied four Northern cardinals, two white-breasted nuthatches, an American goldfinch and a bald eagle flying over head. This annual event takes place between December 14 and January 5 this season, and my chapter traditionally holds our count the first Saturday of the official count period.

Temperatures were a little warmer and the windspeeds picked up a little higher than desired yesterday, but throughout our count circle, Audubon members documented 95 species. At the end of the day, we host a tally party potluck with lots of pots of different kinds of chili, sides and a huge dessert table. We project the checklist onto the cinderblock wall of a local church and go through the list, asking each group how many of each bird species they witnessed during the day. Notable missing species this year was wild turkey. No one saw a wild turkey and Lincoln's sparrow numbers were way down this year. I only counted two white-throated sparrows, which is unheard of for a Christmas Bird Count in our area, but the rest of my team picked up an additional 95 of the little guys.

A city-owned nature area with a stream running through it- complete with thickly vegetated streambanks that held the key to our bird numbers- served as the nucleus of my area, 2 North. Unlike some birders, I'm not loyal to one of the 8 given areas; I like to bounce around and visit new places each year while also helping out the groups that don't have a lot of counters. The leader of my group was home with sick children and continually populated my text messages with accounts of only American robins in his yard, bummed that he couldn't get out. He did finally break away in the afternoon and revisited areas that I missed; it's a good thing he did, too, because I got skunked trying to find our area's brown creeper, a traditional species that certainly inhabits these thick bottomland woodlands. He went out and found one.

The highlight of my morning was the song sparrow on the streambank and the 45 Northern cardinals we saw throughout the day. Area 2N witnessed the most abundant cardinals, black-capped chickadees and red-bellied woodpeckers than any of the other areas. While I realize these are common woodland birds, they remain lovely creatures and it was fun to see one of each every time I hoisted my binoculars to my eyes.

I heard reports last night at the tally party that some of Missouri's other count circles are low on observers. If you're interested in helping out with a Christmas Bird Count, visit here to find a circle.

Saturday, December 02, 2017

A Destructive Trend

In recent months as I hike well-trod trails through the Ozarks, I have noticed an increase in the practice of rock stacking. Historically, this was likely done to blaze a trail or to mark water sources. Today, with increasing hiking pressure in our natural places, visible trails don't necessarily require rock stacking to lead the path. In wilderness, small stacks of rocks to create stream crossings may be necessary for the less hardy wilderness user. However, the repeated trend of creating large -sometimes 6 ft. tall- towers of rocks is resulting in much damage to our geologic sites and impacting public safety on trails.

I first encountered the destructive practice of rock flipping when I moved here; wildlife collectors routinely find glades in particular to flip rocks and remove snakes, tarantulas, collared lizards. In some glades on publicly owned land, every rock has been flipped which has led to local extirpation of collared lizards and coachwhips. So, that's clearly irresponsible and reckless. Once the seal between rock and soil is broken, habitat is altered, even if the rock is carefully replaced. In the outfit I engage with, this is called disturbing wildlife.

The repeated rock stacking-similar to rock flipping- in highly public and well-traveled places has resulted in injuries as the towers collapse; it has resulted in shattered ancient geologic features; it has morphed into serious vandalism. Have hikers become so far removed from the concepts of Leave No Trace that they feel compelled to "leave a mark?" Is the world not altered enough? Hiking a trail and discovering stacked rocks certainly removes the sense of remoteness and solitude that so many hikers seek in our natural places. While this human value set may not be important to some, it is to many. And that's aside from the destruction of habitat. In some publicly owned land, removing or disturbing rocks, minerals, soil, plants and wildlife violates state statutes. Our state's precious geology should rest where it exists so that future generations can witness the development of geologic time.

Sunday, November 12, 2017

November: Chambourcin Month!

Annually, the always-talented members of the Missouri Wine and Grape Board wisely choose November to celebrate and highlight Missouri's great Thanksgiving wine during the month of November. Chambourcin- light-bodied like a pinot noir, fruity like a Beaujolais Nouveau, pairs well with fall flavors, and a good gateway wine for white wine drinkers who want to venture into reds- is a versatile grape that is fantastic as a varietal, but is also a wonderful blending grape. Many in the Ozark Highlands are aware that Herr Heinrich at Heinrichhaus Winery in St. James is the official King of Chambourcin, but let that not diminish the incredible diversity and quality of so many other Ozark wineries' Chambourcins.

From Baltimore Bend Winery's newsletter, the background on the creation of Chambourcin:

Popular among Missouri winemakers, this versatile grape was developed by French biochemist Joannes Seyve to specifically withstand colder weather and to be more resistant to disease. Seyve often used Seibel hybrids produced in the 1860s, but Chambourcin's exact parentage is unknown. It is thought to be a crossing of native North American vines with a Siebel hybrid.

Unlike Norton and Cynthiana, I don't know about too much research into the origins of this fantastic grape. As a general rule, if I don't purchase a Norton at a winery, I'll normally default to the Chambourcin, a practice that has sometimes resulted in an entire rack of 30 bottles of Chambourcin or Chambourcin-Norton blends and super random bottles of the only palatable wine I could find-- apple, elderberry or otherwise. While Missouri wineries produce among the best examples of Norton in the United States, Illinois vintners are making great Chambourcin--it should serve as their state grape. Indiana wineries excel at Traminette, which is fantastic and so highly variable that it makes for an interesting tasting anytime it's on the menu. Nevertheless, Chambourcin grapes are a little bigger than Norton, a little more versatile than Norton, tastes great aged in steel or oak, and, these traits taken together, make this grape perhaps a little more popular to local winemakers. And it's perfect for the Thanksgiving table when you're tired of the light and fruity Nouveau.

