Leaving No Child Inside

Yet again, it has been a long time between posts. Probably to no one's surprise, I am getting lazier as I age and enjoying way too many afternoons with a cold drink and a good book after a morning of park and neighborhood wandering. The title of today's post is taken from the work of Richard Louv , who back in 2005 warned of the danger of "nature deficit disorder," especially to children.

Merida, where I have spent several winters and where I write this, is not known as a particularly "green" city. Back when a group of Spanish marauders took over the Mayan city of T'oh in 1572, the perceived problem was keeping nature at bay, not losing all contact with it, and neighborhoods were built at a density that would be illegal in many US cities today. (That is a different rant.) These days, however, the colonial-era "white city" is undergoing something of a green renaissance.

In 2016, Merida developed a green infrastructure plan that is worth exploring in detail at some time, but today, I want to lift up child-friendly park development. The concept is nothing new here: in 1910, the city opened its Parque del Centenario as part of the celebration of Mexico's hundred years as an independent country.

This very urban park at the intersection of two heavily-traveled streets began as a botanical garden but added playgrounds and a zoological park later in its history, and while urban zoos are hardly ideal settings for the animals they house (and one could argue that no zoo is), Centenario to me seems to be filling an important function: it provides central-city children with access to century-old trees and at least an introduction to wildlife--FOR FREE. The animals' enclosures are relatively large, the place is clean, and in my visits few creatures have been exhibiting depressed behaviors. The old trees attract numbers of Merida's wild birds as well; I saw my first summer tanager from a bench in this park. It is not a perfect place, but it is always full of families.

The same is true of Merida's more modern zoo, Animaya. A recent visit on a weekday found the playground busy, the various walkways through the exhibits well-traveled, and the range of human ages well-represented. The park itself is free to enter, and experiences that take visitors closer to some of the larger wildlife exhibits are not prohibitively expensive--5 pesos (approximately 30 cents USD) for the boat ride around the monkeys' island, the train around the larger terrestrial exhibits, or the guided tour around the grassland areas. The city is encouraging visits through the free bus service it calls the Adventure Route, connecting the two zoos with other parks in the western part of town. Even families with limited incomes have access to these imagination- and empathy-expanding activities. (Would that more places would do the same.)

And it's not just zoos. A major city project is Ya'ax'tal, dubbed "the great lung of Merida" which, when complete, will stretch for fifteen kilometers and incorporate not only green space but a bicycle path, concert spaces, and numerous areas for active play. When a friend and I visited recently, we found migratory birds passing through despite the youth of most of the trees. This "paseo verde" is surrounded by residential areas on all sides and is within walking distance of 150,000 Merida residents. In the central city, the old railroad yard has become the Parque de la Plancha, already called "Merida's Central Park," though it is not nearly as large as Olmsted's masterpiece. With walk/bike trails of three different lengths, playgrounds for children of different ages, a skate park, two dog parks, pollinator plantings, and three thousand recently-planted young trees, it is an impressive place.

An older park in a definitely non-tourist neighborhood, the Parque Ecologico del Poniente is home to herons, wood storks, and trees that would have entranced my child self. (What am I saying? They entrance my senior-citizen self.) We frequently hop the local bus to go see what is blooming and which birds and butterflies are active. Here is one of my favorite trees, a flamboyan more than forty feet in height with a spread of perhaps twice that.

One of the most impressive aspects of these Merida parks is that entrance is free of charge, making them available to all. In addition, they are accessible by low-cost or even free public transport, and all are in fairly dense neighborhoods. If we want more children to be outside, we need to make it easy for them to be there. Merida seems to be taking that charge seriously.

Another great tropical plant--in the right place

Visiting Merida's Parque Ecologico del Poniente yesterday, ostensibly for birding, my companion and I found ourselves zeroing in on a shrub buzzing with insects. I had hoped to get a photo of one of the giant bumblebees packing quite the saddlebags, but they were uncooperative, so I had to settle for this handsome little Ornidia orbesa, a syrphid commonly known as the green jewel fly.

Besides flies and multiple bee species, this not-particularly-striking shrub was hosting a variety of lepidoptera, leading to the eternal question: what is this thing?

Our mystery plant was identified as Pluchea carolinensis, native to the American tropics and known to English-speaking colonists as "cure for all," "bush fleabane," and "cough bush," giving some sense of its uses by humans. According to an article in Economic Botany, in the Caribbean it has been associated with a Santeria deity and used in spiritual cleansings, as well as for more mundane ailments such as coughs, colds, and inflammations. I have yet to discover if the plant has a Mayan name, which would indicate its use in traditional medicine here.

