The Wide View

Graduate students capturing images of the native grasslands

How often, on an absolutely perfect autumn day, do you have to spend the day outside as part of your job?  I know I rarely have that good fortune, but the stars were aligned on Monday, October 22.  That day, I escorted thirteen Rutgers University landscape architecture graduate students and their two advisers on a tour of our watershed.  The students' studio project this term is to develop a master plan for a watershed in central New Jersey.  The advisers were aware that the watershed in which I work has a long history of fairly sophisticated land use planning, natural resource conservation, and ecological restoration, so they brought the students to southeastern Pennsylvania to get a feeling for what can be done if government entities, nonprofit organizations, and municipal agencies can work in concert.

The upper third of the watershed has largely been given over to standard suburban development; much of it is already a "lost cause."  So, instead of starting at the source of the creek, we began the tour at "my" preserve in the central portion of the watershed and worked our way downstream over the course of the day.

After touring a portion of the protected land we have set aside and reviewing the forest restoration and native grassland creation projects underway, we enjoyed a picnic lunch then headed south into the city of Philadelphia for an overview of the lower third of the watershed.  Within the city, the creek flows through a protected corridor of parkland, but the corridor only protects the steep slopes directly alongside the stream, not the creek's tributaries.  Outside the park, development crowds right up to the edge of the woods.

Seasonal marsh occupying the site of a former parking lot

Our first stop in the city was a wet weather marsh constructed a few years ago on the site of a former parking lot.  The parking lot was only usable part of the year because it was frequently flooded--either by stormwater overflowing from the adjacent creek, or from runoff in the watershed.  The park district scooped out the parking lot and replaced it with a seasonally-wet marsh.  The basin was dry on the day of our visit.

Residential stormwater outfall restoration project

Our second stop was at a stormwater outfall draining a large, mostly paved residential neighborhood.  The park district had recently completed an engineered restoration of the stream channel, replacing a severely eroded 12-foot-deep gully with a wider, boulder-lined swale designed to accommodate the stormwater outfall.  Further downstream, the park had installed a series of check dams and step pools to further slow and attenuate the flow before the stream re-entered its natural channel.  The engineered intrusion into the forest looks raw and unnatural, but the outfall becomes a raging torrent during heavy rains--like a water cannon blasting the streambanks--so anything less than a major retrofit would soon have washed away.

Check dams and step pools in the stream valley

Our third stop was at the fall line--the line at which a stream "falls" off the hard edge of the continent (often at a waterfall or rapids) and flows out onto the unconsolidated sediments of the coastal plain.  The fall line also represents the landward limit of the tides; downstream of this point, the creek becomes tidal.

Rapids at the creek's fall line

Students at the fall line, with the King's Road bridge in the background

Just a few hundred feet downstream of the fall line, the creek is spanned by the oldest bridge in the United States--the King's Road bridge, built in 1697.  The King's Road connected Philadelphia with New York.  The bridge is still in use and bears a heavy load of vehicular traffic.

Our final stop of the day was on the coastal plain at the mouth of the creek.  Here, the creek adds its flow to the Delaware River, which is also tidal.  We arrived at low tide, and the mud flats flanking the mouth of the creek were fully exposed.  The wetlands around the mouth of the creek are home to a pair of Bald Eagles, which started building a nest two years ago and have fledged chicks successfully each summer since.

Mud flats exposed at the creek's mouth at the Delaware River

The Philadelphia skyline, about seven miles distant

Students spread out in the maze of trails near the mouth of the creek to explore its wetlands.  As I came around a corner of a paved walking path, I found two students sprawled on the asphalt, clearly intent on something in the center of the trail.

A really hard day, or something exciting...?

They were getting up close and personal with a preying mantis that had caught a sulfur butterfly and was making quick work of the victim.

After we returned to our vehicles, I sent the students back to New Brunswick, New Jersey, and I headed back to the 'burbs.  A good day was had by all.

Burnished

 

Kali and I set off for a walk when I got home from work yesterday (Tuesday) evening.  The weather was perfect for a walk; we couldn't waste a classic autumn day.  Now that the sun is setting early, the light is perfect for photography in the late afternoon and early evening.  Last evening was no exception.

Just outside our door, we met a friend, Janet, who was walking the trails and birding.  We don't see Janet as often as we like, so we all set off together across the grasslands.

