Late Summer Dusk

At dusk every evening in late summer, hundreds - maybe thousands - of American Robins fly over the fields of my preserve.  Almost all are flying from north to south, though I don't think they are migrating.  I believe they are headed to a communal roost somewhere beyond the horizon.  This astonishing passage can continue for half an hour, with birds materializing out of thin air in the north and then fading into the ether to the south.

Sometimes the birds are clumped together.  Sometimes, they are flying solo.  Usually, though, they are flying in small groups.  All pass silently overhead, earnest to get to their destination before nightfall.  I can watch, mesmerized, for the entire spectacle.  Poor Kali, whose eyesight is nowhere as good as mine and who has lots of "floaters," only sees the occasional bird and doesn't understand my open-mouthed astonishment.  

Curiosity overpowering the instinct to flee

Last evening, I went out to see if any Common Nighthawks were migrating over my preserve.  Kali and I watched nine of them wheeling over the meadows on Sunday evening, August 23, but I haven't seen any since.  Because their migration is a harbinger of autumn, and nighthawks are fascinating birds in their own right, I'm always excited to see them, but was only fortunate once this summer.  Instead, last night I was treated to several does and their fawns browsing in the meadows and...

Heading back to the evening roost

...a small flock of tom turkeys sauntering through the grasses, reluctant to end their day.

Foxtail

This spring, our native grasslands were infested with Canada thistle, a Pennsylvania noxious weed that we are obligated by law to control (and which we want to manage in order to minimize competition with native grasses and desirable forbs).  We hired an herbicide professional to treat our fields, and his chemical magic did the trick - we had no thistle problem this year.  Instead, the fields are now a sea of non-native foxtail (Setaria spp.), an annual grass that is common in disturbed areas.  Once the native grasses regain the upper hand, foxtail will gradually disappear.

Foxtail seedhead

Dusk landscape with fields, forest, and distant towers

I won't miss the passing of summer, but it does have its moments.

Summer Snowstorm

Look carefully for the "snowflakes" against the dark trees in the background

We're experiencing a "snowstorm" in my preserve this month.  Non-native Canada thistle (Cirsium arvense) (a real misnomer and a "slight" to Canada since this thistle is actually a native of Eurasia) has exploded in our grasslands.

The culprit in flower

All stages -  from flower to fluff

The incredible infestation is the result of a perfect storm of unfortunate events.  First, our boom sprayer was out of commission in the spring so our land manager couldn't spray the thistle when it was most susceptible.  Second, the herbicide we've been using to try to control the thistle, Transline, seems to be losing its effectiveness, so we're going to have to find an alternative.  And third, by the time we realized the mess we were going to be in, migratory birds and rabbits had begun to nest in the fields, so we couldn't mow the thistle to prevent it from going to seed.

A patch with countless seeds

Non-native wineberry (Rubus phoenicolasis) cloaked in thistledown

Everything in the fields that's not green is thistle

One silver lining to these thistledown clouds: the American Goldfinches (Carduelis tristis) are having a field day (so to speak) feasting on the abundance.