nature

March 2024: Springing Early and in Song

/ Chris Thaiss / 1 Comment

From the north end of the lake, I spied two large waterfowl on a submerged branch halfway toward the south end, about 250 yards away. Zooming in, I recognized a favorite mallard pair–then saw three smaller waterfowl swimming around them! Who were they? Ducklings? No, they were too large, and it would usually be too early in the year for newborns. To my surprise, they were three hooded mergansers, very rare visitors to our lake and no doubt just stopping on their way north. I had already passed this quintet on my walk, but the thick foliage had made them invisible to me until I’d gotten to the north end and had a clear view.

In the March blog:

Hearing More Than Seeing: Playing the Soundtrack of Spring
Visiting Remarkable Virginia Trees
Climate Log: We Return to the Tidal Basin Cherries
The March 2024 Photo/Video Gallery

When the high temp gets consistently above 60F, the Red-Bellied Cooters, including these 3 on the west shore, rise from their winter home in the lakebed, March 14

Hearing More Than Seeing: Playing the Soundtrack of an Early Spring

Amid a chorus of other birds and human traffic, this Male Cardinal calls other Cardinals from atop a tree in the north end woods, early morning, March 1

“Birdwatching” is a misnomer. Sure, bird students spend a lot of time trying to see birds, and even more time trying to take clear pictures of them. But most of the information we get from these friends is through listening. Birds always make their presence known by their calls, much less by letting us see them. For good reason. If we see them, so do their more-than human predators. It’s much safer to work  inside a bush or thicket of vines or leaves and call out, than to perch on an exposed branch so a paparazzo like me can snap pics, or a hungry hawk can draw a bead.

“Birds may prattle and rant with feathers and body poses, but far and away the most common, the most extreme, and the most complicated kind of bird babble is vocal.” Jennifer Ackerman, The Bird Way (2021), p. 28

Fortunately for us bird students, artificial intelligence (AI)–in the form of the e-Bird/Merlin and BirdNet bird identifying apps–clues us in to who’s calling in our neighborhoods whenever we turn on the record feature. So on a warm morning in this new early spring, March 14, I could identify the various instrumentalists in this video of one of our favorite Mallard pairs, as they fed along the shore of the southeast cove:

During two one-minute recordings, as I paid visual attention to the ducks, I heard the following–

Song sparrow….Northern Cardinal….American Goldfinch….Carolina Wren…Red-bellied Woodpecker….House Sparrow….American Crow….Brown-headed Cowbird….Red-winged Blackbird….Yellow-rumped Warbler….Blue Jay….Tufted Titmouse….Canada goose

A few of these species, such as the woodpecker, the cowbird, and the titmouse, I see very infrequently, so the app is a needed tool. Another, the red-winged blackbird, is one I look for this time of year as a harbinger of warm weather, so when I heard its call on this recording, I knew to look–and listen–for it. In addition, the woods directly across from the lake cove are thick and tall, so seeing birds there is always a challenge for me. The oral cues let me know who is visiting or at home in a way that watching can’t.

On the day following the recording, March 15, I saw this Red-winged Blackbird from about 200 yards away atop a dead oak on the east bank.

I heard this Red-bellied Woodpecker calling and tapping high on a hundred-foot tall white oak in the thick woods beside the southeast cove, and finally spotted it, on a sunny morning, March 3

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Visiting Remarkable Virginia Trees (New Feature)

This 6-foot thick Chestnut Oak crowns a knoll in a townhouse subdivision in Centreville, VA. We visited on March 19.

To help us re-acclimate to our new home in Northern Virginia, we have been visiting and re-visiting places in the region–and reading as much as we can about their history and natural features. Hence the many entries in this blog since 2022 about our regional travels, especially within the broad and long Potomac River watershed. One recent focus of our travels has been “remarkable trees,” the title term of the beautiful photo book Remarkable Trees of Virginia, by Nancy Ross Hugo, Jeff Kirwan, and Robert Llewellyn (Univ. of Virginia Press, 2008). The text of the book recounts the history of each of the more than 90 trees, plus exquisite photos. So far, our visits have been local only, but our plan is to traverse the state and seek out more of these venerable trees, then include our own photos in the blog.

