A mallard couple, who arrived two days ago, have the lake to themselves on a cold, breezy day, Nov. 11

In this month’s blog entry:

A Month for Giving Thanks

The Frustrating Joys of Birding

California Odyssey: Visiting Family, Friends, and the Bolsa Chica Wetlands

On the Day Itself: Family and a Bit of Cookery

The November 2023 Photo/Video Gallery: Fall Colors Persist, New Visitors Arrive, and the Mallards Return

An early morning panorama of the still lake toward the northwest, with red maple in foreground, Nov. 15

*************************************

A Month for Giving Thanks

“Can we all just go to a leaf and thank Mama Willow?” (Pandora Thomas, founder of EARTHseed Farm, Sebastopol, CA (in the LA Times, Nov. 21)

Every store and online advertiser has been telling us all month that Thanksgiving is coming, and so we should get out there and buy stuff for the ones we love. I think the advertisers are on to something, even if it isn’t exactly what they intend. Instead of just on Thanksgiving Day, let’s give thanking its due and dedicate this whole month to giving thanks, whether that means spending money or not.  Thanksgiving Month has a nice ring to it. And we certainly have enough people, other creatures, and day-to-day happenings to be thankful for.

Sure, there’s also lots going on that we wish weren’t happening, things that make us afraid and give us difficulty sleeping at night. I don’t need to name those things: you know what they are in your own life. But if every day we also gave a little time to focusing on the so-much in our world that is kind and beautiful and generous, we’d certainly have enough to fill an entire month, and maybe each day in the year. And this grateful focus might, if we give enough thanks, help us sleep better at night.

We’ve been getting together with family and friends this month, including some members that we don’t see too often, and those opportunities are to be cherished. And every day, as this blog records, I am privileged to walk in a place that brings me into the presence of fellow creatures who give me joy and who give of themselves without considering how I might reward them. Now those are gifts that truly deserve my thanks, including whatever gifts I might be able to give in return.

The sunlit, translucent, and generous oakleaf hydrangea just outside the window of the room where I write. (Thank you!)

***********************************************

 Joyful Frustration and Frustrating Joys: The Daily Adventures of Birding

For every serendipitous photo like this one I took on Nov. 21, there are thirty or more that are either too blurred, too dark, too cluttered, or too bright to decipher; are otherwise disastrous; or are set up, and then not taken at all. The frustrations just go with birding, and if it weren’t a challenge, birding wouldn’t be fun. 

When I list all the things I do for which I am thankful, birding is high up on my list. On the 21st it was raining steadily and getting heavier, so of course it was ideal birding weather for me. I wanted to see who the other obsessives were (avian ones, not just me) who’d be out in the stormy November cold going about their important business or just socializing. How was my photographic jaunt? Well, when I met my neighbor, who was going out for his walk as I was coming in soaked, he asked me, laughing, “Did you get any good shots today?”, I said, “Oh yeah, I got some great shots!” And I had, though he was just shaking his head.

My tally was 61 shots, probably another 50 set up but not taken, and a whopping 12 saved, of which 6 were of birds and 6 of landscapes. It was a great shooting day, because, of the 6 bird photos I saved, one was of a white-crowned sparrow, a variety I haven’t seen here before (though we had them often in California) and another was of a yellow-rumped warbler, a species that I hear often but see rarely; and a third was the one shown above, with 3 house sparrows scuffling at our feeder while a female cardinal leisurely munched on a seed in the foreground.

A rare sighting here of a white-crowned sparrow, Nov. 21; they were regular visitors to our home in California

A yellow-rumped warbler brightens this rainy day, Nov. 21, in a willow oak by the east bank of the lake

The daily frustrations of the shots gone awry or the shots not taken (as the little folks hide or fly away just as the shutter is about to click) are more than made up for by the successful snaps and videos. And even if I never got a clear, well-focused, and well-lit picture, the ever-present joy is the opportunity I have every day to listen closely, watch closely, study closely, and so learn more and more about the many fellow creatures who share their lives with me.

For birding is composed of so much more than the myriad birds themselves. Without the insects there would be no birds, so they, too, must be studied. And for so many birds, they would not exist without the water animals and the mammals and reptiles of the land. The plant life in which all the creatures live and which feeds them and houses them have also become my study, for the plants and the animals are a continuum with the humans like me, as are the air we all breathe and to which we contribute, and as is the soil which the plants need and to which they contribute; as is the water which feeds us all and which itself is made up of the atoms of the air and of all the creatures.

Yes, we are all one. It is when humans forget this, as we have so often, that the Earth gets into trouble, as it surely is now. Somehow we humans think we are separate from, even superior to, the rest of the Earth, even though we are younger, mere children compared to other creatures who have been on our planet for millions, even billions, of years.

A grey squirrel, another of our essential citizens, alert in a chinaberry tree on the east side

One frustrating, joyful event. On Nov. 20, I was thinking about this idea of joyful frustration when I was on my walk. Sure enough, my revery was broken by a bird sound I didn’t think I’d heard before.  A kind of melodious click, then another, and another, and another. It was nearby, so I did as I so often do: I began to scan with my old eyes the trees beside and above me. I always look for movement, though often I see none, no matter how long I look, even as the songs and calls continue. But this time, I saw something appear and then disappear on the trunk of the white oak just to my right. There it was again, slightly farther down the trunk. It was much too small to be one of our grey squirrels, but it sort of moved around the trunk the way that squirrels do.

So I trained my camera–a much inferior tool compared with the senses of any other forest animal–and saw a tiny head–was it a head?–pop around the trunk, then disappear again. Then there it was again, and this time I snapped a picture, and then another and another as the animal, most likely a small bird, appeared at other spots down the trunk. What did I have? I wouldn’t know until I could get my camera home after the walk and enlarge the images I had captured, such is my old human’s sensory incompetence.

Well, after my cumbersome procedure of many minutes later, I discovered that what I had snapped was a white-breasted nuthatch, a type of bird that I had snapped serendipitously last fall, but with much less effort.

White-breasted nuthatch between trunk and branch of white oak, Nov. 20, west of the lake

So what did I feel? Yes, a kind of satisfaction, sure. But not a satisfaction that might come from a victory in some kind of competition–me against the little bird, if such a thing could be imagined. Rather, it was the sense of a link between me and that little bird, a magnificent being who had allowed me to share a tiny moment of life.

And that is pretty much how I always feel when I take a successful picture, or even when I just am allowed by the bird to see this fellow for a moment before she or he moves on to the next objective. Oh they move so quickly, so often silently, and they hide so mysteriously, and they sing so gloriously. And when they stop just for a moment in my presence, I breathe a “thank you” that I can only hope they somehow feel.

White-breasted nuthatch on the trunk of a white oak, west side of the lake, Nov. 20. Can you see him or her?