But it is obviously a plant useful to local insects, and a close look at the flower structure indicates why. 

Each of what at first glance appears to be a flower is actually a cluster of tiny flowers similar to those of Appalachia's common boneset--no surprise, given that they are cousins in the aster family. All those flowers make for LOTS of pollen and nectar and, ultimately, lots of seeds. And here is where plant placement is important.

Pulchea is a pioneer plant, meaning that it happily roots itself anyplace where conditions are right; in this case, in any convenient patch of bare dirt. In its extensive native range, this is not a problem as the local fauna, including the humans, make use of it, and it is kept under control by all of its enthusiastically-growing tropical plant neighbors. Unfortunately, in other places, especially Hawaii and other Pacific islands, it is a serious invasive, crowding out native species and degrading habitat for island wildlife. This attractive medicinal plant is another example of why we humans need to be careful with what we allow into our gardens: in the places where it belongs, it is a good and useful plant, but allowed to spread in places where it is not native, it can be a serious thug.

And it needs a new name, as it does not occur in the Carolinas.

Source mentioned: Hodges, S., Bennett, B.C. The Ethnobotany of Pluchea carolinensis (Jacq.) G. Don (Asteraceae) in the Botánicas of Miami, Florida. Econ Bot 60, 75–84 (2006). https://doi.org/10.1663/0013-0001(2006)60[75:TEOPCJ]2.0.CO;2

Treasures of the jungle

     Before arriving at our house in Merida, my travel companions and I spent two nights in Campeche, now the eponymous capital of that state, and a beautiful city in its own right. We stayed in the heart of the old town, surrounded by walls built in the 1600s to protect against the (mostly English) pirates. These days the city walls and gates are primarily tourist attractions, as is the 18th-century cannon, now pointed at streetlights and utility poles rather than marauders bent on plunder.

Photo courtesy of Elin Jones

     We all agreed that Campeche is worth a return visit, but the real focus of our trip was a three-day tour of the Calakmul jungle and ruins with Chelita Travel. In my initial emails with the company, I neglected to give certain specifics about our group--like the fact that our youngest traveler was sixty-six, the oldest eighty-one, and that among us we have a variety of (probably mostly age-related, though one hates to admit such a thing) physical complaints. We did not want to scare the company away.

     We need not have worried. Our guide turned out to be Wilberth Pech, co-owner of the company with his wife Berenice, and perfect company for us. Not only was he unfazed by travel with our geriatric gaggle, he is passionate about Mayan history and a competitive birder (yes, there is such a thing); in our time together, he led us to the haunts of toucans, trogons, tityras, and the stunningly gorgeous ocellated turkey endemic to the Yucatan peninsula. 

Photo courtesy of Kate Fitzgerald

Unfortunately, this relative of Ohio's wild turkey is threatened due to habitat loss and over-hunting by human groups trying to survive in this not-always-hospitable part of the Americas. One hope of some people in the region is that the expansion of tourism brought on by the Mayan Train and the recognition of Calakmul as a Mixed World Heritage Site will lead to both increased prosperity for locals and a deeper appreciation of this special place.

     And the Calakmul region is special. Best-known as the home of the powerful Snake Kingdom of the Mayan Classic period, the Mayan cities in this area date back nearly 2500 years, prior to the Golden Age of ancient Greece. After the large cities were abandoned sometime during what in Europe is called the Middle Ages, the jungle took back its own, a process that continues today.

     But the buildings remain, and they are spectacular. We visited multiple sites over our three days and often had them completely to ourselves. (Why anyone feels the need for Disney when actual ancient temples and palaces can be visited almost for free is beyond me.) The triple towers of Xpujil were perhaps my favorite structures,

but two of our number braved the climb at Calakmul, (I was not one of them.) 

This best-known of all the sites on our trip did have perhaps a dozen other visitors the day we were there, and of course, one of them was on the same pyramid.

    Our three days flew by and at the same time felt like an academic semester in terms of the information presented. Though we were ready to collapse by the time we got to our hotel at the end of Day Three, we were already talking about when and how to explore more of this beautiful and historic part of the world. 

Not-always-easy coexistence

     Yesterday I wrote about how glad I am to see people and other life forms coexisting even in what for me is a big city, and that is basically true, but Merida being in the tropics, we are doing battle with the ants. I have no problem with ants, generally, but prefer that they stay out of any kitchen in which I spend time. To that end, we came down with ziplock plastic food storage bags (even though plastic is a problem) and bought extra resealable storage containers as soon as we got here. Anything that vaguely resembles food goes immediately into a storage container or the refrigerator. And still they come. 