Here are our photos of the first five trees we’ve visited. One of the most refreshing aspects of these visits is that the trees are not marked with signs or plaques, and thrive as living creatures within their neighborhoods. Most people pass them by without noticing, but, thanks to the authors of the book, we were able to find them and give them a bit more honor and attention.

This venerable American Holly is protected in Christ Church graveyard in Old Town Alexandria. We visited on February 20.

We especially thank the people in those neighborhoods who have cared for these very old trees and, in some cases, have gone to great lengths to keep them standing and healthy–while so many trees, more each month, disappear en masse in the ongoing rush to build more houses, shopping strips, roads, warehouses, and other testaments to suburban sprawl.

This massive American Beech is protected on the grounds of the United Methodist Church in Annandale. We visited on February 20.

This 130-year-old Sugar Maple adorns the main intersection in the town of Sperryville. We visited on February 4, but we’ll be back in the fall to glory in its color display.

This is the Oakton Oak, for which the town was named. We visited on January 30. It has been carefully protected, and even nurtured back from serious damage, even as roads and shopping have been built all around it.

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Climate Log: We Return to the Endangered Tidal Basin Cherries

The Tidal Basin Yoshino Cherry Trees, planted 1912, with the Lincoln Memorial and the Martin Luther King, Jr., Memorial beyond the waterside, March 18

One year ago, we made our first visit in many years to the Tidal Basin in Washington, DC, to view the iconic cherry blossoms in their white-pink splendor. More visitors come to DC for this event than at any other time of the year. In 2024’s even earlier spring, we chose a warm, breezy day, March 18, with the trees in full bloom. The Festival used to be celebrated in April, but now it’s March, and the trees are spectacular–but threatened.

Blooming cherries surround the Jefferson Memorial across the Tidal Basin, March 18

In last year’s report of our visit, which told the history of the Tidal Basin, I noted that we’d seen a small sign announcing that the Basin shoreline walls would begin being renovated because of the increasing damage from tidal water level rise. Well, not only has that renovation now begun, but we could see increasing evidence of overflows beyond the sidewalks and, more disturbing, that many dying trees near the Jefferson Memorial had already been uprooted and removed. Permanent signs (see photo below) describing the 2-year renovation plan gave the figure as 150 trees to be removed. The Washington Post vividly described the plan with amazing photos, videos, and infographics.

Jersey walls indicate closed off areas of the path just west of the Jefferson Memorial, with evidence of tree removal and tidal overflows. Shoreline walls used to be as much as ten feet above the water.

The goal is to have the renovation completed by 2026, in time for the 250th anniversary of the U.S. Declaration of Independence

One tree scheduled for removal is a particular focus for camera-wielding visitors: the oldest tree along the shore, nicknamed “Old Stumpy,” still blooming and already grieved.

“Old Stumpy’s” lonely vigil: still blooming, March 18

Meanwhile, the broad, deep Potomac River, whose tidal waters fill (and daily overfill) the Basin, rolls on, with the Virginia high-rise city of Roslyn on its west bank. Because much of Washington city, including the Tidal Basin, is built on land reclaimed in the 19th century from Potomac River mudflats, high-rise buildings like those in Roslyn are not allowed east of the river.