White-breasted nuthatch on a branch of the white oak, clearer view, Nov. 20, west of the lake

*********************************************

California Odyssey: Sharing Time with Family, Friends, and Wildlife

Sea lions in La Jolla Cove, La Jolla, California, Nov. 3

Our first trip back to California since our move to Virginia last year took place in early November. The trip was a celebration in several respects: it was a milestone wedding anniversary for Jean and me, and an opportunity to visit with our two West Coast daughters and share meals with them and their partners.  It also meant our taking part in the wedding of two good friends in La Jolla, as well as reconnecting with other old friends there. So the trip became a weeklong odyssey along the California coast between San Diego and Los Angeles.

Brown pelicans on the cliffs at La Jolla Cove, California, Nov. 3

Visiting the Bolsa Chica Wetlands

Besides our planned visits with our daughters and their partners in Seal Beach and Long Beach, and the wedding in La Jolla, our short odyssey featured touristy time in San Diego and Los Angeles, as well as beach views along the Pacific Coast Highway.

Panorama of Sunset Beach, California, early morning, Nov. 6, with shearwater gulls and morning walkers

An unexpected treat was visiting the Bolsa Chica Ecological Reserve in coastal Orange County. The Bolsa Chica Wetlands, next to what is now Sunset Beach in Huntington Beach, California, were an extensive tidal marsh beside the Pacific Ocean, with hospitable use for over 9000 years by native tribes such as the Acjachemen and later the Tongva. Then, extensive coastal destruction by developers came in the later 19th and early 20th centuries. The marsh still existed in part, but without any protection. Then property purchasers wanted to drain it completely and build beachfront houses in the 1970s.

A marina in Sunset Beach abuts the northwest edge of the Bolsa Chica Ecological Reserve, November 6

A concerted effort by local, state, and finally national organizations soon arose, which after several years convinced the courts to halt the destruction plan and establish the remaining marsh as a nature preserve.  Today the Bolsa Chica that remains is open to the public to visit and take photos from miles of wooden walkways. Though the rushing traffic on the adjoining Pacific Coast Highway and a large adjacent marina limit the marsh, it continues to provide a home for native plants and the animal life that the plants and water sustain.

A sparrow rests in a Chamiso Saltbush at the Bolsa Chica Ecological Reserve in Huntington Beach, California, November 6

It takes less than a minute for speedy drivers on the PCH to pass by the Bolsa Chica, so it’s easy for people to not even know it is there. But for the wildlife that depends on it, and for the humans who stop and stay to admire it, Bolsa Chica provides a life-giving break from the commercial development along the Orange County coast.

Infographic of history of human presence at Bolsa Chica Wetlands Reserve in California

********************************************

On the Day Itself: Family and a Bit of Cookery

Three generations of family at our Thanksgiving meal

We spent the official Thanksgiving Day with local family members, three generations of us, at their home. We enjoyed a wonderful array of foods, with some contributions by all. Jean and I made two dishes, three sisters stew and corn  casserole. Last December, I described in this blog the Native American history of the “three sisters” dish and my adaptations. This year, as I made the stew, I videoed its cooking, with a bit of background music:

Jean’s corn casserole, with milk, eggs, and corn meal creating a dreamy creamy texture with the sweet whole kernel corn, cooked for four hours in the crockpot and came out a perfect addition to our communal meal:

Then, on the day after Thanksgiving, which for some reason the commercial world calls Black Friday, we continued the family thanks-sharing. First, my sister and brother-in law, who had traveled from downstate Virginia, and my niece and her husband joined us for a celebratory breakfast. And to top off all the festivities, one of our New York sons, our daughter-in-law, and their spunky, energy-filled kids, ages five and three, joined us for a picnic lunch on a crisp, bright afternoon at a nearby park and for hot beverages at a nearby Starbucks:

One day is just not enough for all the thankfulness. Here’s to Thanksgiving Month!

The November 2023 Photo/Video Gallery: Fall Colors Persist, Visitors Arrive, and the Mallards Return

A young deer peeks at me from behind a white oak in the east side woods, far from the north end where we usually see them, and no more than forty feet from where I stand in the path, Nov. 15. A truly serendipitous photo.

A Blue Jay, resplendent in various blues, calls from atop a red oak on the southeast bank just after sunrise, Nov. 25

In the cold rain of Nov. 21, the brilliant oakleaf hydrangea contrasts with the misty north end of the lake

The great blue heron, who usually haunts the shoreline, hides in this Virginia pine in the north end woods, Nov. 19

This great blue follows bird calls while alert on the west bank, Nov. 27

Three pairs of mallards, newly returned, adorn the southeast cove, Nov. 12

And on Nov. 22, another returnee, a cormorant, with bold wingspread, on the west side dock

Sunlit late fall colors along the west side path, early morning, Nov. 13

In this short video, a male mallard flies in to join (impress?) a female friend, then takes off down the lake, Nov. 15

Raindrop circles in the inlet stream beside the bridge, with late fall colors, Nov. 21, in the steady downpour 

A male cardinal atop a berry-clustered red cedar in the northwest corner by the lake, Nov. 15

First time sighting of a male bufflehead duck in our lake, Nov. 10, on a rainy morning

And now, on Nov. 22, the bufflehead returns–and has been joined by another! 

Three rock doves look down on the lake from the power lines to the northwest, Nov. 15

Panorama, with a young red maple , as I look toward downtown in the rain of Nov. 21

Short video of rock dove flock performing aerobatics west of the lake, Nov. 19

A mallard pair in the southeast cove silhouetted against the late fall colors of the west bank on the mirror lake, Nov. 19

A pair of Canada geese eye a mallard pair in the southeast cove, Nov. 9

In this 2-minute video, watch how this mallard couple builds their relationship in the quiet southeast cove, Nov. 11.

Thank you for reading, viewing, and listening. On to December!

A rarely visiting Cooper’s Hawk, early morning, east bank of lake, Oct. 9 (Indigenous Peoples Morning)

In this month’s entry:

Walking the Lakeshore on Indigenous Peoples Morning

Keeping Alive the Landscape History of the LA Region

From the Renaissance Festival to Maryland’s Eastern Shore

October 2023 Photo/Video Gallery: Fall Colors, Citizens, Visitors

A Bald Eagle, one of many noble citizens of the Blackwater National Wildlife Refuge on Maryland’s Eastern Shore, Oct. 24. See the section on our trip there later in the entry.

Walking Our Lakeshore on Indigenous Peoples Morning, Oct. 9

Walking the lakeshore mindfully seems particularly appropriate on Indigenous Peoples Day, since the indigenous of North America practiced a way of living that appreciates plants, animals, water, air, and the land in ways that our mass culture of unlimited consumption ignores, with the destruction of life on our planet as the inevitable consequence.

Indigenous Peoples Day, the 2nd Monday in October, and Native American Heritage Day, the day after Thanksgiving in November, were established by Congress so citizens of the U.S. would both keep in mind the essential contributions of our indigenous peoples to sustaining our great country and honor the continuing contributions of their descendants today and into the future. These days of commemoration are one very small effort to counteract the centuries of erasure of Native Americans that began with the first settlers from Europe in 1607 in Virginia and that continues today with state laws like that passed in 2021 in Oklahoma to ban children from learning in school about the decimation of the Osage people in the early 1900s (and the massacre of Black Oklahomans in Tulsa in 1921).