At the time of this writing, November 12, I'm in a race against time to accrue 50,000 points in the Missouri Wine and Grape Board's MVP program, a rewards program that has been extended until next year. I need the 50K points by December 31, 2017 to score tickets to the wine and food extravaganza where winemakers and customers mingle over great examples of Missouri wine. I'm over halfway there, but to finish out the points, I must make targeted trips. I've paid visits to wineries in far-flung reaches of the state only to find out they don't have the rewards tickets--they didn't meet the deadline to receive them or they were just "never sent." Granted, visiting any winery in Missouri on non-busy days is a great time, but in the throes of fall, many are only open on weekends which can sometimes be related to being at a Chuck E. Cheese for sorority girls. Not my vibe. I go to wineries off-the-beaten- path, avoiding festival weekends like Oktoberfests and beer-and-wine extravaganza weekends. The drunken festival crowd is not a desirable setting for me.

And so, yesterday we set out for the Sedalia area wineries, a landscape where the Ozarks meet the prairies. The first stop was Wildlife Ridge Winery, a nice rustic setting with cows and donkeys next door where we enjoyed a bottle of Paintbrush Red, a Chambourcin blend named after the lovely Paintbrush Prairie, a local natural area that erupts in red Indian Paintbrush wildflowers each spring. Three winery dogs (2 old beagles and a Great Pyrenees), friendly staff, supple Missouri dry wines while we shared the tasting room with a catered birthday party for a designated "Princess." Wildlife Ridge also offers a sweet wine called Sweet Pea that made my travel buddy exclaim loudly in surprise of the sample after we had enjoyed so many tastings of dry offerings. A little embarrassed she was when she realized the entire Princess party was drinking it. I don't recommend following the Google maps directions here. Just follow the road signs from Hwy. 50. We ended up seeing entire 20mph neighborhoods when we could have just taken Hwy. 65 to Hwy. 50. This is a fantastic winery that serves cheese, sausage and crackers as snacks. The wine, the winery dogs and nice staff definitely make Wildlife Ridge Winery a destination.

Just a short drive away is the charming German town of Cole Camp, my first introduction to cute German communities in Missouri. Lovely architecture, their own little town fair with jam judging and quilt shows, an Amish bakery restaurant and a winery! Eichenberg Winery is located in the heart of Cole Camp and serves wine to please a variety of palates. Their winery is decked out now in holiday flair, including dark red Christmas lights in the bathroom. They can't serve wine by the glass because they don't have a food serving license. I've bought fresh bottles of their Chambourcin before and was pleased, but yesterday I picked up an apple wine to serve when my dad visits for Thanksgiving. I'm thinking of it as a brunch wine to serve with a cheese plate and maybe a poached egg on toast with avocado. The setting at Eichenberg Winery is always charming, but they may keep their tasting bar wines open for too long before tossing them. With limited hours, they probably can't go through entire bottles in the proper timeframe. I do love Cole Camp, especially the town's proximity to all of the great prairie preserves in the local area.

Thanks to the folks at Wildlife Ridge Winery, we learned of a winery that was not on Google and not on the Missouri winery map! Dale Hollow Winery opened in 2017. Located in the heart of Stover, which was once the mailing address to the wonderful Grey Bear Winery, now closed, this new winery is making outstanding dry red wine. I must add Dale Hollow Winery to the Missouri list of Norton wine producers and need to send a bottle to the secretary, the keeper of records of the Norton Wine Society. Their Norton was fabulous, nice tannins, good legs in the glass and certainly able to be aged a while in the bottle. I wasn't expecting this winery on the route so it's a great surprise and I'll definitely be back there when they're not just about to close.

In one day I was able to accrue 1600 rewards points, what with the first stop at Les Bourgeois Winery's tasting room for my 100 point ticket. I must be targeted in my approach to areas to visit as many more wineries to make it to 50K by December 31. There are so many new wineries opening in Missouri with so many great wines to taste, it's hard to stomach that I can't retire for 20 years and just spend my time traipsing through this great state collecting Nortons and Chambourcins.

Tuesday, October 24, 2017

Fall Float on the Courtois

Aluminum canoes are unforgiving on floats in shallow, gravel-choked streams. With the recent dry weather, the Courtois was barely floatable, which meant that every low water situation either resulted in bailing out of the canoe to drag it to deeper water or forcing through the shallows by digging paddles into gravel and scooting along. With six canoes in our group, the deep gravel and shallow water oftentimes did not allow for a peaceful fall float experience. But the water was clear, temperatures topped out at 69 degrees, and it was a beautiful day to be on the stream.

With recent changes to my schedule, I've found myself recently exploring the Dissected Till Plains region of North Missouri in between my regular forays into the Ozarks. Admittedly, I haven't spent too much time in the Meramec River Hills region around the Huzzah and Courtois, so taking a float and a short hike along the Ozark Trail in that area was certainly rewarding. Steep dry cliffs reminiscent of the Jack's Fork River line sections of the stream, and the area is rich with other karst features located (I think) in the Gasconade Formation. The woodlands surrounding the stream have not been managed with fire in many decades and therefore possess few traces of woodland flora--a spreading aster here and a stiff-leaved aster there, mostly restricted to the trail corridor where light can reach the woodland floor.

Due to the lack of fire, closed canopy, and the deep loessal soils prevalent in the area, the woodlands have taken on a forested condition: a massive Schumard oak perched high on a ridgetop stands sentry, a tree normally restricted to low lying, deep, true forest where fire doesn't travel. Historically, there was very little true forest, mostly restricted to steep ravines, sinkholes, areas existing in a fire shadow, but likely not on a high and dry ridgetop. The mesification of thousands of acres of our historic woodlands is largely due to the interruption of a fire regime following the era of significant logging operations and open range grazing. This is the condition that represents much of the Ozarks today. Historic records indicate a much more open landscape with prairie grasses and forbs, a fire-mediated system that may have been lost altogether. Similar landscapes in the Meramec River Hills that have witnessed a 30 year prescribed fire program are testament of what this landscape once looked like. Henry Rowe Schoolcraft and other early explorers wouldn't recognize the area if they visited today.