The city of Roslyn, Virginia, across the Potomac, where modern buildings rise much higher than is allowed in DC, March 18

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The March 2024 Photo/Video Gallery

Mourning Dove plucks seeds along the southeast path on a brisk sunny morning, March 24

From a young branch at the north end, Mockingbird listens for calls, March 24

First sighting: Hermit Thrush on a branch along the southeast bank on a cool late afternoon, March 21

Japanese Cherry in full bloom in our community, east side of lake, March 16

Red-shouldered Hawk soars above the west shore on a windy morning, March 19

The outlet stream below the north end dam burbles, accompanied by the call of a Red-winged Blackbird, March 16

Jean’s fresh-baked soda bread for St. Paddy’s Day, March 17

Song Sparrow’s short call as traffic whizzes past on nearby highway, March 16

Two Double-crested Cormorants swim mid-lake in the rain, March 2

Mallard pair in flight toward the northeast shore in the rain, March 2

Red-bellied cooter balances on a rock while another peeks from the water, northwest shore, March 20

View toward the south end and downtown as 2 Canada geese swim near the west side dock, March 19

Four starlings converse atop a willow oak, east bank, early morning, March 1

Ten Red-bellied Cooters lined up on a log on the southwest shore, warm day, March 12

Great Blue Heron and swimming Cormorant at the west shore, March 3

Carolina Wren’s songful calls in the south end community, brisk morning, March 24

Camera captures this Eastern Phoebe–a first sighting here for me–in a treetop 300 yards east of the lake, on a rainy March 27

This Grey Squirrel ponders high up in an oak in the southeast woods, rainy March 27

This American Robin lands on the southeast path just in front of me, then skitters, while listening to the sparrows in the lakeshore thicket, on the rainy March 27

Now on to April, with more birdsongs, more blooms, and more daily surprises to inspire us all!

February 2024: A Month of Valentines, and Hopes for More

/ Chris Thaiss / Leave a comment

A chalk Valentine adorns the gazebo on the west bank during a brief morning snowshower, Feb. 13

First sighting since August: Beaver swims from cove toward west bank and dives, Jan. 27. Watch videos by researcher Emily Fairfax about ways that beavers, whose populations are steadily declining because of human intervention, create wetlands that restrict wildfires and increase water supply.

In this month’s blog:

Valentine’s Weekend for Birders: The Great Backyard Bird Count
Climate Log: Saving the Rain Forest by Saving Stingless Bees
Climate Log 2: Oh Those California Rivers in the Sky
February 2024 Photo/Video Gallery: One More Beautiful Snow Day (and More Avian Moments)

Two Crows bathe in the northeast corner of the lake on the final day of the Great Backyard Bird Count, Feb. 19

Two snow-covered Geese and teazle plants in the northwest corner during a brief morning snowfall, Feb. 13

Happy Valentine’s Weekend! The Great Backyard Bird Count

The video of the beaver we sighted on Jan. 27 was a Valentine to us before February even began, because beaver sightings are so rare in our lake. But an equally beautiful gift for Valentine’s Day is the annual four-day weekend of birding searches known as the Great Backyard Bird Count. Each February, the National Audubon Society, the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, and Birds Canada/Oiseaux Canada sponsor this multinational birding extravaganza, when enthusiasts from more than 200 countries post their pics and sound files to the site of their choice. This year, more than 600,000 of us feathery fanatics (AKA citizen scientists) from 209 countries posted sightings of over 7800 species. I was out there each of the four days, February 16-19, contributing my pics. Here are a few:

Two Canada Geese exclaim, then preen along the southeast shore, Feb. 19

American Goldfinch on the southeast bank, Feb. 16

Great Blue Heron watches from the west bank on a sunny Feb. 18

Chipping Sparrow in blackberry canes at the northeast corner, Feb. 16

Male Cardinal in greenbrier berries, southeast bank, Feb. 16

European Starling in mid call from the east bank, Feb. 16

Pair of Red-shouldered Hawks in separate trees north of the dam. Feb. 19

Of course, I get gifts like these from my feathery friends every time I walk around the lake.  So February for me is a month of Valentines.