“Perhaps someday we’ll begin teaching our children the full, demythologized truth about ourselves,  but I doubt it.” Rinker Buck, The Oregon Trail: A New American Journey (Thorndike Press, 2015, p. 720)

The erasure of Native peoples and their cultures is equalled by the ongoing–and closely related– erasure of the land and its plant and animal citizens that has been going on since 1607 by what we call “progress” and “development.” These two pretty words mask the wholesale destruction of true wilderness and its creatures, such as the extinction and near-extinction of thousands of species–and the ever-increasing fouling of air, water, and soil by mining, the burning of fossil fuels, and irresponsible hunting and farming methods that have continued throughout the expanding U.S. over four centuries.

Early fall color palette: white boneset, goldenrod, red maple, and willow oak, at the southeast cove, Oct. 9

A Reciprocal Relationship with the Earth. As I explored in the blog a year ago, part of that erasure meant our never learning–or our forgetting–the native peoples’ brilliant understanding of what Robin Wall Kimmerer calls (in Braiding Sweetgrass) a “reciprocal” relationship with Mother Earth. This relationship requires that what we take from Earth and her creatures must be equalled by what we give back.  So, for example, if we feed ourselves fish from the rivers or birds from the air, we never take so much that the species can’t reproduce an equal number or greater. And we never plant so much of the soil to feed or clothe ourselves–especially with a single crop–that the soil becomes so depleted of nutrients that the land cannot easily recover. And so on for all human actions.

An Earth-Saving Lifestyle. So what can I as an aging human in 2023 in the “progress'”-deformed  North America do to practice a reciprocal relationship with Mother Earth? I explored this question in the blog for April 2023. There I described my efforts to lead an “Earth-saving Lifestyle,” which included in my list of actions something I do every day toward not forgetting the “more than human” citizens of my world: “I can walk around the lake and glory in the birdsong, the change of seasons, the constant creative work of local animals and plants to survive and share beauty.” In other words, I try to pay attention and learn more and more about my environment, despite all the lures of over-consumption that distract me and most others.

Another writer who tries to live an “earth-saving lifestyle” is Margaret Renkl . Read what she has to say in this essay from October 9 about nurturing the endangered citizens of her Tennessee garden.

So on Indigenous Peoples Day 2023, I walked with my camera slowly around the lake, watching, listening, smelling and tasting the air, and being alert for what I might learn about this place where I live. I was rewarded, as I am in each day’s walk, by bounty that my camera can only capture a tiny part of. Bounty that it is my responsibility to help protect.

Besides the Cooper’s Hawk pictured at the start of this entry, here are a few of those rewards:

Six red-bellied cooters in formation on a log behind dotted smartweed at the north end of the lake, Oct. 9

A great blue heron landed near me on the northeast bank and then stalked for a meal, Oct. 9

A Cardinal in red cedar on the northwest bank in early morning sun, Oct. 9

Northern flicker after sunrise in the southeast cove, Oct. 9

Bumblebee on wild asters and blackberry leaves, north end, Oct. 9

***********************

Keeping Alive the Landscape History of the LA Region

Cover map of the new report on the Indigenous Landscape of the LA region

Often, not forgetting means taking extraordinary efforts to remember. A case in point is the Los Angeles Landscape History Project, begun in 2018 with foundation funding and involving the work of a team of representatives from three tribes (Chumash, Tataviam, Gabrieleño) and geographers, historians, and biologists from four LA region universities (CSU Long Beach, CSU Northridge, CSU Los Angeles, and the University of Southern California). According to the Executive Summary of the brand-new, freely available report–released on Indigenous Peoples Day–the project blended “different approaches to understanding and describing the landscape to produce a set of parallel products that describe…six village sites in detail and provide detailed maps of the natural environment, its flora and fauna, and tools to understand its influence into the modern era for the region.”

The Summary concludes as follows:

“This project is unique because a commonly shared, detailed map of the historical ecology—the flora, fauna, hydrology, and landforms, that evolved within Southern California’s Mediterranean climate over millennia and supported human populations for 9,000 years, has never been developed. Individually and cumulatively, the results of this research are vital resources to all regional and local planning efforts involving sustainability, habitat restoration, and preparing for climate change. This project is unique also because four of its co-Principal Investigators are members of the Indigenous peoples of the Los Angeles Basin (Gabrieleño, Tataviam, and Chumash).”

Fig. 0-4 of the Executive Summary. “Indigenous roads and pathways compared with contemporary road network.”

*******************************

More Exploring: The Renaissance Festival and Maryland’s Eastern Shore

Canada geese flock in flight over the Blackwater National Wildlife Refuge, Oct. 24

Since we moved to Virginia from California last year, we’ve been exploring historic places in the watershed of the nearby Potomac River in Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, and southern Pennsylvania. Well, last week and this we spent a couple days on the other side of Chesapeake Bay, along part of Maryland’s iconic Eastern Shore. Whereas the western shore of Chesapeake Bay features long, broad rivers like the Potomac and the James, the Eastern Shore (as the map below shows) presents marshes, narrow peninsulas, and many small inlets and creeks, as well as a few broader, winding rivers such as the Choptank, beside which the small, historic city of Cambridge sits.

Map of the Choptank region of Maryland’s Eastern Shore (from the Maritime Museum in St. Michael’s)

For thousands of years, the Eastern Shore has had a maritime, riverine human culture, with native tribes like the Nanticoke and Choptanks thriving on the crabs, oysters, and fish for which the region continues to be famous. Many of the English settlers who arrived beginning in the 17th century also took on this water-focused life, although the broad, flat, fertile lands east of the peninsulas and marshes became tobacco fields and plantations, just like their famous counterparts west of the Bay. As the lucrative trade with England in tobacco took over more and more of the land, the tribes of the region, who had thrived on a diversified agriculture and aquaculture, were forced out and decimated, with murder of natives encouraged by a colonial Maryland decree in 1652. (A later treaty gave the remaining Choptanks a reservation that they held until 1822.)

The working boatyard at the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum in St. Michael’s, MD, where boats of the historic water culture are restored.

Visiting the Maryland Renaissance Festival

Our short trip to the Eastern Shore began this past Sunday with a visit by us and other family members (three generations of us!) to the annual Renaissance Festival in Crownsville, just north of Annapolis, the state capital. The festival, which draws thousands from across the region, is a different kind of remembering, and features events, food, and costumed staff and visitors recalling the England of the Middle Ages and of the days of King Henry the Eighth and Queen Elizabeth I.

Costumed revelers at the Maryland Renaissance Festival, Oct. 22.

Music and Dancers at the Renaissance Festival, Oct. 22

One of the most anticipated events each year is the medieval jousting tournament, at which each section of the crowd cheers for their favorite competitor.

The royal court of King Henry the Eighth, presiding at the jousting tournament

Moments of the third competition of the jousting tournament, Renaissance Festival

Best of all for us was the time we spent with our family members, including two of our grandchildren, ages 6 and 8, all suitably garbed for the celebration!

