Finch Field

 It has been a really long time since I visited this blog. Pandemic brain is a real thing.

When poet Wendell Berry is overwhelmed with "despair for the world," he goes to lie down next to a marsh, or at least a pond, if his classic poem "The Peace of Wild Things" is to be taken literally (which poetry generally is not). I love both marshes and ponds, but lying down next to one in the middle of the night would not be a good idea for me. For no other reason, there is the little matter of getting up again, not an activity to be taken for granted by someone who has arthritis most places she has bone. Fortunately, the "grace of the world" can be experienced in a variety of places. One of my favorite spots is what I call Finch Field, just beyond Susan's Meadow on the Meadow Loop Trail at Wildwood Metropark.

The field may not be immediately aesthetically arresting, but it is on my top ten list of happy places. For several months every year, it is Goldfinch Paradise, and today did not disappoint. Today, this particular thistle was in motion from the at-least-three female finches having at its seed. I opted not to get close enough to photograph the girls, my little point-and-shoot not having sufficient capacity to get a good shot without disturbing them, but they were there for several minutes going about their business. Then, as is the way of goldfinches, they took off, leaving me free to examine the plant and ask, "Why this thistle, in a field full of them?"

No answer emerged, as to my human eye, this plant looked just like dozens of others nearby. But it was The One today.

Not only for the finches, but also for what seemed to be some very busy bumblebees.

Weedy and annoying as thistle can be, is any cultivated flower more beautiful than a thistle bloom bud?

Another highlight of Finch Field is the grasses. Indian grass comes into its own in September. This clump also got its share of goldfinch attention. You must imagine a little golden bird riding one of these five-foot blades to the ground, nibbling all the way.

And the sight of the tree I have named the Prairie Sentinel always lifts my spirits. This white oak on the edge of a mixed second-growth woodland is older than I and, barring human intervention, is likely to be here for at least a couple of centuries after all of us currently inhabiting the planet are gone.

Surrounded by so much life, pandemics, elections, and the deaths of much-loved leaders fade away.

Another reason to Leave the Leaf Litter

We all know by now that leaf litter is important for overwintering pollinators and other insects. (Right? We do all know that, don't we?) Those "dead" leaves are often home to lepidoptera eggs, which give us next season's butterflies and moths. Our human penchant for tidy lawns is almost certainly one reason why we see fewer colorful insects today than some of us remember from our childhoods.

Leaf litter hides seeds, dried berries, worms, and insects, serving as a buffet for the birds that eat such things. There is a reason some species are known as "thrashers."

And we know that leaf litter is natural mulch, reducing the need for water and cutting down on the gardener's work. Best of all (at least for those of a thrifty--not to say cheap-bent), it is free, letting us spend our money on more plants rather than on shredded hardwood. 

But today, walking at a favorite park, I was reminded of another Very Important Reason to Leave the Leaves: they provide shelter and protection from predators for small creatures. Admiring the baby sassafras and fading mayapples at this overlook,

I kept hearing rustling sounds and seeing tiny eruptions of leaves. Suspecting that wildlife was present but unable to see any (because of all that leaf litter), I hung around until finally being rewarded with the sight of the creature I thought was most likely responsible: a large and handsome chipmunk, who did not hold still long enough for a photograph. (Plants are so much more cooperative in that respect.)

This favorite park is home to some quite beautiful predators, including the Cooper's hawk sighted a few hundred feet away in a sunny area, but leaving the leaves for cover gives the little guys a chance. And when there are lots of them, that is good for the predators as well, not to mention good for those of us who delight in watching the critters.

A little laziness is a good thing.

When the birds won't cooperate

you photograph something else, of course.

May is prime birding season in Ohio, with the neotropical migrants coming through, local birds nesting and gifting us with lots of adorable babies, and goldfinches showing off their ridiculously gorgeous breeding plumage. Yesterday's perambulations of two urban parks (okay, large parks, in the multiple hundred of acres) brought sightings of two species of woodpeckers, lots of finches, blackbirds, bluebirds, indigo buntings, scarlet tanagers, and at least one magnolia warbler. Of course, none of these birds would sit still to be photographed.

A return to the larger of the two parks this morning was a birding bust. The day was gray and misty, and the birds were hanging out in the trees or leaf litter and trying not to be seen, though their calls were everywhere. Still, no park perambulation is ever wasted.

Misty mornings are fine times to view a wet meadow,

and the approach to the Ellen Biddle Shipman-designed formal garden was perhaps even more romantic than usual.

Droplets from last night's rain were still hanging on an old copper beech

and the fallen blossoms of cherries and crabapples were making quite a lovely mess.

A tree of a species I did not recognize (locust, maybe?) was trying to grow leaves right out of its trunk,

and its bark was a world of its own.

Not a bad way to spend an hour or two.