Planting Trees and Spring Birds

Despite torrential rains Saturday night that totaled more than three inches, volunteers showed up to plant trees on the creek floodplain in my natural area the following morning.  A dozen hardy souls tromped through the mud to dig holes that, more often than not, filled with water before the tree could even be planted.  We'd selected trees that could withstand wet feet, though: swamp white oaks, sycamores, red and silver maples, river birches, black gums, and my favorite, hornbeams.

The riparian area had been part of a landscaped estate through the 1960s when it featured non-native specimen trees and lots of naturalized spring bulbs in a lawn sloping down to the creek.  But, with the passing of the estate into the hands of a church, the challenging riparian area was all but abandoned.  Parts of it developed naturally into a nice stand of native swamp rose, but for the most part, it was overrun by non-native multiflora roses.  When we acquired the floodplain and created a trail alongside the creek, we also began planting trees to close up the sunny, invasive-dominated meadow and to return forest to the floodplain and adjacent slopes.

The volunteers who showed up to help were members of three families plus two college students.  One of the families brought their young children, who had a great time helping out and getting as muddy as possible.  The group managed to plant 40 trees and surround them with deer-proof wire cages in less than two hours.

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Image by dpughphoto.com

For the last few days, I've noticed a Pine Warbler coming to the feeder outside my kitchen window to eat suet.  At first, not observing carefully, I casually wrote it off as an American Goldfinch that hadn't  fully molted into its glorious breeding plumage.  Then I realized that, if it hadn't molted by now - prime breeding season - it wasn't going to to molt and it must be some other species.  On more careful observation, I realized it was a Pine Warbler.  But, a Pine Warbler coming to a feeder?  Unheard of!  Nonetheless, there it was, and there was no doubt about its identity.  Then, as I searched the Internet for an image of a Pine Warbler to accompany this post, what did I find but an image of the bird taken at - you guessed it - a suet feeder?!

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Saturday night's torrential rains that made tree planting so muddy on Sunday morning also flooded the old farm pond down the hill behind my house.  The pond contained a small island commandeered for the last several years by the same pair of Canada geese.  Last year, the geese's nest was inundated by heavy April rains, and it happened again this year.  Certainly, we don't need any more Canada geese around, so I don't regret their loss for that reason.  But, clearly the female was distraught.  Last evening, I watched her just standing in the two inches of water above her former nest.  Perhaps this personal disaster is for the better, though; the pond harbors several snapping turtles, and the geese usually fail to raise a brood to adulthood anyway.  Is it better to lose a nest of eggs, or to watch your brood get smaller each day as a hungry turtle pulls your goslings, one by one, under water?

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Dark-eyed Juncos have forsaken my feeder for breeding grounds further north, but White-throated Sparrows are still here in force and stridently practicing their mating calls.  They always stick around a little longer than the Juncos, but they, too, will be gone in a few days.

Ohio and Erie Canal

Cleveland Metropark's Ohio and Erie Canal Reservation

View northward along Towpath Trail flanked by the 

Cuyahoga River (left) and Ohio and Erie Canal (right)

During our visit to northeast Ohio last week, we took a late afternoon walk in the Cleveland Metroparks' Ohio and Erie Canal Reservation, which is a northern extension of Cuyahoga Valley National Park.  Eventually, the reservation will extend from the northern boundary of the national park to Cleveland's Lake Erie lakefront, but today it only extends to the southern edge of Cleveland's most heavily industrialized neighborhoods along the Cuyahoga River.

Nevertheless, the park district has done its best to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.  The canal, for example, is still watered and flowing through the reservation because it formerly served as a source of water for Jones and Laughlin's steel mill; other sections of the canal further south in the national park are dry.

In addition, the park district has embraced the area's industrial heritage, and has bestowed upon it the moniker "Hidden Valley" because the heavily industrialized section of the Cuyahoga and canal formerly was off limits to the public and accessible only to the workers in the heavy industries lining the river.

The scenery's not all pretty.  In the image above, photographed in low, late-afternoon sunlight at a bad angle for photography, a building material recycling facility presses up against the riverbank, and the lone surviving tree is shrouded in non-native vines.  Kali remarked, "Doesn't that just say it all?"

Yours truly

But other sections have been reclaimed and the park district has created series of nice viewing decks overlooking the Cuyahoga River.