Members of our family creatively, even spookily, dressed for the Festival!

Visiting St. Michael’s, Remembering the History of the Waterfolk

Our visit to the Eastern Shore focused on two quite different locales in the region. The first was the village of St. Michael’s, founded in the 1600s, and the narrow peninsula nearby (as shown on the map above) that winds down to tiny Tilghman Island. Water culture is alive and well in this area and is honored in the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum, which vividly displays both the history and present of a changing environment. Spread over 20 acres, the Museum includes

• a working boatyard, where historic craft are restored
• an art gallery, which this month focuses on climate change and the depletion of the shellfish
• a historic lighthouse (that you can climb!)
• an interactive display of the most famous water craft, the skipjack,

as well as three history museums. It even includes a cabin once lived in by the sister of Frederick Douglass, who was born in nearby Easton. Set on the Miles River waterfront, the Museum campus offers magnificent views of the river and marshland.

Viewing the Miles River, marsh, and buildings of the Maritime Museum

The historic collection of restored rivercraft at the Maritime Museum, Oct. 23

Douglass cabin and garden at the Maritime Museum

Panorama of the Miles River waterfront and Museum buildings from the top of the old Lighthouse, Oct. 23

Nearby Tilghman Island. Twelve miles from St. Michael’s the peninsula ends with tiny Tilghman Island, with much of the sparse land a nature preserve. Here the Choptank River flows into the Bay. A marvelous setting for photography!

Black Walnut Point on Tilghman Island is a mere 12 miles across the Bay from Virginia, seen in the background beyond the sailboats

A song sparrow in the Tilghman Island marsh, Oct. 23

Herring gulls on the wharf, Choptank estuary, Tilghman Island, Oct. 23

Watching from the reeds toward the Choptank estuary, Tilghman Island, Oct. 23

Day Two: The Blackwater National Wildlife Refuge

Since we’d moved back to Virginia, I’d had this wonderful place, south of the Choptank, on my radar. It includes forest and marshes, with a setting beside the broad Blackwater River which draws varied waterfowl, migrating and year-round, and other marsh folk. It has miles of trails and a great 3.6 mile drive that takes visitors to all parts of the refuge. If you have a good camera, you’re in reach of subjects well away from your car. Here are a few of the folks I snapped.  (One caution: bring repellant. The skeeters can be ferocious.)

Cackling geese

Devil’s Walking Stick beside a trail

Three mallards in reeds

Female Northern Pintail duck

Marsh Wren in hair-awn muhly reeds

Grounseltree or salt bush at marsh edge

A Pair of Great Blue Herons advance in the river

Rare sighting of a Wilson’s Phalarope in the marsh

A Savannah Sparrow on a shed roof

A lone Great Blue Heron on gnarled wood

Panorama of the quiet Blackwater River on a sunny, breezy morning, Oct. 24

******************************

The October 2023 Photo/Video Gallery: Fall Colors, Citizens, and Visitors

Late October is the peak of the autumn color display where we live. Not only do the trees always amaze, but the other lake citizens–and a few migrating visitors–also put on a pre-winter show.

A Blue Jay and Mockingbird scuffle in the elderberry, east bank, Oct. 25

Full fall colors in the north end woods, Oct. 29

Two European Starlings enjoy the view atop a dead tree on the east side bank of the lake, Oct. 29

Fall display from the southeast cove to the west side, Oct. 25

A Mockingbird in mid-scuffle with a Blue Jay stares amid Virginia creeper and red cedar on the east bank, Oct. 25

A Great Blue Heron walks, turns, and stalks along the south end of the lake, early morning, Oct. 29

A Warbling Vireo enjoys Poison Ivy berries above the inlet bridge, Oct. 25

Sugar maples show off on the west side path, Oct. 25

A male Cardinal is always showy, and certainly always in the fall displays, southeast bank, Oct. 25

Surprise visitors–4 Northern Pintails–glide along the west bank, Oct. 18

A flock of Canada geese enjoy the southeast cove amid fall colors and the gazebo on the west side, Oct. 29

Sugar maple in full color south of the lake, Oct. 21

What begins as a short video of one of our Great Blue Herons with the Pintails and Geese becomes a melee of Heron and Geese that ends with Heron soaring across the lake, Oct. 18. Watch and listen.

Quiet Lake Cameron fall display toward the north end, Oct. 25

Panorama of our lake refuge toward busy downtown, with fall colors and yellow evening primrose, Oct. 29

All joy from our colorful October toward a thankful November in hope and mindfulness.

Our first sighting of a monarch, in shadows amid the boneset flowers on the northwest bank, Sept. 15 (see story, below)

In this month’s blog entry:

A Bee, Butterfly, and Wildflower Celebration

More Potomac Valley Discoveries in Maryland and Pennsylvania

The September 2023 Photo/Video Gallery

Two Virginia skipper butterflies in boneset flowers on the east bank, Sept. 14

Celebrating Our Bees, Butterflies, and Wildflowers

I had not yet seen an adult monarch butterfly by our lake in the year and a half I’d been walking the lakeside. Last fall I saw a monarch caterpillar in one of our swamp milkweeds, but not the adult. So I almost couldn’t believe my eyes when I glimpsed a flash of red-orange more than 100 feet away as I scanned the north end of the lake. So I snapped a photo of the deep shadows where I hoped the butterfly had landed. I zoomed into the shady foliage as closely as I could. Then, back home, when I could enlarge and brighten the photo, lo and behold, there was a  monarch!

The plant that the monarch in the opening photo is feasting on is the favorite host plant for the pollinators this month: the prolific late boneset, which thrives around the lakeshore this time of year.

This September, boneset dominates much of the lakeshore, including the southeast cove (Sept. 21)

The second favorite for the past three months has been the brilliant lavender-purple bull thistle, which is now past its bloom time, but still helps to provide a safe home for birds, bunnies, and insects. The blog galleries in July and August featured butterflies, especially the yellow tiger swallowtails, and bumblebees on the bull thistle.

Close-in view of a bumblebee on boneset on the southwest bank, Sept. 19.

Though few butterfly species inhabit our lakeshore, the yellow tiger swallowtails are prominent (Aug. 24). The purple bull thistles draw them and other pollinators.

Learning wildflowers: every day is different and a reason to celebrate. My daily lakeshore discovery walks, as I call them, have made me ever more aware of the great diversity of wild and domesticated plants and wildflowers along the lake and in the surrounding fields and woods. My walks, with my Nikon P950 camera, help me focus on what I’m seeing, and make me curious to identify the different plants and animals I encounter. Two apps, PictureThis (V3.51) and Merlin Bird ID (from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology), allow me to snap iPhone photos of any plant or bird and immediately get much information about what I’m seeing.  I’ve become much more observant not only of the diverse plants, but also of the changes that occur from day to day and month to month throughout this sanctuary.

In this month’s gallery, check out more photos and videos of plants, birds, insects, and a few of our other citizens this September.