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Climate Log: Saving the Rain Forest by Saving Stingless Bees

Finding a hive of stingless bees in Peru’s Amazon rain forest (NY Times, Jan. 30; photo by Brenda Rivas Tacury)

The Amazon rainforest in Peru is home to many species of stingless bees, who produce a honey that has been used for generations by Indigenous peoples of the region, such as the Asháninka, as a natural medicine. These stingless species have thrived as pollinators of native plants, who have in turn thrived because of these plants.  But as deforestation and mass agriculture have overtaken more and more of the rainforest, and as pesticides used by farmers have threatened species including the stingless bees, both the native plants and the bees are in danger of disappearing.

An article in the New York Times by Katrina Miller and Rosa Chávez Yacila (Jan. 30) describes how Indigenous beekeepers are attempting to keep the species thriving by creating artificial hives out of range of the pesticides, and then by creating a commercial market for the distinctive beneficial honey. Their hope is that the success of the honey sales will incentivize more Indigenous beekeepers and spur more efforts to maintain large areas of undisturbed forest, so that both the bees and the forests in which they mutually thrive can continue their vital work.

Asháninka community members and Peruvian scientists examine stingless-bee honey in traditional container (New York Times, 1/30/24; Brenda Rivas Tacury photo)

Help for these efforts has come from word of mouth during the pandemic of the medicinal value of the honey, as well as from scientists such as Drs. César Delgado and Rosa Vásquez Espinoza, whose study in the journal Food and Humanity reported this honey’s  “anti-inflammatory, antimicrobial, and other health-promoting properties.” The popularity of the product is slowly growing, with half-liters now selling for upwards of $20.

Key to the success of the venture is the expertise of the beekeepers, whose knowledge and skill have come from generations of practice. So, if the economic endeavor succeeds, not only will the bees and the forest be saved, but so will a vital part of the culture of the people for whom the practice is central to their lives.

Melipona Eburnea soldier bee at the door of the hive (Photo by Luis Garcia Solsoi)

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Climate Log 2: Oh Those California Rivers in the Sky!

California’s second “water year” in a row of way above average precipitation has again filled the state’s reservoirs, brought deep snows into the Sierra–and this year caused massive flooding and landslides in the LA region as rain poured down on soil still soaked in many places from last year’s “atmospheric rivers” (or, as I like to call them, “rivers in the sky”).

Studio City street swarmed with landslide debris (LA Times photo by Carlin Stiehl, Feb. 6)

Last year at this time, one of the big stories was the re-emergence of historic Lake Tulare, which had covered for centuries parts of several counties in the Central Valley before farmers and ranchers in the late 1800s had made the lake disappear (as well as Indigenous communities reliant on the lake) by diverting its inflows for their own purposes. Last year’s rains were so intense that the lake had come back, but now was contaminated by farm and ranch runoff. The reborn lake now also endangered farm communities that had grown up in the intervening century.

One of the big stories from this season’s storms, besides the floods and landslides in LA County, has been their impact all the way across the Sierra in another historic California locale. As Louis Sahagún reported in the LA Times on Feb. 19, the rains have “been good for LA’s water supply, but have caused costly damage to the aqueduct and dust control systems in the Owens Valley.” These recent storms have just intensified damage that began last year. If you don’t know the Owens Valley, then you don’t know the iconic California story (as loosely depicted in the great movie Chinatown in 1974) of how the city of Los Angeles in 1913 secretly bought up land in the quiet farming valley east of the Sierra so it could divert by aqueduct the region’s water 230 miles south to the burgeoning metropolis.

The Owens Lake brinepool and runoff from the 2024 storms (LA Times photo by Brian van der Brug)

After the city had to pay compensation to Owens Valley residents decades after the city’s duplicity was discovered, it also had to create complex systems to monitor and control every year the toxic dust that resulted from the dry lakebed. Sahagún’s article states a cost of $2.5 billion so far (and counting) for this year-by-year environmental disaster mitigation. Now, the deluge of returning water has damaged both the aqueduct and the state-of-the art dust control systems, at a repair cost estimated to be $100 million, which will no doubt be passed on to LA’s 4 million water system ratepayers.