Regardless, a hike and a float on a nice fall day are always welcome activities as the days march towards darkness.

Friday, October 13, 2017

As Fall as Texarkana

I grew up in the Deep South, a region that never saw real seasonal changes. Sure, the stores would roll out all of their Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas decorations which were posted all over town, but the decorations were rather anomalous to the weather conditions. A new coat on Christmas morning? We'd wear them even when it was 80 degrees outside because Christmas is "supposed to be cold." Unlike my friends who grew up in colder climates, we never had to wear jackets over our Halloween costumes for trick-or-treating. In fact, I'm wondering if the whole awful trend of skimpy "sexy pirate," "sexy barmaid" and other icky Halloween costumes developed precisely because Halloween in the Deep South never witnessed cold weather in October .

I distinctly recall wearing a velour jogging suit to school in October, a nice teal suit that I received as a birthday present in mid-September. The morning temperatures, clammy and wet but cool, were long gone by noon when the ambient temperatures hit the lower 90s. The new velour suit's teal threads covered my bare skin thanks to all the sweating that occurred throughout the school day. I think about the desire to see fall color, the kind of fall color that we watched on the Charlie Brown's The Great Pumpkin, where leaves of yellow and red would gently fall to the ground and one could wear a turtleneck without sweating. It never happened in fall where I grew up. We routinely traveled day trips to Bard Springs, around Shady Lake in Arkansas in mid-October hoping to see fall color, which never happened. Fall color where I lived only occurred in early December, and only because of the proliferation of the exotic and horribly invasive tallow trees that painted the landscape in red and yellow leaves long after Thanksgiving. Each fall when I make that horrible drive home to Louisiana for Thanksgiving, I'm always shocked at the green leaves on the trees starting around Texarkana.

As early as five years ago, peak fall color in Missouri occurred the second week of October. Cabins were open for business, fall color tours were in full swing, rides along the KATY Trail were ridiculously popular--all to catch a glimpse of fall colors in Missouri. It was reliable: leaf drop happened the third week of October, so we could start putting in firelines by late October, units ready to burn by the end of trout season. This year in particular, the timeline is way off.

I've visited North Missouri and the Central Ozarks in recent weeks and the trees are still full of green leaves, maybe some browning from drought, but certainly not a 'fall color' brown. I admit that I haven't taken the scenic drive along Hwy. 100 or Hwy. 94 in the past few weeks, both drives full of maples that usually put on an explosive fall color show, so I can't report on those areas. However, on my daily walks around the block with my schnauzer, the maples in my neighborhood are still rocking green leaves. Lately, I am reminded of my childhood when we drove through Arkansas in October looking for fall color and turning around at Maumelle because we just weren't seeing it. Missouri is like that these days.

Community gardeners in my neighborhood planted spinach seeds a couple of weeks ago and expect a full harvest. My kale continues to produce big healthy leaves and the peppers are ripening on the bushes. The seed ticks are still out, though not as prolific as they were in August. Our USDA growing zone has shifted in recent years; the Missouri Botanical Gardens can now plant camellias outside in the ground, unheard of thirty years ago.

Tomorrow we set out on the KATY Trail for the Hartsburg Pumpkin Festival. Temperatures are scheduled to skyrocket to the low 90s and we must return before dark to avoid a tornado outbreak. I don't think this part of Missouri will have a great fall color display the way our weather patterns are behaving. My windows are still open and my daily attire consists of running shorts and a t-shirt. Last year's mild winter resulted in an explosion of Japanese beetles; entire trees and grapevines were completely denuded of leaves. If the growing zones are really moving northwards, I wonder how many years it will take before we can have year-round pepper plants like we had in New Orleans?

Saturday, September 23, 2017

Late Summer in the Woodlands

Today marks the end of my birthday week full of celebrations and parties. The first day of autumn with the high temperature of 96 was reminiscent of that one week in August we witnessed this year--hot and dry, no rain in sight. But the shadows are growing long and the walnut leaves are all but gone from the trees. Cooler weather moves in this week, but not cold enough to knock out seed ticks. Cross country hiking requires a lot of duct tape and long pants.

Despite the dry weather, the floral display in woodlands and glades continues with the beginning of the asters, the desmodiums, the goldenrods. Monarch migration also marches on, with these charismatic and troubled butterflies swarming the woodlands in Dauphin Island and still in my backyard, feasting on the silphiums. With the lack of rain, some of our canopy trees are merely turning brown and dropping leaves, bypassing the nice fall color stage altogether. We're still about three weeks away from "peak color," and hopefully the cooler nights will usher in the good conditions for a nice display this October.

Katydids are still out in force and fall orchids are in peak bloom! Every fall I have to brush up the different ladies' tresses orchids, like this beauty, Spiranthes lacera, notable for the green lip on the inside of each flower.

And so, the natural cycle continues. It's time to dust off burn plans and start putting in firelines. The priority units are set, folks have been instructed to test all of their equipment as there's little worse than showing up to a fire having all of the driptorches malfunction from lack of maintenance, worn out wicks, clogged intakes. Well, leaking waterpacks are pretty bad, and dull chainsaw chains are also lousy. Warm season grasses continue to cure, painting glades and high quality woodlands in reds and yellows interspersed with all kinds of asters. I'm waiting for that first frost and the Indian summer days to move in so I can go backpacking without seed ticks on the horizon.