A display of yellow foxtail bristlegrass appears this month along the north end path, Sept. 21

More Potomac Valley Discoveries in Pennsylvania and Maryland

18th century log houses and cornpatch, Conococheague Institute, Welsh Run, PA, Sept. 8

In exploring the Potomac and its tributaries, one of our favorite regions to visit is about 60 miles west and north of our Virginia home. In southern Pennsylvania, just north of Hagerstown, Maryland, is the Conococheague Institute, near tiny Welsh Run, PA. The Institute is a restored 18th century farm, museum, and library dedicated to the study of early settler history and to preserving the natural environment that surrounds the farm. Nearby Conococheague Creek provided water and transportation for the indigenous people who lived in the area for thousands of years before the arrival of the settlers, who were mainly of German origin. The creek is a tributary of the Potomac, into which the creek flows about 30 miles south at Williamsport, MD, as I described in the February 2023 entry.

Fritillary butterfly at Conococheague Institute farm, Sept. 8

The work of the Institute is particularly important to us, because a small cemetery only about a half mile from the farm holds the graves of some of Jean’s immigrant ancestors, who first came to the area in the 1730s. The Institute provides information to support family research, and the researchers in turn help to support the work of the Institute.

This small cemetery, amid cornfields, is overgrown now with bristlegrass. The cemetery holds graves of German immigrants from the 18th century (Sept. 8)

Fort Frederick State Park. A site we’d been wanting to visit, but had not explored before this month, is Fort Frederick State Park, MD, about 30 miles west and south from Welsh Run, PA, near the town of Clear Spring. Fort Frederick is both an historical site and, through its Friends of Fort Frederick, a center for cultural activities for children and adults, including an annual Market Fair, held in April.

Fort Frederick, built 1756-57, main gate and southside walls, Sept. 8

This imposing edifice, built to hold thousands of troops and withstand a prolonged attack, was testament to the dedication of the British, their North American colonies, and tribes of indigenous peoples allied with them, to defeat the alliance of the French and several other indigenous peoples in what became known as the French and Indian War, 1755-1763. Ironically, the fort never saw a battle in that war, as the armies moved 160 miles west, to contest for control of  the Monongahela, Allegheny, and Ohio rivers at the French Fort Duquesne, now the location of the city of Pittsburgh. The British and their allies captured Duquesne from the French in 1759, renamed it Fort Pitt, and the war moved farther north into Canada.

Aerial view of the restored Fort Frederick of today.

As a further irony, Fort Frederick was used in a later war, the War of Independence waged by the colonies against Great Britain, from 1775 to 1783. Instead of being manned by British soldiers, however, the fort was used by the colonists as a prison–to hold the 2000 or more British soldiers captured in 1777 at the Battle of Saratoga in New York! The prisoners from Saratoga and from other battles were held there until the end of hostilities in 1781, whereupon some of those who survived returned to Europe and others chose to stay in the now independent United States.

Barracks at restored Fort Frederick made to resemble prison housing for British soldiers in the US war for independence, 1777-81

As for the indigenous peoples who had fought in the 1755-63 war, many of them on the side of the victorious British and the colonists, they fared tragically over the following 60 years of warfare with the settlers and the new United States. The treaties that the natives had agreed to in order to fight were like all the subsequent treaties between the settlers and the natives: thoroughly disregarded by those who had made promises to the indigenous. Those native soldiers and their families who survived the wars, the burning of their villages, starvation,  and settler diseases such as smallpox were steadily forced off their homelands and pushed farther and farther west.

Late 19th and early 2Oth century: the Williams family. Another irony is that as Fort Frederick began to crumble because of disuse, it and the land were sold to an emancipated Black family headed by Nathan Williams, who farmed it successfully for many years. In the 1920s, the state of Maryland re-purchased the fort and land, and in the 1930s, in the midst of the Great Depression, the Civilian Conservation Corps, which had been created by Congress to give jobs to poor youth, restored the fort to the original massive grandeur that visitors witness today.

Panorama of the west side of Fort Frederick, restored in the 1930s by the Civilian Conservation Corps during the Great Depression

Fort Frederick: the nearby Chesapeake & Ohio “Big Pool,” the beaver pond, and the Potomac itself. Another reason we wanted to visit Fort Frederick is its nearness to the Potomac itself and to the early 19th century Chesapeake & Ohio Canal. Strategically, the fort was built on high ground only half a mile from the river. But the hilly acres between the fort and the river are mostly marshland, which means that today the great value of the location is its biodiversity of animal and plant life. As part of the state park, this means that this large wetland will be protected.

The “Big Pool” wetland just downhill from Fort Frederick, part of the Chesapeake & Ohio Canal built in the early 19th century

As one walks down toward the river, the first part of the wetland one encounters is the “Big Pool,” actually a small lake that was incorporated into the Chesapeake & Ohio Canal in the 1820s. As the photo above shows, the pool is surrounded by dense woods. Then, as one proceeds down toward the river, one next encounters the Beaver Pond, a dense swamp whose composition varies with the water level. Beavers are just one of many species who thrive in the marsh.

The Beaver Pond, thick with white water crowfoot, below the Big Pool and above the Potomac, all down the hill from Fort Frederick (Sept. 8)

Finally, as one winds forward on the downward trail, the Potomac River itself comes into view. On the hot, cloudy day we visited, the water level was lower than normal, but the crisp, steady flow of the river contrasted with the thick stillness of the Beaver Pond and so sustains its own very different ecosystem.

The Potomac River, down the hill from Big Pool and the Beaver Pond, viewed toward the west, Sept. 8

How amazing that in such a short walk, less than half a mile, I could encounter such different ecological worlds.

As you watch the video above, listen for the call of the Belted Kingfisher toward the end.

The September 2023 Photo/Video Gallery

Our gallery celebrates more wildflowers and animals this month, as well as an unexpected tropical storm that lashed our quiet refuge from September 22 to 24.

A bumblebee luxuriates in an evening primrose on the east side, Sept. 22

A rarely seen Eastern wood pewee atop a dead tree on the east bank, very hot day, Sept. 4

A downy woodpecker on the trunk of the same tree, Sept. 4

Profuse ripe berries on amur honeysuckle on the east bank, Sept. 15

A bumblebee samples a patch of mile-a-minute vines and berries, east bank, Sept. 19

 A cardinal couple in a berry-rich juniper tree, southeast bank, Sept. 19

One of our cottontails munches grass along the northeast side path, Sept. 22

A female red-winged blackbird enjoys one of the elderberry trees on the east bank, Sept. 19

A mockingbird observes in a persimmon tree on the northeast lakeside, Sept. 22

A Canada goose and 3 red-bellied cooters converse in the southeast cove, Sept. 20

A rare female morph tiger swallowtail and several bumblebees engage the wind as they enjoy purple bull thistles on the north end bank, Sept. 5

Female blue grosbeak is alert in American burnweed at the north end, Sept. 22

Our newly returned flock of 50 Canada geese fly and call across the lake, Sept. 14

Amazing sunset heralds the Tropical Storm Ophelia, as seen across the lake from the east side, Sept. 22

Rainwater rushes into the lake from the southeast inlet stream during Tropical Storm Ophelia, Sept. 23

Winds and rain from Tropical Storm Ophelia churn the lake and raise its level more than a foot over 3 days, Sept. 22-24 

A week of September remains to be explored, with more rain in the forecast. And then on to October with joy and great expectations!