So, climate change is the gift that just keeps on giving. Scientists are predicting that these new cycles of more intense rainfall will alternate with years of ever-warmer drought, creating the need for drastically different, perhaps conflicting, types of infrastructure. (Think systems to capture precious water into deep-below-ground aquifers in the rainy years to prepare for droughts, but also systems to divert excess water away from already soaked land.) California is working on it, as always. And, as always, the rest of the nation will keep looking toward California, as more and more states, like my own Virginia, must adapt to the new normal.

Unless political will actually strengthens around the world to really confront and eliminate the causes of climate change, we Earth humans will have no choice but to pay the ever larger costs, in money, famine, and millions more refugees, that a more extremely erratic climate will bring to all creatures, including the human kind. Sorry, no Valentines.

Flood surge in Atwater Village, Los Angeles, Feb. 5 (photo by Dania Maxwell, LA Times)

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The February 2024 Photo/Video Gallery: One More Beautiful Snowy Morning (and More Avian Moments)

Meanwhile, we enjoy heartily the gifts we receive each day from the birds and other folks who make our fragile lake sanctuary one of their homes. Enjoy these Valentines with us.

Mallard pair in glorious full color on the log in the southeast cove, Feb. 16

Snowy morning, Feb. 17: Northwest corner path and trees of the north end woods

Male Cardinal on the snowy morning, southeast bank, Feb. 17

Snowy morning, Feb. 17: From the southeast cove along the west bank

Golden Female Cardinal in a red maple, east bank, Feb. 21

Carolina Wren in slippery elm along the east bank, Feb. 1

Mourning Dove in red maple, southeast bank, Feb. 17

American Goldfinch feeds and sings at feeder on the east side, Feb. 12

Red-shouldered Hawk in budding sycamore below the north end dam, Feb. 21

Double-crested Cormorant in mid lake, Feb. 16

On the snowy morning of Feb. 17, winds growl along the northwest path as storm clouds gather

Rare White Female Cardinal perches in the northeast corner, Feb. 21

Two Male and one Female Mallard in the southeast cove, Feb. 21

Goose flock ambles toward southeast lake shore, and one flies toward front, Feb. 16

Watch camera move to reveal a pair of Red-shouldered Hawks on the fence along the highway west of the lake, Feb. 16

Mating pair of House Sparrows in sumac branches, northeast woods, Feb. 19

Uncommon White Rock Dove on stanchion high above the lake, Feb. 18

Panorama toward south end from snowy reeds, on the morning of Feb. 17

Yellow-rumped Warbler sings a short song on the snowy morning on the southeast bank, Feb. 17

Female House Finch studies the inlet stream by the bridge, Feb. 27

Eastern Bluebird in aspen on the east side, Feb. 25

A rare White-crowned Sparrow on the southeast path by the inlet bridge, Feb. 15

Dramatic scene of Great Blue Heron confronting a Cormorant in mid lake, then flying to west shore, Feb. 6. We were amazed.

So many Valentines this February! On to March!

January 2024: Winter Actually Arrived! And Stayed for Ten Days

/ Chris Thaiss / Leave a comment

Our second snowfall of the week, a total of about 7 inches, Jan. 19. Our first real snow since our move from California in 2022.

Five Cedar Waxwings lit by sunrise in a red maple along the east side path, Jan. 17

In this month’s blog:

Beautiful Surprise: Snow to Start the New Year
Climate Log: As Bird Populations Plummet, How Can we Change Minds?
Potomac Valley Exploring: Great Falls Adventure
The January 2024 Photo/Video Gallery

Across the lake from the southeast cove to the dock and gazebo, during the latest snowfall, Jan. 19

“It’s so beautiful”–Snow comes to us in mid January

I didn’t realize how much I had missed snow until it arrived last week. In the almost 2 years since we returned from our 17-year sojourn in California, I thought I’d come to terms with the year-on-year lack of snow in Northern Virginia, a far cry from the sometimes deep snows of my youth and middle age in this Potomac region. But when the first wave of tiny crystals began sticking to the grass and pavement here on the 14th, I realized the old exhilaration of the icy wind and the soft prickle of ice on my face and hands. It was with glee that I donned my snug coat and hood, pulled the wooly hat over my ears and the gloves over my hands. I couldn’t wait to walk around the lake and witness the changes in light and color, the crackle of branches, the loud languages of intensity–“it has come!”–in the songbirds and waterfowl.

