Ozark Highlands of Missouri

Westphalia's Gem: The Norton Room at Westphalia Inn

2012-01-27T21:27:00.006-06:00

Driving off the Central Plateau into the Gasconade River Hills, gentle undulations in the landscape make way to dangerous curves in the road. Traffic signs warn drivers speeding out of Rolla or Jefferson City: 45 mph ahead. 35 mph ahead. The German Catholic towns of Vienna, Freeburg, and Westphalia represent the breadbasket of this part of the Ozarks with deep soils, gently rolling terrain, widely spaced oaks and meandering streams and rivers -many filled with cattle- coursing through the landscape. Coming to Osage County from the peaks and vales of Missouri River country, Cole County, Westphalia is reminiscent of Hermann, a nice quiet town far away from the capital. Turn onto Hwy 133 off Hwy 63 and you're on the main drag through town, passing by charming 19th century homes, the local watering hole, the beautiful Catholic church with that tall steeple that can be seen for miles, and an old hotel, the Westphalia Inn, home to Westphalia Vineyards and the restaurant that serves traditional Osage County fare (ham and beans, pot roast, fried chicken).

I'm grateful, in a way, that the Norton Room isn't open during the work week, or I'd likely be there several evenings of the work week. Walk up the stairs of the historic hotel-gift store (across the street from the church, park on the road, look closely for the small winery sign or the big HOTEL at the top of the two story brick building)and you'll find a well-appointed dining room with gentle lighting, high ceilings, a warm and inviting environment with ample seating. If you're lucky, you'll be there when Westphalia Vineyard's owner, Terry Neuner, is behind the bar.

What a delight to finally meet the man behind one of my favorite Nortons. I think it may have been the first thing I asked him, if he had any of his 06 Norton left. A few years ago, the 06 vintage was available in stores, but no more, only the 08 and 09 vintages. "Only here" can one find the 06 vintage, at the Westphalia Inn. Lucky day, this supple, sulfite free, unfiltered Norton pours out of the glass onto the palate with body unmatched by so many other 06s, many of which have fallen flat despite the Norton grape's propensity to age so well. Terry explained that he pulled the 06s from the shelves because of the sediment it left behind. I appreciate the sediment, reminiscent as it is of my days in Greece when we'd throw the sediment against the wall of the local tavern, a tradition as old as the 5th c. (with stains in archaeological sites to prove it). The Westphalia 06 unfiltered Norton is as close as one can get to tasting the soil, to understanding the delicate balance involved in growing grapes in the Gasconade River Hills--the cool spring nights, the cold winters, the droughty summers...the 06 Norton breathes it all. Knowing this vintage is still available at the winery will bring me back to Hwy 133 time and again.

When I spoke to Terry about my love of Norton, how I chase and collect Norton, he mentioned his friendship with one of Virginia's premier Norton producers, the woman behind the esteemed Locksley Reserve Norton, Jenny, a main character in Todd Kliman's book about the history and culture of Norton, The Wild Vine. The famed Jenny, passionate about Norton, an incredible vintner, grew up in Westphalia. When Terry mentioned that she came to town and spent time with him and his vines, I could have only wished to have been in the company among two great Norton wine producers, one based in Missouri, one based in Virginia. Oh, they swapped bottles, of course, and had a fine time together.

Missouri's wine heritage is steeped in German Catholic culture, and Westphalia is at the heart of it. The whitewashing of the story of Prohibition, that it was promulgated by the Temperance League is only part of the story behind the end of Missouri's reign as a great wine producer in the 1900s. The jingoistic culture that came hand in hand with World War I and the hatred of all things German had a lot to do with it, too. Today, Terry continues the fine tradition of handcrafting great wines, and mentions that he exports most of it to California. Missouri Norton in Cabernet country. Rumblings abound that California winemakers are trying their hand at growing Norton, but Missourians, especially those of German heritage, have been doing it quite well for over 100 years.

Winter forage

2012-01-21T09:14:00.005-06:00

With the problem of deer overpopulation in Ozark woodlands ever burgeoning, snow covered landscapes tend to be desirable for the simple fact of allowing for aerial deer counts. In the absence of snow, and often in consort with the aerial census, another method to measure deer impacts to biodiversity can be employed. This time intensive process tracks deer browse on woody stems, both the desirable species and those normally less palatable to deer.

Winter twig browse surveys usually begin in mid-February in the Ozarks, before leaf on and yet still winter when deer begin browsing on small shrubs and trees. Ice cream twigs for deer include dogwood, white oaks, sassafras, aromatic sumac, winged sumac. In my experience running long transects for winter twig browse surveys, these are often the first shrubs and trees deer will browse in late winter months. The less favorable plants include black oaks, buckeye, bitternut hickory, vaccinium--when these are browsed intensely, it probably indicates deer overpopulation.

Here's the drill: Walk along transects that harbor enough small woody species to fill a page with each species of 50 spaces; clones on each plant are grasped and the number of browsed twigs and unbrowsed twigs are recorded. So, grab a stem on a sassafras and you may have three browsed twigs and one unbrowsed, recorded as 3/1 in one of the spaces. Find another sassafras and another and so forth until the page is filled with browsed/unbrowsed numbers. This is accomplished for about 10-15 species and at least 10 transects scattered across the landscape. Time consuming, yes, but valuable information results when the browsed/unbrowsed are calculated into percentages. In woodlands with high deer numbers, dogwood gets hit on the nose, and even black oak buds are clipped off. When this happens repeatedly, erect trees and shrubs take on a multibranching habit or, under intense pressure, they never leaf out and subsequently die.

The deer problem in the Ozarks is growing at an alarming rate, leading us to homogenized ecosystems full of plants unpalatable to deer. Measuring the impacts of deer overpopulation to biodiversity is a top priority for me. Spending the days running twig browse transects each February-March gathering valuable data are indeed days well spent.

Winter's Stillness?

2012-01-16T20:19:00.009-06:00

I went to the woods today hoping to see bluebirds and flickers. I was expecting a quiet day on a little trail through a small nature preserve with a fellow birder to discuss management issues--where to place a trail, what to do now that all the bush honeysuckle has been removed? (Kill deer, burn, in that order) Rather than a peaceful afternoon on the trail with the long winter shadows, clear skies, and bird activity, we met other hikers--kids in shorts, a couple with binoculars, families, elderly, young, lots of others. (I didn't know anyone even knew this place existed, frankly.) It was an active day on the trail --lots of great bird activity from bluebirds, sparrows, woodpeckers, along with the sweet high pitched voices of children hiking on the muddy trail. Today was very unlike winter 2011 when we were socked in with 16 degree weather and snowbanks higher than my raised porch and no one else left their homes for a week. Cross country skiers took over the main road through my neighborhood.

For my friends in far flung places, I'll report what I failed to mention in my Christmas card: we haven't really seen winter weather here in Missouri. There have been a few "Arctic blasts," some bitterly cold and windy days, lousy road conditions that come with ice and snow, but fall weather lasted forever, allowing me to burn my entire yard before December (and for lots of folks in the the Ozarks to check off target rx fire units. 16 of 27 of mine are done. Record breaking. What am I supposed to do in February-March? Set out more kale! Still harvesting kale from August.)

Combing through my winter woodland photos, I see the same landscape as in November when the leaves had fallen and the late asters were still in bloom. The only snow photo I've taken all winter is from my backyard after the last fire, little tiny patches of snow that remain on a 40 degree day in January.

Streamers on the Springfield Plateau

2012-01-12T18:59:00.006-06:00

As the temperatures plummeted throughout the Ozarks last night (from a clement high of low 40s down to the teens with blustery North winds), you also probably tuned in to Springfield NOAA to watch the long band of baby blue snow march eastward, offering us the first appreciable snow event of winter.

Folks around Springfield may have noticed on their local NOAA radar a pale khaki blanket preceding the snow front, a sheet of sheer tan coloration covering the entire Springfield Plateau. I've written before of the plateau's impact on weather conditions around Springfield, how they tend to have devastating ice storms when the low, undulating hills below are spared. Driving down I-44, one wouldn't imagine that an agricultural field outside of Springfield is approximately 40 ft. shy of being the highest point in Missouri. Thankfully, the scenic, rugged, romantic Taum Sauk Mountain remains the highest point in Missouri, rising up to 1,772 ft. in the undeveloped St. Francois Mountains. But the broad flat plain of the Springfield Plateau is only a few feet short of that, and it impacts weather there. (So, really, if some guy wanted to bulldoze a pile of dirt into a huge heap, why, THAT could be the highest point in Missouri! Scenic! Let's go backpacking!)

Anyway, last night's snow band included a weather event that seldom occurs but on uplifts like the plateau; as the front moved eastward, lateral bands of snow shot out across the plateau ahead of the front (the khaki blanket). On the radar it looked like an outflow boundary of some sort, a bowing wind of snow, but it wasn't that, it was what I believe is called a streamer. Regardless, the uplift of the Springfield Plateau influences local weather patterns just as large bodies of water do with such impacts as lake effect snow. If you ever have an opportunity to hear one of the fine forecasters from Springfield NOAA speak about weather, I urge you to attend. Springfield weather, dictated by its very landform, is truly fascinating.

In Red headed Woodpecker Country

2012-01-05T18:16:00.005-06:00

January 4 marked the last day of the 112th Christmas Bird Count. Since 2004, I have conducted winter bird surveys outside of an official Christmas Bird Count circle in an area of high natural integrity, the terrific managed woodlands in the Niangua Basin. Last year I wrote about the disappearance of the red headed woodpeckers here, not a gradual decline but an abrupt absence of them in the winter bird survey results. In 2004, I counted no fewer than 100, and by 2010, I didn’t detect one.

In 2012, they’re back, and in droves. The chuckling call of red headed woodpeckers surrounded me yesterday morning, so many I had to write quickly to record all of them and the rest of the suite of wintering birds—chickadees, red bellied woodpeckers, tufted titmice, brown creepers, and 17, no, 20, and then 3 more red headeds…they were everywhere. Flying from white oak to post oak through the woodlands, their chuckling undoubtedly masked the high-pitched “zeep!” of tiny golden-crowed kinglets that may have been around.

The goal of my survey was to cover as much ground as humanly possible in one full day, and to beat my last year’s count total of 36 species for one 3,700 acre area. I normally don’t spend time birding in old fields with cedars and blackberry brambles, but I did yesterday knowing that I can always find sparrows there: Song, Lincoln’s, and Field Sparrows congregated in a little island of sericea stalks, 5 ft tall cedars, and scraggly little bluestem. Field sparrows were also hanging out in a shrubby area of a big dolomite glade, one of the few glades that haven’t been burned this year. On Christmas Bird Counts, it’s a common practice to count birds that visit bird feeders, so my non-natural community birding in the old field counts, even though I normally don’t go birding in old fields. The intact natural communities should provide sufficient food, water, shelter for birds that in this heterogeneous landscape, they don’t need old fields. But the sparrows hang out there anyway.

High winds picked up in the afternoon, and I never picked up either ruby crowned or golden crowned kinglet or a hermit thrush, darn it, but the gadwalls and wood ducks in the spring pushed my list to 38 species. Of course, spring birding is only a few months away, that magical time of year when the migrants travel through the Ozarks to their breeding grounds in Canada, allowing us to see boreal forest species in all their brilliant spring plumage without having to fly there ourselves.

The Shortest Day of the Year

2011-12-21T19:16:00.003-06:00

Winter hasn't moved in with the same vengeance as it did last year with Arctic blasts every week. We were lucky for that long fall, for the opportunity to burn over 2,000 acres in my area, and grateful I am that the roads haven't been totally wrecked by snow and sleet during my commute. Today marks the first true day of winter, the shortest day of the year. The morning started out cloudy with cardinals at the feeder, a still, warm enough day. As the winds picked up, the sky cleared, the sun came out and the temperature dropped, but not much. It doesn't feel like Christmas 2010 when we were all bundled up and putting chains on our tires to manage the snowfall while finishing our shopping. Nevertheless, the shorter days are on the wane, thankfully. Driving to and from work in the dark makes me consider if I'm really cut out for 9 to 5 office work. Actually, I know that I'm not, which is why I'm in the field more than at my desk, leaving office work for weekend nights when I'm snuggly in my jammies and working from home at 1 am.

Seed catalogues started arriving last week, bringing the promise of kale and chard and slow bolting cilantro. Seeds need to be in starter pots as early as February! Winter birding, however, is at its peak these days, with brown creepers and yellow bellied sapsuckers showing up throughout the Ozarks. The charismatic waterfowl haven't moved south to Missouri yet (the weather has been so clement in the northern climes that they haven't needed our food plots and little ephemeral pools). My backyard squirrels have enjoyed the larder of unshelled nuts ranging from Brazil nuts to walnuts to pecans, all intended for my nut dish but ending up on the platform feeder in the backyard and disappearing within moments of being placed there. I like to think that the squirrels live in the crevices of my witness tree Chinquapin oak, an old gnarly thing that deserves a plaque--a remnant of a fire-mediated Columbia. Alas, I think the squirrels are living in the abandoned trailer behind my house, squirreling their nuts in old siding, hoarding them all for the Christmas morning feast and sleeping in insulation.

Results are in!

2011-12-17T20:51:00.004-06:00

We crested the first ridgetop around 7am, the sun barely shining through the bare branches of the black oaks. Our Christmas Bird Count was shaping up to be a bluebird skies kind of day with winds light and variable, highs expected to reach the mmid-40s from this morning's low of 22 degrees. On the drive to our assigned woodlands, we counted two Northern mockingbirds and a Cooper's hawk hanging out above an empty bird feeder (and all the feeder birds next door in the quince). I left the regular group I bird with for the count because I'm really not very good with identifying waterfowl at a distance, and I don't really like birding at sewage treatment plants.

The sun finally came up above the hills, shining brightly on the dolomite cliff above the creek. Like clockwork, birds came into the sunlight, in plain view for our tally sheets. Yellow-rumped warblers, Red-bellied woodpeckers, a single Yellow-breasted Sapsucker drilling into a cedar, good woodland birds were tallied today with no sparrows to speak of and not a single Hermit thrush. Today's highlight included listening to the little warble of Golden-crowned kinglets as they flitted around the white oaks in the valley.

The highlights of this year's count include the spotting of 5 million blackbirds in one roost, blackening the trees for a mile; 50 screech owls along one stretch of the KATY Trail (a historic number); watching an American kestral swoop in and attack a mouse; Virginia rails and Sand Hill cranes in the wetlands at the sewage treatment plant. The best part of the day, however, was the solitude we found in the 8 mile trail through the woods where my small team of two didn't see another person until we met the rest of the Area 4S group for a late lunch to compare notes. We never found a Hermit thrush, but found the Winter wren and the only Golden-crowned kinglets in the section. Overall, we tallied 103 species for the Count Circle, which isn't too bad for an urban setting with a horrible sprawl problem.

112th Christmas Bird Count Begins!

2011-12-14T17:35:00.003-06:00

We've come a long way since the 19th century when a popular Christmas sport called the "side hunt" entailed shooting every bird seen on Christmas Day. Back then, whichever group came back with the most birds was considered the winner for the day. The tradition worried ornithologist Dr. Frank Chapman for obvious reasons, and in 1900 he started what he hoped would become an annual tradition, the Christmas Bird Count. Over 110 years later, the count is still conducted annually throughout the country. While some consider birding a sport (one that involves checklists and high counts, winners for the most bird species seen, etc.) the Christmas Bird Count is no longer a side hunt but a terrific way to monitor winter bird populations.

In the Ozarks, there are 8 count circles from Dallas Co. to Springfield to Big Spring country around Van Buren. The Christmas Bird Count takes place in these designated circles, a set area that can encompass thousands of acres. Within that circle, birders fan out to count individual birds. So, after a full day of birding in Missouri, bird counts often reflect hundreds of cardinals, flickers and juncos with species counts ranging from 60 on the low end to 120 (usually those circles with significant waterfowl populations). One active count circle in Missouri was established in the 1960s, and data from each bird count is stored online. In this one area, for example, one can see how many pintail were there in 1965, how many brown creepers in 1980, and so on. Audubon uses the CBC information to track changes in North American bird populations; in recent years, for example, hooded merganser populations in New England have soared while grosbeaks have declined.

I'll be in dry mesic woodlands on Saturday with someone I've never met counting woodland birds for the day. We plan to do some owling, calling in screech, barred, great horned owls to see how many may be detected that day. Check here to see if there's a circle in your area. Contact the local organizer if you'd like to join the fun! Otherwise, don't be nervous if you see a car stop in front of your house between now and January 4 so the counters can add your suet-feeding woodpeckers to their list.

Organizing the Troops

2011-12-08T22:12:00.003-06:00

I think it was in August, the hot desiccating month of August when I slowed to a crawl at the Vienna city limits and saw the sign: "Yard Sale." Out in front of the late 1970s ranch style house were no fewer than 30 plastic Santa Claus lawn ornaments, the vintage type Santas, the kind with little incandescent bulbs inside of them that light up at night. The ranch house on Hwy. 63 outside of Vienna is always a welcome sight during the holdays; starting in late November, the elderly couple who have lived there for many years begin setting out literally hundreds of plastic figurines, mostly Santas, but also snowmen, the Holy Family (surrounded by snowmen), enormous candy canes, the three Wise Men (located on the opposite side of the yard from the Holy Family throughout Advent, of course). For the past three years, the number of Santas has continued to increase. When I saw the Yard Sale sign, I panicked. I asked everyone I knew if the Santa house in Vienna had been sold, if the elderly couple's kids decided to stop the tradition of light up Santas, if the elderly couple just couldn't afford the electric bill and all those danged blanged extension cords going all over the yard.

A sigh of relief this week as I once again slowed from 70 to 35 mph at the first sign of the Vienna city limits and beheld not 100 Santas, but a tripled, ever-burgeoning population of plastic light up Santas (and snowmen, a Holy Family, the three Wise Men, and candy canes). I'm not a lawn ornament person, and didn't grow up in a family fascinated with lawn ornaments, but I'm transfixed by the Vienna Santa Army. I really appreciate the spirit of the holidays this couple portrays by populating their sprawling fescue lawn with plastic ornaments. This year, unlike the past three years, the Santas are all in a straight line, a phalanx of Santas just south of the highway right-of-way. I think the Santas are organizing a coup. I think the elderly couple- spied setting out more Santas earlier this week -are sending us a message. The Santas are truly an organized force this year, an army of Christmas cheer. The message is loud and clear: the rows of light up Santas are warning us, imploring us to be ye of good cheer during Christmastide. Let not the frustrations of daily toil and stupid politics wreak havoc on this wonderful season when cookies are meant to be shared and late nights spent drinking egg nog with fancy rum by the bright C7 lights adorning the cedar sawed down at dusk in Phelps Co.

Slow and Steady Meets Target

2011-12-01T18:26:00.007-06:00

Red-headed woodpeckers cackled above as they flitted between white oaks, distracted as they were from gorging on this year's bumper acorn crop by the huge plume of smoke and small flames down below. It's the most wonderful time of the year, fall fire season! when all of that preparation of firelines really pays off. Today was no exception.

We're in maintenance mode here in the Niangua Basin unit, an area that's been burned for the past 30 years. The fire program started in this tract of woodlands when I was walking door to door selling Girl Scout cookies. Today's weather conditions were ideal: no frost on the windshield, winds 5-8 mph, relative humidity between 21-32% all day. It's a rare occasion to actually burn woodlands in the Ozarks when the threat of a cold front presses. When frontal systems move in they're usually accompanied by squirrely winds shifting directions and sometimes of high intensity. A quick call to Springfield NOAA this morning revealed that the cold front wasn't going to reach the Western Ozarks until around 5, with winds shifting to the North at 2-3 mph. No real threat there, since the fire will be finished by around 4 with an ignition time of 10:30 am. Be wary of burning on the same day a frontal system is expected.

Fire crept along the toeslope, barely moving. We kept at it, sending strips of fire into the woodlands, walking well into the unit with fire, dripping streams of it at the base of hills in hopes of an upslope run here and there. The fire continued to creep. We kept walking, dripping fire. As I walked through one patch of aromatic sumac with my lit torch, a red bat flew up out of the leaf litter, so close in front of me I saw his charming facial features and the venation pattern on his large, almost translucent pink wings. He was tangled in the brush, in the sumac, but he quickly fanagled himself free to perch in a nearby post oak. Red bats are not only fire tolerant, sensing smoke and fire that trigger them to fly up to a nearby tree to wait for the flaming front to pass, but they're fire dependent: in a recent study, it was discovered that red bats only exist in woodlands that are burned every 3-7 years. Unburned woodlands in the study harbored no red bats. Red bats can't exist in thick, overstocked woodlands. They need fire.

I thought a lot today about a diversity in fire regimes when implementing prescribed fire. In papers and presentations, I often talk about how important it is to change the seasons of fire, the frequency of fire, the intensity of fire. Today, only a few days after a decent enough rain the Niangua Basin, fire intensity was pretty low. Today's fire was the definitive "low intensity, frequent fires" that shaped much of the Ozarks. We didn't need to restore the woodlands here, they were restored 30 years ago when the fire regimes that existed in the Niangua Basin for the past 5,000 years were returned to the scene following active fire suppression since the 1920s.

Today's plodding little fire coursed through the whole 250 acre area. Around 3:30, as the shadows grew long and the deep muck fen (with Carex buxbaumii, no less) burned completely, we met up with the other crew. Fire behavior was simple, and our beautifully formed smoke column could be seen clearly from Westphalia. We stripped the interior, setting all the grass on fire, and walked the beautifully prepared firelines twice to make sure no snags were compromising the line (but they weren't because the awesome fire crew blew out around them...), to make sure the fire continued over the hill to the other hill, through the drainage, through the fen. A classic example of a low intensity fire today, a fire that consumed leaf litter, maybe knocked back some brush but not all, in a burn unit that will be a showcase in April, rich with morels and wildflowers and red bats and woodpeckers.

November Botany

2011-11-27T20:24:00.014-06:00

Stretch the legs and kick the leaves before the sun goes down--the winter landscape is settling in for the long haul. There's more to fall woodlands than leaves, but the venation pattern on oak leaves is particularly beautiful in the fall. The abundance of white oak acorns this year is incredible--those little black bears that live in Missouri will likely be very fat and happy this year. My backyard squirrels are already starting to look like arboreal beavers.
From November walks through the woods in the Ozarks, a few photos of wintery images before the snow arrives to bury plant matter altogether, leaving us only with glimpses of brightly colored yellow-rumped warblers and the bright red head of my favorite woodpeckers.