Green heron stalks in red maple, east bank, August 27

In this month’s blog entry:

Who’s Missing as I Walk around the Lake?

A Northern Virginia Climate Impasse

Venerable Lahaina, Rest in Peace

If Not Fires, Then Floods in Cali

More Somber Potomac Valley History

The August 2023 Photo/Video Gallery

A welcome returning citizen: an American Goldfinch in bull thistles on the northeast bank, August 10

Who’s Missing as I Walk Around the Lake?

I haven’t seen a hawk here since March, when I snapped a red shoulder well below the north end dam.

None of our other hunters here stun the songbirds into silence and camouflage like the red shoulders, redtails, cooper’s, sharp-shinned, and goshawks do. Their visits are always infrequent, only rarely lasting more than a day, but the songbirds always know. These five months have been the longest interval without hawks since I’ve lived here. When will they return?

Red-shouldered hawk launches above Lake Cameron in January 2023

I’m not predicting anything dire for our little bit of sanctuary, but North America has three billion fewer  birds than it had in 1970, according to a review of surveys published in Science in September 2019. Habitat loss and climate change have been the main culprits. The loss has been about 30% of all birds in North America in those five decades. The steep decline has been pretty much across most species, with shorebirds, songbirds, and prairie species hardest hit. Outside North America, think, for example, of the massive loss of Emperor penguin chicks in the Antarctic this year as the sea ice retreats from their breeding grounds.

Surprisingly, after plummeting before 1970, raptors actually increased after 1970, largely because of the banning of DDT in the 1960s. So there might be some hope left for our hawks. The DDT story, the Science authors say, shows the good that can happen if enough people and organizations unite in an environmental cause to defeat powerful, entrenched corporate interests.

Preserving more and more wild land from destruction is key. Keeping tiny wetland refuges (like ours) safe from ever-encroaching development will also be vital in most communities. We have to start thinking of a “healthy economy” as requiring us to be creative and respectful in adapting already developed space–even “rewilding” some of it–not crunching more precious native land and erasing the species it nurtures.

Typical weekday noon: a tree-lined parking lot in our community, August 25

A Northern Virginia Climate Impasse

I apologize for the intrusion of a parking lot into my photo montage of the lake, but throughout our lakeside community are some 350 or more spaces for our residents, at least 90% of which are filled most evenings by gas-burning sedans and mid-size SUVS that are not hybrids. The number of EVs is small and slowly growing, as is the number of hybrids. However, at this rate, the dominance of conventional gas burners will go on for years. And this is the sobering fact that all us climate idealists must always keep in mind.

The photo above is taken at noon on a weekday. Typically, at least 40% of the spaces are empty at noon, about 150 cars, whose drivers commute each morning to work, etc., and return by 6 PM, when the lot is full. Quite a predictable in-and-out-flow. Which means all those conventional tailpipe emissions, year upon year, until any meaningful change occurs.

How many years? Well, if the growth of hybrids and EVs continues at the current rate, about 8% per year at best, then let’s say 12 years or more will pass until the guzzlers are pretty much replaced, the big factors being availability and affordability.  Unfortunately, I think 12 years is way too optimistic, given the unparalleled negative power of the fossil fuel lobby and of the governments, like Russia’s and those of a chunk of US states, devoted to the old, poisonous ways, like our neighbor just one county beyond, West Virginia.

Now if auto manufacturers were fully committed to EVs (only some are even partly committed), I’d revise the guess, but where’s the evidence for such commitment?  Most automakers are still advertising the heck out of their guzzlers, even if they also push their EVs.  And it’s noteworthy that the guzzlers have a lower sticker price, though there’s no real reason for that beyond automaker choice. So where do automakers’ hearts (if hearts they have) really lie?

Venerable Lahaina, Rest in Peace

Lahaina old town and marina before the August fire that wiped it out (Getty image)

Lahaina: cars abandoned as people tried to leave amid the flames, August 10 (Paula Ramon, AFP, Getty)

These pictures seem a world away from my tiny lake, don’t they?  I recall thinking that the Northwest Territories of Canada were a world away, too, and then our own skies here were grayish orange in June from the fires that still burn there today.

When we lived in California in 2020, we were shocked that storms coming from another faraway world, up the coast of South America, were spawning lightning strikes that started the wildfire that came within a few miles of our home in the Sacramento Valley that August.

The fire that caused the most deaths in California, the Camp Fire of 2018, was ignited by a faulty electric transmission tower. The larger cause, of course, is the high-pressure drought that plagues Maui and California alike in a warming climate. That 2018 fire trapped cars trying to leave the fire zone. The town that was destroyed was named Paradise, a name often given to Maui, where the fire that destroyed Lahaina last week had similar cause and a similar spark. But California may have seemed a world away and maybe not relevant enough to warn the public safety officials in Maui, where cars were similarly trapped, and where many, many more dead are still unrecovered.

We visited Maui and the venerable old city of Lahaina in 2008. Our memories of that remarkable trip are as fresh today as if they were being formed–today. Now we have even more reason never to forget. We didn’t know we’d be grieving such loss. We certainly didn’t suspect that when we did grieve for the people, fellow creatures, and land that is Maui, the grief would feel like our own in a world that keeps growing smaller.

Donations in Lahaina after the fires were out, August 12 (Yuki Iwamura, AFP, Getty)

If Not Fires, Then Floods in Cali

Five inches of rain in the Coachella Valley leaves scenes like this in Cathedral City on Aug. 20 (KTLA News photo)

While Maui was still in the midst of its horrors, California and the Mexican states bordering it were facing their own unprecedented climate event, an August hurricane and tropical storm, named Hilary. Used to withering heat, drought, and wildfires this time of year, Southern Californians were bracing for possibly torrential rains and devastating summer floods, for which they have no infrastructure.  Ironically, however, the record atmospheric rivers and mountains of snow last winter east of the LA basin at least had LA and communities east somewhat psychologically prepared for continuing extreme events.

To everyone’s relief, the storm, when it hit, brought the LA region some heavy, but not torrential rain and little flooding. In contrast, toward the desert mountains, including Death Valley, which only a few weeks earlier had almost set a new world record for heat (it did reach 129 degrees F), rain totals were record setting: 2.2 inches in one day in the Valley, with extensive flood damage and closed roads.

Farther south, however, in the Coachella Valley resorts of Palm Springs, Cathedral City, and Palm Desert, as many as 5 inches came down over a day and a half, leaving streets and homes inundated. Fortunately, there was no reported loss of life.