In one hollow, we came upon a pignut hickory (Carya glabra) in perfect fall color.

This hickory is a "wolf tree" wanna-be.  Wolf trees typically are mature, broad-crowned trees embedded within a younger woodland.  They originated when farmers left large trees in pastures to afford their cattle respite from the summer sun.  Becaue the trees were open-grown (i.e., not grown in a woodland where all trees grow tall and straight as they compete with their neighbors for light), these pasture shade trees developed expansive, broad crowns. Then, when farmers abandoned their pastures and natural succession turned the fields back into forest, the wolf trees became a part of the new woods, but always retained their distinctive form.  This hickory is not yet a true wolf tree since it still dominates a field that is fairly open, but invisible in the image, obscured by the russett grasses, are many, many saplings that we have planted to return this field to forest.  So, it's a future wolf tree.  (incidentally, since I know someone will ask about the original of the term, these trees were so designated because, like proud wolves, they stand alone.)

Further along, we came to a locally popular viewpoint.  Across the creek, perched on the edge of the valley, is a cathedral built during the Depression with an odd mixture of Gothic and Romaneque features.  In the setting sun, it was glorious.

And, as we were admiring the view of the cathedral across the valley, Janet noticed rustling at our feet.  There, she spotted a young American Goldfinch (Carduelis tristis) casually gleaning seeds from the native grasses.  All in all, a wonderful walk and a great way to top off the day.

Celebrating Autumn

I had to work Saturday afternoon, my third weekend in a row, but it wasn't too onerous.  I was chaperone for hayrides through the native grasslands in the preserve.  Despite a frosty start to the day, the afternoon turned out sunny and clear; as long as we stayed out of the shade, the weather was perfect to celebrate October.

I didn't notice any migrating raptors coursing southward overhead, but there were plenty of resident Turkey Vultures (Cathartes aura) enjoying the thermals  and Red-tailed Hawks (Buteo jamaicensis) sent skyward by the tractor, perhaps taking advantage of prey disturbed by the passing of the haywagon.

Red-tailed Hawk circling over the golden grasslands

During the last of the three hayrides, I saw three American Kestrels (Falco sparverius) kiting over the fields.  I haven't seen kestrels in quite a while, and to see three of them hovering in one location was a real treat.  It must have been good hunting for rodents or the abundant grasshoppers.

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In the evening, Kali and I put on some fancy duds and went downtown in Philadelphia to see the Lar Lubovich Dance Company perform.  The dancers were excellent--nearly perfect--but I have to admit that being out in the sun all afternoon made me a little sleepy.

October Bicycling Adventures

Plein air painters on the Delaware Canal towpath

The Delaware River forms the border between Pennsylvania on the west and New Jersey on the east.  In both states, a canal parallels the river.  On the Pennsylvania side, it's the Delaware Canal, which saw heavy use during the middle and late 19th century bringing coal and wood from the Appalachian Mountains to the cities of the coast.  In many places, the Delaware Canal hugs the Delaware River bank, and so is prone to damage from river flooding.  On the New Jersey side, the canal is the Delaware and Raritan Canal (D&R), which parallels the Delaware River to the city of Trenton, then turns northeast and parallels the Raritan River to its mouth at Raritan Bay just outside New York City.  The D&R Canal generally is further from and higher above the river and so less prone to flood damage than its cross-river counterpart.   The D&R Canal is used as a source of drinking water for the cities around New York.  The towpaths of both canals have been turned into linear recreational state parks, used heavily by walkers and bicyclists.

One of Kali's and my favorite bicycle rides followed the (Pennsylvania) Delaware Canal towpath northward for 12 miles, crossed a bridge over the Delaware River into New Jersey, and then followed the D&R Canal towpath southward to a point where we could cross back over to the Pennsylvania side and complete our ride.  Unfortunately, the Delaware Canal towpath has been repeatedly damaged by river floods and, despite the investment of  millions and millions of tax dollars to repair the damage, the towpath remains ravaged where it's closest to the river.  In addition, the canal itself has been dewatered by breaches.  So, we haven't ridden "our" route in several years.

Last Saturday (October 6), I convinced Kali that we should attempt the ride.  It was a cool, overcast day.  When we arrived at trailhead parking, I stopped a sweaty fellow on a mountain bike coming down the towpath and asked him about the condition of the trail.  He assured me that, with the exception of a short washed-out section that could be walked, the trail was "ride-able" with few problems.  So, off we went.