Black Fieldday

2011-11-23T20:56:00.014-06:00

Black is my favorite color these days, not because of its trompe l'oeil properties of hiding my ever-increasing girth (thanks, desk job, for making me fatter than I've ever been), but because it means success. It's becoming increasingly difficult to implement fire, the very natural process that shaped Missouri's natural communities since the end of the Pleistocene--the politics of development, the politics of "harming" timber, the "health risks" associated with air quality during those short pulses of rx fire events (but never mind the cumulative effects of millions of tailpipes spewing carbon monoxide into the atmosphere). So when we have a 1,126 acre prescribed fire, I'm happy as a clam...especially when the fire took place in the best remaining tract of woodland and glade complex in all of the Ozark Highlands.

I set out this early morning for a field day with the guy who brought me to Missouri, my former boss (whom I still call 'boss', much to everyone's consternation), the man who made me think in 2004 that protecting biodiversity was a statewide priority. Oh, how wrong I was to believe that, but a day spent with him is always a good day! Winter botany games are great, but hiking through a blackened landscape for hours is the best remedy for any foul mood.

I was rambling on about my second job as we hiked up the draw, rambling about the woman who dropped her pants in front of me and relieved herself on the floor while I stood there speechless with a mop, when we crested the ridge to see Lodge Glade, all slicked off. I shut up, and envisioned the fire sweeping across Lodge, my boss setting the fire at the base of the hill. I thought of that doghair stand of black oaks that were originally topkilled during a wildfire in the 1980s, now a thick, dense shrub layer with 100 year old grubs. These trees on the back of Lodge will never mature, at least not under my former boss' tenure, since every three years, after the trees have grown to about 5 ft tall, fire knocks them back to the ground with scorch heights three feet up the trunks. This shrub layer, formed by frequent fire events, is integral for the survival of grassland-shrubland birds such as Prairie Warblers, Yellow-breasted Chats, and Indigo Buntings. In a 1996 study here, it was determined that the dense shrub layer, one shaped by fire with a distinctive understory of grass-forb mix, harbors the highest populations of breeding Indigo Buntings in the whole watershed. The shrub layer wrankles a lot of folks who expect the whole fire-mediated area to be park like in existence, wide, evenly spaced white oaks-black oaks-post oaks that Schoolcraft can curry his team of 8 horses side by side throughout. But the early surveyors in the area commented on the shrub layer. In fact, the line notes from the 1845 General Land Office Survey (Surveyor AW Morrison) for this exact area mentions "oak undrgrowth, dense shrubby oaks." Chipping Sparrows, too, dig this area. But the shrub-grassland behind Lodge Glade holds the motherlode of breeding Yellow-breasted Chats, so I started thinking about the shrubs, about Lodge, about how much fun I'm going to have this field season sampling breeding birds again. Ah, field season.

This big fire, obviously, ruined the winter deer browse surveys since every shrub and sapling was topkilled.

We kept walking through the burn unit, admiring the handiwork of the stripping, how the continuous matrix of prairie grasses left no hollow unburned, black as far as the eye could see, revealing a massive crop of acorns. Chipmunks scattered all over the place today, and the birds! The Red-headed Woodpeckers are back! And the Eastern Bluebirds, there were at least 200 of them on our short mile-long hike. The woodpeckers were notably absent from my winter bird surveys for the site for the past two years, dropping from a high in 2005 of 104 birds to 0 in 2009. I detected about 30 today on a non-birding casual survey. Relief. I saw about 20 Field Sparrows on the glade today, flitting from 300 year old chinquapin oak to burned up stalks of gama grass, and back again.

In a place like this, where fire has been a part of the management for the past 5,000years, it's hard not to think positively, to think that at least here, biodiversity thrives on a landscape scale.

Beaujolais et St. James Nouveau est arrive!

2011-11-18T21:38:00.005-06:00

I tend to slam on California wineries that release their wines when they're too young to drink. I joke a lot about how California is drinking a Cabernet that they made on Wednesday, when, really, their wine needs to age...at least a while. In Missouri, young Nortons are nice- even out of the barrel- but Norton really expresses itself after a few years in the bottle (which is why I have a whole rack of 09s that I won't touch).

But the arrival of Beaujolais Nouveau ushers in two months of drinking wine that was only made a month ago, and it's intended to be imbibed while young, very young, only weeks old. In some parts of the country, the arrival of Beaujolais Nouveau is cause for big parties at airport hangars, big events with lots of food and glitter. I live in a town that doesn't really celebrate Nouveau, of course, and it's lucky that I can find at least one to drink. You see, in New Orleans or in Europe, one can find a suite of Nouveau available on this first Thursday. My wine shop in Rome carried at least 10 different ones, and my corner store in New Orleans stocked three. Only one is available in Mid-Missouri, made by George DuBoeuf, and it's fine, it'll do, but there are others...(Randol's in St. Louis probably carries a greater variety).

However, if you're in the Ozarks and you want Nouveau for your Thanksgiving table (because at 12.5% alcohol, a light and fruity body, it's really the best wine for Thanksgiving lunch), St. James Winery has the answer. St. James Winery issued their 2011 Nouveau yesterday, the same day Beaujolais hit American soil, prompting me to drive well out of my way to St. James country pick up a bottle. (Leslie at the tasting bar recognizes me as the girl who specifically asks for Nouveau every year. She hollered at me today across the building as I walked in, "it's here! Your Nouveau is here!")

St. James blends three grapes to make their Nouveau: Chambourcin, Rougeon, and Corot Noir. The last day of harvest for this year's St. James Nouveau was September 2, so the grapes didn't have the advantage -like most of this year's Norton grapes- of those cool October nights. This was a tough summer for Missouri grapes, with drought and excessive heat lasting all summer long.

Back home, I ran past the wine shop for a bottle of (only) DuBoeuf's Beaujolais Nouveau to compare to St. James Nouveau. Bring out the Reidel pinot noir glasses, label them with my cellar tags: 1 and 2. Leave the aerator and the wine bottles to the professional in the house to give me a blind tasting in my dining room:

Wine glasses 1/10 full.

#1: Delicate, fruity, with not a lot of body. Almost effervescent in texture, despite the aerator. The finish isn't as clean as most Beaujolais'. Very drinkable.
#2: Full bodied but with a flat finish. Bigger notes of raspberry. Also effervescent with a barely distinguishable brightness. Clean finish, but a little thin.

Of course, this coming from a big Oregon pinot noir fan, a Walla Walla Cabernet fan, an aged Syrah lover....Nouveau is characteristically thin bodied, fruity, and even a little effervescent (which is why it's a holiday wine and not an everyday wine).

I pegged #2 as the French, and #1 as St. James. I chose correctly! The St. James comes with a screw cap at $9.99 a bottle. I'm drinking the French (plastic cork) and will segue into an 05 Syrah before the night is over. But Beaujolais season is so short, so enjoy! Brightness and Fruit! The Harvest!

Fall Fire Season!

2011-11-16T19:34:00.005-06:00

In my favorite tract of Ozark woodlands rests my dream burn unit: 800 acres of rich grass-forb mix and a black oak-white oak-post oak canopy so widely spaced the crowns don't touch. I've surveyed birds, salamanders, and plants in this dreamy place for almost 8 years now. I love every hollow and ridgetop, all the creekbeds and glades, and the Red Arrow Fault Line that cuts through the prairie grass like a spiky dinosaur spine.

I didn't get the call on Monday that my dream burn unit was being burned on Tuesday because I was 30 miles south of there flagging out firelines in what could be awesome enough woods, but aren't because the firelines never get installed. So I spent late Monday and Tuesday hiking around through super dense leaf litter in structurally nice dry mesic chert woodlands with no understory. No winter botany games, no fading asters to photograph, just leaf litter and trees. Well, go back there today and you'll see pink and black striped flagging tape (I have a whole box of it because no one ever uses it and it reminds me of Maria Sharapova's US Open dress from two years ago). The flagging tape surrounds a 200 acre hill, traveling down one creekbed, through the flatwoods on top, then down a pretty darned steep slope into another creekbed. I just want to burn that hill. Actually, I'd like to burn the whole acreage, but that hill would be a good start.

Driving back home yesterday afternoon, I saw the enormous plume of smoke from my dream burn unit on fire through the dashboard of my car:

I pulled over to watch the smoke rise from the rest of the area, sipping on cold coffee while envisioning my old boss hiking through the bottoms to send fire uphill. I watched from 20 miles away, all that grass and leaf litter (3 years' worth) go up in smoke. It was beautiful. This is not just burning off a hillside, yesterday's fire was burning off the best tract of woods in the state, making them ready for my post-burn vegetation and bird surveys. Field season will be a delight!

Knowing the burn conditions were optimum across the Ozarks yesterday, I high-tailed it home, skipped the gym, and set fire to my yard. The lines are always so beautifully prepared in my yard--down to mineral soil with plenty of space between our fuels and that huge woodpile next door that has been curing for three years. Winds picked up as the sun started to go down, sending embers from chinquapin oak leaves into the air where, thankfully, they extinguished rather than landing in, say, the neighbor's yard.

To see if your favorite woods are burning, check the NOAA Spot Weather Forecast here. Yesterday's Spot Forecast lists the fuel type for the woodlands as "Grass/Leaf Litter." Not too many Ozark woodlands can be characterized that way...
11/17/11: Check out today's Spot Weather Forecast to see the beautiful torch work of one of my favorite people in the Ozarks! Beautiful dry chert woodlands and glades burned today in the Western Ozarks!

Fall Supper

2011-11-06T08:53:00.007-06:00

While many in the Ozarks are busy crocheting red and green afghans, knitting hats and stitching felt onto stockings in preparation for Holiday Craft Bazaars, others are building the roster of kitchen duties for the community's Annual Fall Supper. An age-old tradition in the Ozarks, Fall Suppers serve not only as festive gatherings for the area but as fundraisers for the community and oftentimes for the local church and private school.

Fall Supper menus usually include fried chicken, ham, green beans, rolls or homemade bread, a vinegar-based slaw, and tables of homemade desserts--pies, cakes, brownies. Vienna is serving turkey and sausage this year (November 12). In the German Catholic communities, there's always a beer garden serving Anheuser-Busch products and maybe Pabst Blue Ribbon. These community gatherings are organized locally, often by the women of the church, and can feed thousands of visitors. There are usually games for the kids, raffles for handmade quilts, sometimes raffles for pots of money, all to raise funds for the area. Most Fall Suppers are buffet style, and can run all day. People travel from across the area to attend these festive events.

Fallout

2011-10-19T21:49:00.005-05:00

The clear blue skies and wind gusts of 20 mph signaled the cold front hours before it moved into Missouri. As the temperatures dropped by 10, 15, maybe even more degrees, the houseplants moved inside, the porch filled with black oak leaves, storm windows came creaking down and the asters were in full bloom.

The true sign of change came the next morning when I stood at the window drinking coffee and spotted my first-of-the-year dark-eyed junco hopping on both legs to feed on a Eupatorium seedhead. Another junco came into view in the traditional bird feeding area next to the brushpile and heaps of Christmas tree skeletons. Stepping outside to fill the thistle feeder, I heard the dulcet little call of a white-throated sparrow and couldn't remember the name of the bird for several seconds. I haven't heard "Oh, sweet Canada Canada Canada" since early May, after all. Moments later, I dressed and drove directly to the hardware store for seed and suet. Winter bird feeding season is here.

You can follow the happenings in Missouri's birding world by visiting Birding on the Net: Missouri , where you can read short notes about all the robins gorging on cedar berries this week, the Ruddy Ducks at Eagle Bluffs. Visit any Missouri establishment with a television to follow the movement of the Cardinals.

End of Harvest

2011-10-14T22:21:00.004-05:00

Another harvest season has ended for Missouri wineries, with Meramec's interesting heirloom Stark's Star grapes picked just last week. I've had the wonderful opportunity to talk to a few vintners lately to find out what we should expect of the 2011 vintage. Word on the streets of Hermann reported a fine season with cooler nighttime temperatures making up for July's heat and drought conditions. Meramec's talented owner is optimistic about this year's harvest, as well. The cooler nights saved the vintage.

We're nearing the end of Drink Local Wine week, an event that has spurred online conversations about how local wine should not be avoided, how it has changed through the years from the clunky super sweet junk to the rich, supple wines we have today.
The 06s are drinking very well now, if you can find them. Some wineries are selling their 09 Nortons which should be tucked away for a few years. I've tasted a number of 09s at local tasting bars and, truthfully, they're simply not ready. Norton needs time in the bottle. 3 years at the least, 5 and 10 years ideally. 09 Chambourcins are bright and lively and very drinkable.

My own desire to make Norton may be a reality next growing season. Home winemaking was a New Year's goal two years ago, but I've been too scared to do it, fearing I would make some junk that I wouldn't drink. Oh, and the cost of equipment requires serious planning when living on my salary. Ever since that first broken Italian conversation with the little old man grape grower who made the wine at our villa in Baiae-Cuma (near Naples), I've had a desire to make wine. But I need to be successful so that when I slam on cheap California wine that is as elegant as rat urine, I can add "even I can make better wine..."

Autumn's palette

2011-10-01T22:15:00.010-05:00

The north wind blustered through the Ozarks that bright bluebird afternoon. After several hours of hiking through woodlands and glades the sun began to set over the hills. It's setting much too early these early fall days, and the crickets are the only noise in town. But it's fall composite season! Asters, goldenrods, the stiff stem of the mustard yellow Helianthus occidentalis, restricted to glades in Missouri. I love seeing its basal leaves in my sampling frame during June, thinking ahead to the month when the bluestem turns maroon and gold.

Canopy Color

2011-09-30T22:02:00.005-05:00

Four weeks ago, flying over the Ozarks in a beautiful Cessna 172 Skyhawk, the drought-stricken woodlands from the St. Francois Mountains to the Missouri River Hills looked like fall had arrived on Labor Day with browned out white oaks dotting the landscape. This won't be the first year the Ozarks has a somewhat lackluster fall color display; for the past 6 years or so, weather conditions and larger weather patterns have made for muted fall colors in the Ozarks, with the highlights actually in the midstory with salmon orange sassafras and blood red aromatic sumac.

Historic photos from the 1980s of the Meramec River Valley resemble an oil painting: bright red maples, maroon white oaks, golden hickories, all without the brown tinge we've seen on the leaves these past few years. However, fall floating season is well underway with canoe rental discounts, no drunk kids, no hordes of well-behaved church groups and boy scouts braiding the river system, just a few fishermen and people like me who don't like to be around other people on rivers. Visit the upper Current with her moist, cool, steep valleys that were spared drought (what with those mesic soil conditions and north slopes)--fall is setting in, and it's lovely down there. The cardinal flower has finished blooming, but the blue lobelia is in perfect flower. (Look for the hybrid between the two on the Jack's Fork.) Grass of Parnassus and the fen-specific Rudbeckia fulgida are both in bloom and the maples are dropping red and yellow leaves all over the river.

For a driving or bike tour, you can't miss Hwy 94 and the KATY across the river from Hermann. The river hills are chocked with sugar maples and when they turn colors, the scene is reminiscent of Vermont-pass the exit to Hermann and head towards Treloar. While in that part of the country, cross the river to see a host of fine Missouri wineries in action--harvest is well underway, with Cabernet Franc and Norton up next. Ask about this year's vintage, talk to Jerry at Robller in New Haven to hear this thoughts on the season. Fall color in the canopy may not be as spectacular as long time residents remember it once was, but the grape harvest is a success, the asters and goldenrods are blooming, and local winesap apples are at farmer's markets.

Meeting the Future Desired Condition

2011-09-17T11:57:00.008-05:00

After 26 years of prescribed fire on a high quality pine-oak woodland, an incredible woodland, one with integrity from the beginning....

September

2011-09-09T18:28:00.008-05:00

It came so fast this year, the perceptibly shorter days, the slower, more deliberate calls of the katydids, the first blooms on the goldenrods. Fall approaches so quickly here, and my growing season surveys are all complete (miraculously), so I'm not allowed to complain. I rue the longer shadows, the yellow green on the leaves, the blooms of cardinal flowers on streambanks, the signs of my birthday month. I'm not fond of the aging process, so I placate my mind with two and three day floats on Ozark rivers. If I don't know what day it is while on a river, my birthday can't find me.

I'm stocked up on instant curries with three vacuum sealed Indian Kitchen Sag Paneers, two Kalaf paneers, one chick pea curry, and four other unknown instant curries whose names I don't even recognize in the downstairs refrigerator. My camp stove is full of fuel. And thus begins the month when I wonder about the choices I've made, if I've accomplished enough during the year, if I'm prepared for online classes with sharpened pencils and for fire season with quick feet. I loathe the aging process, the passage of time, and will duck out of it this year as often as human-made responsibilities will allow.

News from Meramec Vineyards

2011-08-25T21:59:00.002-05:00

As I prepare for a great natural history and wine tour of Oregon's spectacular Willamette Valley (prairie that hasn't been grazed to hell, savanna, big stately white oaks and an award winning vintage of pinot noir), I encourage you to visit Meramec Vineyards on Friday evenings for their Wine Down Fridays. Meramec's 06 Norton is outstanding (I think they sold out of the 05, which was stellar), and the bistro makes fantastic food.
Here's the latest from Meramec's newsletter:

HARVEST is UNDERWAY
Crushing - what we're up to

You may notice some activity around the back of the winery building out there on the crush pad. That's where the new vintage begins. (Well actually it begins in the vineyard but the processing starts on the crush pad.) The grapes are picked in large ton bins. The bin is dumped into the crusher which -duh- crushes the grapes. It also destems them... that is takes the berries off the stem and spits the stem out the top while the berries get squished between the rollers and pass with the juice through a hose connected to the bottom. This hose is connected to a pump which transfers the juice and pulp, skins, seeds (all but the stems) into the press if it's white grapes - reds go directly into the fermentation vessel.

And the white varieties are first. They are the early grapes. So we have processed the Seyval (think Bistro Gold) and now the Vignoles.

After pressing, the juice is transferred to a container where the fermentation begins.

An old friend experiences the birth of the wine.
The other day an old friend, Andy Ayers came by. (St. Louisians might recall Riddle's Penultimate Cafe - Andy's restaurant - closed now - with the greatest wine list). Andy came for some fresh Vignoles grapes for delivery and purveying to various restaurateurs. His business and passion now is promoting all locally grown products to the restaurant trade. At any rate, Andy got to taste six day old Seyval fermenting in the tank as well as fresh wine grapes.

He was for many years a wine judge for the State competition, a man with a good knowledge of wine and a well refined pallate. He was excited to taste the wine at such a young stage and also to taste the grape itself. It was something in all his years he had never done. He said it is amazing to taste this and try to envision the final product.
That's what we do.

Into the woods in late August

2011-08-23T20:15:00.009-05:00

Glades ablaze

2011-08-19T21:04:00.009-05:00

The recent rains saved the dolomite glades of the Western Ozarks from complete dessication. Several weeks ago, I had the great pleasure of sampling dried vegetation on a glade in 104 degree weather at high noon; even the stalwart glade-obligate Rudbeckia missouriensis was shriveling to nothingness, certainly not thinking of flowering. This week, following several rain events in late July and early August, the Rudbeckia is a showstopper on the glades, along with prairie dock and the first few flowers of the short, bright purple Liatris cylindracea. Liatris aspera (ice cream plant for deer) is tall these days, but the flowers aren't open yet. The season begins for brilliant bloom cycles on dolomite glades; even the diminuitive Heliotropium tenellum sent out a second round of blooms (thanks to all the rain).

As we move towards late August, thoughts turn towards glade burning. If the thatch layer is thick enough, late August-early September is prime time for burning off glades. The woods won't burn these days with all the moisture and average 50% rh everyday. No burn lines are needed for growing season burns on glades. The fire magically goes out at the edge of the woods...

Summer whites

2011-08-17T19:29:00.007-05:00

Every September, I scavenge my wooly backyard and the abandoned lot next door to bring my secretary a wide mouth Mason jar filled with brightly colored late summer wildflowers. They’re seldom celebrated like spring wildflowers, but the early goldenrods, sunflowers, tall, rangy polygonums, and dome-like plants of the genus Eupatorium always make lovely arrangements for her gray walled cubicle. As August progresses, so too does the bloom cycle of the white flowering composites-- the bonesets, thoroughworts, and white snakeroot, all common and widespread throughout the Ozarks.

Plants of the genus Eupatorium occupy a wide range of landscape types, from prairies and fens to woodlands and streambanks. There are also species in the genus that are loyal to trash dumps and roadsides. Several years ago, on a visit to an overgrazed hardpan prairie in southwest Missouri, I learned firsthand what Julian Steyermark states in his description of Eupatorium serotinum (“the weediest of the genus”): “…like other members of the genus, it is usually avoided by grazing animals.” While looking out across the prairie, it was clear that ruderal species abounded, among them, E. serotinum (CC value=1) and E. altissimum (CC value=3). The plants that grazing livestock avoid are the plants that colonize overgrazed land to the exclusion of the ice cream plants (invariably the plants with higher CC values).

And, unfortunately, such is the state of many of Missouri’s formerly high quality native prairies, now dominated by grazing increaser plants.

E. perfoliatum (CC value=5, pictured) can be found in high quality fens in the Ozarks and in moist areas, along streambanks, at the base of moist cliffs, in wet prairie, marly fens and seeps on glades. The textured leaves wrap completely around the stem (perfoliate) and have widely spaced soft white hairs. Growing to approximately three to four feet tall, the white flowers of E. perfoliatum make a statement in the fen matrix where it blooms alongside the bright yellow Rudbeckia fulgida. While cows avoid E. perfoliatum on the prairie, deer clipped the stalks and leaves to nubs in my fen sampling plots this summer.

E. rugosum is a common Ozark woodland plant that begins its bloom cycle in early August. It can be found in dry rocky uplands, and in woodland borders where it grows to approximately 2 feet tall. Bushy in form with bright white flowers, E. rugosum is always present in my late summer bouquets. Deer do not favor this plant, and in woodlands with deer overpopulation problems, this plant can spread quickly and become the dominant groundcover in the fall. Known as white snakeroot, this plant contains the toxin tremetol which causes an illness in domestic livestock that can poison milk. In the early 1800s, milk sickness caused by livestock eating E. rugosum killed hundreds of early settlers, including Abraham Lincoln’s mother. In 1818, almost all the residents in Pigeon Creek, Indiana died from this illness. Read here a well researched account from an Appalachian history website about milk sickness, about the Ohio farmer who discovered the plant that caused it and the medical doctor who tried to discount his discovery.