A male Cardinal amid greenbriar on the southeast bank of the lake confronts the blowing snow, Jan. 14

There of course had been the many years of my life when a forecast of snowfall had brought the fear of pipes bursting, power outages, traffic snarls during my incessant commutes to work, careening on black ice, hours of digging out from snowdrifts, my old car battery dying in the cold, and all the other hazards of carrying on what most Americans thought of as “normal” existence while Mother Nature was just being her cantankerous, always creative self.

But now, in my semi-retired old age, when driving is not a daily demand, I can glory in sharing a child’s joy in the white blanketing of gossamer fluff that makes the whole outside world different and new. Many of our neighbors shared this joy with me. When I met them this week on their own lake walks, most of these folks being walked by their dogs (!), they greeted me with “It’s so beautiful!” or at least with smiling eyes as they scanned the scenery.

First snowfall: bridge over the inlet stream, Jan. 16, 7 AM

I was even looking forward to the remembered exertion of cleaning the snow off my car, digging the stubborn ice-crust off the windshield, and taking tiny steps to avoid falling on the ice. The task was now a welcome challenge and a tasty bite of nostalgia, no longer a resented imposition on the carefully-timed daily work schedule that had governed most of my life.

Waterfowl Retreat and Songbird “Mega-Bird” Day. But most of all, as I looked out on how the white blanket changed the world of every day, I wondered how the snow and intense cold would change life for the animals I had come to know as my friends along the lake. Who and what would I see? Would what I was used to seeing now be hidden from me?

In new snow, a single waterfowl, a Cormorant, negotiates the lonely lake, Jan. 16

The Cormorant I videoed (above) on Jan. 16, after the first snowfall, was the last waterfowl I saw on the lake before it froze on the 17th, when temps fell to 11 degrees. The water was frozen solid in many places, but elsewhere it became a kind of hard slush that makes swimming impossible, while still allowing some animals, like squirrels, to walk or leap in the shallowest areas. The Mallards, who I saw most recently on the 15th, after the first snowfall, and who starred in this blog in December, are now off somewhere else. I await their return.

My favorite Mallard pair swim in a strong wind in the southeast cove on Jan. 13, just before the first snowfall.

Other waterfowl citizens, such as the usually exhibitionist Canada Geese and the usually steadfast Great Blue Herons, lasted until the hard freeze and second snowfall occurred, but they have now left (though I hear the Geese flock overhead most days late in the afternoon, and I spotted a Heron swooping overhead just at sunset on the 22nd).

The Blue Heron withstands the sharp wind of Jan. 13, the day before the first snowfall, but has not landed here since, as the lake has frozen.

In contrast, an array of songbirds–including an amazing flock of Cedar Waxwings and some very early American Robins–arrived here just before the first snowfall, and some have stayed around. In fact, Jan. 18, the day before the second snowfall, saw so many songbirds out flying, eating seeds, and singing that I called it in my notes “mega-bird day.” More sightings from that day are part of this month’s Photo/Video Gallery.

On a bitterly cold day, 2 European Starlings and an early visitor, an American Robin, atop a tree on the east bank, Jan. 18–“mega-bird day”

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Climate Log: As Birds Decline, How Can Changing Climate Change Minds?