Kali walking her hybrid bike through some of the worst of the washed-out trail

In reality, the troublesome part of the trail was about three miles long.  We had to walk our bikes for several hundred yards in two locations, but even when we were able to ride, the surface was rough and jarring.  Kali said, "I have to keep my mouth open or my teeth chatter."

Looks like smooth sailing, but the surface under the grass is rough.  If the trail were in tip-top shape, there would be a worn pathway in the grass because the trail would receive heavy use

Eventually, we reached a portion of the trail where the surface was good for riding (finely crushed and compacted rock grit) and we could enjoy ourselves.

Kali crossing the bridge over the Delaware into Frenchtown, New Jersey

The D&R Canal towpath in New Jersey was in great condition and I encouraged Kali to increase the pace a bit to make up for some of the time we had lost walking and riding slowly in Pennsylvania. This was what bicycle riding should be.

Along the D&R Canal towpath trail in New Jersey

A rapid in the Delaware River, looking from New Jersey across to Pennsylvania

Lighter skies downriver from the rapids

Our ride was going great.  We were cruising along, enjoying ourselves, and making great time.  Then, a dried leaf got caught in Kali's rear brake caliper.  The sound of the tire rubbing against the leaf started grating on me but, rather than asking Kali to stop and remove the leaf, I - stupidly - tried to reach over and extract the leaf myself while we were riding.  Instantly, our bikes got tangled and we were on the ground.  I escaped the fall with only a scraped forearm and bloody elbow, but Kali scraped both knees, cut her elbow, and bruised her upper arm - and her pride.  You can imagine her (righteous) indignation at my stupidity.

After a few minutes of collecting ourselves and assessing our injuries, though, we got back in the saddle and completed the ride.  What choice did we have?  We shortened the ride a bit by crossing back from New Jersey to Pennsylvania on a footbridge over the river that we had never used before, but this meant that we returned to the Pennsylvania side right in the middle of the worst of the washed-out trail - more walking and bitching.

The footbridge over the river and Kali walking the towpath - again

Once we got back to the car, we drove to our favorite orchard market and bought a few pounds of Kali's favorite apples, freshly picked honeycrisps.  They helped to salve her wounds - a bit - but I'm still (justifiably) in the doghouse.  I doubt that we'll be riding this route again any time soon, if ever.

A Burst of Milkweed

Fall colors in the meadows and grasslands are definitely on the wane, but the seeds of the common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca) are bursting forth from their split, dried pods.

Darkness is coming on so soon now (7:15 p.m.) that Kali and I have to walk before dinner.  So, last Friday evening immediately after work we completed a short traverse of the grasslands and found that one of the pods had scattered its seeds in a cluster.  The seeds got hung-up in some of the grasses instead of floating off across the landscape.  Either the wind eventually carried them off, or the weekend's rain dropped them onto the soil.  In either case, next year we hope there will be more milkweeds to feed the Monarch caterpillars.   

Some milkweeds in the fields are still mostly green (though showing unmistakable signs of senescence).  I checked them for late Monarch caterpillars but found none.  Our local Monarch Waystation tender says that she's still finding caterpillars on some of her milkweeds, but suspects that they won't be able to metamorphose in time to escape the frost.

Autumn Fog

For the last two days, a front has stalled over the northern Piedmont.  While we've had showers off and on, the front's most dramatic effect has been to envelope us in a soft, gauzy fog.

Last night, after an early dinner, enough light remained to entice me out into the fields to capture some of the muted landscape.

In some places, goldenrod (Solidago spp.) blooms are past their prime and beginning to turn brown...

...but in other places, they're still going strong.

A friend of mine, a Welsh ex-pat named Keith Collins, haunts the preserve taking pictures, too.  He shared some of his images from yesterday's foggy afternoon.

White-snakeroot (Ageratina altissima) and Indian-grass (Sorghastrum nutans) by Keith Collins

Kaleidoscope of autumn wildflowers by Keith Collins

Staghorn sumac leaves (Rhus typhina) by Keith Collins

As I neared the end of my walk, I came across this bumblebee preparing to spend the night under the protective overhang of a decurved goldenrod spike.