Not a Eupatorium but in the same tribe, Kuhnia eupatorioides (pictured) begins to bloom in late August on dolomite glades and rocky ledges in the Ozarks. Find it blooming alongside the deep yellow blooms of Helianthus occidentalis and Solidago gattingeri. With the recent rains and clement temperatures, the late summer wildflowers are in peak form these days.

The splendor of a leafhopper

2011-08-12T21:28:00.009-05:00

Since moving here in December 2007, into a bleak and desolate property with big trees that I loved when I first saw them, we've amassed a big list of insects who have passed through or made their home in the yard. Burning the property on regular rotations with varying intensities has increased biomass, of course, and increased the diversity of biota. Lots of pollinators, of course, come in for the wildflower diversity, and a wicked wheel bug shows up every fall under my porch light. We see beetles, including the common green tiger beetle that can be found on paths in woodlands throughout Missouri. But among the most colorful and darling of them all is the candy striped leafhopper (Graphocephala coccinea) who makes his home in a thick, rigid stand of Silphium perfoliatum under the walnut tree.

According to a roving naturalist in New York, candy striped leafhoppers are among the most common insects in Manhattan, showing up in little stoopside plantings of ornamentals and big trees. These leafhoppers are common throughout North America, and often found in urban settings, but that doesn't diminish their beauty. Known from woodlands and meadows, they are dependent on supple vegetative growth. Candy striped leafhoppers are sapsuckers, living on the sap from live plants. They lay their eggs in the stems of the plants upon which they feed. Other leafhoppers are loyal to certain host plants, but candy striped leafhoppers are generalists. They have been documented as feeding on Rubus sp., sunflowers, and, in my yard, the stiff, rigid leaves of Silphium.

According to gardening websites, these leafhoppers can cause damage to plants, but I haven't noticed it on my own. Some websites promote killing leafhoppers, but mine won't. The insects will pierce a leaf to suck the sap from it, leaving a little damage, but they don't cause the damage that, say, a Japanese beetle can cause on grape leaves. Their mouthparts are secretly hidden behind that big smile of a black stripe that runs across their faces. They may cause damage and serve as vectors for certain plant diseases that cause wilt and yellowing. I haven't noticed damage caused by any of the leafhoppers in the yard, and if I do, I probably won't care a whit, just pleased they found my yard hospitable enough and full of enough rapidly growing plant life that they themselves could find a meal, lay eggs, and add to the diversity of the area. Candy striped leafhoppers can rest assured that I am not one of the 50 or more people who wrote in to a gardening blog proclaiming that they will kill leafhoppers if discovered. How could you kill a creature like this one?

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Minor recharge

2011-08-06T21:56:00.004-05:00

I knew it was an anomaly to see enough water in the Prongs in September 08 that we could float from the headwaters of the Jack's Fork to Bay Creek. But with the prolonged spate of unofficial drought, the river levels throughout the Ozarks have dropped to almost portage-required levels. (Frankly, no one wants to portage when they're on a three day float with all that danged gear in the canoe. So we wait for rain.)

Huzzah! for the scattered showers the past few days and that big massive lightning-filled storm that raked across the Ozarks on Friday while I was on a glade. A respite from the heat, a little bit of water for the river levels, and vegetation saved from browning out just in time. So far, only one woodland wildfire has been reported from the Ozarks, one small one located down in Elk River Hills country.

I was in the igneous Ozarks the past few days where the rivers don't depend on springs, but on rainfall alone. Gorgeous rivers in the St. Francois Mountains--clear, free of cows, no junk on the rocks, but low, low, low water levels. Still floatable, but only barely. Nevertheless, we may be out of that high pressure heat dome that turned my Nalgene bottle into something different as it sat in my car with the windows down:

I'll probably never float the Prongs for my September birthday float again unless we have tons of rain, but I think I found my next river trip, all surrounded by derecho-impacted land that is being sold for a song these days. The richness of the woodlands impacted by the May windstorm is incredible, with immensely diverse wildlife, plant life, and tree regeneration. Those rare areas that weren't logged after the windstorm are regenerating shortleaf pine and hazelnut! The same associations in the 1800s land surveyor records, by the way...

Considering Norton an Age-worthy Wine

2011-07-30T12:51:00.005-05:00

I usually age Nortons for five years, but have had 7 and 8 year old Nortons (from River Ridge in Commerce) and they're super mellow. In honor of the state grape, an article from the online wine magazine Palate Press to give you the history of Norton grapes. Read here.

"Up to my eyeballs in an Ozark stream"

2011-07-29T20:19:00.009-05:00

If I lived closer to a spring fed Ozark river, I'd be a fixture there. I'd find a four feet deep scour hole and stay there for hours at a time. Or I'd be like those women who sit in low slung plastic chairs all sprawled out in the water reading a paperback as paddlers go by. If I lived closer, I'd visit the river everyday.

The much needed weekend is here, and it includes a special occasion! July 30 is the date that Norton was named the state grape; Rolling Meadows Winery (near Warrenton) is having a weekend-long festival to celebrate. Visit a moist streambank where vegetation is still lush and green and make a toast to Norton!

Desiccating heat

2011-07-28T18:11:00.008-05:00

Blue jays perch on the back of the Adirondack chair as they wait their turn for a refreshing splash in my birdbath. Mouths agape, they're as thirsty and hot as the western Ozarks these days. Average daily temperatures hover between 96 and 102, but work must continue, so I return each day to the woods and glades for vegetation sampling, coming inside around 6 pm everyday drenched in sweat and covered in seed ticks, usually weighing three to four pounds less than I weighed in the morning. It's still fun, of course, but sad to see my quadrats look like this:

Glades typically exist in dry to almost xeric conditions--lacking shade, often situated on south or west facing slopes, exposed bedrock and, if the glade has been grazed to hell by domestic livestock, lacking any significant soil structure. This week, glade plants have become crunchy, which makes it challenging to identify some of the smaller grasses and wilted dicots. Among the glade plants that have managed to remain green, erect, and to offer flowers this week are plants of the genus Liatris and Silphium. Several individuals of these genera possess thick, rigid stalks and leaves with stiff, rough hairs. Liatris aspera (not yet blooming) is smooth, with none of the water hoarding ability as its relatives, and can be found with flower buds along the stalk and only slightly wilting leaves. I snapped a crummy photo of a Buchnera americana on a glade, since when I return next week it will be shriveled to black.

Unfortunately, this high pressure system is too strong for the jet stream, and according to one report these excessive temperatures and drought-like conditions may be the new normal in Missouri. If this is true, and if the weather patterns are in fact due to climate change, the time is now to make our ecosystems as resilient as possible, to encourage water holding in deep rooted perennial plants, to try to repair the soils from years of disturbance from overgrazing by domestic livestock, and to restore the ancient fire regimes under which our landscapes adapted. There's little to nothing we can do to stop the rapid march of climate change, honestly, but we have the ability to implement fire.

Seed tick season

2011-07-22T20:52:00.008-05:00

It all happened so fast this summer. One day I'm traipsing through a woodland filled with knee high pale purple coneflowers picking off the occasional monster tick from my off white field trousers. Today, in the same trusty field trousers, I casually look downwards on my hike through buckbrush woods to see 2 million little seed ticks spreading across my leg. I take all the precautions (tape up the ankles with duct tape, spray nerve toxin DEET on my trouser ankles and shoes), and wear off white trousers to see them easily. But late July through the first frost in the Ozarks is high time for seed ticks.

I recall the first encounter with them as I hiked through my favorite woods. They're imperceptibly small, smaller than black pepper flakes, and seed ticks have a rather miraculous ability to find their way all over one's body. (I think they burrow through seams.) My ankles were taped up, I was sprayed down, but that night in my hotel room I manically scratched and clawed my ankles until I saw them up close with my handlens: seed ticks are 6 legged little tick larvae seen best under a 10X handlens. And there were hundreds, thousands of them all over my legs. The only relief came when I jumped fully clothed into an over-chlorinated pool and stayed there for 20 minutes or more.

Of course, with the deer overpopulation problem exploding across the Ozarks, we can expect even greater tick populations in the woods. Burn and thin your woods, restore them to a luxurious grass-forb mix and deer move in to take advantage of nature's food plot unless they're kept in check. Even in unburned woods, however, there are still too many deer and, therefore, ticks. With the cultural penchant for hunting, I never ever thought it would be possible for the Ozarks to have a deer problem, but they do.

Imagine over 200 years ago when the early explorers first set out across the Ozarks and encountered seed ticks. Several writers mention seed ticks, and write eloquently about the irritation they cause as they bite and burrow into supple skin. No pool of chlorine to jump into, and no Dr. Bronner's Peppermint Castile Soap that kills seed ticks instantly. The Ozarks have always had ticks.

Seed ticks are the recently hatched tick larvae and possess 6 legs. Ticks have a fascinating life history: One female can lay 3,000-6,000 eggs in leaf litter. After the eggs hatch, the larval stage (seed ticks) will wait for a host while perched in large clusters at the end of plants. They will then find a host, become engorged, and molt to become an 8 legged tick nymph. Same story again, after the nymph feeds enough and is engorged it will molt into an adult. When the adults feed enough to become engorged, they will mate. After laying her thousands of eggs, the adult female tick will die.

I recall my undergradauate ecology professor who, like myself, grew weary of hearing students ask "what's the purpose of [insert insect here]?" This year, I heard people grousing about cicadas. My esteemed professor explained that natural history does not have a purpose, but a function and relationship. So, what's a tick's purpose? Well, their function is to reproduce, just like humans (but not me), and their relationship is to provide a food source for other creatures (especially quail). Their annoyance to humans is just lagnaippe.

Seed ticks can be avoided by staying in tidy mowed lawns from late July-late October. If, like me, you're not scared to go in the woods when there are bugs around, tape the trouser ankles, don't wear shorts in the woods, and enjoy this remarkable time of year when the brilliant yellow flowers of four species of Silphium are blooming throughout the Ozarks.

The Joy of Sampling

2011-07-16T07:25:00.016-05:00

By noon on Tuesday, the sweat poured so freely from my entire body that I had to skip entire columns on my sampling pages because they were soaked from where my arm rested while writing in the column before. Every day that passes, more sedge fruits shatter, making them harder to key out. Sampling season only lasts for a couple of months, so everyday this week (despite the 105 degree temperature reading from the Kestral) I was on a glade, in a woodland, or in a fen squatting down recording plants along 50 m and 100 m transects. It's such an invigorating time of year that I don't even notice the heat. The joy and delight of combing through a quadrat is simply unmatched.

Among my sampling sites is a woodland and glade restoration project; cedars and 80 year old black oaks were cut and burned on site. As I've noted several times about the same 3,000 acre area, forb diversity is extremely high throughout. Just as I was finishing the woodland transects, I discovered a population of 20 Hexalectris spicata outside of my plots. A truly gorgeous orchid, this was the first I've ever seen.

I met a beautiful new sedge this week in a wet mesic bottomland woodland: Carex muskingumensis, an enormous, classy member of the Ovales, a Carex tribuloides on steroids (not pictured). A few of the fen plants stumped me, including a totally blasted out eleocharis; I spent almost 5 hours on deer exclosure transects in a virtually treeless fen. It was so much fun I could have stayed out there for the rest of the day, but I had to go to the equally awesome (and treeless) glade.

If I've learned anything this week besides the natural integrity of some high quality native ecosystems, I've seen that the Ozarks have a serious deer problem and I have amassed quite a collection of really nice refillable mechanical pencils that I have inadvertently jacked from the field.

Busting through yellow breasted chat country

2011-07-07T19:13:00.015-05:00

I'm in Week 6 of my bird survey of super high quality awesome burned woods. Today I visited the flatwoods, last burned three years ago as part of a 2,000 acre burn unit. The fire burned upland flatwoods, dry and dry mesic sandstone and chert woodlands, and, as discovered today, a fen and a few big glades. We're at the end of the burn cycle here (the years elapsed between burns), a cycle that averages 3 to 5 years for quality sites (with dedicated managers); the woodies have a chance to grow up to a barely penetrable thicket in that time. So it was today, as I broke through the chest high post oaks and blackjack oaks with warm season grasses and super high quality forbs that soaked my torn khaki trousers to my knees.

If I've learned anything in this three year bird survey, I've learned that my observations mirror those of my inspirational predecessor, Terry Callahan, who surveyed the same site for an entire burn cycle to determine how populations change following a single fire event. I've never met Terry Callahan, but I've referenced his work in powerpoints, in published articles, in conversations, in presentations...if I ever meet him face to face, I'll hug and kiss him like he's an old summer camp friend. Rumor holds he's not working in the field anymore, which is a great loss for all of us.

Callahan's study in the mid 1990s showed that bird populations in burned woodlands are dynamic, that they change through the course of the burn cycle. The first year after a fire, indigo buntings are as common as deer ticks in deer infested woods. As the early seral stage sets in, the prairie warblers and yellow breasted chats move in with higher numbers than before; they take advantage of all the fruit bearing vines and shrubs like blueberries and raspberries, not to mention the insect life that comes to a rich herbaceous layer. At the end of the burn cycle, with the seral stage reaching about 6 ft. tall, summer tanagers, Eastern wood pewees, and chats dominate the landscape.

I love early seral situations in burn units and I love chats. I think chats have the silliest, most erratic and charming call of any other bird. I love that they're big and garrulous, that they crash through the shrub layer like a bull in a china shop, and yet they're warblers. My favorite bird, the chat, is the signature bird for the beautifully restored sites I work in, as they breed there along with summer tanagers, field sparrows, prairie warblers and Eastern wood pewees. The yellow breasted chat is the logo of my beloved local Audubon chapter, so I love chats even more than the rest. Prairie warbler is a close second.

Chats love the shrub layer. And today I was chest high in shrub layer post oak/blackjack oak woodland, all of which is surrounded by a rich understory of little bluestem, blueberries (ever so tasty), and an incredible assortment of high CC value perennial forbs. I went cross country through the shrub layer counting chats and tanagers, stopping for a long while to watch a beautifully mottled summer tanager perched on a 200 year old post oak sing his "chuk-burrrr" over and over.

When I sample these sites, the areas I'm birding where I also take vegetation notes, I make specific notes on the basal area, shrub density, and ground cover. Following the same sampling protocol that I have followed since I first moved to Missouri, I have to recognize that my total cover values in chat country will be higher than 100%. You see, beneath the stacked layers of post oak shrubs rests a super dense ground flora chocked of forbs, high quality forbs like Aster turbinellus, Penstemon tubaeflorus, every Desmodium in the woodland book (D. nudiflorum pictured--the flowering stalk is connected to the plant, but flowers almost a foot away from the base of the vegetative plant. Cool.).

[The Desmodiums are just opening up in Ozark woodlands, the plants that most people call "stick tights" because of the bean shaped seeds that stick to your trousers as you walk through August woods. The remarkable suite of summer wildflowers are in full bloom now, including everyone's garden favorite, Echinacea purpurea, found in low lying bottomland woodlands.]

One of the main reasons the area I'm working in is so rich with bird life is not just because of the small area of shrub layer woodlands I'm sampling, but for the 3,000 to 5,000 acres of restored woodlands all around them. Leave the early seral woodlands and the rest of the area looks like this:

No subdivisions in the way, no highway-sized bike trails so favored by citizens in my town, or even powerline cuts, just thousands of acres of restored woodlands. Fragmentation is a killer for bird communities, as the other studies I've read in recent years have shown, as well. Restore small patch woodlands, say 734 acres here, cross a recreational lake and restore another 300 acres, and you'll pick up more parasitic cowbirds than on a pasture. Oh, the good woodland guys are there, but in much diminished populations, and vying for viable nesting opportunities with hundreds of cowbirds in the mix. From my own studies, I've seen that large scale landscapes are the only way to protect declining songbird species. 40 acre burn units and areas surrounded by housing developments, highways, superfluous powerline cuts can sustain some nesting woodland birds, but not to the same degree as the larger areas, areas managed with fire at regular intervals, areas with integrity in the ground flora. As long as I live in downtown with my own little upland flatwoods (that I manage with fire)--surrounded by an abandoned lot and a daycare and a handful of other Craftsman homes, I'll never have a yellow breasted chat on my property. I have pewees and catbirds, but no chats. With my local city council cutting up every piece of natural green space in town for more trails (nature be damned), I probably won't see them anywhere in town anymore. At least I have great woods to visit in the Ozarks.

it's usually cooler in the dappled light of the woods

2011-07-02T20:29:00.008-05:00

Relief in 92 degrees

2011-06-29T20:57:00.010-05:00

Never mind that my drinking water was so hot I could have made instant oatmeal in my Nalgene bottle, or that no cloud availed itself to us all day on the south facing slope, thereby causing much sweat production which invariably resulted in salty beads dripping into my eyes and onto my sampling pages. I was so happy to be away from the truly sad, overgrazed, destroyed public prairies of southwest Missouri, so thrilled to be back at my first Missouri love, the beautiful Ozark glades and woodlands chocked with so many conservative forbs that 9 hours in the blearing sun was like Christmas morning. Every .25 m² was a delight.

Officially, I'm measuring fire effects on glades this season, but really I'm tracking restoration, following glades from the first year after a major cedar cutting exercise to 3, 4, and hopefully more years out. Maximizing biodiversity (what cowboys call forage) is the priority. I'm happy as a clam to be situated so close to a site so full of native integrity that across all glades, forbs with a CC value of 6 or higher constitute 73% of the total vegetation cover. Awesome site. My ashes will be scattered there.

Actually, today's sampling of 4 paired 50 m transects was particularly fun since each transect area on the glade was burned at different times of the year--long strips burned in the growing season 2010, fall, winter, and spring. Looking out across the glade, it doesn't look like a Frankenstein of management regimes. Today, Houstonia nigricans, Echinacea paradoxa, Heliotropium tenellum and Lobelia spicata bloomed across all transects rather uniformly. The peak blooms of glade coneflower occurred a couple of weeks ago, but it was refreshing to see seedheads crashed to the ground with mature seeds hitting the soil. But the fine detail of quadrat sampling revealed a different story, with certain grasses only showing up in two transects, certain forbs in others, and similar variations. I haven't run the analysis to determine the Relative Importance Value across all physiognomic taxa (but I will, and soon. I hate it when data piles up.), but the results should be fascinating. Of course, I've been a firm believer in a diverse fire regime since Day 1, so the analysis won't convince me to burnat different return intervals, different intensities and different seasons--I know that. But it will be interesting to see the vegetation data.

Not wanting anyone to break into my car and steal my sweaty data sheets, I brought them into my 86 degree bungalow for the night for safekeeping. Here's a sample from one small quadrat, with the numbers representing cover values. (This will be scroll over-worthy to most people, but this is for the three people I know who will appreciate it):

ECH PAR 20
KUH EUP 2
EUP COR 2
AND SCO 25
SPO ASP 3
HEL TEN 5
LOB SPI 1
POL SAN 2
RUD MIS 12
HOU NIG 8
AND GER 6
SOL GAT 7
SOL NEM 1
ELE COM 6
AST SER 2

Almost every plot of the day was like this. Isn't it fun?

So, I lost three pounds of water weight today on the glades, but tracking recovery from the years of extractive abuse (light here, actually, but cows in the 1950s) in such a rich site makes up for the 25% cover values of ragweed and 75% trash goat barn plants in the prairies in the Osage Plains.

Extra light for long field days

2011-06-17T20:20:00.012-05:00

The summer tanagers were so chattery this morning that I had to search long and hard for a location away from them to listen for any birds other than summer tanagers and Eastern wood pewees. I finally found an area with Northern parulas, yellow throated vireos, a prairie warbler, but the tanagers showed up again, perching on a branch right above me. I stood there watching him sing for quite a while, in awe that such a remarkably beautiful animal would be so comfortable in these burned woods. Summer tanagers are the signature bird for this site, as common as swollen deer ticks on a country dog, but I love them--brilliantly colored and beautiful animals. Deep in the throes of field season, I spend my morning hours visiting my bird transects and afternoons sampling vegetation in recently burned woodlands and glades. Grateful for the extra daylight, I can comfortably sit on a glade from noon until 7 pm if there's a gnarled chinquapin oak for shade every once in a while. The tanagers call all day.

Among my sampling events this field season is a great project that involves vegetation monitoring transects at (what we call) Stumptown, a 10-15 acre glade unit that one year ago was not a glade, but an impenetrable thicket of even-aged 80 year old Eastern red cedars (relicts of grazing). With a winter full of snow events and inclement weather, my colleague and his staff managed to clear the area of its cedars and burn them on site, leaving behind a glade with no red needle cedar slash, no cedar skeletons, but a thick herbaceous layer recently freed from cedar cover and duff. Bird response to the restoration has followed suit: field sparrows, prairie warblers, Eastern wood pewees, and yellow breasted chats are the most commonly encountered, with chipping sparrows coming in at 5th place.

Monitoring fire effects in high quality sites like the ones I work in is just as much fun as setting fire to the very same woodlands and glades each fire season. With the extra long day lengths, I can accomplish so very much more than in winter months when the sun sets at 4 pm. Hooray for field season, hooray for high quality fire-mediated sites in the Ozarks!

Among the Cicadas

2011-06-02T22:12:00.003-05:00

The sound is primordial, that constant drone of the 13 year cicadas that begins every morning just after dawn. Doug likens the chorus to the sound of the alien spaceships in the 1953 The War of the Worlds --an eerie resemblance, actually. It sounds like summer sunsets in Louisiana to me.

I wasn't the only one concerned with the ability to conduct point count bird surveys this summer, I learned recently. Some of the most astute birders in Missouri also expressed their worries of hearing chipping sparrows and black and white warblers amid the undulating sounds of thousands of cicadas. So I set out early this morning to determine if it was even possible to hear early morning birdsong with the cicada chorus.

Not only was it possible, but I had one of the best birding mornings I've had all season. Gobs of Eastern wood pewees, summer tanagers, prairie warblers, chats, chippies, turkeys, the whole suite of great woodland birds, they were singing loudly enough to even determine a general distance from my location. The cicadas were talking among themselves all around me at dawn, but they were not calling in the nice 600 acre burn unit--it was as though the area I was birding was immune to cicadas. I could hear them in the distance, but their chorus certainly didn't interfere with my ability to hear little chip notes of indigo buntings.

Cicadas signal summer in the deep South, much as fireflies usher in June in Missouri. I've recently overheard several conversations about cicadas (while camped out watching tennnis) in which someone at the table asks the rest of the table "what's the purpose of cicadas?" to which I would like to ask all of them, "and what is your purpose?"