Alex Hall, director of the Center for Climate Change at UCLA, spoke with Ailsa Chang of NPR on Aug. 23. Chang asked the question that was on every Californian’s mind after this unprecedented winter and now summer of record precipitation: “Where does California exactly stand now in terms of drought after all of these different storms, all the rain and snow last winter?”

Here’s Hall’s answer: “California is the land of extremes. It always has been. We have always had big, wet years and deep droughts. That’s a hallmark of the hydroclimate in California. So we expect drought to return to the state. The challenge going forward is really to capture the water that does come in the wet years, especially in a changing climate where we expect there to be more precipitation in storms. We need to be in a better position to capture that extra water to get us through the inevitable droughts, which, by the way, will also intensify in a warming climate – probably already have intensified somewhat. We know that we will have dry years coming up, and we have to prepare for those.”

Bristow Station: More Somber Potomac Valley History

Tragic events at this little-known site of Civil War conflict are memorialized at this beautiful creekside park near Manassas

I’d heard about the 1863 battle at tiny Bristoe Station, but knew almost nothing about it. So we spent an early August morning tracking down the small battlefield park south of the much more famous Manassas, expecting to find a plaque or two somewhere along the two creeks, Kettle Run and Broad Run, that I could see from the map flowed through that area on their way to the Occoquan River, which then wound its way into the broad Potomac.  Learning more about the Potomac Valley is always on my agenda.

Well, as ever in our travels, we were surprised and impressed by what we found. The marker above was by a substantial parking lot and led to several paths, one of which climbs a hill to a broad battlefield from 1863. It has a commanding view miles into the distance. One can easily imagine seeing regiments marching in formation and being confronted by opposing infantry and artillery.

The other main path, broad and well marked, we discovered to be very different. It led into a dark, fragrant forest of wildflowers, tall trees, and some marshland. It revealed itself to be both a nature preserve and a sanctuary to commemorate the many poor souls who had died and were buried there, mostly in the first year of the war, 1861.

Indeed, if you read the plaque above, you will learn much of the tragic story.

Bristoe memorial park and wildflower sanctuary, August 1

That more Civil War dead succumbed to illness or infections than to wounds received in battle is well known.  Just last month, this blog noted deaths of Confederate prisoners and Union soldiers at the Point Lookout prison camp late in the war. But this relatively neglected Bristoe Station battlefield park commemorates soldiers from several Southern states who were new to the war, in its very first year, and who died in unstoppable epidemics from the mere fact of their being camped together with their friends, neighbors, and fellow recruits. I’m imagining surviving officers, sick themselves, writing letters to parents and wives, and these relatives reading them in utter disbelief.  I’m imagining the Union troops, a year later, coming suddenly upon these burial grounds, one state after another, in dark woods, and perhaps hurrying on from this morbidly unlucky place.

Alabama burial ground in the Bristow Station forest, renovated after the war to honor the fallen youth of 1861.

Walking through the forest today honors the memory of the fallen by devoting the ground to the growth of wildflowers and native trees. Silence and the echo of soft birdsong reign. Three signs in the woods, each saying “Do Not Mow,” reinforce the spirit.

Wild sweet potato morning glory in Bristoe Station sanctuary

Whole leaf rosinweed in Bristoe Station sanctuary, August 1

The August 2023 Photo/Video Gallery

New and returning wildflowers, birds, and other creatures greet us each month. See and hear this month’s bounty.

Purple ironweed, south end of the lake, Aug. 23

Northern mockingbird poses for the camera, with returning geese in the lake beyond, Aug. 23

False waterpepper and bumblebee brighten the west side, Aug. 23

A great blue heron preens on the southeast bank, and listens to the late August choir of cicadas, locusts, and crickets

Storm in our community, Aug. 10 (same day as wildfire in Maui)

Wild evening primroses and bull thistles beautify the north end of the lake, Aug. 23

A rare visitor: an osprey from Chesapeake Bay, like those we saw in St.Mary’s, Aug. 10

The lakeshore teems with late boneset and bumblebees in August (Aug. 24)

Though few butterfly species inhabit our lakeshore, the yellow swallowtails are prominent (Aug. 24). The purple bull thistles draw them and other pollinators.

Grey catbirds are regular residents. This one shows off the berry in its mouth, while perching on a rail at the south end, Aug. 12.

Unlike bumblebees, honeybees are not common on our lakeshore. Here, one feeds on the plentiful swamp milkweed, Aug. 12.

One of our young green herons calls and flutters from the southeast bank early in the month (Aug. 4).

Through most of hot August, the snapping turtles were missing from the lake. But here one glides just below the surface in the middle of the lake this week, August 27

Two more wildflower species coming into their own in August: prickly lettuce and pokeweed, Aug. 23

Another rare visitor, a northern flicker on a dead tree,north end, that it will explore for an insect meal, Aug. 10

Some citizens, like our ubiquitous house sparrows at the south end, think that signs don’t apply to them (Aug. 10)

Looking more ominous than they are, one of our young green herons stalks along the southeast bank, August 23

Contrasting moods in August: lake panorama toward north on a misty early morning early in the month, Aug. 5

Lush Evening primrose display north end, August 27

Another rare visitor, a Black-crowned night heron honors the south end, Aug. 12

Equally rare for our lakeside, a sunflower and honeybee perform along the southeast path, Aug. 7

Saying thanks once again to our glorious lake community and with wishes for hopefulness and resilience in an increasingly challenged planet, on we go to September…

A Yellow Swallowtail butterfly and a bee feed on bull thistles at the north end of the lake, as highway traffic roars past.

In this month’s entry:

Can a Lake’s Lives and the Machinery of the City Coexist? 

Record Heat and the Unstoppable Wildfires

St. Clement’s Island: More Potomac History

The July Gallery: More New Sightings of Birds, Dragonflies, Wildflowers, and More

Doe and two fawns in pasture near Columbia Gas substation, below the north end dam, July 20

Can a Lake’s Lives and the Machinery of the City Coexist?

The answer is a clear–but qualified–yes. After all, the swallowtail butterfly in the top video and the deer in the photo above appear to be successfully going about their business of survival in our little lake environment, despite the roar of traffic on the Fairfax County Parkway next door and the petroleum and gas pipelines that run under the lush grass fields beside the lake. Indeed, one could argue that the presence of the pipelines below the lakeside makes it more likely that the lake and its bountiful shorelines will remain a refuge for plants and animals of many kinds. Why? Because safety regulations won’t permit housing or commercial development directly above the pipelines. So, as this line of thinking goes, it’s lucky for Mother Nature and all her beautiful offspring that the fossil fuel pipes are there, as strange as that might sound.

Similarly, zoning also allows the concentration of cell towers and high tension electrical transmission lines along the highway a hundred yards west of the lake, but not above the housing that surrounds much of the lake. So there’s a buffer zone for a few hundred feet that allows the lush greenery and its myriad inhabitants to function relatively unencumbered.