And, perhaps most exciting of all--wildlife has returned.  Or maybe it's been hanging on there all along, but now it's just more visible.  We were fortunate to spot this beaver swimming in the canal just before we left.  The naturalist at the Visitor Center was surprised that we'd seen the beaver, which had only been reported sporadically earlier in the year.  This is within the city limits of Cleveland!

Ohio and Erie Canal Visitor Center,

a beautiful new facility

Snow Falls

Wolf Creek Falls after March snow

Garfield Park Reservation

Cleveland Metroparks

Ahhh, Spring Break in northeast Ohio.  Kali was able to get away from work during her university's Spring Break last week, so instead of flying to San Diego to visit my Dad, we drove to northeast Ohio to deal with Kali's mom's house and affairs.  I was in the Cleveland suburbs for a full four days, but was extraordinarily busy during the whole period except for one movie (The Adjustment Bureau; it was vacation time, after all), one walk at the Ohio and Erie Canal Reservation of the Cleveland Metroparks, and one nice dinner to reconnect with my best friend from high school, who just happened to be in town from Los Angeles, also dealing with an ailing parent.

Oh, and I did sneak out to photograph two waterfalls in the neighborhood (sorry, Jain) on Sunday morning, March 6, after an inch of snow.

 Wolf Creek above the falls

The circulation system in the Garfield Park Reservation was designed by Frederick Law Olmsted's firm, and contains carriage roads borne over the small streams on beautiful native Euclid bluestone bridges.

A few hundred feet downstream of the falls, Wolf Creek joins the much larger Mill Creek.  Mill Creek is one of the major tributaries of the Cuyahoga River--and probably one of its dirtiest, too.  The Mill Creek watershed has been used and abused for years, with suburban development encroaching up to the very edge of the creek and combined sewer overflows adding nutrients and Lord knows what else to the stream.

Several thousand feet upstream of its confluence with the Cuyahoga River, Mill Creek plunges over the tallest waterfall (48 feet) in Cuyahoga County.  Until the Cleveland Metroparks resurrected the area immediately surrounding the falls a few years ago, it had been hidden away in the back of an industrial park, known only to local residents (and kids who were inclined to trespass to find any hint of natural excitement).  Now, it's been outfitted with observation platforms and a landscaped park.

Mill Creek Falls

Garfield Park Reservation (extension)

Cleveland Metroparks

Ever since the region was settled, the area around the falls has been industrialized because the falls were used a source of water power.  In fact, the falls is not even in its original location.  Early in the 20th century, the falls was moved 300 feet to provide space for a railroad right-of-way.  The neighborhood around the falls is depressed and post-industrial, with several large roads criss-crossing just upstream.

The gorge downstream of Mill Creek Falls

Railing at observation platform

Mill Creek Falls

To reflect the long relationship between people and the falls, Cleveland Metroparks developed an observation area with a decorative railing depicting the human history of the region.  On the right side of the railing, you may be able to discern the outline of a mule's head, a tribute to the mules that pulled canal boats on the Ohio and Erie Canal less than a mile away.

Pilobolus

Pilobolus sp.

You may have seen Pilobolus featured in an automobile commercial on television.  The troupe of artists, having fashioned themselves into the shape of a car (A Honda or Accura, if I recall), slowly uncoil their expertly intertwined bodies and reveal the construct to have been human origami.

The company, beginning it's 40th anniversary season, was named by one of its co-founders after a fungus (genus Pilobolus) being researched in his father's biophysics laboratory at Dartmouth College, where the group started.

 

Pilobolus was in town last evening beginning a four-day run, and Kali and I went to see them as part of our contemporary dance series.  I’m giving the performance a mixed review.  There were five pieces, and I think that the first and last were the best.  I fell asleep during the third piece, “Duet,” between two women who intimately juxtaposed their bodies for what seemed to be forever, but Kali liked it and my sleepiness may have been partially attributable to the warm auditorium and the fact that I had taken an antihistamine late in the afternoon.

There were two “shadow” pieces in which a translucent screen separated the audience from the backlit performers.  The first was short and fun.  My initial reaction to the second was, “Oh, no!  Not another one!”  But the piece, a sort of animated comic strip, grew on me, especially because the dancers occasionally came from behind the screen and performed in view of the audience.