Long wait for a sunny day

2011-05-29T08:55:00.013-05:00

Last week's spate of rainy, cloudy, stormy, tornado-prone weather almost interfered with well-laid plans to spend a couple of days in the woods. Rotating clouds near Ironton, a tornado on the ground in Ellsinore, quarter-sized hail somewhere on my drive up Highway 8, all of these horrible tornado warning boxes scattered throughout the Ozarks, this past week saw more terrible weather events--not what Missouri needed. The mornings, however, remained cloudy and muggy but clear enough.

We visted an acid seep this week to find the past-its-prime flowering stalk of showy orchis and the leaves of Habenaria clavellata. Carex bromoides grew along the side of the waterway (pictured right), thick tufts that resemble prairie dropseed. The discussions here pertained to classification: Is it a fen or an acid seep? Few of the calcareous fen plants and more of the acid seep plants were there. Carex crinita was there, but no Lysimachia, no grass of
Parnassus. Rudbeckia fulgida, a seep and fen plant, grew on the banks of the stream. Some in the group remained on the fence--it has characteristics of both. Considering its proximity to acid seep country around Ste. Genevieve, the regal fern/sensitive fern dominance and sandstone substrate, deep down it was decided this was an acid seep. But it could also be a fen.

In the uplands, good woodland plants are in bloom, like the pale pink Monarda bradburiana and Asclepias quadrifolia. If you're lucky, you can still catch the tail end of yellow lady slipper orchid blooms.

Dolomite glades are erupting in Echinacea paradoxablooms this week, and the tail end of the Indian paintbrush bloom cycle remains a bright spot on glades. Summer is finally here, and soon enough, katydids and fireflies will begin their ritual on early summer nights as we set up camp on an isolated gravel bar to gorge on perfectly prepared s'mores.

Hatch

2011-05-27T20:57:00.003-05:00

Scrambling through deep, muddy tire ruts of veritable lakes on the old Forest Service roads, the four wheel drive truck seemed more like a secure tank than a late model Ford. But upon arrival at the cleared field, we opened the door to the morning's suffocating humidity and a cicada chorus reminiscent of the Dominican Republic. It wasn't even 10 am and the woods were alive with cicadas, thousands of them, so many that the chorus almost hurt one's ears. The Ozark woods sounded tropical.

Earlier last week, I read posts on the Missouri Birds listserve that proclaimed that the cicadas were hatching all over the state. "Alas and alack!" read one post from a fellow Audubon chapter member, "the cicadas are hatching!" Good news for ground feeding birds who are undoubtedly gorging themselves on the nymphs as they issue forth from the pliable soil, not so good news for birders who depend on birdsong for identification. It's the 13 year cicada hatch -going on right now in Missouri- a season to remember. I've talked to at least five people in the past week who regaled me with tales of the last hatch, 13 years ago.

So I went birding this morning, beginning one of four 6 week long woodland bird surveys. The cicadas weren't out at 6:15 am, and they sweetly remained quiet until around 10 (coincidentally, the same time most of the songbirds I wanted to document quiet down). I've been in woods lately at 8 am with an overwhelming chorus, a great force of nature but a true impediment to conducting breeding bird surveys. Is it even possible?

The local newspaper reports that cicadas will continue to call for approximately 6 weeks, the duration of my bird surveys (I like to finish them by the first week of July). Can the cicadas wait to start their chorus until 10 am? Can they not be present at certain parts of the Ozarks, like, those areas where I need to sample woodland birds? Love cicadas, really I do, I think they're gorgeous creatures with their red eyes and intricate wing veins, but I sincerely hope their 13 year festivities don't completely ruin every opportunity for bird surveys for the next 6 weeks...

"Music of Nature"

2011-05-21T12:42:00.004-05:00

If you haven't been camping yet this spring (or slept with your windowns open), you likely haven't heard the early morning bird song that comes along with this wonderful time of year. Two weeks ago, around 4 am, I was awakened by a lone Eastern towhee perched on a shrub next to my tent. After a few minutes, he was joined by a very loud cardinal, then five more birds singing their early morning songs. Within moments, the surrounding woodlands erupted, 5,000 birds singing from the canopy before sunrise. It's a magical time of year, and Carl Gerhardt and others have captured it in these stunningly beautiful videos of songbirds. See here for short videos with sound, a series titled The Music of Nature. Also, the print of the cerulean warbler is available for sale here.

On a dolomite glade

2011-05-19T21:43:00.008-05:00

It's too early to pull out the sampling tools--the 50m spool, the 1/4 m.² quadrat tool with my initials on it so no one will jack it--but field season is coming close. In the meantime, recently burned dolomite glades and chert woodlands are the place to be for wildflower diversity this week. Sampling for birds doesn't start until next week, and vegetation monitoring shouldn't begin until the third week of June. After all, half of the conservative plants haven't even sprouted from the burned landscape yet.

But if you go out this week, you'll catch the little guys, the Scuttelaria parvula (look for the tractor seat seed on the stalk and blue flower), Arennaria patula, a neat little low growing plant with a diminuitive white flower, and Leavenworthia uniflora, a four petaled white flower that may be overlooked, but shouldn't be since it's a neat little plant. A strapping Houstonia is pictured, more robust than any specimen I've seen in years.

It's still too early for the charismatic, showy stars, the Echinacea paradoxa and Psoralea tenuifolia, but even today you can see the diversity in the matrix, the rich flora that is associated with well managed and intact soils, burned landscapes, ungrazed landscapes, these pristine places where you can hear field sparrows and prairie warblers, with the Northern parulas and red-eyed vireos in the distance calling from the surrounding high quality woodlands.

Fire return intervals and songbirds

2011-05-14T19:54:00.003-05:00

If the general public knew how many surveys of all forms of biota were conducted annually in the Ozarks, if they knew how many hours were spent peering into a sampling quadrat or birding for hours at a time or looking for butterflies and host plants to attain knowledge of populations in a given area, they'd probably start asking for reports, for a status update, for an analysis of all that data collection. Considering that I, too, am a member of the general public, I have made it my obligation to not only collect mounds and mounds of data, but to analyze it and to write reports based on all those hours of fieldwork.

It's time consuming, entering all the veg data into a program that calculates species richness, floristic quality. It's equally time consuming to analyze wildlife data to determine the same set of results--species richness, quality of the landscape based on the conservatism of certain biota that occur there. So each winter, I enter all my data from the field season and have it analyzed. It's so time consuming that I spend most of the winter months (when I'm not setting woods on fire) at my desk, sedentary, lowering my metabolism and getting fat.

I recognize that winter ended a while ago, but just last week (sitting at my desk getting fat) I finished analyzing my bird data from a survey conducted in May-June 2010. This chunk of data was at the bottom of my stack of surveys; all of my vegetation sampling has already been analyzed (deer, fire, no fire, windstorm, recovery from exotics, cedar removal alone, cedar removal+fire, etc.). What's the point of collecting data if it's never analyzed? I guess you could do what my predecessor did: leave it for the next chump. But I'm that chump and I like to see the results of the work.

And so, I downloaded the program that calculates the presence and absence of bird populations, as well as density and probability of occurrences. It's a clunky little computer program, not at all as sleek as my floristic quality index program, but it was reliable, and respectable enough biologists are using it throughout the country. (It's really clunky. Bad programming. Required much more time that it should have.).

My birding project involved comparing two restored glades, both burned for the past 26 years at different fire return intervals. One site has burned every 2-4 years, the second site has burned less frequently, on average every 5-7 years. Both sites had serious grazing histories, as most glades in the Ozarks have. 80 years of open range grazing by domestic livestock was so totally destructive to this part of the Ozarks, I can't believe anyone in their right mind would even consider introducing domestic livestock to these same native landscapes that are already so terribly damaged from the exact same process.

Anyway. The site that burned more frequently (because it's an easy burn, surrounded by roads, and it's an easy way to hit target) lacks the distinctive shrub layer that some glades in this part of the Ozarks now have--relicts of overgrazing, of course, but still a structural component. On average, shrub height on the more frequently burned site was 2-3 m. On the site that burned less frequently, shrub height was 5-6 m. with saplings maturing out of the shrub layer. These sites share a political border, so I wanted to measure the differences in bird populations between management regimes.

The results came in late at night (it took a while to figure out how to batch load all species across all survey sites). I stood there in the office comparing both sides of the political border.

I guess I should have expected such results, but most of my bird survey work has been conducted in high quality woodlands or wetlands. This survey represented the first time I worked on awesome restored dolomite glades surrounded by really crappy, overgrazed, degraded, trashed out woods. It's easy to restore a glade in the Ozarks: cut the cedars, burn the cedars when or before they're red needle, keep the fire going for a few years to control the brush that comes with a cattle/sheep/goat grazing history (therefore, with every glade in the Ozarks). Easy. Woodland restoration requires a greater commitment.

So, which of the grassland-shrubland birds keyed into these glades for breeding and foraging? Across both sides, high densities of prairie warblers, field sparrows, indigo buntings, yellow-breasted chats, Eastern towhees. But I found greater nest success of indigo buntings and field sparrows on the glade that was burned less frequently and had thicker shrub density. Both glades were extremely rich floristically, with an average FQI of 4.8-5.2 for every quadrat. Good conservative plants like Liatris mucronata, Callirhoe digitata, Carex crawei, Echinacea paradoxa, few exotics and hardly any of the old goat barn plants (some of the crotons and arennarias, e.g.) that I find in glades that are in the early stages of restoration.

I stayed up late that night looking at the results of the surveys. I compared them, I ran them through another program, and the results were the same. What concerned me about the results was not the occupancy by grassland-shrubland birds because they're obviously keying into this glade complex, regardless of the fire return interval. Nest success was interesting. But what worries me is the high number of generalist woodland birds that were detected on the glade with the more frequent return intervals. Remember, this was the easy burn site, a glade surrounded by roads and crappy woods and restorable glades, but unrestored glades. The glade nestled in a large landscape of degraded but burned woods had higher densities of the more conservative grassland-shrubland birds than the other site.

Scale. The fire return interval is important for structural reasons, and for the recovery of the grass-forb mix that attracts the necessary invertebrates that songbirds depend on for their life histories. But little piddly 60 acre burn units surrounded by thousands of unburned acres aren't contributing to the conservation of these birds as much as the largescale landscape burns that also encompass trashed out woods do. Across the political border, they're burning crummy woods, yes, but they're burning woods that have some semblance of an understory production that these same birds depend on. Bird feeder birds can be found in bush honeysuckle woods on roadsides. Conservative native landscape birds depend on native ecosystems and all the intricate workings and structure inherent within. Small patch, tiny tract burns aren't the answer to the conservation of declining bird species.

Slow down

2011-05-11T17:49:00.003-05:00

There's a special place in hell for drivers who intentionally swerve out of their lanes to kill box turtles; the smashed shells on the shoulder are testament to this cruel and sick behaviour. When I first moved to the Ozarks I was truly horrified to see so many dead box turtles in the road. It's really not that difficult to avoid hitting them (for god's sake), they're not zooming across the road with such rapidity that any conscientious driver couldn't avoid hitting them.

So when I first moved here and commuted from my maintenance shed living quarters to my place of employment, I stopped and moved every turtle I encountered on the lettered highways. I had more time for engaging in natural history then, for recording the first time I saw fireflies each May, when the whip-por-wills started calling in the woods. And I kept track of how many turtles I moved in my little field notebook. By the end of July, I had moved over 300 turtles off the road and recorded 128 dead turtles on the same commute. Oh, it's not the safest practice, slamming on the brakes to move wildlife from the road, but I did it for snakes and toads, too. There was the time when I parked at the crest of a hill to move a turtle, failed to put my emergency brake on, and my car rolled downhill into the ditch. I wasn't accustomed to hills, nor with the various gears in my stick shift Honda. Nevertheless, I moved the turtle, was late for work, and remain grateful to guys with trucks and chains who drive around waiting to pull cars out of ditches.

It's that time of year again when box turtles truck across several lanes of traffic. The poor dears, they're not adapted to living in a world with speeding vehicles and the twisted souls who find pleasure in taking their lives. Drivers should slow down and consciously avoid hitting turtles this spring. The fatalities are surely adding up. Seriously, it's really not that hard to avoid hitting turtles.

After the rain

2011-05-08T10:45:00.006-05:00

The recent spate of beautiful spring weather has brought out a suite of spring wildflowers that will bloom througout May. Look for seepy dolomite cliffs and boulders for the intricate flowers of columbines and Heuchera. Buttercups (Ranunculus fascicularis, pictured) can be found all over in dry woodlands, while white violets (Viola striata) are normally seen in moist creekbottoms and more mesic conditions.

After a late March fire

2011-05-04T20:27:00.010-05:00

Stepping gingerly on the mossy rocks to cross the roaring stream, I clutched my Audubon Swift series binoculars for dear life. I spent part of my insurance check from the storm on them, and I depend on them for their precision, for their clarity, two features which aid in the positive identification of those gleaning warblers high up in the canopy. Miraculously, I didn't slip. On the other bank of the stream was the end of the fireline, the same spot where I blew out my torch after a beautiful, raging late March fire. March 25th, to be precise.

I listened to my woodland songbird cds for several days before, with the dulcet tunes of Louisiana waterthrush, American redstart, blue grosbeak, and warbling vireo stuck in my head. They're all in a row, the songs introduced by a somber man's voice, "Louisiana waterthrush..." I'm rusty every May, always going back to the
Peterson cds to sort out the songs before I hear birds in the woods. As I turned off the ignition that early morning, drank the last of my third cup of coffee, I heard the churlish "tuk!" of a summer tanager and hoped I was ready for spring birding.

Yellow throated vireos, Northern parulas, worm-eating warblers, even a wood thrush in an open stand of white oaks- all these closed canopy, forest interior birds. Oh, they're all lovely creatures with remarkable songs, cool little aerobatic actions. We had burned this tract for the first time in over ten years, way off the mark for the gold standard--3 burns in 10 years. But I want to hit the fast forward on the restoration of this dissected, rich, old growth landscape. Widely spaced pines populate the broad, flat ridgetop; I saw the fire rip through the flats, and expected more response from the ground flora, just as I expected more open woodland birds on my morning survey. A crop of Solidago ulmifolia, lots of bare soil, some panic grasses, but this is not the bluestem-prairie plant pine woodland that it should be. When pine woodland flora is suppressed under thick, dense pine duff for 12 years, I am reminded that it takes a while to recover.

As the birds settled down after the morning cacaphony (all quiet but the red-eyed vireos, white-eyed vireos and parulas), I looked downward. The super steep hillsides with lovely old growth chinquapin oaks and a dog hair stand of 80 year old black oaks (relicts of open range grazing) were chocked full of quality forbs. Coreopsis palmata, Echinacea simulata, tons and tons and gobs of Silene virginiana. Scattered patches of warm season grasses dotted the ridgetop, and as far as I could see, bright patches of dappled light. We killed trees on that fire, as most spring fires are wont to do. If we didn't kill all the maples and out of context red oaks, we put them in the hospital long enough to have ample light to the woodland floor. I remain a firm believer in the power of spring fires for woodland restoration efforts. Woods wouldn't be so flammable in March if they weren't meant to burn.

In harm's way

2011-05-03T19:15:00.003-05:00

I fell apart last night over fish and wine at one of my favorite outposts in the Ozarks. Sitting there at 7 pm, clearing skies revealing a beautiful sunset, I knew the levee at Bird's Point was scheduled to be breached at 9. I've been upset about it all week, of course, but last night was the proverbial tipping point. The original plan was to breach the levee less than 1/2mile from the last bastion of biodiversity in Mississippi County. A National Natural Landmark, a designated Natural Area, it's own Important Bird Area status, the only stand of original bottomland hardwood forest that was spared the brutal logging and ditching of the whole region.

After I finished audibly sobbing at the table, after the restaurant manager visited my table to offer a fresh bottle of wine on the house (which I refused. I guess he thought I was sobbing over the turned wine I was first served? And how the bartender refused to take back the vinegar and replace it with a new glass? That's worth being angry over, but not crying over.), I had to stop thinking about it.

I cordoned myself off today, away from anyone who could give me news about the woodlands and forest down there, and I spent the day birding in the Ozarks. If the blast of the levee, the sheer force of the river water didn't level the remaining trees, then the sediment and standing water will undoubtedly impact the fragile floral diversity. I've seen the impacts of levee breaches, and I've seen the impacts of significant standing water on delicate wetland ecosystems that depend on periodic, short lived flooding events. The rich flora associated with these systems that have adapted to flooding and drought at varying intensities and durations cannot survive under standing water for months on end. If the area in southeast Missouri is buried under several feet of sediment, the flora will not survive. Not even Aster pilosuscan live under those circumstances. Unnatural flooding such as this doesn't help ecosystems, and with the Mississippi River so impaired by locks and dams along its entire length (barring at Commerce, Missouri), no natural flood cycles--the kind that replenish the soil and that provide standing pools of water for wetland plants-- will ever occur there again. There is nothing natural about the levee breach.

Into (but out of) the Ozarks

2011-04-29T21:02:00.015-05:00

Under the steel gray sky and undulating midstory of flowering dogwood, the recently burned forb-dominant understory looked neon green. As a great distraction from the potential flooding of southeast Missouri, I spent time in the Lincoln Hills, an area located in the southeast region of the Central Dissected Till Plains. Drive north from the ever-burgeoning St. Louis, and you'll end up here, a landscape largely dominated by farms (taking advantage of all that loess deposited during the last retreat of the glaciers) and miles of urban sprawl. But amid this rather bleak north Missouri landscape, there are 6,000 acres of land that have been under intensive fire management since the early 1980s. And it shows.

Spring green against blackened soil was never so green. The woodlands here have the structure and the prairie plant diversity of a typical (burned) Ozark landscape: tons of white oaks, Helianthus hirsutus, spring ephemerals like phlox and goldenseal, Camassia scilloides and hoary puccoon, bird's foot violets in the woods and on the glades. That's right, glades in North Missouri. My stunning (and huge) Geology of Missouri wall map shows that this area is overlain on Mississippian-Meramecian Formation, the same bedrock geology of Ste. Genevieve proper and parts of south St. Louis, but not a common bedrock in the Ozarks. So the Ozark woodlands in North Missouri aren't a true outlier to the Ozarks, per se, not dictated by the bedrock. They're different from the Ozarks, but they're somewhat the same as the Ozarks.

Due to the intensive fire management and a fire history that has spanned decades, the floral diversity and structure can rival some of the best sites in the Ozarks. Over half of the butterflies documented from Missouri have been found here, and approximately 30% of all known vascular plants in Missouri can be seen in the diverse natural communities of prairies, glades, sinkhole ponds, wetlands, and beautiful, beautiful dry mesic woodlands. The only remaining native intact prairie remnant outside of St. Louis -called the first prairie town- is here, maintained with fire since 1976.

Threatened by suburban encroachment, this Lincoln Hills gem harbors high deer numbers, though they're being managed as best as they can be. Deer particularly like the fleshy green leaves of Veratrum and the distinctive Tradescantia virginiana, the spiderwort common in the LaMotte sandstone country around Farmington; this spiderwort is different from the more common Ozark plant, T. ohiensis. T. virginiana flowers low on the plant and weeks earlier--similar to the St. Francois Mountains T. longipes. But the deer haven't obliterated the dogwoods here. Dogwoods galore in the hollows and midslope where fire behavior isn't as gnarly as on the dry ridgetops. One colleague asked if dogwoods were fire-dependent, considering there were so many large (and small) dogwoods here. In a landscape managed with fire, tree, shrub, forb, sedge and grass species sort themselves out through time. Say, over 30 years. Dogwoods are found where they belong, in the mesic conditions (in those deep loess soils), and, like in the Ozarks woods managed with fire, not so much on the dry rocky ridgetops.

In this 6,000 acres rests the largest state designated Natural Area north of the Missouri River. Considering that over 95% of north Missouri has been completely converted to agriculture or urban lands, it's remarkable and truly refreshing to see such a large, heterogenous landscape with great species richness across all biota being well maintained with such care and diligence. If you want to see what parts of the Ozarks looked like before the age of extraction began (and you're not in the Niangua Basin or in the scattered remnants of high quality, fire-managed sites that can be found throughout), go to the Lincoln Hills for 6,000 acres of it.

Hunting morels

2011-04-24T08:39:00.011-05:00

I have friends who take weeks off from work to hunt morels. These are the folks who send out photos of serious hauls--80, 100, 120 morels a day. I'm not one of those people, but when I'm in the woods during morel season, I walk slower than usual, and certainly wouldn't pass one up. Morels come out when the first asparagus arrives at the Farmer's Market, and together, they make the perfect Easter dinner.

Nevertheless, the last time I found morels was after a 580 acre burn. The fire was almost over, the ring almost circled, and I was instructed to hold my fire where I was. I walked back along the line to see how much had burned. There, in the blackened, smoldering landscape were 20 morels poking up in their creamy splendor. I didn't see them before the fire, as they were buried under 3 years of leaf litter. I quickly plucked each of them, put them in my fire bag, and went back to work. I went back to the site a few weeks later and found more, all rising up out of the freshly burned phlox-warm season grasses-perennial wildflower dominated burn unit.

But that was three years ago.

So last week, while my friends were canvassing the ragged out Missouri River bottoms (and coming out with lots haul of morels), I went to the nice woods. Just last week, reports came in that they were out, in droves. By the time I arrived, I could see cracks in the soil. No rain, no warm days, no new morels. I wasn't there to necessarily look for them, but a casual survey didn't reveal a one. On mentioning this to my local guide, "oh, we have professional morel hunters that come here all the time..." (this accounts for the stray vehicles parked along the gravel road in low moist drainages, as well).

No morels, but a boon of spring wildflowers. The bluebells are quickly losing their elegant flowers, and the buttercups (Ranunculus harveyi, pictured--good dry woodland plant) are just now bursting into bloom. Spring ephemeral season moves along so quickly in the Ozarks, and I'm grateful I've seen it, even if it meant not harvesting a bunch of morels in the dog hair stand of cottonwoods.

In burned woods and glades

2011-04-22T19:37:00.018-05:00

I would be hard pressed to list more than 20 sites (with any integrity) in the Ozarks that were burned during the 2010-11 fire season. On my commute home, I could only gin up a list of 8 sites that I plan to visit this growing season, so I padded the list in the event I somehow forgot about a part of the Ozarks I don't normally visit.