Of course, not everyone enjoyed the snowfalls last week. Another neighbor cheerfully told me on the morning of the 22nd, “I’m glad the snow will be gone soon. Time for a change of scene.” For some outside our area, the cold snap and heavy snow were tragic. The blizzards across much of the country and temps as low as -40F, were a shocking surprise that became terrible because of the dozens of deaths across the continental U.S. caused by the sudden, extreme shift in the weather from an almost snowless December and early January. The sudden cold anomaly is also tragic because it reinforces the delusion of people who still remain unconvinced that the climate is dangerously warming through human causes. 

Yes, as the science predicts, our snow holiday was fleeting. For the 25th, the temperature forecast is 60F and we’ll have rain, not snow, from the 24th onward for 5 days–both signs of the “new normal” that is way warmer than the normal that used to be January. A dangerous “new normal” that is much more typical now for the entire world, including the U.S.  

Italy’s River Po is at a historic low amid drought (Photo by Flavio Lo)

Dramatic worldwide depletion of groundwater since 2000 (LA Times, Jan. 26)

Indeed, it would surprise no one if 2024 were at least as warm month-to-month as the record-setting 2023. But it remains difficult for many folks who live in the remaining parts of the U.S. still relatively unaffected by drought, groundwater depletion, chronic flooding, sea level rise, extreme heat and humidity, sudden extreme cold snaps, etc., to credit the overwhelming amount of scientific data that sounds the alarm for the need to move away from the fossil fuels that have steadily, even if gradually, endangered many forms of life on Earth, including humans. Climate change skepticism, and even outright denial, continue to plague the effort to save species, this denial fueled relentlessly by the fossil fuel industry’s evermore frantic efforts to maintain its obscenely vast revenues by deluding the public into believing that all is right with the status quo. That this industry bankrolls politicians and media outlets to keep spreading the soothing lie that everything is OK just makes the tragedy worse.

“New normal” quickly asserts itself. Steam rises from the thawing lake on Jan. 25, as all snow has already vanished

Bird Populations in Alarming Decline. Since most U.S. people are not enthusiasts, close observers, or feeders of birds, and so don’t pay close attention to our feathered friends except when they see bird poop on their cars, they don’t know that most bird species are in serious decline, and, like the proverbial “canary in the coal mine,” this is bad news for humans’ own survival. The Washington Post published last week a beautifully graphic map of how this decline is affecting all parts of the U.S.

3-bird drawings from the Washington Post infographic/video on bird decline, January 17; text by Harry Stevens

Will colorful graphics such as the birds map have any positive effect on the skeptics? Will the heart-rending stories from “Postcards from a World on Fire” ever reach viewers who have been so indoctrinated to hate/fear refugees from other countries that it is impossible for them to empathize with their suffering fellow humans?  No doubt some positive effect can occur, if people actually see these sites.  But it’s so easy nowadays to stay within your own partisan media bubble, so that crossover among viewpoints is minimal.

Sadly, the best chance to sway opinions may come from climate-caused damage itself.  The many U.S. communities and states now experiencing chronic flooding or the effects from drought and wildfires are realizing that the trend must be stopped. The Republican-voting fisherman who has seen his catch get smaller every year in a warming ocean may have a better chance to sway other Republicans than any graphic from the Washington Post. The same goes for residents of flood-prone and now wildfire-prone states like Louisiana (below). But will any climate-denying outlet like Fox News ever allow such a person to have a voice? Maybe yes, but only if enough people want their voices heard.

Wildfires covered much of usually flood-prone Louisiana this summer and fall, Sept. 2023. (AP photo by Gerald Herbert)

Fortunately, there are more and more politicians, local leaders, journalists, bloggers, and creative, determined companies that are fighting the good fight and showing people how we can still save a future for all creatures, including us humans. 