Cell towers and electrical transmission lines west of the lake

Rock doves in daily perch on electrical towers west of lake

But I did say a qualified yes. Qualified, because the notion that the thousands of creaturely lives in and around our small lake could ever really thrive in the presence of the ever more intrusive forces of human housing, transport, commerce, and pollution, is at best a temporary respite, and at worst, a cruel joke. In every entry of this blog, I use terms like “refuge,” “idyllic,” and “fruitful” to describe this place that Jean and I have come to call home. And it does live up to those terms, but only because of (1) the amazing adaptability of the plants and animals in a changing and challenging environment and (2) the efforts and money of the many humans who built–and every day maintain!– the complex infrastructure that enables this little lake to be a refuge from the surrounding sprawl. 

To keep a small reservoir in the midst of a thriving city relatively clean is a feat in itself. To maintain a green and diverse boundary around that lake, from at least 15 feet wide to as many as 100–and to keep it all accessible to every resident–goes against conventional thinking in the US about waterfronts, which are mostly available only to homeowners who pay heavily for access, with no one else allowed. But an open arrangement like that we enjoy also calls on the residents of our community to keep those areas clean and refuse-free, and most of the residents do just that. 

Trash at water’s edge, west bank, after a strong rain and inflow the previous day, July 19.

But as one scientific study after another is reporting, our environment is changing because of fossil fuel emissions even more rapidly than prior forecasts predicted, and so the prognosis for a small water-based habitat like ours is dire. Last month’s smoky skies, from the unchecked Canada wildfires, is one dramatic indication of what is to come more frequently. This summer’s record temperatures in much of the world are equally dangerous, not only because of the heat itself, but also because of the effect that warming waters have on ecosystems, coral reefs, currents, and rain patterns.

Our little lake is thick with green algae most of the year now, as you can see in many of my photos, and this will only get worse as waters continue to warm. With air quality continuing to degrade, with fossil fuel burning continuing with little let up, and with species of every kind of creature in decline, how much time can a fragile mini-ecosystem like ours have left?

Inlet stream, southeast lakeside, thick with algae, July 14

All that said, I’m trying hard to maintain a positive, hopeful attitude about our idyllic little refuge, and the many, many places like it across the planet. All the happy things I write and show about this amazing place are still true, and will be true for some time to come. The spirit that enables the birds, bees, turtles, rabbits, and deer to keep on doing what they do will live on, even as they must continue to adapt. The spirit will continue that empowers us who live here and work here to do what’s needed to keep this a beautiful place so full of lives that inspire and teach us.

We know what needs to be done by us as individuals and by local and national policymakers. All we need is the willingness and courage to keep up our efforts despite the determined opposition of those who just won’t give up their addictions to fossil fuels, waste, and over-consumption. Every little bit we can do to lead a healthier lifestyle helps both each of us and the Earth.

Bee on porcelain berry, east side of lake, July 27

Two more pollinators visiting the bull thistles, July 27

Record Heat and the Unstoppable Wildfires

One thing that the Potomac and Sacramento valleys have in common this month is extreme heat. As the NOAA heat tracker (above) shows, we in Virginia are in the most intense heat wave of the summer so far, with heat indexes well over 100 today (July 28) and tomorrow, while Northern California is just coming out of sustained temps over 100 last week and the week before. Of course, July temps over 100 are not strange for the Sacramento Valley–we expect them. Similarly, temps in the 90s are common in July in Virginia.

But what is unprecedented have been the sustained temps over 110 across the Southwest this year. Phoenix, no stranger to temps over 110, has now gone a solid month with daytime highs over 110 (19 in a row was the previous record), with no end predicted. Globally, climate scientists are forecasting 2023 to be the hottest year on record.

Firefighters battle brush fire in extreme heat in Santa Clarita, CA, July 27 (LA Times)

National Public Radio quoted one of the scientists who conducted the most recent global heat research: 

“”Without climate change we wouldn’t see this at all or it would be so rare that it would basically be not happening,” said Friederike Otto, a climate scientist at Imperial College London who helped lead the new research as part of a collaborative group called World Weather Attribution.

“El Niño, a natural weather pattern, is likely contributing to some of the heat, the researchers said, “but the burning of fossil fuels is the main reason the heatwaves are so severe.””

What is also unprecedented have been the remarkable number of wildfires across the northern tier of Canada since the spring and ongoing through the summer. As in California’s increasingly devastating experience with wildfires over the past few years, most of these fires rage in remote mountainous areas that are extremely difficult for firefighters to reach. As a result, most of these fires rage on uncontained.

Wildfire in far northern Canada, July (Google images)

We in the US, including here in Virginia, where we never thought we’d have to deal with these climate disasters, have contended with hazy, smoky skies since June whenever the wind blows from the north. More northern states , like those along the Great Lakes, experience these days much more often. But the smoky skies have affected states as far south as Georgia. As the fires rage on, we will have more such days coming.

St. Clement’s Island: More Potomac History

St. Clement’s Island, where the 1634 refugees first landed

Osprey in nest at Port Tobacco on our way to St. Clement’s, July 24

We took another one-day overnight trip to Southern Maryland this week, back to St. Mary’s City and to the tiny Potomac island, St. Clement’s, where the English refugees temporarily landed before settling in the larger cove downriver. Unlike the smoky grey skies that we encountered on June 6 in St. Mary’s, owing to the Canadian wildfires, we had blue skies and scudding white clouds on this short trip.

At the excellent small museum on the mainland adjacent to the island, we learned that it was the native Yaocomico  on St. Clement’s who advised the crew and passengers to go to the safer mooring of the protected cove a few miles distant.  The choppy waves we saw around St. Clement’s showed the wisdom of this advice.

Among its other treasures, the museum contains a 19th century wall-size rendering of the landing of the English refugees at St. Clement’s, plus a list of the settlers, including Jean’s ancestor, John Nevill.

19th century painting of arrival of English refugees at St. Clement’s Island, 1634

The July 2023 Gallery: More New Sightings of Birds, Wildflowers, Dragonflies, and More

First sighting of a barn swallow, on dam outlet structure, north end of the lake, July 20

Eleven Canada geese in formation swimming toward southeast cove of the lake

Bumblebee on porcelain berry, west bank of the lake, July 20

Bumblebee on yellow prickly lettuce bloom, north end of lake, July 26

First downy woodpecker of the year, on dead tree at north end of lake, July 22

Giant goldenrod, east side of lake, July 26

Green heron in willow oak, north end of lake, July 22

Late ripe blackberries, north end of lake, July 26: the latest are the sweetest.

A rock dove prepares to land at the north end rocks, July 26

Pokeweed starting to bloom with bull thistle on the east bank, July 20

Wild teazel flowers and yellow swallowtail butterfly at north end below the dam, July 20

American red squirrel, first sighting, in dead tree in north end woods, July 18

Bee in swamp milkweed, southeast bank, July 14

Cat-o-nine-tails, first sighting, on east bank of lake, July 16

Great blue skimmer dragonfly over the lake, first sighting, east bank, July 15

Halloween pennant dragonfly, first sighting, north end of lake, July 15

Male cardinal, berry in beak, in sweet viburnum nannyberry tree, east bank of lake, July 18

On to August, with hope for all our lake citizens…