Yes, fire season is over until late July when growing season fires commence on glades in certain parts of the Ozarks--think St. Francois Mountains, White River Hills, those glades totally surrounded by dense, overstocked woods that won't burn when leaves are on the trees. What a bust. Not only were the weather conditions erratic, certain fire districts and weather forecasters issued burn bans and red flag warnings at the hint of dry conditions and winds 9 mph or higher. Of course, some of the warnings were warranted, like that time when the humidities plummeted to single digits and it had been 6 days since rain. But considering that many fire prescriptions are written with optimum windspeeds of 10-11mph to allow fire to move across the broad flat ridges, some of the burn bans were unwarranted and served as roadblocks to implementing a natural disturbance regime that has been practiced responsibly in Missouri for over 30 years. I kept track of all the burn bans that were issued when there were 10 inches, 5inches, 22 inches of snow on the ground. I also kept track of all the burn bans and warnings that were issued when it was actively raining and not even napalm would ignite the saturated fuels in the Ozarks. I moved to Missouri because I thought prescribed fire and resource protection were institutionalized here. I'm not convinced they are.

Anyway, a bad year for fire. Worse than 2009 when it rained and snowed all fall, winter, and spring.

So, as usual, I tend to migrate to those high quality parcels of land that did see fire this season. Among the stars of the week were a huge population of a dolomite glade fern, Adder's tongue fern (Ophioglossum englemanii) left, shooting stars, and the whole suite of spring glade plants that always look so fresh and young and new after a fire, yet their rootstocks are ancient and deep.

And woodlands! I revisited the site of a woodland restoration project from the 1980s today to find hordes of warblers and a landscape chocked of high quality forbs.

If you can only go out to one of these burned dolomite glades once a season (for some reason), wait until Memorial Day for an explosion of yellow glade coneflowers. I need not be reminded that biodiversity is maximized when the very natural disturbance processes that gave rise to the rich ecosystems to begin with are implemented once again.

Buckeyes!

2011-04-19T20:16:00.005-05:00

I remember the morning on the Jack's Fork River when my colleague yelled at me from the top of the hill. He went out to look for morels after I gave up my search empty handed and returned to my queenly spot in the front of the canoe to drink wine.

"You're not going to believe this..."

I quickly climbed back out, and reached the crest of the ridge. I saw it, too, among phlox and the last of the anemones, a red buckeye in full, breathtaking flower. In Shannon County, no less. Known from the southeastern part of Missouri, red buckeye is the signature plant for Crowley's Ridge, the gem of April woods, and I hadn't seen one since I left the Bootheel. I certainly wasn't expecting a red buckeye on a float on the upper Jack's Fork.

Back home, I checked the 1963 Flora of Missouri to find that red buckeye is known from Carter and Oregon counties, down in Eleven Point River country, but in 1963 the hidden little cove along the Jack's Fork wasn't listed as a known location for red buckeye. What a gem. No morels that day, but a red buckeye, box turtles eating mayapples, and riverbanks chocked full of flowering bluebells. April on the upper Jack's Fork is truly magical. The early spring green of white oaks and hickories make the scenery even better than in fall.

No less stunning, however, is the yellow flowering Ohio buckeye, the more common Missouri species. In the Ozarks, there are four varieties of Aesculus glabra, and two forms of one variety. Taxonomy can be a little annoying, especially when you're in the field with someone who's not very familiar with Ozark woodlands and he insists on thinking that every plant could possibly be one of thousands from international boundaries, even though it's pretty obvious it's one of 6 species that always show up in Ozark woodlands. But I was intrigued by the range map from the 1963 Flora to see the distribution of the different forms and varieties. If I wasn't on a casual meander with my dad last week, I may have taken note of the underside of the leaves, the color of the bark, the number of leaflets on each stalk of the multiple buckeyes along the trail.

It wasn't until later that weekend that I learned that we were in a location where three varieties of buckeye can appear. Alas, I didn't take note of any of that. I just took a picture of the flower, which is in full bloom and very pretty. I don't know which one I saw, and for some reason, that frustrates me a little. Not too much, just a little.

Here's the range map and the truncated guide from Steyermark 63 to the different buckeyes you'll find in the Ozarks. Click on the illustration below to enlarge the photo to see the miniscule little tick marks that represent the different varieties and forms, then take note what the characteristics are below and you won't be in the position I'm in tonight:

A. glabra var. arguta: Leaflets mainly 7, rarely 8-11, or 6; leaflets mainly 1-3 cm wide

A. glabra var. glabra: Leaflets mainly 5, rarely 6 or 7; leaflets mainly 3-8 cm. wide

A. glabra var. glabra f. pallida: most common form in Missouri. Lower surface of mature leaflets densely or lightly hairy

A. glabra var. glabra f. glabra: Lower surface of mature leaflets green, bark dark gray

A. glabra var. leucodermis: Less common, lower surface of mature leaflets usually strongly whitened or pale; bark pale or nearly whitish

Buckeyes like fire, so you'll find them in woodlands that have been managed with fire. They're commonly found in more mesic conditions, often along streambanks, on north slopes in dry, rocky woods. Lucky for the buckeye, deer do not find their twigs very palatable; we logged only 5 plants out of 109 that were clipped off by deer in one tract of deer-problem woods I surveyed this February.

The seeds are big, burly, and brown and resemble a doe's eye (or a buck, of course). Julian Steyermark tells us that it may not be a wise idea to feed buckeyes to children (but research shows that fox squirrels manage eating them just fine):

The shining, large, dark brown seeds are poisonous when eaten by children, livestock, and domestic animals....The seeds are rendered harmless after boiling or roasting, and were eaten by Native Americans as a starchy meal after being roasted.

Steyermark continues in his entry on red buckeye that the seeds were likely a precursor to Rotenone:

The powdered seeds and crushed branches of A. pavia, when placed in ponds or slow water, have been used to catch fish, which become stupefied and float to the surface.

How sporting!

Ball o' snakes

2011-04-13T20:03:00.004-05:00

I saw my first-of-the-spring garter snake in February. I hadn't seen one since November when 5, 8, and, in the end, 10 snakes slithered over our feet as we sat around the fire pit. In 2009, when I first discovered we had a brushpile full of garter snakes, I told everyone I knew. Oh, it's not that I haven't seen snakes before, but my urban dwelling is pretty darned urban with no corridors to nearby natural areas, just a grid pattern of streets and neighbors who use power tools and mowers every weekend.

But garter snakes in Missouri are pretty well-adapted to urban living, so my discovery of them was no surprise to my friends who grew up in St. Louis. One of my St. Louis friends grew up in nearby Berkeley, and he writes this about the garter snakes in his neighborhood:

"I must have picked up two hundred of them, all writhing in a mass, picked them up by the handful. I threw them in a pillowcase to bring home to show my mom. When I opened the pillowcase to show her, she immediately screamed, told me we couldn't keep them in the house, so we took them back to the old lot and let them go. There must have been thousands of garter snakes in Berkeley in the 1960s."

Old abandoned houses with brush and tall weeds are great places for garter snakes in urban Missouri. I'm not a squatter living in an abandoned bungalow, but I've been managing a brush pile-log pile-kindling pile for several years now, and the snakes love it. I was actually told last night by a former director of a state government agency that I'm violating some code with my brushpile, but he added, "ah, hell, nobody ever comes to your neighborhood to check on things like that...." My coworkers won't even come to my neighborhood unless I allow them to pack heat, which I won't (unless it's a pellet gun for the stray cowbird who arrived this spring).

Anyway, garter snakes are among the Missouri snakes that remain out of their hibernation chambers for the longest period each year. In the Ozarks, they emerge in March and remain active until November. On warm, sunny winter days they may come out for short periods. Garter snakes are highly variable in their color forms. In Missouri, we have two subspecies of garter snakes, the eastern garter snake and the red-sided garter snake. The dividing line for these subspecies is not the Missouri River, but a diagonal that runs northeast to southwest from Clark County in the Dissected Till Plains to McDonald County in the Elk River Hills. The eastern garter snake is in St. Louis and the red-sided garter snake is in Kansas City.

Breeding normally commences in the spring shortly after they emerge from their winter quarters. Multiple males form an aggregate around females, and much writhing occurs. St. Louisians may have seen this behavior before in those old lots in Berkeley with hundreds of animals in one small area; I feel certain that herpetology-minded folks have, too, seen this, but I witnessed it for the first time this weekend while setting out broccoli starts. First, there were three snakes. Two more snakes showed up. Five more came out of the brushpile and two came from the compost heap to add more calculated chaos to the scene. At one point, there were 20 snakes in a tangled mess. (So much for my hopes of having American toads in my yard.)

As I understand, they breed in large congregations and then disperse throughout the general area. The young are born in late summer or early fall. According to The Amphibians and Reptiles of Missouri, litter sizes can range from 4 to 85 individuals, and one individual was documented with a litter of 103 young. My marginal urban neighborhood (which I love) that even government regulators are scared to visit may harbor as many garter snakes as the city of St. Louis one day!

Finding the glades

2011-04-09T20:17:00.016-05:00

We didn't set out to look for morels, but if we found morels on our slow walk through the bottomland woods, we certainly wouldn't have passed them by. We didn't find a morel all day, but we were out there for another reason, to verify the presence of dolomite glades nestled deep in a landscape that may not have been canvassed by Natural Heritage Program biologists (lo, those many years ago, when the Heritage Program was a viable and important part of natural history in Missouri). No Heritage records exist for these glades, so the two of us set out to see if they had any merit, or, if they had been so overgrazed that any restoration work would be wasted, better done elsewhere.

Stepping across a little creek, we encountered a suite of spring ephemerals: anemones, bloodroots, and the scrappy form of a flowering Prunus mexicanus, native to the Ozarks. Following the lead of my trusty fieldmate, I crested to ridge to find, indeed, a dolomite glade--a beat up little glade peppered with cedars from the years of domestic livestock grazing and fire suppression, but a glade with bird's foot violets and Indian paintbrush. Eyes cast downward the whole time we stepped gently across this glade that may not have seen humans in a very long time, we agreed that the damage was done. The many years of grazing by domestic livestock--cows, sheep, goats, hogs--left a lasting impact. The soil layer was barely there, horribly eroded from the repeated trampling by livestock. The hog wire fence was still in place, and one side, the soil was in better condition than the side that must have held the animals. But open range grazing, which was part of the Ozark landscape for 80-100 years, had a detrimental impact on this glade -and every other glade we visited that day.

Heading through the beat up woods to Glade #2, the soil was in better shape and species richness was higher. If you've ever conducted vegetation sampling on a Grade B or A dolomite glade in the Ozarks in June, you'll encounter a little straw colored twig with paper thin elongated seedpods: Draba cuneifolia. It's a diminuitive little spring blooming plant, but I'd never seen it other than in it's June form. I found it the high point of the whole trip, in flower! It's not a particularly sexy plant with its simple little white flowers, but Draba cuneifolia! This one is not to be confused with Draba verna, another small plant that remains loyal not to glades but to the gravel parking lot natural community type.

In a fast and dirty assessment, we determined that with 6 hours of chainsaw work and one fire (with cedars cut, preferably when there's snow on the ground so the crummy surrounding woods won't burn), this second glade would be holding on just fine for another 20 years. Glade management really doesn't require a lot of work if the soil layer is there and some semblance of native species richness exists. Show me a glade that's been grazed to hell by cows and riddled with the exotics that come along with grazing histories and I'd probably tell you to choose another battle.

Once again, I was reminded this week, as I am every week when I visit compromised ecosystems in the Ozarks, that domesticated livestock have no place in native Missouri landscapes. It is unthinkable that anyone in their right mind would promote livestock grazing of any sort in our native ecosystems that have already been irreversibly damaged by the very same process.

First of the Year

2011-04-07T19:47:00.004-05:00

It's always a great afternoon when I come home to find this bird in my mailbox:

The logo is a slicked up version of the header to The Chat, the newsletter from the Columbia Audubon Society, one of the oldest chapters in Missouri. I love the illustration of the yellow-breasted chat, the secretive but noisy and bright yellow bird that represents the shrubby oak layer at my favorite tract of Ozark woods. Love chats, and just love the simple line drawing.

But aside from my affinity for the logo, I always look forward to opening the four-to-six page newsletter to find two full pages of fieldtrips hosted by different members of the chapter. This month was no different--Columbia Audubon Society will be birding at Prairie Home, at their own properties around Columbia, in Columbia parks and throughout the general area. This group of enthusiastic birders remains a bright spot in the Columbia conservation community. As much as I love the chat, I adore the CAS chapter. I've never met more earnest folks.

This month's newsletter was particularly interesting with a great article by one of Missouri's best birders and CAS board member, Edge Wade. Having birded in the Gulf Coastal Plain longer than I have in Missouri, I needed a guide to the waves of warblers. In the Gulf Coast, hit the barrier islands in March or early April to see every darned wood warbler around, as they land exhausted on loquat shrubs or gnarled hawthorns. But the waves of migrants in Missouri are on a different schedule.

Edge offers a short list of which warblers to study in early April through mid-May. The first bunch of warblers to come through Missouri includes:

Northern parula, Yellow throated warbler, pine warbler, palm warbler, cerulean warbler, black and white warbler, prothonotary warbler, and Louisiana waterthrush,

I picked up my FOY parula in early March, actually, way down in the Gulf states where the Tradescantia was already in bloom. But today, I set out into central Ozark woods to listen for the rest. Black and white was there (the one who sounds like a squeaky bike tire), and two yellow throated warblers were out. I also picked up field sparrows on a glade and a couple of parulas in the dry limestone-dolomite woodlands. Check in here for regular updates of bird sightings from all over Missouri.

Edge adds that later in the migration, one can expect to see:

Nashville warbler, black throated green warbler, yellow warbler, worm eating warbler, Swainson's warbler, Kentucky warbler, and the striking hooded warbler.

If you're interested and in the general area, new members to the Columbia Audubon Society are always welcome. Check out the CAS website here for a list of fieldtrips and guest speakers at the monthly meeting. Happy birding to all!

Drink Local Wine 2011: Missouri!

2011-04-02T14:06:00.003-05:00

The annual Drink Local Wine Conference was held this weekend in St. Louis. Among the highlights were a taste off between California and Missouri wines. The results are in and Adam Puchta's Norton won in the red category and Chaumette's Reserve Chardonel won in the white category.
Here's the official word:

We need a name for the award that wines that win the Twitter Taste-off receive, like the Drinkies. Or the Locapours. Or even the Freds.

Regardless, two Missouri wineries each won two of the four awards at Saturday's Missouri Twitter Taste-off. Adam Puchta Winery's norton won best red and its norton port was named the People's Choice winner, given to the wine chosen best in the Taste-off by the consumers who attended. Chaumette Winery's reserve chardonel was named best white and also took the Media Choice award as the favorite of the media who attended.

I like the Drinkies Award, personally. And I'll have to give Adam Puchta another chance, maybe buy an 06 Norton and drink it only from a Norton glass. I've had a lot of Nortons in Missouri, and, well, I'll just have to try this one again or something.

Ozark Spring Wildflower Guide

2011-03-30T15:34:00.010-05:00

The cold, dreary wet weather will be a mere memory soon, and spring wildflower season will ramp into gear with longer, sunnier days. Many years ago, the illustrious duo of esteemed ecologists Bruce Schuette and Paul Nelson published a wildflower guide for Missouri. All original illustrations inked in late at night with a rapidograph and easy to follow text, this guide was widely available in the 1980s. It's out of print now, and difficult to find in used bookstores.

When I first moved to Missouri, this book of illustrations served as my initiation tool to Ozark wildflowers--plants that are common in Missouri (wild geranium, for instance) were rarely, if ever, encountered in Louisiana's woodlands. As a child, the lack of fire in Louisiana's woodlands had a serious impact on spring flora; nary a wildflower could be found there but the spring beauty and an anemone or two. So, I needed a wildflower guide when I moved to the Ozarks.

In 2009, I published a post here with Nelson's beautiful illustrations of some of the more common spring wildflowers. The following illustrations are also taken from the book, and can serve as a quick refresher to those setting out into the April woods after our long, snowy (55 inches total in some parts) winter when wildflowers seemed like a world away...

I always return to the book to remember which is which--Solomon's seal vs. false Solomon's seal. This one is false Solomon's seal, with a flower at the end of the stalk. Found in dry or dry mesic woodlands, the flower of false solomon's seal gives way to bright red berries by mid-June. The stem is in a zigzag pattern unlike Solomon's seal.

The vegetative similarities between the false Solomon's seal and the actual Solomon's seal are real--long drooping stalk with alternate pinnate leaves. Solomon's seal is found in rich woods, moist areas, and the berries are dark blue in the summer.

The bright yellow pendant flowers of bellwort are just lovely. They resemble crepe paper, the way they droop down from the erect stem. Found in more mesic conditions, in rich woodlands. The leaves wrap completely around the stem, the telltale sign of this plant after the flowers are gone.

Mayapples are some of the first wildflowers to pop up after a spring fire in Ozark woodlands. Box turtles love the fruits of this plant, and I usually migrate to low, moist places where mayapples grow to find a morel or two.

Another brilliant yellow wildflower, hoary puccoon can be found on glades and prairies in the Ozarks. You'll see it around Indian paintbrush and bird's foot violet in a stunning display each spring. The densely hairy leaves and thick walled flowers are hard to miss on a glade.

I was recently asked "what's the showiest of the spring wildflowers in the Ozarks?" Such a relative question, I couldn't really answer it. Goldenseal may not be showy like a slipper orchid, but I think it's sexy because it usually indicates a pretty high quality site--find goldenseal and you'll likely find other good wildflowers. If you miss the brief flowering period of this plant, you'll likely encounter the red drupe berry perched on the leaf where it meets the stem by mid-May.

By early May, roadsides in the Ozarks are chocked full of tall, flowering penstemons. We have several species of penstemons in the Ozarks, but the most common is Penstemon digitalis. When I first moved here, I transplanted several from a recently graded roadcut to the yard where I lived where they were summarily mowed down. Visit high quality woodlands and the prairies of southwest Missouri that don't have cows on them to see another striking species of Penstemon.

Happy Spring!

Ozark spring

2011-03-23T19:06:00.005-05:00

I raise a hearty glass of an 06 St. James Norton to spring fire season, to prescribed fires planned for all over the state tomorrow--from pine woodlands around Ste. Genevieve to the relict post oak country of the upper Current River Hills. I toast bloodroots and trout lilies, to delicate little anemones and celandine poppies and blue-eyed Mary. May box turtles avoid automobile tires this spring, and may cool temperatures allow the bluebells to hold their elegant blooms into late April when the canoe outfitters open for the season. To spring!

Harbinger of Spring

2011-03-16T20:45:00.003-05:00

The photos have started trickling into my email inbox: harbinger of spring (Erigenia bulbosa) is in bloom now, officially ushering in spring wildflower season. Last week, I saw my first strappy Claytonialeaves poking through one year‘s worth of leaf litter, and (thanks to the cold weather) vernal witch hazel was still in bloom on an igneous knob. I actually haven't seen harbinger of spring yet this year, so I borrowed the lovely photo from one of Missouri's finest naturalists and all around stellar guy, John Oliver.

Harbinger of spring is a member of the carrot family with typical finely incised, fernlike leaves that appear after the flower is in bloom. It’s not a particularly noticeable flower, the small, white florets with bulging maroon anthers. Many people miss it on early spring hikes through Ozark woodlands. Look for it at the base of slopes, or along creekbeds.

Harbinger of spring is a perennial plant that sprouts from a tuber (hence the name bulbosa). While it is not one of the more commonly encountered spring wildflowers in the Ozarks, harbinger of spring is not rare in Missouri, though listed as such in Wisconsin.

Unlike several other spring ephemerals, harbinger of spring does not grow in large colonies that carpet the woodland floor (such as spring beauty. I can't tell you whether deer like it, but I imagine the fleshy stems and supple flowers look like ice cream to them in an otherwise brown landscape.

Cloudy Wednesday in the St. Francois Mountains

2011-03-10T20:49:00.014-06:00

I couldn't capture it, the breadth and scope of it. I seriously regretted not owning a macrolens or a panoramic camera yesterday as we crested the ridgetop on a not-so-recently cleared section of the Ozark Trail. The evening of May 8, 2009, full force gale winds from a storm that began in Kansas and Oklahoma ripped through the Ozark Highlands of Missouri in an historic weather event labeled by the Springfield NOAA as a "Super Derecho", a hook echo storm effect that has not occurred in Missouri in recorded history. It resulted in a massive swath of downed trees, decimated woodlands, roads blocked for weeks on end. The Ozark Trail Association was first on the scene, out there on the trail with chainsaws to clear the trail for everyone who wanted to see the impacts of such a remarkable storm event. Historic in nature, the derecho earned a paragraph and photos in the 2010 edition of The Terrestrial Natural Communities of Missouri by Paul Nelson (now with all color photos, available for 30$ at state parks or for 100$+ at the University of Missouri bookstore). The effects of the derecho will be seen in the Ozarks for many years to come.

After the roads were cleared and power was restored, land owners began harvesting, salvaging all that "downed timber." The shortleaf pine was salvaged first, a short shelf life after it's on the ground, and the oak was left for later. Now that the oak salvage is nearing its final days (before it becomes beetle food), parts of the St. Francois Mountains look like a lunar landscape--skidders and other logging equipment ripping up the understory to get to the logs. The soils in much of the derecho-damaged area is so disturbed that no regeneration is occurring and bush honeysuckle will likely become problematic.

So we went to one of the only largescale landscapes that wasn't logged, hiking up the hill to the sound of whispering pines and warm season grasses all taking advantage of the recent canopy openings. Looking out across the valley, I saw this:

Ridge after successive ridge of derecho damage, trees that didn't bend to the wind toppled by the sheer force of a very short lived storm that roared through the Ozarks that spring night. As far as the eye could see, randomly scattered pines and oaks standing, but oaks and hickories and pines, hazelnuts and dogwoods and the rest of the woodland associates all leveled, flattened, facing in one direction, the path of the derecho. I don't think I can express through words how moving it was to see the sheer force of nature, the brute force of nature, and the life anew in two year old pine saplings everywhere on the landscape. It's poetic. Ridge after ridge of untouched, raw, leaf off, force of nature. I was speechless, and still can't find the right words even sitting here in my bungalow in Columbia. Go see it. True wilderness in the St. Francois Mountains.

We continued to poke around the woods and the successive igneous knobs that go on and on throughout the landscape here in this ancient volcanic landform. Witch hazel is still in bloom, scattered in a wetland at Mina Sauk in a beautiful display with flowering alder. The national champion witch hazel is located at the base of Mina Sauk Falls, a 25 ft. tall tree down by the creekbed. You can't miss it.

The stillness of the winter landscape, the random pipping of a dark-eyed junco or peek! of a downy broke the silence that day. Go. Go to the St. Francois Mountains before leaf on in late April. Go before the hordes of people show up to break the silence.