Monday, September 04, 2017

Streambanks in September

Ker-plunk! The walnut from high above fell swiftly and loudly into the water along the shoreline. Walnut and hickory leaves are all turning yellow and flying into the air, too, as Labor Day arrives. Last week, as the mild temperatures continued in the Ozarks because of the high pressure dome that tragically stalled out Hurricane Harvey in Texas, I started my streambank sampling. Cardinal flowers and ageratum were in full bloom, and the otters were out because there was no one else on the river that day. The morning cicadas hummed along while the temperatures escalated to a high of the low 80s. All of these things are signs that fall is near, though not officially until after my mid-September birthday. Shorter days, darker mornings, the slowing of the katydid chorus all mark this time of year. Seed ticks are, of course, still out and won't go away until the first frost. I welcome Indian summer.

My 45th birthday is in mid-September, a time to set new goals and objectives for the year ahead. This year I plan to spend my birthday with my childhood best friend who lives in Dauphin Island, Alabama (barring a tropical storm, depression or hurricane that week). She's the first of my friends to allow me to bring my motley crew of old dogs to stay in her mother-in-law cottage that rests behind her beachfront property. And so, in a couple of weeks we'll make the 12 hour drive with my 12 year old Bassett Hound, unknown-aged Phantom Schnauzer, and the perenially fussy 17 year old rat terrier, all three of whom were inherited after my mother's death in 2012. Three high maintenance dogs make travel quite the hassle, sometimes an impossibility, but paying for a full-time pet sitter is out of my financial reach. Unfortunately, they require a lot of maintenance, the exact opposite of my dart frogs. And so, we're packing up the pups, picking up some Pinckney Bend gin from New Haven and driving to Dauphin Island for four days of summer weather -beach weather- in mid-September.

With all of the blooming yellow composites ranging from Rudbeckia laciniata to Verbesina, the skippers and hummingbirds have a veritable feast. Glades are also awash in late summer wildflowers, especially Missouri coneflower and various species of blazing stars. But the streambanks, accessed by canoe via clean, fast-moving Ozark streams are hard to beat for botanical richness this time of year. The Niangua River from Bennett to Ho-Humm is particularly rich, a good 8 mile float trip that one can accomplish in a day quite easily, even if stopping to botanize and fish along the way. Kids are back in school, day lengths are shorter, the wood ducks are still swimming along the shorelines and kingfishers and bald eagles still feel like they're being chased downstream even if one isn't paddling their boat very hard.

Today is Labor Day and American Oystercatchers grace my Audubon calendar for the month of September. I haven't started thinking about the logistics of my Halloween costume which I feel certain, regardless of how great it is, will not win the work costume contest. I don't have any friends at work, and the green M&M wins every year. Same person, same costume, same lack of originality, same $50 gift card. Nevertheless, despite all of that I anticipate a trip towards St. James for Public House's Oktoberfest and the ability to pick up some Concords. Later in the month I retrieve my Norton juice so I can make my first batch of Norton wine!

Saturday, August 26, 2017

Fall Migration

At 5:30 this morning, the sun had not begun to avail itself through the boughs of my front yard walnut. It seems like only a few weeks ago that the sun streaming through my open windows at 5:15 every morning brought on the morning cicada chorus and warm, sunny weather by 6:00. This morning at 5:30 I had to employ a flashlight to navigate to my hummingbird feeders for refilling; I made the sugar water overnight and wanted to make sure the popular backyard feeders were full at daybreak. The downy woodpeckers enjoy feasting on the ants that the sugar water attracts, and with four feeders scattered throughout the length of my deep lot, the hummingbirds are well fed. This time of year also corresponds to an entire backyard full of yellow blooming cup plant, a major attractant to not only hummingbirds but bumble bees and native sweat bees.

For the past few weeks, unable to spend much time outside, I've tracked fall bird migration through the nighttime radar maps. Migration is largely triggered by daylength, and birds travel mostly at night. Last night, Jim Cantore of The Weather Channel reported that the eye of Hurricane Harvey was filled with thousands of migrating birds, a phenomenon that also happened during Hurricane Matthew. My local Audubon chapter posted this interesting Citizen Science link that tracks the hummingbird migration. Evidently it's well underway in our area. As long as the hummingbirds continue to feed, keep your feeders up. If you have the great fortune to visit Portal, Arizona this fall, you'll be delighted to know that homeowners allow random birders into their yards to witness activity at their feeders. On a trip a couple of years ago, I saw 6 species of hummingbirds--many feeding on the red cactus flowers, but swarming around backyard feeders. Some homeowners ask for a small donation to help cover the cost of sugar water.

Even though there is abundant native food, mainly insects and berries, in the neighborhood, I started filling my seed feeders a couple of weeks ago. Most of my friends in my Audubon chapter feed seed all year; I don't have the budget for that. Nevertheless, goldfinches and chickadees, woodpeckers and gray catbirds, are all enjoying the country mix. To boot, the catbirds have stripped my enormous pokeweed of all of its dark purple berries, resulting in violet water in my birdbath.

I am not ready for the winter months ahead, days when I leave my house in the dark and come home from work in the dark. I never get enough exercise in the dark days and nights of winter. Thankfully, there are still plenty of blooming composites, great birding, warm afternoons and the coming of grape harvest.

Saturday, August 12, 2017

In the St. Francois Mountains

On May 8, 2009, in the middle of the day, straight line winds in excess of 100mph ripped through the Ozark Highlands and toppled the largely wooded canopy across approximately 150 miles. The wind event, labeled as a derecho (pronounced both in the proper Spanish pronunciation and the Americanized version), was predicted by Drew and the other fine folks at Springfield NOAA. This storm that brought us a bow echo wind event resulted in not only flattened trees across thousands of acres, but damaged buildings, closed roads and caused power outages for at least a week if not more.