The last piece, “Redline,” was classic Pilobolus and incredibly intense, energetic dance.  it blew the audience away.

Unfortunately, Pilobolus doesn't always know when to stop.  Too often, once they've made their point with a dance, they expand it until it becomes wearing.  That was cetainly the case with the three longer pieces last evening.  Nevertheless,  Pilobolus continues to explore  new movement paradigms and their programs are never boring.

A Scourge or a Close Scrape?

Because I feed the birds, I have a surfeit of Gray Squirrels in my yard.  Sometimes, there are half a dozen under my feeder, picking through the seed that drops from the platform above when the birds are being especially picky; Blue Jays bring a feast, with their careless, powerful flings.

The squirrels can be a costly headache, too.  They have crawled up in the undercarriage of my car and chewed gasoline lines and electrical wires on more than one occasion.  Can such things actually be tasty?

I used to have fewer squirrels when feral cats patrolled the property, but the arrival of Eastern Coyotes about three years ago decimated the feral cat population.  It's very rare to see a cat any longer.  In response, the squirrel population has skyrocketed.

A few days ago, I noticed the squirrel in the (unsatisfactorily blurry) image above, under the feeder.  I could see that the fur was missing from the squirrel's tail, and I attributed it to an infestation of mange.  But last evening, when I went out to get a picture, I saw that the tail was in really bad shape and, even worse, the side of the squirrel away from the camera was horribly disfigured and partially hairless.  It also looked like the animal had lost its eye on that side.  Now, I'm questioning my mange diagnosis and wondering if the squirrel got in some kind of fight or escaped from a predator.

Many of the coyotes I see in the neighborhood are afflicted with mange; it's a horrible disease, but I think that it comes from too many animals sharing too small a habitat.  It's a natural (but terrible) population regulator.  In contrast, I've seen quite a few Red Foxes lately, but their coats are beautiful, sleek, and bushy.  I've seen my share of mangy foxes in the past, so it's possible that they could suffer in the future, too.

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'Off to suburban northeast Ohio this weekend for six days.

Best of Both Worlds

The 250-year-old sycamore behind my house 

in last evening's light

I live a very fortunate life, and that fact came home to me strongly last Friday evening.  Kali and I had tickets for Gounod's opera, Romeo et Juliet, in central Philadelphia, and we decided to make a "night" of it.  I took off work about an hour early and drove to pick up Kali when she finished working at 4:30.  Then, we drove to the terminus of the subway line near Kali's place of employment and got ready to go into town; we were both in a great mood and excited about the prospects for the evening.

Two trains were waiting for passengers - the local (that stops at every station) and the express that stops at selected stations.  The local was scheduled to leave earlier, but would undoubtedly be overtaken en route by the express.  I opted for the express, but Kali said, "We've got plenty of time; let's chill out on the local."  We did (and we were eventually overtaken en route), but I was relaxed and enjoying the anticipation.

Once in town, we had identified four new restaurants to consider for dinner, all in a relatively circumscribed part of downtown dubbed Midtown Village.  Until recently, Midtown Village had been down-at-the-heels, seedy, and all but deserted after business hours, but now it's hip with countless new restaurants and shops.  Since Friday was the warmest day of the winter so far (temperatures got up to near 70), Midtown Village was hopping on Friday night.  The energy of the nightlife was palpable, and it was exhilarating to be part of it.

We decided on dinner in a well-reviewed pizza restaurant and wine bar.  It was packed - even at 5:45 - so we had to settle for seats at the "communal table," which was fine with us.  One outside "wall" of the place was composed completely of doors, and all were open to the evening's warmth and the crowded street.  We ordered a roasted beet and goat cheese appetizer and a gourmet pizza, and then sat back to enjoy the ambiance with glasses of happy hour Carménère.  We had a fine meal.

We turned down dessert at the restaurant in favor of going across the street to enjoy generous cups of gelato (one scoop of pomelo and one scoop of kiwi for me, and one scoop of hazelnut and one of cappuccino for Kali).

After dessert, it was still a bit early to go to the theater, so we enjoyed the warm evening and strolled down the high-end shopping street.  I was also interested in finding the location of the newest dance club in town in case we were motivated to go dancing after the opera.  (Finding the place proved a challenge because it's just one doorway between two retail stores; the entrance-way reportedly opens up into a cavernous space inside.)