Spinach, kale, lettuces, oh my!

2011-03-06T20:37:00.004-06:00

Last fall, I don't think I ever really sufficiently explained to that old man running the truck farm on Hwy. 19 out of Eminence how grateful I was for his incredible produce. I bought boxes of his potatoes, his greens, his cantaloupe, tomatoes, onions, whatever else he sold, all for a song. I should have paid him in ways other than currency--like Goatsbeard Farms chevre, an 06 Norton, or that fancy chocolate made here in town that I can't afford for myself (but have bought as gifts). I'm a sucker for truck farms, and the man on Hwy 19 sucked me in with his plywood signs. I follow any signs painted in cheap acrylics or tempera paint that read: "Tomatoes," "Collards," "Fresh Trout." I pull over every time, and I pay with a stupid check riddled in all of my personal information because I don't wait tables anymore and, therefore, never truck in cash anymore. I even pay for Forest Service campsites with stupid checks, even though as a part-time cashier I know what an utter headache and hassle checks are to process. I need to wait tables again, (the money's better anyway) or work a coffeeshop. Cash trumps checks anyday, but I could adapt to a barter system like the one I subsisted on in graduate school...

Mid-March brings the beginning of farmer's market season! Undoubtedly ushering in the coming of spring more than tornadoes across the Central Plateau or the peepers and chorus frogs in farm ponds, those truckbeds full of boxes of hothouse lettuces, fresh eggs, cheese, spinach, hard squash and trout, they all signal spring.

Farmer's Markets are now common across the Ozarks, as most communities have them at least one day a week, sometimes twice, from May-October. Many farmer's markets aren't registered with the official Dept. of Agriculture site, or advertised online, since a lot of them are like a pickup game in basketball, always serendipitous when you drive through town on a Wednesday afternoon or a Saturday morning, but not well known outside the local area. Most farmer's markets ramp into gear in late April when everything from spinach to morels can be purchased. At least one is open year round: Stockton on the Springfield Plateau:

Stockton: Saturdays 9-12, open year round at the Southern Trades Building

Early to mid-April openings include the following:

Ava: Saturdays 7-12, Ava Square

Cabool: Wednesdays 1-6, Gateway Park

Carthage: April 3-October, Wednesdays and Saturdays, 7 am in Carthage Square

Dora: Saturdays 8-12, Hwy. 181 next to Roy's

Fair Grove: Wednesdays 3:30-7, Wommack Mill

Mountain View: Saturdays 7-12, West Park

Ozark: Thursdays 5 pm to sellout, Ozark Square

Rockaway Beach: Saturdays 8-2, Hwy. 176 E

Springfield: Greater Springfield Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays 8:30, Sunset and Glenstone

Springfield: Commercial Street Tuesdays 4-7, Saturdays 8-12, Jefferson and Commercial

West Plains: Saturdays 7-12, Wednesdays 11:30-4, Washington and 2nd St.

Willard: Saturdays 1-4

Success is measured in btus.

2011-03-01T19:43:00.003-06:00

If today's winds dried wet fuels, and if relative humidities drop into the 30s or at least super low 40s on Thursday, if forecasters aren't too trigger happy with fire danger warnings, the Ozarks may be able to see some of the first fires of spring fire season this week.

My personal and professional success is measured in acres treated, just as it should be for others whose goal in this pyrrhic landscape is to attempt to protect biodiversity in Missouri. I haven't had success in any aspect this year, actually, so any acres -barring piles of leaves in ditches- would help. Check in here periodically to see if your favorite tract of land is burning in the western Ozarks, or here for fire weather in the eastern Ozarks. [3/4/11: hit the forward arrow on the link to Springfield and see what Thursday's spot forecast requests looked like. Now, that's a good day, warms my heart and soul.]

Walking across boulders

2011-02-26T16:50:00.004-06:00

During winter months, I take literally hundreds of photos that (upon a quick scan of each folder) all look the same: golden grass, gray trees, blue skies, dolomite boulders. I like the structure of the winter landscape, the silvery old growth chinquapin oaks, the open-grown post oaks, and the exposed geology. I've taken so many winter woodland and glade photos that my slideshows can be, um, predictable:
"Looks like grass," he says.
"No, but look! It's a huge glade (with an average FQI of 4.9-5.5)!"
"Sort of looks like an old field..."
Winter landscape photos can be truly stunning, but photos of spring in the Ozarks commands a wider appreciation.

After seeing the mourning cloaks and little brown bats flying around during the spate of clement weather, I went on a search in deep, forested coves of the northern Ozark Highlands to look for the first leaves of spring wildflowers to find one anemone in bloom alongside a frequently traveled trail. Aside from the strange little area around Bagnell Dam where spring wildflowers bloom almost two weeks before the rest of the wildflowers in the state, I appreciate true forest in early spring for the early wildflower displays. But I cherish forest in the winter when the ferns and mosses remain brilliant green, even in snowpack, when the woodlands are a uniform brown.

So I spent an appreciable amount of time this afternoon scanning through my winter photos from the past three years, sitting crosslegged in my chair so long my foot fell asleep. I opened each folder and quickily looked for green. I saw almost 500 various moss photos, possibly every commonly encountered moss in Missouri. Many of the moss pictures look just like this one:

Variations on a theme. If I were diligent, I would copy all the moss photos into one folder with the location and date of each photo so that when I needed a moss photo, I could go directly to a single folder. It's precisely this diligence that I lack, and am therefore in the situation I am this afternoon when I want to write about walking ferns. Like moss, walking ferns intrigue me, and I take photos of them almost every time I see them. I have great diagnostic photos of them and all their parts, but the walking fern photos are buried in folders, mixed in with other green things. I thought I could always find walking ferns in folders of photos taken in late winter when I migrate to anything green. Alas, I'm stuck with this mediocre and overlit photo taken last week in the forest, the only green photo I took that day:

With a widespread distribution in Missouri, and known from likely every county in the Ozark Highlands, walking fern Asplenium rhizophyllum inhabits moist calcareous boulders in shady woodlands and forests. It can grow through thick mats of moss, dependent on the constant source of moisture in limestone, dolomite and less commonly on sandstone. Walking fern possesses a truly fascinating ability to produce small plantlets at the tips of mature blades. Often in the Ozarks, one can find a boulder literally covered with walking ferns of various age classes and sizes, large plants surrounded by plantlets where the leaf tip landed on the moist rock. In the lousy photo above, one small plantlet can be seen in the right hand corner where the leaf tip hits the moss. The sturdy, exposed white rootlets of the very young plantlets penetrate the moss layer to reach the rock substrate upon which they will remain.

Ferns of the genus Asplenium can readily hybridize. Asplenium x kentuckiense is a cross between A. platyneuron and A. pinnatifidum, and is loyal to sandstone bluff crevices. Both A. platyneuron and pinnatifidum occur in Missouri, but I'm unsure whether anyone has discovered the sterile hyrbid in Missouri. Of course, like all cool plants, kentuckiense can be found in the Arkansas Ozarks (because they have more sandstone crevices than we do). Asplenium x herb-wagneri is another Arkansas-but-not-in-Missouri Ozarks hybrid; another sandstone Asplenium, this one is a cross between A. pinnatifidum and A. trichomanes. Both parent species occur in Missouri. LaBarque Creek country has the potential to harbor these hybrids.

On a warm February day in 2008, I went to one of only a handful of Missouri locations of Asplenium x ebenoides, a cross between walking fern and A. platyneuron. A. platyneuron is at home in dry woodlands as well as old fields. A. ebenoides takes on the walking fern's habit of living in limestone boulders, but does not have the ability to form little plantlets from the mature tips. Nevertheless, we hiked for an hour through nice chert woods to the historic population of this fern to find no fern. My fieldmate had seen the cross in this location for 20 years, but only walking fern was present, no ebenoides. Unfortunately, my fieldmate said it was likely jacked by a botanist. Very uncool treatment of a very cool plant. I'll keep looking and if I ever find it, I promise to take a better photo.

Back in Black

2011-02-18T20:54:00.009-06:00

Last week, as temperatures climbed to the 40s, we joked about the mounds of soot-covered snow, suggesting they wouldn't melt until July. Fire season seemed like a dream to most of us, as the heavy snow melts it saturates the ground and the once fluffy leaf litter morphs into one continuous (unburnable) flat mat. Yesterday's 72 degrees, 40 mph wind gusts, 28% relative humidity under clear blue skies magically melted the snow and dried the 1 hour fuels throughout the Ozarks. Actually, in the St. Francois Mountains, fuels are a little too dry, with large 1,000 hour fuels burning to ash in an afternoon. May fire season begin in earnest now.

It's challenging, spending day after day inside because the roads haven't been cleared or 10 inches of snow will mandate your feet get wet just walking through the woods. Winter's not over, and more snow is expected in the coming weeks, but this week marked the first opportunity to visit one of my favorite restoration areas--a nice chunk of post oak-white oak woodlands with glade inclusions that were burned in November while I was visiting Jack before his death at the nursing home in Louisiana. No one wanted to tell me the area was burned because I love burning this tract. The gratification that comes from treating a once-damaged landscape with fire in an effort to coax it back into richness is unmatched. So no one told me the unit was burned without me, they just expected me to discover it one day. It's been under snow since December and this week was the first opportunity to see it all slicked off by fire, a clean landscape waiting for the warm spring rains to bring life anew to the understory. I'm sorry I missed the fire, not at all sorry I spent the time with Jack, and glad the area burned.

Unlike in other parts of the area, the dolomite boulders are significant features here--scattered throughout as though someone tried to bring a plow to the upper reaches of the Ozark dome. Extremely rugged landscape, plant diversity is characteristically high here. Big stands of Gama grass can be found throughout the woodlands and glades, sandwiched between the rest of the warm season grasses and conservative forbs like Helianthus occidentalis, Aster oblongifolius, and Liatris cylindracea. We're still playing the Winter Botany Game in Missouri, but I saw the very first Anemone in bloom in an ancient, sheltered sinkhole full of snow. High quality Ozark woodlands are sexy any time of year, any time of day, and especially after a winter burn. Clean slate.

The spring peepers are out with their high pitched chirping, and buds on the dogwoods are swelling. Turkeys are pairing up, an the owls are active. Warm February days can sometimes encourage little brown bats to break their hibernation, as some members of the species tend to congregate near cave openings in winter months, more attuned to natural weather fluctuations that way. Mourning cloaks and moths flew about today, along with resident field sparrows and Missouri's wintering yellow-rumped warblers who will be on their merry way north soon to make way for our breeding prairie warblers who are as common as ticks in my favorite woodlands.

February Fakeout

2011-02-10T22:40:00.003-06:00

This happens every February throughout the cold climate regions--a warming spell in mid-February following a particularly cold, dreary, snowy, wet spell in January. In Oregon, they call it the February Fakeout: shun the muck boots for the week of warm, sunny temperatures that bring out cyclists! Hikers! Houseplants outside again! Spring is here! Alas, the February fakeout only lasts a week or so, leaving in its wake another 6 weeks of winter weather, potential for huge snow events, and so forth.

So, the Ozarks are in the midst of their February fakeout--five days of above freezing temperatures that will hopefully melt the 5 to 10 inches of snow that blanket much of the area. Down in Elk River Hills country last night, temperatures plummeted to 20 below zero, much below normal. But the next five days look bright and cheery, even pressing the 55 degree mark! (My sad little houseplants are going outside for a bit of natural light and much needed water.)

But we're not finished with winter. It's certainly time to start planning the spring garden, to order seeds, maybe start setting out indoor flats. The rule of thumb I learned when moving to Missouri maintained that loose leaf lettuces should be planted on St. Patrick's Day, mid-March. I'm not sure if that's still the case, but I'll likely plant my kale that day.

Admittedly, I'm still in the learning stages of growing food in the Midwest. (Grouse, grouse, grouse, in New Orleans I could put a seed in the ground every day of the year and it would produce food. I planted black eyed peas on Christmas Eve, Pacman broccoli seeds in July for crops that lasted through March.) My friend Peter says that the climate here is perfect for Cymbidiums--the cool nights, warm days, low humidity: "you can leave them outside under a shade tree all summer!." And my friend Travis harvests bushels and bushels and pantries full of vegetables from his small plot of land outside of St. Louis. We're in the proverbial breadbasket, after all, so the issues I've had with my little compacted soil, loess glacial till probably construction debris from the 1930s yard isn't a good judge of how to garden successfully in the Ozarks.

So, I asked Travis for a short list of vegetable varieties that perform really well in Missouri. The man is an encyclopedia of vegetable gardening knowledge in the area, a master pepper grower of so many different varieties he'd even be able to teach New Orleans growers a few things. A short list of Travis' favorite varieties and some of his vast font of wisdom. But, don't let the week of warm weather fool you into setting out pansies! Cold weather will, undoubtedly, return.

i can't think of many varieties of the plants mentioned that don't do well here. i think you need to work on your soil more. next time you are up this way, go by route 66 landscape supply in pacific and buy some of their compost. it's magic. the main things that don't work well are cabbage and cauliflower. spinach tends to bolt fast unless given some shade. to prolong lettuce harvest switch to planting only speckled romaine types once may sets in. they can handle the heat and humidity better. sorry i am not of more help here, i just can't think of many things that don't grow well because of where we are at. almost always it is soil issues.some of my fav's for yield and taste are
arcadia brocolli
sungold cherry 'maters
persimmon 'maters
missouri loveapple 'mater
joi choi asian greens
gourmet bell peppers
sweet italian peppers
crook neck summer squash
yard long beans
talon onions
those are probably my faves.

the great thing about yard long beans, if you are near the eastern portion of the state, is that japanese beetles won't touch them. harvest when about 18" long. eat like green beans. they make the best dilly beans ever.

also, always remember that pepper plants like to hold hands; meaning that you want the plants crowded together. given ample room, they get lonely and produce only a few small, weak fruits.
stay warm

White-throated sparrows

2011-02-05T11:09:00.004-06:00

Now that we have 20 inches of snow on the ground, the juncos and white-throated sparrows are able to reach the high seeds on the asters. Both species arrived in my backyard back in November, scratching around the brushpile, plucking seeds off some of the grasses. White-throated sparrows and juncos are among Missouri's more common wintering birds; they migrate from the rapidly disappearing boreal forests of Canada to fan out all over North America. Some white-throated sparrows fly all the way to the Amazon, making the route the longest of all migratory songbird routes. Our Christmas Bird Count participants logged 850 white-throated sparrows and 2066 juncos. Plenty of native seeds to go around for both species in my area, and while during the winter the sparrows forage for seeds and nuts on the ground, in spring and summer they live primarily on arthropods and spiders.

White-throated sparrows are the most abundant songbird in the boreal and the northern Great Lakes. 85% of their population nests in northern Ontario and Quebec, and the rest spend their breeding season in southwestern Yukon and the northern Great Lakes region. Their breeding biology is curious: there are two color morphs of the white-throated sparrow, one with tan markings on the head and the other with more noticeable white and black marks. As monogamous breeders, each pair consists of one tan striped and one white striped bird. The mixed pairs produce equal numbers of each color morph. According to the Boreal Songbird Initiative, there's a good reason for the mixed pairing:

"White striped males are more aggressive and territorial and less faithful than the tan striped males. Tan striped females provide more parental care than white striped females....Uniform pairs are deficient in either territoriality or parental care."

96% of pairs are therefore mixed.

The Canadian boreal forests contain 25% of all remaining forests on Earth. 80% of the forest remains intact, but is threatened by logging and oil exploration. The United States is the leading importer of boreal forest products; 2/3 of all the wood cut in the boreal is used to make paper products like catalogs and junkmail in America. Large retailers such as Home Depot will not sell products from the boreal, but other retailers aren't as conscientious. The destruction of the boreal directly impacts the white-throated sparrow populations, not to mention other songbird, mammal and countless other life forms that live there. White-throated sparrows are declining in the eastern side of its range, where the clearcut areas are reverting to second growth forest. Young, new forests lack the structural features and composition required for forest-dwelling songbirds to breed. The white-throated sparrow population is holding steady in the western reaches of their range due to minimal forest disturbance factors which cause periodic breaks in the canopy, encouraging rich understory production. The sparrow's wintering grounds are healthier than some parts of their breeding grounds and have been declared "sufficient." Backyard bird feeders, while not vital for their sustainability, certainly don't hurt populations.

Digging out

2011-02-02T10:33:00.010-06:00

Wintering warblers

2011-01-28T20:03:00.008-06:00

On occasion, winter birding requires great patience. In particular, cold, dreary, cloudy mornings tend to keep woodland birds hunkered down (while waterfowl can congregate by the thousands on any available open water). The great migration will begin soon, ushering in the time of year when even casual birders visit natural areas after a random sighting of a summer tanager or common yellowthroat in their suburban backyard.

But winter birding in Missouri's woodlands is just as rewarding, offering the chance to see large flocks of striking cedar waxwings as well as a warbler that you won't see during the summer in Missouri. Some of the warblers that officially winter in the southern US can be seen here on rare occasion, but the yellow-rumped warbler, a winter resident in Missouri, is the most commonly encountered. The winter plumage of yellow-rumped warblers can be rather variable, ranging from striking and colorful to drab, but they always possess unmistakeable patches of yellow above the tailfeathers and on their sides. Yellow-rumped warblers breed in Alaska, Canada, and in the upper northeastern U.S., but during the winter months in the Ozarks, they're easily found in woodlands, in brushy areas of old fields, in blackberry brambles, in pretty diverse habitat types. (I usually find them fluttering about in small groups in the woodland canopy or along a brushy fencerow with a nearby woodlot.)

Palm warblers are less commonly seen in the upper reaches of the Ozarks, but can be (somewhat reliably) found in the lower reaches of the Ozarks. Their official winter range extends from north Louisiana to Panama, but on occasion they appear in the Christmas Bird Count list for southeast Missouri. I've seen them in the Ozarks around the Eleven Point River. While palm warblers possess a uniformly brown winter plumage, their habit of wagging their tail feathers up and down while they forage on the woodland floor is distinctive. Look for palm warblers in the interior of intact woodlands and true forest. Riparian zones along Ozark rivers can harbor palm warblers during early spring as they migrate to Canada and the upper northeast U.S. to breed.

In the dead of winter, one is less likely to see orange-crowned warblers in Missouri, but in recent weeks, several sightings of them have occurred here. Known primarily from the Western U.S. during the breeding season, they winter in the southeast U.S. and are regular feeder visitors in coastal Louisiana. The orange of "orange-crowned" is seldom visible, and when it is, it's not very noticeable, merely a slip of orange on a brown head. I've seen them this month in open woodlands in a small, brushy stand of sassafras. Occasionally, Christmas Bird Count participants in Missouri will detect orange-crowned warblers, but they're uncommon.

Similar to orange-crowned warblers, sightings of common yellowthroats in winter months are uncommon. They breed in Missouri, and are usually found in low, wet or brushy areas. In the winter, common yellowthroats lose their unmistakeable black mask, but maintain a pale yellow throat. Finding a common yellowthroat in the winter is always a treat, and may require documentation if found during a Christmas Bird Count.

Check in here for bird sightings in Missouri, a listserve for users to post sightings. Top on the list this week in the Ozarks is the short-eared owl hanging around the Fulton airport, and the golden-crowned sparrow and spotted towhee that arrived earlier this month at a feeder in Linn. If you're around Rolla, look for the Eastern phoebe at DeWitt Pond around Bohigian CA. Brown thrashers spotted north of Columbia, so they're probably in the Ozarks. Winter birding can be fun!

Prairie Poem

2011-01-22T10:07:00.003-06:00

From Justin Thomas, Missouri's greatest botanist, a poem from his wonderful weblog The Vasculum:

Prairie Poem
Oh proud prairie
Oh fertile shroud
Rooted in the black depths of antiquity
Spotted and swaying with varying degrees
Of blue, green and golden pleasures
A symphony of silent strength
Where wind and grass collide
To worship open expanse
In you I confide

Between the prayers of a Pleistocene sky
The pressure of ice
And the loft of loess
I walk in silent search
Of anything
That can exist so freely
As these erupting spirits of bloom
In concert with birds, time
Motion and tune

Oh my miserable heart
diced to bleeding pulsing squares
Roads and crops
Dust and barbed wire stares
Pitted with rust
That stain more red than ignorance
My imprisoned prairie soul
Dig deep
Into ancient soils
And find the us
In what remains
Of the plows crumbs
And the cattle's waste
Find the starry night
So far away
And let us sleep
Together
Under it
And remain

Cafe 37

2011-01-19T19:57:00.005-06:00

My most un-sexy black Jansport swimsuit remains balled up on the floorboard of my car. It shares space with a coffee stained Wine Spectator from November (for the treadmill), a wooden embroidery hoop, a tangled wad of chartreuse embroidery floss and purple swim goggles with UVB protection. All of these items have been there since my last float trip in November. Float season can't come soon enough, really, so my swimsuit is ready, waiting in the car for a warm spring day and a cold, cold dip in an Ozark river to look for crayfish.

Reminiscing on past float trips during this week's 6 inch snow event, I'm reminded of the great comfort of a hot meal and wine found post float throughout the Ozarks. There are those restaurants which are automatically elevated to "truly wonderful" status where one can find a healthful vegetarian meal and a decent glass of wine served in a glass, the best way to finish off a day of eating Fig Newtons and peanuts and drinking a young Walla Walla out of a steel thermos.

Because I'm not very self conscious about my appearance after a float or a fire, I really don't mind sitting down at the Rolla Applebees in braids with my swimsuit peeking from my tank top to order a fresh glass of Mirassou and their black beans (extra steamed broccoli, no butter). No one there ever seems to mind, which is nice, that I look like something the proverbial cat dragged in, having been swimming and jumping off boulders all day.

In Poplar Bluff, after long and perfect days on the Eleven Point, we found our sunburned grungy selves at the Pasta House where I always ordered Sangiovese, not their most popular. I often sent back the caramelized brown wine, asking pretty please for a fresh glass, "...I'll take anything red, whatever's only opened in the past day and isn't a merlot or a Chianti or from California, please." So very accomodating, the waitstaff never bat an eye when I send back turned wine (even though I really don't look like someone who should know better?). Good vegetarian options, too.

Maybe it's cultural, maybe restaurateurs in the Ozarks who live around float towns come to expect grungy floaters, but in fact they welcome floaters. Heck, they'd rather be floating too! The Ozark Orchard in downtown Eminence, the heart of float country, is particularly charming, and they make a lovely trout with steamed green beans (they have a bar upstairs, with wine). Also in Eminence, Winfield's can whip up a slamming breakfast, and good hot coffee for the ride back home if the wind ripping through the river valley blows out your campstove one too many times.