While many private and public landowners began salvage logging all of the red oak, black oak and scattered white oak that had fallen during the storm, some landowners left the downed trees to let nature take its course, beetle food, natural decomposition and all. Deep in the heart of the St. Francois Mountains this one area that did not see heavy equipment rip up the soil and damage the understory has served as a lesson in recovery through the years. Looking at the original General Land Office survey records, one can read about the abundance of hazelnut shrubs in the midstory and a scattered post oak and shortleaf pine overstory that existed before intensive settlement of the area began in the mid-1800s. Visiting the areas that did not see the wind event, one may be hard pressed to find hazelnut and pine, and, after many years of open range grazing and fire suppression, there is an explosion of a red oak-black oak component that does not coincide with the historic character. But visit the regenerating woodlands that have now been managed with infrequent fire, witnessed no salvage logging, and allowed to regenerate naturally, and one will find a canopy and midstory composition much in line with the historic survey records.

And so, in summer 2017, the pines are skyrocketing, the post oak-white oak shrubs are maturing into trees, and looking out across the landscape, from a long view at least, it's difficult to discern that 90% of the canopy had been uprooted by that windstorm. On the ground, hiking the maintained Ozark Trail, the shrub layer is dense and thick and in need of a prescribed fire to encourage the canopy trees and to knock back some of the dense thickets of black gum, drought stressed last week and already turning red.

The hazelnut shrubs are producing a bumper crop of nuts which must be absolutely great for the black bear population down there. The brush is so thick and dense, but the canopy trees that were felled by the windstorm are melting thanks to successive fires and sheer time. Shrubland birds thrive here, with a cacophony of towhees and yellow-breasted chats surrounding us as we duct taped off the thousands of seed ticks littering our trouser legs. The area spared from salvage logging is a din of bird life, insect life, good forb diversity and blooming goldenrods and blazing stars. Resiliency in our highest quality areas is possible if we don't mess with them too much.

Saturday, July 29, 2017

Sampling during Seed Tick Season

I think I need to write to the Duct Tape company and explain to them how grateful I am for their product. Thanks to Duct Tape, I can wrap my ankles and throw a slab of tape onto my thigh so that when I hit seed ticks, I can immediately capture them onto the tape, folding them into death. I am generally a compassionate person, really I am, but when the creature bound for my ankles, thighs, waist, entire body is a seed tick, I will gladly remove them from my trousers with Duct Tape. I can't live without Duct Tape during seed tick season. With one swat of duct tape to the trousers, one can capture hundreds of seed ticks, all vectors for disease.

But vegetation sampling season is well underway, coinciding with seed tick season. On a routine basis, I bust through the tall warm season grasses and perennial forbs to track species richness in burn units, but I check my trousers every couple of steps for masses of seed ticks. Duct tape is vital, along with horrible chemicals that are undoubtedly increasing my chances of cancer just by spraying them onto my clothes. But when the ticks hit my clothes that have been treated with this horrible carcinogen, they die rather than scatter all over me. Tick disease or clothes soaked in known carcinogens? It's kind of a battle, one that all of us working in the field deal with on a daily basis. Knowing that the deer population in my sampling site was out of control, super high numbers of deer, I opted for soaking my trousers in the carcinogen and I remained tick-free. Hopefully anyone else who uses this toxic chemical will recognize that it is not meant for human contact, that clothes must be treated and dried for two hours before wearing. Safe chemical? Hell no. This is toxic as toxic gets.

But sampling must occur, and without late July sampling events, one will miss out on seeing Hexalectris spicata, an orchid that shows up in early restoration on a glade after cedar removal. Stop hiking during July and you'll miss seeing all the invertebrates, the blooming Silphium and Vernonia, the orchids and all of the bees, butterflies and other blooming plants. Seed ticks are horrible, yes, and mature ticks can be deadly, yes, so make sure you wear long trousers, tape your ankles with Duct Tape, spray the dickens of horrible chemical onto your clothes, but not while you're wearing them. Don't wear shorts and flip flops. Seed tick season is definitely here and it's a bad one, one with no previous winter to speak of to kill off adult ticks. I still can't figure out if seed ticks are vectors for disease, I see alternating articles on the topic. I do know that they itch horribly and leave red welts behind their bite. To enjoy the Ozarks during seed tick season, one must be prepared to manage them. One stray blade of grass along a trail and you'll be hit with a slug of ticks. Carry Duct Tape. Wear Duct Tape. But the natural world is blooming with such spectacular flowers that it would be a shame to wait until the first frost to go for a hike.

Sunday, July 23, 2017

In the Throes of Summer

When I see the open air pitched tents in a parking lot, it's my signal to pull over to see what the farmers in the area are offering that day. Farmer's markets and impromptu truck stands have popped up all over the state in recent years. And now, in late July, they're all awash in beautiful tomatoes, cucumbers, melons, and green beans. Summer produce season is definitely one of my favorite times of the year: there's a "no cooking" rule in my house from the first 95 degree day until the beginning of fall's cooler temperatures. I've been gorging on peaches and blackberries and caprese salads--huge slabs of slicer tomatoes, basil from my garden, mozzarella cheese and balsamic vinegar. Because my yard is too shady to grow anything other than a few herbs and Red Russian kale, I always carry some cash to stop in on local growers.

With all the richness of flowering plants in our natural communities, with the great bounty of fantastic produce also comes a flush of growth of exotic species and the cone of death that comes with treatment. My growing season months aren't always spent traipsing through nice woodlands and glades collecting data. They also include a bit of time spraying horrible chemicals and cutting and stump treating exotic species. It's an awful part of summer that requires long sleeves, a respirator and the sad fate of the flora surrounding exotic species. I try to be surgical, not using the spray setting on a backpack sprayer and often using the glove treatment when, for example, there are a handful of sprigs of sericea surrounded by scurfy pea and other nice natives. But it's difficult and often, despite explicit instruction, there will be practitioners who would rather be done with the job with an empty sprayer so broadcast more chemical than is necessary and without as much regard to the plants we want to preserve. Herbicide application is a very scary aspect of community management; one wrong chemical, one trigger-happy practitioner and an entire area can be killed, leaving bare ground to be colonized by more weeds. It's actually quite scary, sending crews out with sprayers. Sweet clover? I pull it. Johnson grass? Cut and stump treat. Multiflora rose and bush honeysuckle? Cut and stump treat. Yes, it's more time consuming, but it helps to keep the collateral damage down and it's a great way to spend October and November while the leaves are still green and sticking out like a sore thumb.