Near 8:00, we went to the theater, staged in the opulent Academy of Music.  We've been to the Academy on several occasions, but tickets in the Orchestra are too rich for our blood, so we buy seats in one of the numerous balconies, all of which are, to a greater or lesser extent, challenging (to be kind).  The building is old, so there are supporting columns throughout that obscure views of the stage.  The seats were clearly installed when people were shorter because our knees inevitably push up against the back of the seats in front of ours.  And, perhaps worst of all, the seats on the sides of the auditorium face the seats on the opposite side, not the stage, so viewers have to contort their bodies sideways to see the performance.  The Academy must have been built to present orchestra concerts where watching the stage is not critical; the venue is terrible for stage productions.

Despite the physical discomfort, we enjoyed the opera - after a while.  The work is divided into five acts, but the cast really didn't hit their stride until the third act.  Furthermore, the director re-imagined the story of the feuding Capulet and Montague clans as rival haute couture houses; it was a potentially interesting conceit, but the director didn't carry it through with comprehensive vision, so the production vacillated between New York's runways and Verona's back alleys and gardens.  The show ended at 11:15 and, despite my entreaties, Kali claimed she was exhausted and couldn't possibly go dancing, so we hopped the subway and headed home.

My point (at last)?  I've got 800 natural acres outside my door with not a neighbor in sight.  I can walk down to "my" creek in 10 minutes, wander through native prairie grasses, and get lost in 250-year-old woods practically at will.  On the other hand, I can be in central Philadelphia in an hour or less and get plugged into some high energy culture, dining, nightlife that nearly rivals that of New York City (which I can also access in two hours, if I want).  I've got it good in lots of ways.

Kali and I will be retiring (if the stars align) in six (for her) and 6-1/2 (for me) years.  We can't stay in the house where we currently live because the residence is part of my employment package, so once I retire we're going to have to move.  We're giving really serious consideration to moving to small-town New Mexico, but I wonder how we're going to adjust to a life that offers a lot of natural amenities, but fewer cultural ones.  Kali says it's just another phase in our lives and, honestly, it would be nice to get away from some of the hubbub and heavy traffic with which we have to contend now.  But I can't help wondering if we'll make the transition smoothly.

A Mixed Bag of Dance

Kate Weare's Bright Land

Kali and I attended a contemporary dance performance on Saturday evening featuring two new and relatively small dance companies, Kate Weare and Monica Bill Barnes.  Each company performed one 40-minute-long piece, and each company consisted of four dancers, two women and two men in Weare's company and four women in Barnes'.  Weare's company performed first, offering a composition entitled Bright Land set to a medley of bluegrass revival music.

For the first two-thirds of Bright Land, I was absolutely transfixed, and I imagine that most of the relatively modest audience was, too, because you could have heard a pin drop in silences between the musical pieces.  During this section of Bright Land, all four dancers were on stage at all times, usually dancing ensemble, but sometimes pairing off.  Some of the best parts of the piece showcased the dancers in partnerships marked by surprising, elegant lifts and circlings in service to taut, tango-like dance dynamics.  I found myself thinking, "I could watch these people dance for the rest of the night."

However, as the end of the piece approached, the stage was occupied alternately by only one or the other of the couples, not by all four dancers.  The mysterious electricity generated by the group quickly dissipated for me, so that by the end of the piece I had largely lost interest in what was going on.

Bright Land

Following an intermission, Monica Bill Barnes' company took the stage offering the audience Another Parade.  The dancers all wore turtlenecks and A-line skirts, and used the loose-fitting turtlenecks to tease the audience with reveals of navels and shoulders.  It was all witty, good-natured, tongue-in-cheek fun, but it just didn't hold my attention or interest.  The moves finally became too repetitive and predictable.  The evening culminated with the dancers impressing four hapless audience members to join them onstage, and all gave it a go, but what's the point of such silliness?

Monica Bill Barnes' Another Parade

In terms of full and honest disclosure, I have to report that Kali found the entire evening extremely compelling, and she couldn't understand why I didn't agree.  I told her that the evening was hardly a waste of time - I intensely enjoyed a quarter of the performance - but she took that to mean that I didn't appreciate the show, and that I'm too uptight.  Our local newspaper also gave the performance a glowing review.  I guess I am just too uptight.

Another Parade