If you find yourself in West Plains, bypass the fast food restaurants on the main drag and follow the brown signs to their Historic Downtown, a short drive off of Hwy. 63. On a corner in the town square rests the historic West Plains Opera House, built in 1886 by Thomas Johnson. Historically, the building held retail space on the first floor and on the second floor a full theater, orchestra pit and balcony. The building then served as a bank after purchase by O.H. Catron. In the late 1990s, West Plains native Russ Cochran began a complete restoration of the old opera house. It's a remarkable tin ceiling building, complete with a carefully restored antique hand carved bar, the likes of which I've rarely seen in the Ozarks.

Cafe 37 offers fancy comfort food-- blackened fish tacos with remoulade and pico de gallo over rice pilaf and avacado sour cream, a baked brie served with apple butter, all sorts of meat dishes, rich desserts, and a notable wine list. It's the wine list, the food, the room, the staff, the bar, the lighting, the lovely building that keeps bringing me back there when really I should just eat a Clif bar and a banana for dinner. But the wine list! There are usual suspects of course, some California pinot noir, I'm certain a merlot, but my eyes migrate to the 2007 Cotes du Rhone. I asked to see the bottle, presented to me unopened, and sure enough: an 07 Cotes du Rhone, in West Plains. (In recent months, I've ordered certain vintages yet served much younger vintages, much tighter wines that really shouldn't be served for a few more years. Then comes the rigamarole of sending it back, asking for the list again...and starting over). Their lovely stemware (great bordeaux glasses) only highlights their wines. Up the road on Preacher Roe Blvd. is Cafe 37's wine shop and lunch place, Grapevine. Quiche, sandwiches, salads, and a fancy wine shop in West Plains.

Back home, sidled up next to the usual crew to watch tennis (Federer-Simon) while the snow started to fall, I regaled my friends with tales of Cafe 37. No one believed me, no one in the group--despite all the days and weeks spent floating in the Ozarks--had ever taken Business 63 to 160/17 to Historic Downtown. "West Plains? A great restaurant in West Plains?" Yes, West Plains. And, to boot, much nicer stemware than any restaurant around here.

12th Night in the Field

2011-01-08T18:01:00.009-06:00

Epiphany arrived on Thursday this week, and I was pleased to learn that my fellow Episcopalians from Louisiana still had their Christmas trees up. (I wasn't the only one in the country...). Needles falling everywhere, of course, but still up. My big, desiccated cedar came down this weekend, his corner now filled with a big Boston fern who must appreciate the bright light coming from the front windows. So begins Carnival season, fire season, winter storm season, big snows, but increasingly longer days.

With the available daylight, I head to the woods to spend time in a stagnant landscape. After an early growing season burn in the woodlands, the unburned little bluestem erupted, sending out long stalks of ethereal, feathery seeds that remain in tact long into January. The mosses remain green, of course, and a source of great intrigue. I know a few of them by name, but not many. They remain a brilliant source of color in the winter landscape, and such a remarkable, fascinating group. 'Tis the season for brightness, Louis Prima, loud seasonings, winter squash, purple green and gold, and renewed vigor in all things....

Crash

2011-01-06T17:46:00.004-06:00

An eerie silence penetrated the morning fog as I crested the ridge this morning. Today marked the fourth visit in as many weeks to my favorite birding haunt to conduct yet another winter bird survey. I've conducted the winter bird surveys here since 2003 when red-headed woodpeckers were so commonly encountered that we counted them by fives. Since 2007, near the beginning of rampant, unchecked development in the watershed, the wintering red-headed woodpeckers have declined. The high counts in 2003 through 2006 averaged 30 birds at 7 different locations scattered throughout the site. In 2009, I logged 4. This year, on four different trips spanning an entire day under various weather conditions, I didn't see or hear a single one.

As the sun moved from behind the hills, the rest of the wintering birds came to life: lots of red-bellieds, nuthatches with their silly "quank", yellow-rumped warblers, titmice, kinglets, a flock of about 40 cedar waxwings flapping wildly while picking off all the blue berries from a fire-pruned cedar. But no red-headeds. Barring the bald eagle, broad-winged hawk, American widgeons and gadwalls, the rest of the birds on my checklist today have all paid a visit or two to my urban backyard feeding station. No red-headeds in my backyard, either, of course.

Red headed woodpeckers (for as long as I've lived here, at least) were the signature bird of nice open woodlands in the Ozarks. So common on the landscape were they that folks living in the Ozarks saw them frequently at suet feeders. The dapper birds were so prevalent in the semi-urban white oak woods I lived in that every knothole in my storage shed housing was packed with their carefully crammed white oak acorns. They're not around that area anymore.

For the past several years, I've noted red-headed woodpeckers' presence on different watch lists--Central Hardwoods Joint Venture, Audubon. In Illinois, where only 2% of the state's land cover is in native vegetation, small little preserves are set aside in an effort to protect dwindling aspects of a once biodiverse landscape. One tract is a whopping 12 acres, an area set aside to protect one of the only known populations of compass plant. Compass plant! It's not sustainable. But the Ozark Highlands, the thousands of acres of land spread across many miles with disjunct patches of development. The St. Francois Mountains, for example, is not as open or the ideal structure for red-headeds as are the western Ozarks, but I wonder if red-headeds are hanging out around igneous knobs. Or is it something larger, problems in their breeding grounds, for example.

So, the next step is to visit other similar open woodland tracts away from the development zone (Forest Service land, for example) to see if the red-headeds are still there. It's been so long since I've seen or heard them, I hope I haven't forgotten their gurgling churl.

Going to the woods

2011-01-01T13:48:00.006-06:00

As long as I can remember, I've spent New Year's Day in the woods. I seldom think of resolutions until New Year's Day, often changing my mind to accomodate both my annual birthday goals and my actual booked schedule. Last year I vowed to write more, and to read more. I kept up with handwritten correspondence all year, and read every blasted book about Jefferson and wine, American grapes, America's eating problem, the biodiversity crisis, the rise of Chez Panisse, and others all found by systematically browsing the shelves of the well-lit (and tastefully appointed) Daniel Boone Public Library. I wrote hundreds of letters, and tried to steer clear of writing about cows, even though I continue to have nightmares and panic attacks about them and their impacts. I think I wrote about my garden a lot and how I can't seem to grow big bell peppers, but my kale produced tender leaves all spring and summer.

In the past year, actually, in the course of two months, I've managed to put on 6 blasted pounds, weighing in at 106.2 for the first time ever. I'll lose it, and I'll keep it off (because that's how it starts with middle aged women like me: one pound one year, three pounds on holiday...then wham! you're 30 pounds heavier and having to buy new clothes to hide it.)

I'll try my hand at making a barrel of Norton this year using fancy designer yeasts and only the best grapes Missouri has to offer. (Ozark coopers sell white oak barrels specifically for home winemaking). I've been reading about home winemaking for two years, hesitant to take the plunge for fear of making some sweet crap that I wouldn't drink, or even put my name on, for that matter.

Top priority, however, is to spend at the very least two days a week in the woods. It shouldn't be hard during spring, what with all of my woodland projects already lined up, but I need to stick to it even in August when I'm trying to write all the reports on my spring and summer surveys. Too much inside time in the past year.

3: More overnight floats. More backpacking. More long trips into the Ozark woods and rivers that brought me here in the first place. I don't live in Missouri for the food, after all, but the wine's great.

Invasive species and the biodiversity crisis

2010-12-30T21:37:00.002-06:00

From EurekAlert:

What triggers mass extinctions? Study shows how invasive species stop new life
Collapse of Earth's marine life 378 to 375 million years ago holds key

An influx of invasive species can stop the dominant natural process of new species formation and trigger mass extinction events, according to research results published today in the journal PLoS ONE.

The study of the collapse of Earth's marine life 378 to 375 million years ago suggests that the planet's current ecosystems, which are struggling with biodiversity loss, could meet a similar fate.

Although Earth has experienced five major mass extinction events, the environmental crash during the Late Devonian was unlike any other in the planet's history.

The actual number of extinctions wasn't higher than the natural rate of species loss, but very few new species arose.

"We refer to the Late Devonian as a mass extinction, but it was actually a biodiversity crisis," said Alycia Stigall, a scientist at Ohio University and author of the PLoS ONE paper.

"This research significantly contributes to our understanding of species invasions from a deep-time perspective," said Lisa Boush, program director in the National Science Foundation (NSF)'s Division of Earth Sciences, which funded the research.&

"The knowledge is critical to determining the cause and extent of mass extinctions through time, especially the five biggest biodiversity crises in the history of life on Earth. It provides an important perspective on our current biodiversity crises."

The research suggests that the typical method by which new species originate--vicariance--was absent during this ancient phase of Earth's history, and could be to blame for the mass extinction.

Vicariance occurs when a population becomes geographically divided by a natural, long-term event, such as the formation of a mountain range or a new river channel, and evolves into different species.

New species also can originate through dispersal, which occurs when a subset of a population moves to a new location.

In a departure from previous studies, Stigall used phylogenetic analysis, which draws on an understanding of the tree of evolutionary relationships to examine how individual speciation events occurred.

She focused on one bivalve, Leptodesma (Leiopteria), and two brachiopods, Floweria and Schizophoria (Schizophoria), as well as a predatory crustacean, Archaeostraca.

These small, shelled marine animals were some of the most common inhabitants of the Late Devonian oceans, which had the most extensive reef system in Earth's history.

The seas teemed with huge predatory fish such as Dunkleosteus, and smaller life forms such as trilobites and crinoids (sea lilies).

The first forests and terrestrial ecosystems appeared during this time; amphibians began to walk on land.

As sea levels rose and the continents closed in to form connected land masses, however, some species gained access to environments they hadn't inhabited before.

The hardiest of these invasive species that could thrive on a variety of food sources and in new climates became dominant, wiping out more locally adapted species.

The invasive species were so prolific at this time that it became difficult for many new species to arise.

"The main mode of speciation that occurs in the geological record is shut down during the Devonian," said Stigall. "It just stops in its tracks."

Of the species Stigall studied, most lost substantial diversity during the Late Devonian, and one, Floweria, became extinct.

The entire marine ecosystem suffered a major collapse. Reef-forming corals were decimated and reefs did not appear on Earth again for 100 million years.

The giant fishes, trilobites, sponges and brachiopods also declined dramatically, while organisms on land had much higher survival rates.

The study is relevant for the current biodiversity crisis, Stigall said, as human activity has introduced a high number of invasive species into new ecosystems.

In addition, the modern extinction rate exceeds the rate of ancient extinction events, including the event that wiped out the dinosaurs 65 million years ago.

"Even if you can stop habitat loss, the fact that we've moved all these invasive species around the planet will take a long time to recover from because the high level of invasions has suppressed the speciation rate substantially," Stigall said.

Maintaining Earth's ecosystems, she suggests, would be helped by focusing efforts and resources on protection of new species generation.

"The more we know about this process," Stigall said, "the more we will understand how to best preserve biodiversity."

###
The research was also funded by the American Chemical Society and Ohio University

Squirrel's larder

2010-12-30T18:29:00.006-06:00

Looking through my frost covered windows into the snowy backyard, the plump red squirrels looked more like fancy Gund stuffed toys than the animate creatures they are. This was a banner fall for red oak acorns, and autumn’s invasion of red squirrels and ground-feeding yellow-shafted flickers into my pin oak-black oak-chinquapin oak urban backyard signaled a good mast year for the city block. Mast production of red oaks was great throughout the Ozark Highlands this year, and in some parts of the state white oaks fared well also.

Squirrels like fatty red oak acorns, but if the white oak acorns are more abundant, they will eat more of them just after acorn drop. Recent research has shown that squirrels will only eat the top part of the red oak acorn (about 60% of it) to avoid the concentrated tannins at the embyronic end. Even though squirrels eat the bulk of an acorn, the remaining part can still produce a tree. Estimates suggest that 74% of all buried acorns are never found again. White oaks send out taproots days and weeks after they fall, while red oaks sprout the following spring. Since the tannins in white oak acorns are concentrated in the taproot, squirrels tend to eat them first, and store red oak acorns for the winter; so, in good mast years like this one in parts of the Ozarks, squirrels are fattening up for a productive spring.

Historically, before the age of active fire suppression and livestock grazing in the woods (followed by annual burning and grazing), much of the Ozarks was dominated by white oak, white oak-black oak, or even white oak-post oak associations. Due directly to the lack of fire and a long history of grazing following European settlement, tree associations in the Ozarks favored a red oak-black oak dominance. Livestock are very hard on white oaks. It has been suggested that the now-extinct passenger pigeons played a significant role in the propagation of white oaks in Ozark woodlands, and it is widely accepted that squirrels and blue jays are largely responsible for planting the woodlands in red oak and black oak. Good for flooring, but not as desirable as white oaks for wildlife food.

Today, nodding a backwards glance towards the early days of the age of extraction, some in agribusiness and conservation industry suggest that grazing cattle in woodlands is beneficial for both woodlands and for growing protein. Grazing cattle in Missouri's native ecosystems is terribly destructive, and because of a long history of grazing following settlement, we have thousands and thousands of acres of out-of-context, destroyed, jacked up, trashed out, depauperate, unrestorable landscapes (that aren't even worth burning unless you're managing for buckbrush, annual weeds, poison ivy and oak sprouts). Grazing has changed the face of Missouri's native ecosystems forever, and not positively. Grazing cattle in woodlands is as conscientious for biodiversity as clearcutting Amazonian rainforests to grow steak.

Winter walk in chert woods

2010-12-22T18:52:00.024-06:00

I recognized several years ago that biodiversity in Missouri is doomed, totally unsustainable. It's very sad, actually, and on those dark winter days when birds aren't around (but hunkered into cedar boughs to wait out the clouds) it's nice to still be able to go to decent enough (but vast in scale) post oak woodlands managed for their highest and best use, for ecosystem protection above all else.

And winter botany is only fun when there's a biodiverse understory around: tall and rangy Lespedeza hirta, big, strapping Aster linariifolius stalks, Solidago juncea , switch grass and Indian grass and the bluestems, sweet everlasting with that distinctive scent, and a strange Muhlenbergia I've never seen before. A nice winter day in nice burned-5-times-in-15-years woods....

Bluebird skies

2010-12-18T16:45:00.004-06:00

Thick, crisp white snow carpeted the landscape during the Christmas Bird Counts today. Assigned to Section 6 of the COMO circle, I was treated to song sparrows by the droves, and thousands--around 9,000, actually--of waterfowl hanging out in the artificial wetlands outside of town. Among the 9,000 birds in the marsh were shovelers, pintail, thousands of mallards whose wingbeats above sent chills down my spine, wigeons, wood ducks, green-wing teal (about 200), coots, Virginia rails clucking in the yellow cattails, marsh wrens and swamp sparrows.

Highlights from the day came from the woodlands, my favorite landscape in all Missouri:

A hermit thrush flitting from branch to branch in a fencerow along the KATY Trail, the only speckled thrush that winters in Missouri in significant numbers. Wonderful birds with big, baleful eyes and a trim little beak

Super sleek and elegant multi-colored Lincoln sparrows eating monarda seeds

We spent so much time with the waterfowl that we didn't hit the woodlands until 10 am. We were imnmediately greeted by three darling golden-crowned kinglets offering their little meager pip! high up in a sycamore, finally moving down the tree so we could see them up close.

Bluebirds. It's hard to find a more brilliant blue in nature than the plumage of Eastern bluebirds. Four (3 males, one female) were seen in the canopy along a wooded section of Hinkson Creek, all basking in the bright late afternoon sun that literally electrified their colors.

The stark white chest of a brown creeper moved into view at the bottom of a hickory snag. He quickly danced up the tree, skirting from side to side.

One lone fox sparrow, the largest of the sparrows on our list, revealed himself to us in a tangle of vines along Perche Creek.

So it begins, the Christmas Bird Count season. Next up this week is the western Ozarks and hopefully so many red-headed woodpeckers that I start counting them by fives.

Multiplying by droves

2010-12-13T20:19:00.004-06:00

For the past few years, once, twice or thrice a week, I have had the great fortune to travel one of Missouri's deadliest roads, Highway 63, to head deep into the heart of the Ozarks. There's no way around traveling Hwy. 63 to do what I do during the week, and every time I do it, I end up with white knuckles, but grateful to arrive at my destination alive.

Among the highlights of the drive are small German Catholic communities that advertise on big plywood boards their Fall Suppers, Visitations (I don't know what those are, but I don't think they're associated with funerals), Holiday Suppers, and Festivals too numerous to count. I don't mind at all slowing down to 35 mph through Westphalia, home to one of the state's finest Nortons, and Freeburg, the town with the old general store that still functions quite well in its original 1800s white clapboard building.

But when you roll through Vienna at 35 mph between October and January, it's hard to miss the ranch style house located at the bottom of a gentle slope whose owners populate their mowed lawn with plastic figurines lit with small incandescent bulbs. In October, they set out pumpkins of all sizes, big black cats, and more pumpkins. As December rolls around, they pull out all the stops to celebrate Christmas.

I first noticed the army of Santas several years ago. Oh, there were 50 or more Santas, some clutching candy canes, others with an arm around a reindeer. The next year, there were more. A growing army of Santas and nativity scenes, more reindeer and candy canes all aglow with little single bulbs. Now, in 2010, I think the family of Christmas cheer has pulled out all the proverbial stops. Standing erect on this 5 degree night with snow on the ground and the Geminids ready to pierce the early morning sky, there must be 200 Santas in the front yard of all shapes and sizes, some duplicates, some vintage, but all happy Santas waving to the slow drivers on Hwy. 63. (Don't speed through these towns. The friendly Osage Co. law enforcement officials do not hesitate writing citations to out of town travelers. I've never received one because my car isn't physically capable of speeding....not that I would if it could....)

When such a great effort is made to decorate the outside of one's home with enough Santas to hand deliver gifts to every household in the county, surely the inside of the house is magnificent. These folks in Vienna are clearly chocked full of Christmas spirit, and it's contagious. I tried snagging my mom's 1960s Santa cum reindeer the last time I was in Louisiana, but we all suspect that someone in my neighborhood would steal it from my city yard if I displayed it. That's because I don't live in a German Catholic Ozark town.

Baby, it's cold outside

2010-12-11T23:29:00.005-06:00

It's like spring in the Tetons! Highs in the teens, lows to single digits, and snow drifts piling up against the house...

Christmas Bird Count, Dec. 15-Jan.4

2010-12-08T17:03:00.005-06:00

In the 19th century, there was a popular Christmas sport called the "side hunt" where a party would split into two groups and go off hunting. Whichever group came back with the most birds was considered the winner. The tradition worried ornithologist Dr. Frank Chapman, and in 1900 he started what he hoped would become an annual tradition, the Christmas Bird Count. Over 100 years later, the count is still conducted. Now it serves as a method for understanding winter bird populations.

The Audubon Society organizes the CBC. The count takes place in designated circles, a set area that can encompass thousands of acres. Within that circle, birders fan out to count individual birds. So, after a full day of birding in Missouri, bird counts often reflect hundreds of cardinals, flickers and juncos with species counts ranging from 60 on the low end to 120 (usually those circles with significant waterfowl populations). One active count circle in Missouri was established in the 1960s, and data from each bird count is stored online. In this one area, for example, one can see how many pintail were there in 1965, how many brown creepers in 1980, and so on. Audubon uses the CBC information to track changes in North American bird populations; in recent years, for example, hooded merganser populations in New England have soared while grosbeaks have declined.

Christmas Bird Count circles are not common in the Ozarks, but go here to see if there's one around where you live. Don't be alarmed if you see a car full of birders glide past your property and staring at your feeders with binoculars.

Foraging

2010-11-27T21:41:00.005-06:00

There are enough cedars in Ozark woodlands and glades for every mantle, front door, and stairwell in the uplands to be decked to the nines in greenery this Christmas, even leaving enough cedars for wintering birds to cluster beneath the boughs during cold, snowy, windy days.

Every year, my Native Plant Society chapter gathers in late November after a few months of gathering interesting seeds and berries to make Christmas wreaths with native and non-native plant material. One member is in charge of whacking down cedar branches on her property (find the branches laden with blue berries and you'll be hailed a hero among the group), and the others canvass their farms, fencerows, and private property to build a diverse assortment of paper bags filled with seedheads from many different species. They collectively gather enough material to fill more paper bags than can fit into a small sized truckbed, actually.

Prairie rose rosehips are always nice to have, bright red berries significantly larger than similar fruit from the exotic multiflora rose (which works well in smaller arrangements). Sweet everlasting is common on roadsides in the Ozarks, and the dried flowers bring light to the dark green cedar branches. Lespedeza capitataseeds look great with their mellow brown spikes arranged in clusters. Someone in the group owns a pond populated with American lotus, thus offers lotus pods which we all gravitate towards.

Bright red sumac berries! Sumac grows everywhere in the Ozarks, in old fields, roadsides, in open woodlands. The berries retain that brilliant red all winter, and chickadees will gravitate towards your garland or wreath if you include them.

Don't overlook the grasses. Big bluestem seedheads alternately look gold or khaki, and inland sea oats, little bluestem, and the foxtails are quite charismatic.

(I'll advise against using asters and goldenrods until all the seeds have flown off the stalk; otherwise, the airy and feathery seeds will rain down and scatter on your wreath every time the wind blows or you open the door.)

Of course, after the cedar branches have turned a pale, sage green, and Christmas is a mere memory, it is always fun to dismantle the arrangement and set it on fire, saving the wreath form for the next year.

Before gathering any material from public lands, please contact the land manager for permission or a necessary permit....

St. James v. Beaujolais

2010-11-25T20:52:00.004-06:00

Following a hopelessly sad visit with one parent in the Alzheimer's section of the Louisiana Veteran's Home, we descended on the 85+ degree home of another parent for a ridiculously large Thanksgiving dinner that included Beauregard sweet potatoes prepared four different ways. Before the acorn squash went into the oven, we set the stage for the official tasting of St. James' 2010 Nouveau and George DuBoeuf's 2010 Beaujolais Nouveau.

The judges: Rupert Reginald Vaughn, a.k.a. Daddy, whose primary care physician has instructed him to "drink more red wine." On the doctor's advice, he has distanced himself from his longtime love affair with cheap fishing beer and small batch Kentucky bourbon.
Ronald Teasdale, sister Ashley's friend, an expert in affordable Petit Syrah and all other big, bold, jammy reds from California. I don't know much about him but he's really nice, I like his dog, and he's remarkable for putting up with my sister.
Myself, an enormous casual fan of Nortons, Washington cabernet, anything from the 07 vintage from Cotes du Rhone, but always fawning over Willamette Valley pinot noir.