Sunday, July 16, 2017

A Little off the Beaten Path: Red Moose Vineyards

A few nights ago, while in my hotel room listening to the cicada and katydid chorus through my screen window, I flipped through the hotel's complimentary magazine that highlights local businesses. Naturally, if I see the words "vineyard" or "winery," I will investigate the advertisement and take note. New wineries are opening annually in Missouri, and this one, Red Moose Vineyards, located about 30 miles outside of Salem, has been around for a few years now and operating under my winery-seeking radar. Well, under the radar until now.

Follow the curvy road of Hwy. 19, the same road that takes one to Akers Ferry Canoe Rental and into the heart of the Current River Hills, then peel off onto VV- not VV in Dent County but Crawford County. On the right, just a few miles down VV and on a short gravel driveway, sits a lovely new metal building with log cabin accents and large two story deck complete with brightly colored umbrellas over the tables to provide shade. The deck overlooks the vineyard which was planted in 2006 with Norton, Chambourcin and other varietals that make up my favorite Missouri wines. Inside the log cabin accents with a contemporary feel is a modern tasting room with high ceilings and huge windows that allow for ideal natural light. Red Moose Vineyards was not named after the animal, but the partners- the winemaker's nickname Red, and Moose is Red's brother and both he and his wife (their sister-in-law) collaborate in the business. Moose's real name is Mark and their sister-in-law's name is Shirley, but she goes by the nickname Zimm. This business is a true family venture.

The rustic -yet modern- feel of the winery includes a mounted moose head above the door and a silhouette red moose as the logo. So, even though the winery was not named after the animal, it would have been strange to not have a red moose as the logo. I recall a winery in North Missouri named after the owner's son, but the entire winery was outfitted in "I Love Lucy" paraphernalia (which made me check the record to find out if Lucille Ball was a Missourian. She was not).

Red Moose Vineyards offers light lunch options such as pizza and cheese trays, winery food always welcome to winery guests (especially my trusty driver). More importantly for me at a Missouri winery is the wide variety of supple, beautifully made dry red wines. The Red Moose 2012 Norton is a classic, aged 14 months in white oak barrels procured from McGinnis Wood Products in nearby Cuba, Missouri. The 2015 Chambourcin is fantastic, and while it's a drink-now wine, it could also be set aside for a few years to see how it develops. The precious barista that day was the winemaker's wife and partner who had time to tell me about the winery's history: They moved here from Edwardsville, Illinois where she worked for the local fire department. Her husband was a home winemaker in the beginning. On the tasting bar was a photo of the label of Fruition, a red blend that they sell, with part of the proceeds of the sales of this wine earmarked for a local Salem Plateau- area fire department. Each month the sales of this wine, Wine with a Cause, goes to a local charity of Red Moose Vineyard's choice. Of course I bought this one for my rack, knowing that part of my purchase that day was going to the local volunteer fire department.

As is the case with most Missouri wineries, the biggest sales here come from the sweeter offerings. I tasted the semi-sweet wines, which were lovely but probably too dry for my one friend who drinks sweet wines. They excel at dry vintages, and are among the friendliest bunch of folks I've met in a long time. This little winery off Hwy. 19 has something to offer everyone, including beer drinkers who can enjoy Rolla/St. James Public House's fine craft beer. I'm thrilled Red Moose Vineyard is successful, and so happy to have met the winemaker who helped me with my yeast choices for my first batch of Norton. What a great place to spend an afternoon overlooking incredible vines and the welcome thunderstorms rolling in.

Sunday, July 09, 2017

A New Landscape Paradigm

In the past ten years that I have lived in my yellow Craftsman bungalow, I have dealt with the local weed inspectors regarding my native, wild yard. I have a lot of asters, goldenrods, wild geraniums, spiderwort, cup plant and other native species; seeing these rangy plants when they're not in full glorious bloom seems to ruffle feathers in the code violations offices. Fair enough, I understand height restrictions for plants that are not typical garden variety species. I certainly understand where the weed inspectors are coming from, a background of lawns being tidy and nice, manicured, which my yard is not. I worked in horticulture in a past career, so certainly recognize the concept of well-manicured yards to keep snakes and rats at bay. I also recognize that native plant gardening doesn't result in pest problems.

When I first moved into this house as a renter, I took note of the native flora that was persisting through the frequent plantings of turfgrass. In this perched wetland classified as an upland flatwoods, we had old growth chinquapin oak, pin oaks with buttressing bases, lots of smartweeds, joe pye weed, spiderwort, and all of these species came in on their own, so I was in no position to eradicate them in favor of a turfgrass lawn. I've never owned a lawn mower and never wanted to invest in one. We've had our battles with the weed inspector but it's mostly because the lot next to mine is abandoned and has chest-high fescue and Queen Anne's lace. I actively work to make my yard less weedy and more forb-y. The hostas that the previous landowner planted never do very well; they flower for a few days and then shrivel in the crappy soils inherent in this property. The purple coneflowers do quite well, along with black-eyed Susans which bloom profusely throughout June and August. But I still have the tall asters that won't flower until early September. And then there's my Helianthus hirsutus which doesn't really flower until late September.