Logo from the New York Times infographic/video Postcards from a World on Fire, December 2023

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Potomac Valley Exploring: A Great Falls Park Adventure

On January 3, we visited Great Falls National Park, just 10 miles from our community, and on our list for visiting since we moved here. We were with one of our visiting daughters from California, and it was a beautiful afternoon, crisp and sunny. The park features stunning views of the roaring, tumbling rapids over a series of drops and between massive boulders through a narrow gorge. It also features the ruins of an early attempt, begun in 1784 by a consortium headed by George Washington, to build a canal around the falls on the Virginia side of the Potomac.

The Great Falls of the Potomac, as seen from the Virginia side of the river, Jan. 3

This bypass of the river was successful in transporting agricultural goods until 1802, when plans for a new canal on the Maryland side of the Potomac were created. A second part of the Park is on the Maryland side, where the much more successful canal was built early in the 1800s and flourished until the early 20th century.  Earlier blog entries have captured our visits to more upstream parts of the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal, in Williamsport, Maryland; Shepherdstown, West Virginia; and beside Fort Frederick near Clear Spring, Maryland. 

Great Falls provides thrilling views for visitors of all ages. A brisk, sunny day for our visit, Jan. 3

The Sheer Drama of Great Falls. No place on the Potomac provides more excitement for visitors. The overlooks high above the gorge give viewers a panoramic vantage point on the many torturous, dangerous passes amid the rocks, while the constant roar of the rushing waters warns onlookers of the danger threatening anyone who might want to attempt the passage. Nevertheless, on the day we visited, two intrepid kayakers took the plunge, and we had clifftop viewing, along with the many people of all ages also watching and cheering them on:

A pair of kayakers attempt the Falls, Jan. 3 

As the kayakers bravely made their way down the drops, we enjoyed the added thrill of seeing Park Rangers monitor the adventurers’ progress. 

Needless to say, Great Falls will stay on our list of Potomac sites to visit. Maybe next time, we’ll add the Visitors Center. We’ll probably not be planning our own plunge over the Falls.

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The January 2024 Photo/Video Gallery

This month’s Gallery highlights snow, hawks, mega-bird day, and more.

A Mourning Dove rests high in a red maple above the south end of the lake, Jan. 22

A Blue Jay struggles in a windy, sunny, snowy day, Jan. 21

Mega-bird Day! 27 Rock Doves crowd their favorite perch, the power stanchion high above the west side of the lake, Jan. 18

 

After the second snowfall, the inlet stream by the bridge, southeast cove, Jan. 19

 

On Mega-Bird Day, grey squirrels like this one in a pignut hickory, southeast side, join the party on this very cold afternoon, Jan. 18

This young Cooper’s Hawk flew past me as I began my lake walk in the deep snow of Jan. 20 and landed in a tree outside our building. This young friend was remarkably patient as I took this video.

These brilliant American Goldfinches safely shared this feeder not long after the Cooper’s Hawk had flown off from this spot into the woods, Jan. 20.

 

This early arriving American Robin chose this very cold Mega-Bird Day for a first appearance, east bank dead tree, Jan. 18

 

Change of pace: This Mediterranean super-veggy omelet (with a bit of prosciutto) warmed us at breakfast on a very cold and snowy Jan. 19.

 

This wonderfully-colored Cedar Waxwing shone brightly in the greenbrier thicket at the northwest corner of the lake, Jan. 23

 

A Dark-Eyed Junco looks for seeds beneath the feeder on the east side, Mega-Bird Day, Jan. 18

 

A Downy Woodpecker at an east side feeder, 7 AM, Jan. 16. A hungry time.

 

Looking north across the lake at sunrise, 7 AM, 11 degrees F, Jan. 17

 

View across the frozen lake toward downtown at sunset, Jan. 22

In mid-walk, we spied this Red-Shouldered Hawk watching us from a small elm on the north end path, no more than twenty feet from us. This friend was patient for 10 seconds of my video before hopping down…

…stood magnificently in profile on the ground by the path, then launched past us and gone, Jan. 23. What an unforgettable gift to us!

Such a remarkable first month of 2024. On to Valentine’s Month!