The referee: Douglas Miller, a lover of treats like peppermint ice cream and chocolate chips, but can appreciate Washington cabs, 07 Cotes du Rhones, and other subtle reds solely because they're "good for" his health. Those enormous Willamette Valley pinots are "too much, too big, too kablammo!" for his palate. Ironically, his palate can detect the faintest hint of mineral, the metallic overtones in sharp whites, and he regularly whips out tasting notes like "the 08 Vignoles from Mt. Pleasant tastes like canned chicken."

Four Reidel pinot noir glasses schlepped from Missouri to Louisiana. Two half full of the 10 Beaujolais, two half full of the 10 St. James Nouveau.

Result: All three judges preferred the St. James Nouveau. The referee commented that the Beaujolais may have maderized in the late fall heat, adding that the same bottle in Missouri on Sunday at Ann's tasted remarkably different, better, more like the 09, 08, 07...etc. Beaujolais Nouveau.

Daddy: The French wine was more acidic, too tart. The buttery aftertaste in the French was nice, but the fruitiness of the Missouri is more pleasing, delicate and more interesting.
Ronald: "Oh boy, that's nice" he said to the Missouri. Elegant, bouncy. The French was flat.
Me: The St. James Nouveau did not taste like a Missouri wine (it must have been the absence of the oak barrel?). I liked the complex fruit character, heavy on the creamy Chambourcin reminiscent of a good pinot noir. The Beaujolais was simple, light, with no finish to speak of.

But the referee? He says the Missouri tasted like "a jumble of mixed grapes" with little definition (which is what it is, a blend). It's not convincing. The French was "consistent, whereas the Missouri was a Frankenstein of flavors with notes of dog." Caveat: there were five dogs in the house where the wine was sampled, including one particularly stinky bassett named Gulliver.

St. James' Nouveau est arrive!

2010-11-24T21:38:00.004-06:00

Last week, on the third Thursday in November, Beaujolais Nouveau made landfall in America. Parties celebrating the wine’s arrival take place throughout the country, usually in the airport hangar where the wine will be unloaded. In graduate school, I learned that these parties pose a great dilemma to middle aged women of a certain set. As overheard in Sendik's in Whitefish Bay, one woman in fur and sleek leather boots to another woman in fur “…well, the party will be held at a hangar, so it will be cold [as winters tend to be in Wisconsin], and it’s a hangar—a big warehouse, really—so do you dress up for it? I mean, it’s a wine party, so do I wear sequins? All black? I just don’t know…is it okay to wear a skirt? But it’s a hangar….” I went dressed in fleece and khakis.

In Missouri, hangar parties welcoming the arrival of Beaujolais tend to be restricted to the big cities with wine drinkers, but Missouri is, actually, one of the few states in America that offer a young, bright, unaged (and fragile) wine much reminiscent of Beaujolais Nouveau! Fancy that, Missouri has her own Nouveau! St. James Winery has bottled its Nouveau for several years in a row, usually restricted to only 100 cases a year. Like the wineries that bottle Beaujolais Nouveau, when St. James’ 2010 Nouveau sells out, they won’t make another until November 2011.

Made with Corps Noir, Rougon and Chambourcin grapes, St. James’ Nouveau blend tastes so similar to the French Beaujolais that I grabbed several bottles for the Thanksgiving table. I packed my Reidel pinot glasses, a St. James Nouveau and a DuBoeuf Beaujolais for a blind taste test among family members at the table. St. James' Chambourcin blend without oak aging should be interesting, and while Beaujolais is a staple on the Thanksgiving table, usually after one glass of sweeter, fruity wine, I switch to a heavy cab that tastes like a white oak. St. James' Nouveau is only available at the winery and for a limited time only.

When the kids at Camp Zoe go overboard

2010-11-18T21:10:00.004-06:00

This is what happens when kids don't know what the Grateful Dead was really about. Even Alyssa complained in 1993 that the Dead followers she encountered at shows were "so uncool." She even had her Volkswagon van broken into by kids looking for drugs. Way uncool.

From the Current River Hills:

Undercover bust burns Camp Zoe fans
By T.J. Greaney Columbia Daily Tribune
Thursday, November 18, 2010

Apparently, not all of the dudes and dudettes swaying to the rhythm at Schwagstock were there to mellow out.

This week we learned that after a four-year undercover investigation, the federal government is on the verge of seizing Camp Zoe, the Missouri farmland that is home to regular Grateful Dead tribute music festivals.

According to a complaint filed in U.S. District Court in the Eastern District of Missouri, officers from the Drug Enforcement Administration and other agencies have been deep undercover amid the rolling hills and gyrating bodies of Shannon County.

The complaint says that agents witnessed “open sales” of cocaine, marijuana, LSD, ecstasy, psilocybin mushrooms, opium and marijuana-laced food products during the concerts. The sales allegedly occurred while Camp Zoe staff — including owner Jimmy Tebeau — were in the immediate area.

One can only assume these agents were dressed in tie-dyed T-shirts and kicked hacky-sacks back and forth to blend in with the crowd. Buzz cuts tend to stick out at Camp Zoe.

The result of the investigation is that Tebeau, the dreadlocked bass player who co-founded the band The Schwag, is facing the seizure of nearly all of his assets. That includes the property valued by the government at $600,000 and a bank account of more than $100,000.

It’s a stunning turn of events for a man with a cuddly, mainstream image. In 2005, Tebeau was even honored by a resolution in the Missouri House of Representatives saying:

“We, the members of the Missouri House of Representatives, Ninety-third General Assembly, join unanimously to applaud the entrepreneurial spirit and creative skills embodied in the life and work of Jimmy Tebeau.”

But somewhere along the line, the official good will for Tebeau and his merry band of free spirits seems to have worn off.

The federal complaint seeks to seize the property under Title 21 of the U.S. Code. The burden of proof will be much lower in this civil case than it would be in a criminal proceeding. And unlike protections offered by Missouri law, Tebeau does not have to be convicted or even charged with a crime to lose his 352 acres. Under Missouri forfeiture law reformed in 2001, a defendant must be convicted of a felony before the government can seize his or her property.

Federal law carries no such requirement.

Under Title 21, Section 856, a property owner can be charged with “maintaining drug-involved premises” if he or she knowingly opens, rents, leases or makes available a property “for the purpose of unlawfully manufacturing, storing, distributing, or using a controlled substance.”

Columbia attorney Dan Viets, who is representing Tebeau in the case, wondered whether this broad interpretation of federal forfeiture law means Columbia city parks might be subject to seizure. After all, Douglass Park and Stephens Lake Park have been the site of repeated arrests over the years. City Parks and Recreation Department officials must have known there was at least a decent possibility they could be the site of crimes when they were built.

Or, Viets said, what about any other large concert venue?

“When the Rolling Stones played Memorial Stadium, it was full of smoke, and there was no effort to stop it,” Viets said. “Does that mean the feds are going to come and seize Memorial Stadium?”

Supporters of Camp Zoe are raising funds to help pay for Tebeau’s legal defense.

Local music fan Courtney Allyson Joseph spoke for many in an e-mail to the Tribune decrying the police raid: “The owners cannot possibly supervise everyone that attends a festival out there,” she wrote. “Bottom line, take care of the bad people, and leave the peaceful ones alone.”

But not everyone was surprised by the demise of the camp. Arrests at Zoe were fairly common, and the medical staff there is periodically called into service to deal with overdoses. According to multiple accounts, drug dealers would walk among the crowd brazenly hawking their wares during large festivals.

I spoke to a musician who played Zoe for years and said he had become frustrated with the rampant drug use. He didn’t fault Tebeau personally but said his band stopped playing there several years ago when they became convinced the drugs had become too much of a distraction from the music. “We really lost interest, lost faith in the whole thing,” said the musician, who asked not to be named. “Kids were out of their minds on ecstasy or Molly” — a form of ecstasy usually snorted — “it became something we just didn’t care for.”

The musician said the campgrounds had become a playground for a certain type of privileged, suburban “trust fund” kid who abuses drugs with parents’ money. These kids were nicknamed “Trust-afarians,” and, he said, their drug use was shocking.

“We call it getting spongy — just over-drugged,” he said. “It’s really frustrating to play your set in front of a large crowd and they’re so out of it you could literally burp in front of a microphone and they would just keep standing there in front of the stage.”

Urban dwellers

2010-11-18T20:15:00.011-06:00

Doug has a relationship with the birds that visit my feeders and brush pile every day. He quietly sits in his office typing away and, upon hearing an alarm call, he pulls back the sheer curtain and more often than not spies one of three free-ranging neighborhood cats: black cat, brindle cat, and this fluffy orange and white cat who really cannot understand that he is most unwelcome in my yard. My urban neighborhood is not populated with cat owners who keep their animals inside like they should, or even drape their cats in collars with bells so that birds, snakes, frogs, and small mammals will be alarmed by their stalking.

Anyway, the birds make an alarm call--usually a chickadee or a cardinal will do the work--and Doug quickly bails out of the office to run madly at the cats to shun them out of the yard. The system works, and since he keeps a close eye and ear on the birds, we have yet to see a damned housecat take even a single ground-foraging and unsuspecting dark-eyed junco. Birds are not adapted to dealing with housecats. Neither are frogs, snakes, chipmunks, deer-footed mice, and the rest of the natural world that fall prey to housecats by the millions every year.

But earlier this week, the birds didn't make a peep, they simply disappeared--a mob scene on the sunflower seeds one minute, and the next, 50 bird heads sticking out like whack-a-moles from the brushpile. Expecting the brindle cat or that stupid orange and white cat, Doug pulled back the sheer to find a Cooper's hawk perched on my ever-burgeoning brushpile, now about 5 ft. tall with Silphium perfoliatumstalks, cedar slash and the remains of a sickly silver maple that drops limbs when the wind merely whispers through the neighborhood. Unsure of his footing, and clearly unsure of what he was supposed to do in this situation of hiding birds ("they were just there!"), the hawk rumbled and stumbled around the brushpile long enough for a few photos, then left the scene. As soon as he left, a groundswelling of white-throated sparrows, wrens, cardinals, doves, juncos (and the rest of the motley crew that hangs out in the yard) came pouring out of the brushpile.

Known as a woodland hawk, Cooper’s hawks deftly fly through trees in search of birds. Leafy suburbs and quiet neighborhoods in cities seem to be fine enough places to reside for these hawks, and certainly bird feeders help them find easy prey. Mourning doves, rock pigeons, robins, jays and flickers--bigger birds--are preferred food sources for Cooper’s hawks, but one study in Arizona determined that their nestlings can suffer from a disease acquired from eating dove meat. These birds have also been known to prey on small mammals like chipmunks, squirrels and bats; western populations depend on small mammals for the bulk of their diet.

Unlike falcons which tear into prey with their beaks, Cooper’s hawks kill their prey by repeated squeezing. It’s also been reported that they sometimes choose to drown their prey by holding them underwater until they stop moving. (Vicious, man.)

Cooper’s hawks are year-round residents in Missouri and are common in towns, especially around bird feeders with hearty populations of unsuspecting doves and jays. The hawk hasn't been seen since that day, but hopefully he's waiting patiently in my chinquapin oak (an 1845 witness tree with fire scars!) waiting on the Western diet of field mice to avail themselves from the abandoned lot next door. He needs to keep his claws off my flickers.

Dressed in khaki

2010-11-12T19:09:00.011-06:00

Bald eagles (8) and wild turkeys (25+) outnumbered belted kingfishers (4) on a canoe trip down the Niangua River this week. We had the river to ourselves and wildlife on a 74 degree day, with only a few strands of Mardi Gras beads and a fabric Hawaiian lei wrapped in a buttonbush shrub all that remained of what are surely loud and boisterous summer weekends on this Ozark river.

Bur oaks are common inhabitants along the Niangua, these thick, gnarled fire-adapted trees that produce the largest acorns in North America. We saw only one recently burned hillside on the way to the outfitter in this landscape that historically burned more frequently than any other in Missouri. Someone (not me) extinguished the fire before it reached the river which undoubtedly serves as one of the best firelines in the state. In long stretches of the riverbank, warm season grasses grow all the way through the riparian zone down to the water. Bank stabilization at its finest.

What we see today- barring the stray silver maples still in yellow -we'll see until March. Late fall came too soon this year and the outfitter won't open again until April (early March, if I ask nicely).

Boo!

2010-10-31T20:50:00.003-05:00

Early October with moving vans on the block. Renters across the street in the official "domestic violence house" who can afford a moving van! Tibetan prayer flags decorated the porch the first day they arrived.

Three days later, pumpkin lights went up in the front window, and three pumpkins of various sizes dotted the steps leading to the front door. My new neighbor threw down the gauntlet. Can she out-decorate me for Halloween? In early October, absolutely swamped with field work, my porch was littered with black oak leaves, acorns, houseplants, and a grapevine wreath with sunflowers and a red checkered ribbon at the bottom. She already had her pumpkin lights up.

Out came my pumpkin lights, orange lights, fall wreath-making materials, three pumpkins (two for carving, one for Thanksgiving).

She carved her pumpkin two days before I even thought about my pumpkin. Her pumpkin has a very nice smile and big, bright eyes. She probably even invested in spooky music to lure in trick-or-treaters.

As night fell on Halloween on my block, the Tibetan prayer flag girl blew out the candle on her jack o'lantern, turned off her porch light (the official Missouri sign that the house is not participating in candy giving), and unplugged her pumpkin lights. Across the way, my house looked like the Griswolds', only for a different holiday.

One trick or treater came by early tonight. I was working, and didn't see the costume or even have a chance to thank her for recognizing the welcome mat that we've laid out for three years. She took one of 6 full size Hershey bars and left.

Moments ago, two teenaged gentlemen rapped on the door. No costume, no "trick or treat," no "hi, neighbor!" but a pitiful sandwich bag held open to hold candy. I gave them each a Reese's and sent them on their way. Hazel stopped by, dressed like a baby, and her mom, the fine neighbor who allowed me to garden in her full sun, stopped by wearing a wig. By that time, Hazel's designated Heath bar had already been consumed. Actually, so has almost all of the Reese's and Hershey bars, with only one of each left on the dragonfly tray. It may be time to douse the light.

Persimmons

2010-10-23T19:06:00.004-05:00

Maybe it was the rainy spring, maybe it was the same combination of climatic factors that also gave parts of Missouri a hearty grape harvest. Regardless of the cause, this has truly been a banner fall for persimmons. Trees in full sun (fescue pastures, banks of recreational lakes, yards...) are loaded with the bright orange fruits that dangle from the leafless branches like monochrome Christmas tree ornaments.

There are those who are hesitant to eat fruit that has fallen to the ground, but persimmons picked off a tree tend to be unripe, and the taste and sensation of biting into an unripe persimmon is unforgettable. When the fruits look like the photo I took above, a little banged up, super tender, they're ready to eat.

In Ozark lore, if you split the persimmon seed in half and it splits into a spoon-like shape, the upcoming winter will be full of snow. If the inside of the seed looks like a knife, winter will be icy and bitter cold. According to the first seed I spit out last month, we'll have a snowy winter in Missouri.

So how to prepare persimmons? Gather a whole mess of them, rinse them off, put them in a colander and mash the pulp through the sieve until only seeds are left in the colander. Use persimmon pulp like prepared pumpkin in pies, cookies, or bread (or like one of my readers, in mead). Persimmons are loaded with vitamins C and A, and have a distinct taste that raccoons, deer and opossums particularly appreciate.

Here's my reliable pumpkin cookie recipe (from New Orleans chef Susan Spicer's bakery) with a persimmon substitute. I don't measure spices and additions, but the rest of the ingredients need to be measured out. You'll need about half a grocery bag of persimmons for one recipe. Please make sure the fruit is ripe before baking....

Persimmon (or pumpkin) cookies
1 c. butter
3/4 c. brown sugar
3/4 c. white sugar
1 egg
1 1/2 c. persimmon pulp (or a can of pumpkin for pumpkin cookies)
2 c. flour
1 tsp. baking soda
spice it the way you like it: loads of cinnamon (S. Spicer writes 1 tsp. but I wing it), allspice, ginger, a little clove, maybe some nutmeg
1 tsp. salt
pecans or walnuts and raisins (again, however you like it. I load up my cookies with debris...)

Cream butter and sugars. Add egg and persimmons to the mixture. Slowly add the dry ingredients. Drop teaspoon sized onto a greased cookie sheet. Bake at 350 for 18 minutes or until they look done.

Fall moves in

2010-10-21T21:44:00.007-05:00

The asters are fading fast, but the maples on north and east facing slopes are ablaze in color these days. Super dry conditions and other factors have left much of the Ozarks with a less-than-spectacular fall again this year; even the white oaks are skipping that remarkable maroon stage and turning a muddy brown. The Gasconade River Hills, however, are in peak fall color, and the drive to Hermann is lovely.

Indian Summer, Part II

2010-10-18T21:03:00.006-05:00

From the Terrestrial Natural Communities of Missouri:

Many early explorers in Missouri chronicled numerous accounts of periodic fires....Add to this the overwhelming, universal and pervasive evidence for historic fires as presented in many other documents across North Anerica (McClain and Elzinga 1994, Williams 2000, Nowacki 2002, Vale 2002) and it becomes clear that the influence of fire is the primary explanation for the observed presence of otherwise fire-dependent natural communities distributed across the Missouri landscape. Pyne (1982) stated, "The evidence for aboriginal burning in nearly every landscape is so conclusive, and the consequences of fire suppression so visible that it seems fantastic that a debate about aboriginal fire should ever have taken place."

Fire scars provide valuable records in establishing fire regimes. Guyette and others reconstructed fire histories by tree-ring analysis of red cedar and post oak for various regions of the Ozarks (Guyette and McGinnes 1982, Guyette 1989, Guyette and Cutter 1991, and Guyette and Dey 1997). Their results showed evidence of frequent fires occurring during the last 500 years in the Ozarks. Historical records indicate that most fires occurred in the fall with less frequent fires occurring in the spring and a few taking place in winter or summer.

Fire scars do not necessarily equal fire frequency (Pyne 1984). Whether a tree registers a fire scar depends on varying fire intensities. A fire of greater intensity would kill or consume a tree while less intense fires may not register scars in certain years. Additionally, most of the signature trees that contained fire scar data are today gone due to the nearly complete clearcutting of Missouri's original forests, woodlands, and savannas. At best, fire scar data is only one piece of information in formulating fire regimes, and perhaps offers a conservative estimate of actual fire frequency. p. 20

In March, 2009, we burned half a dolomite glade as part of a larger unit. The fireline went down the middle of the unit. In September, 2009, we burned the rest of the dolomite glade, a piddling little fire that left the landscape looking like it had been doused with RoundUp. The fire went out when it hit the woodline, trickling around in the dried leaf litter but extinguishing immediately when it moved under the treeline.

In May, 2010, we set up six randomly located 50 m. transects on the glade. Three transects were located on the site of the March 09 burn and three transects were set up on the side of the glade burned in September 09. Using a random number generator, we plotted six .25 m² quadrats along each transect. We recorded and assigned a cover value to each plant located in the quadrat. The results of the survey indicated that the relative importance value and floristic quality index of the quadrats located on the side burned during the growing season were higher than the same values in the transects on the side burned in the spring. Below you will find two tables. The top table is the analysis of the transects located in the area burned in March 09. The lower table is the same analysis of the transects located in the area burned in September 09.

The scale of this research is small. I fully recognize this. I am happy to report that a graduate student will be conducting a similar though much more extensive study throughout the next two years (we just completed the fires on the growing season plots).

The area burned during the growing season responded well to the fire, with a higher forb count and slightly higher FQI than the area burned in the spring. Burning available fuels during the growing season in Missouri is not destructive to the landscape. The fires that occur in Missouri during the growing season are not on par with late April fires--woods seldom if ever burn in Missouri during leaf on (barring drought conditions).

From Paul Nelson, the father of Missouri ecology, comes this:
"The Mark Twain NF is conducting growing season burning for two reasons: first, as a means of most effectively combatting vigorous woody regrowth resulting from decades of tree farming, and second, because we choose to emulate growing season fires. One major conservation restoration approach described in the 2005 MTNF management plan is the coarse filter approach to ecosystem restoration. This comes at a time when it's not possible to answer all the myriad of "effects" questions raised by hundreds of interest groups regarding proposed management actions. The approach is to base restoration on what we already know about achieving desire conditions for healthy ecosystems and emulating the historic disturbance regimes by which ecosystems evolved. I've always believed land managers would not sway far off the mark by emulating fire (and other processes), even the absence of studies. DNR had no data nor baseline research when it took a bold chance and commenced a burn program at Ha Ha Tonka nearly 30 years ago. Imagine all the scientists and managers screaming about burning woods back then. This is certain. It's an extraordinary fact that Missouri's 40 million acres of fire-adapted ecosystems is today reduced to scraps of small remnants. I would think that anything we can do to increase fire on the landscape would have extraordinary conservation outcomes. Missouri's best woodlands, glades, and prairies -along with their diverse biota- are owed to the restoration of fire regimes. The Mark Twain NF implements prescribed fire on 30,000 of it's 1.5 million acres each year. That's about 0.6 of 1% each year. Pitiful. I can't believe we are risking anything given we otherwise have so much former fire adapted landscape remaining unburned. Surely, the species those concerned about find refuge elsewhere. For detractors of naturally occurring fires, we suppressed two wildfires due to lightning just this past season. Finally, we, and you, don't burn vast amounts of acres during the growing season. Why would we want to suppress the burning of 20 to 90 acres during late summer within a 5,000 acre burn unit? That's not extraordinary nor extreme."

The Norton Wine Travelers in Missouri

2010-10-15T22:18:00.002-05:00

Charming people, the Norton Wine Travelers, who travel the country in search of great Norton wines. They visited Missouri a couple of weeks ago for a relative's wedding but also to visit some of the wineries in the Ozark Highlands. They visited the Ste. Genevieve area, Durso Hills, Twin Oaks, and countless others, even setting up their vintage camper on site at some to wait for the opening hours of the tasting room.

I'm constantly updating my list of wineries in the state that produce Nortons based on the Norton Wine Travelers' sleuthing efforts. See here for their reviews of Missouri wineries, noted in the individual winery journals; look for the characteristic photo of a rhododendron. Not only are the NWTs Norton experts, but enthusiasts of rhododendrons and magnolias. Botanists! Overall, the NWTs are entranced by the winemaking prowess in the state, and their reviews are really fun to read. I particularly like one that noted a "hint of barnyard on the nose...."