Tuesday afternoon I will have a cadre of "backyard habitat specialists" on my property for an assessment. I have gone through the paperwork for a National Wildlife Backyard Habitat certification, and the local version of that which asks even further questions about rain barrels and compost piles, which, of course I have. I have shared photos of other native vegetation yards in the neighborhood to the office that will be coming out to my yard, all beautiful photos of Ratibida and coneflowers, charismatic sedges, nice and organized yards. I've worked hard this week to make my yard look organized, cutting back seedheads of sedges knowing that the weed ordinance hits yards with "weeds" 1 ft. tall, which my Carex annectans is. Cut it. I did. I've trimmed back my gooseberry shrubs, my wild hydrangeas, my elderberry, all very tidy and manicured now. I do hope I pass inspection and the muster that will allow me to weigh in on native plantings. Fingers crossed.

Update!Met with the City Conservationist today and my yard ranked Platinum because there is no trace of bush honeysuckle, lawn grass, wintercreeper and other weeds. I scored well with my rain barrel, bird baths, bird houses, bird feeders, bee house, brushpile, native fruit producing flora (she had some of my gooseberries which the catbirds left behind), so I get a sign in the yard as a native habitat landscape! Now I will have the city sign, my National Wildlife Federation sign, and my Bernie sign. She told me I needed to keep up the Bernie sign, which has been up since early 2016. It's not coming down.

Saturday, July 01, 2017

Oh Deer, We Have a Serious Problem

Visiting the Cross Timbers country, where the Ozarks meet the prairies, is usually full of fun botanical discoveries--Perideridia americana, Malvaviscus hispidus, fun stuff like that, all surrounded by stunted post oak trees that average 400 years in age. This traditionally open landscape was the site of early ecosystem restoration projects spearheaded by a colleague, followed up by botanical surveys which indicated super rich woodlands, old growth post oaks, a grass-forb mix that appeared after thinning and prescribed fire were implemented. I love camping here with all of the Summer Tanagers, the Orchard Orioles, the Red-headed Woodpeckers that all thrive in this great environment.

But when I looked at the sampling data from 1987 and compared it to my own transect data along the same plots I collected in 2011, it was not even recognizable. First I thought I was in the wrong area, but I quickly realized that the entire site had been so severely degraded by deer overbrowsing that I asked for funding to install deer exclosures just to make sure I wasn't crazy. 16 ft. cattle panels, held together with baling wire, requiring climbing into them to sample the vegetation. So, I set up deer exclosures in 2011. I have sampled outside the deer exclosure and inside the deer exclosure using valid methodology established by the outfit I work for every year after a prescribed fire. The first few years I saw a few differences, more flowering stems inside the exclosure, more development of redbuds, white oaks and other ice cream plants for deer. I have collected data since 2011 and the data from 2017, collected last week, tells a story. A horrible story.

Imagine a landscape that was on par with the best remaining quality landscapes in the Niangua Basin, super rich with edge-of-range species, a lot of Camassia angusta, Brickellia, all kinds of cool plants that pollinating insects depend on, and then add an atrociously high number of white-tailed deer, some so tame and tick-infested that they come up to campers looking for food. Biodiversity disappears. I have witnessed this trend around St. Louis, and thankfully we have long-standing deer exclosures set up there, too, to measure deer impacts to vegetation. Unfortunately, someone in my shoes complaining about deer overpopulation and the degradation of biodiversity at the hands of deer doesn't stand a chance in the political realm. So I collect data. I write testimony that deer are impacting biodiversity.

When the woodlands of the Cross Timbers country were once a rich system with a suite of warm season grasses and perennial forbs- many of them restricted in their range- when that landscape is reduced to a monoculture of inland sea oats, genus Uniola, with no forb diversity, there's a problem. There's especially a problem when in those deer exclosures I set up in 2011 possess more species richness than anywhere else in the entire 800 acre tract, there's a problem. Indeed, deer cause a lot of collateral damage to crops, to automobiles, but no one is measuring the impacts of deer on biodiversity except a few select folks. When I saw a doe in my yard recently I recoiled and yelled and screamed and almost pulled out my Daisy slingshot. My partner laughed, saying that I trash talk deer so much that now they're coming after my yard. It's not funny. Deer are voracious feeders and will denude a landscape of quality vegetation, and when that happens, the whole trophic cascade effect occurs. Without the flowering plants you don't see pollinators. Without pollinators and other insects you don't see birds. Without birds you don't see seed dispersal, and so forth. Deer are the hooved locusts of biodiversity. Managing this scourge from the east, from the abysmal landscapes of Biltmore Estates, no plants but trees (not regenerating) and ferns, will be our future unless we take immediate action to control these out of control deer populations. Without the long standing predator-prey relationships, deer will continue to spiral out of control. And biodiversity loses every time.

Saturday, June 24, 2017

June is Concord Month!

As any loyal reader of my blog knows, I do not drink sweet wine. I opt for Norton, Chambourcin, cheap Cabernet for my house wine. I do collect Oregon pinot noir and Missouri Nortons and will open one on special occasions, including one occasion which involved the coming of my house wrens to my wren box. These are special occasions. When the katydids start calling I'll open another one. I have great hopes of making my own wine, not for apocalypse planning but for my own edification. So I had to start somewhere. Missouri seems like a great place for making wine.

And so, last July I placed an order for Norton juice from a St. James area vineyard that cannot produce wine. They grow grapes and can sell juice, but can't make wine. When I finally arrived in mid-September, they only had Concord juice, sold as juice, frozen to kill off the wild yeast. I reconfigured my recipe with champagne yeast to make Concord wine, preferably a dry wine that didn't taste like all the commercial Concords that are palatable to college-aged girls and sweet wine lovers.

A family friend gave me two glass carboys, my partner gave me the fermenters and airlocks, along with a great book on making wine. Special thanks to professional winemakers who gave me more advice than I even understood, I made my first batch of wine: Concord, with regular wine yeast and champagne yeast as a finish. The wine turned out vaguely effervescent, but flavorful. I have given it away to friends who drink sweet wine and have given tastes to friends who support my plan to make supple, dry wines out of Missouri-grown grapes. But June is designated as Concord Month by the Missouri Wine and Grape Board, so I celebrate my first venture into making wine. I have yet to actually drink anything more than a taste of the wine I made. I plan to improve my skills with better juice secured from a winery in Osage County. In the meantime, visit Missouri wineries this summer! Concord is a good place to start. Usually folks will drink sweet wine and then matriculate to dry wines. Concord is traditionally so damned sweet but it's a good gateway wine for anyone wanting to go from beer or liquor to wine.

Saturday, June 17, 2017

Three Days on the Current River

I set out early on Monday for a three day birding event in the Current River country. I hadn't visited the area since the last big flood, the one that sent buildings downstream, ripped roofs off of float outfitters and shut down the river to recreation for almost an entire month. The streambanks have been shredded. Volunteers and hired hands spent a month clearing downed logs to make the river passable for floaters by cutting up the snags into firewood and sending them downstream. But the streambanks look like a tornado went through them.

Streambank natural communities are accustomed to, and in fact dependent on disturbance such as from intermittent flooding. But to what degree of disturbance? This megaflood ripped mature trees and sections of bottomland woodlands out of the way which has now widened the river in some places, filling the river with sediment and more gravel, making it look like the sections of river where jet boats cause significant sheeting and degradation of the streambank. The flooding sent all of the fish hatchery trout downstream on the Current, little guys, voracious feeders of native fauna. Before Welch Spring I noted large patches of bright green filamentous algae, a sign of pollution from the watershed. All the fertilizer from pastures, manure and flooded bathrooms and latrines sending high nutrient loads downstream. I have seen the same on parts of the Jack's Fork River from horse manure, areas that were cordoned off from full body contact with the water, but that was in a stagnant July.

Cliff faces must be the most sturdy of our natural communities associated with Ozark streams. The Southern Maidenhair Fern persists despite the roaring river waters. Gravel bars have been reshaped, the river is widening and sediment sloughing off. Gravel accretion occurring rapidly. Unfortunately, I doubt this can be classified as a once-in-100-years flood event.

I woke every morning at 5:30 to the sounds of cerulean warblers, almost too many to count, and yellow throated warblers, Louisiana waterthrush with their dulcet call, even one blue-winged warbler on a shrubby streambank. Maybe it's the scale of all of that protected land that allows for so many breeding birds, signs of nests and visions of orioles taking out the fecal sacs from their nests. Despite the sad state of shredded streambanks, birding in the Current River country is certainly rewarding.

Monday, May 29, 2017

A Woodland in Maintenance Mode

On March 23, 1983, this 61 acre woodland was set on fire for the first time in many years. It was an easy burn technically, just as it was in November 2016: one primary hill surrounded by steep draws and a glade on the northeast corner. This area has seen regularly occurring fire since 1983, often incorporated as part of a larger unit, sometimes on its own, but regular fire courses through it like clockwork. When my Audubon chapter Field Trip Coordinator asked if I would lead a fieldtrip in May, of course I suggested taking the long drive to this beautiful area.

Stepping out of the cars on a cloudy late May morning, a day with a forecast of torrential rain, we heard the prairie warblers as clearly as a trilling bell. Our birding hike through this burn unit turned into a botany class with so many rich woodland and glade plants in full flower that it was hard for some in our group to fathom that all of it is naturally occurring. I recall several fieldtrips where I have been asked about seed mixes, how much seed does it take to produce an area like this. Zero, none, no seeds have been added to this lovely woodland complex.

Quite different story from where I spent the bulk of my week. I attended a great workshop in this completely manufactured landscape. Imagine if you will a place unlike any natural setting where plants only found in backwater sloughs in North Missouri are growing next to plants that are only found in Ozark fens. Or rare plants known from two locations in Missouri growing in a garden setting. This artificial setting was disturbing at best from a natural community ecologist's position where plant conservation is tied to natural community protection. But then there's a side to plant conservation where growing in a garden setting is just as good or better than the natural community protection.

It's a political divide between plant conservation and ecosystem protection. I frankly think it' collect seeds from highly conservative plants, the ones with C values of 7-10 and then grow them in a garden to collect an Element of Occurrence record from them. While I would hate to see, for example, Solidago gattengeri to go extinct, I would much prefer to know that the plant's conservatism resulted in the conservation of degraded though restorable glades rather than the efforts of garden ladies in St. Louis who had success with their rich soils. It begs the question, one which made me leave the native plant society many years ago--if the plants disappear, we can just replant them from seeds, so the actions of our misinformed management will go unchallenged, we can just plant the seeds of the plants you want to see. A zoo setting. A botanical garden rather than a high quality ecosystem. To hell with proper ecosystem management if you can just play Johnny Appleseed on the landscape.

Move to Friday night at my grocery store where I was stocking up on wine and Greek yogurt for the weekend and found growing quite happily in their bioswale (installed because they just put in a gas station where I get great fuel points) a lovely specimen of Carex muskingumensis, known from remnant high quality sites in North Missouri. And now, thanks to the plant trade, known from the damned parking lot at my Gerbes store. And it's doing great. Natural community conservation and management is a lot harder than gardening. I'm actually glad to hear that propagating New Jersey tea is difficult. It should be. This high C value plant should only be seen in high quality areas like the one we visited this weekend. And it was everywhere there. What happens when the native plants propagated from genetics of who knows where in the Ozarks translocate to an equally high quality native landscape? And it takes off? To hell with the scientific value of native genetics.
Native plant gardening is fine in areas surrounded by destroyed native habitat, but please don't bring in "native plants" near intact systems. It's all very disruptive and disturbing at the same time. So which of my photos are from native plant gardens? None of them, they're all from a high quality ecosystem, an irreplaceable ecosystem that cannot be "replanted" once it's gone.