     It turns out that a tree present in neighbors' back yards is a preferred ant habitat. Cecropia obtusifolia, known here as guarumo, is an impressive thing, reaching a height of fifty feet or more and possessing clusters of spreading, palmate leaves that rustle nicely in the wind. (I am enjoying the sound right now.) It has interesting, if not particularly showy, male and female flowers borne on the same branch.

Photo courtesy of the Field Museum

     And, here at least, it attracts birds, especially grackles and woodpeckers, though other species show up. This morning I spent some time watching three different grackles and a Yucatan woodpecker assiduously scarfing down something found on the bark and leaves of the Cecropia next door. The woodpecker was close enough that, with the decent binoculars I finally bought for myself, I could actually see its tongue. (And if you have never looked up information on woodpecker tongues, you should.)

    It turns out that what all these birds are consuming is multitudes of ants, several species of which use this tree as habitat. The long leaf stems are hollow and provide colony sites for certain ants in the genus Azteca, while the leaves and bark crevices provide shelter. Since Yucatan is about to move into its dry season, leaves are drying out and falling onto the patio of our rental house, bringing with them lots of ants. While these are not the ants generally found in kitchens, I can imagine these insect householders being confused and wandering when suddenly displaced.

     Fortunately, there are relatively simple ways to discourage most varieties of ants from sharing our spaces too closely, so for now, we can coexist and enjoy all the other creatures attracted by this one-tree habitat.

Coexistence in the city

     This winter finds me back in Merida for the first time since 2020, my last Yucatan winter having been spent next to Progreso's western dunes. My winter travel companion, a serious wildlife photographer, and I opted for the city to facilitate bus travel to some of the parks in this area, but several Covid infections in our circle have caused some activity restrictions while we waited to complete post-exposure testing. So far, we are both Covid-free and remain grateful for vaccines, good masks, and CDC advice on precautions.

     We are also grateful for the AirBnB we found. While this is a busy neighborhood within walking distance of the even busier main plaza and several other areas popular with visitors, it is a neighborhood where homeowners have planted trees, making our front and back terraces good for birdwatching while sipping coffee in our nightwear. 

Yes, we had a "cold" spell--nights below 60 degrees.

And we are indeed seeing birds. White-fronted parrots fly over the house every morning, and great-tailed grackles and white-winged doves are ubiquitous. (Fortunately, we are fond of both, as they are extremely vocal birds.) Yellow-lored parrots occasionally check out a tree across the street. A pair of doves was building a nest in a tree adjacent to the back terrace, but that activity seems to have stopped when one of the pair vanished. A VERY enthusiastic pink-flowering vine is beginning to attract hummingbirds, and one day a motmot visited a neighbor's bamboo.

     Orioles are fairly frequent visitors. We think this handsome creature is an orange oriole, endemic to the Yucatan peninsula. 

Photo by Kate Fitzgerald

Every day brings woodpeckers checking for insects in nearby trees. In previous years, Yucatan has been entering its dry season when I have visited, but the rains continued through most of December, leaving lots of leaves, buds, flowers, and (unfortunately for some human sinuses) pollen. But the insects and insectivorous birds are happy.

Photo by Kate Fitzgerald

Despite the popularity of non-native ornamentals like the bougainvillea planted in every third yard and snagging unwary walkers on its thorns, we are finding Yucatecan native plants used in a number of city gardens. In front of the 18th-century Iglesia de San Juan Bautista (Church of St. John the Baptist, for those with even less Spanish than I), pollinators were all over a gorgeous pink-flowering bush,

which a little research revealed to be the native Ipomoea carnea, or bush morning glory. The plant, while toxic to cattle (which did not evolve in this part of the world anyway), was used in rituals, for pipemaking, and as medicine. Obviously, it is also important to insects, as this gall-covered leaf indicates. (Unfortunately, I have not yet discovered what species make use of this plant.)

     It always pleases me to see wildness in places long inhabited by humans. The church that was home to the Sanjuanista reform movement of the early 1800s is a latecomer to this area, but I find it beautiful anyway. We will be visiting again to see what other creatures make use of this small urban park.

The Year When Not Much Got Done (?)

         Certainly, 2023 did not see me doing much blogging, and it was a year when a distressing number of projects did not advance much. Equally certainly, it was a difficult year: a wonderful young man who poured his heart and energy into the pollinator habitat project died suddenly in April, while the friend who started several solar projects in Marietta and was fading away from dementia died in June. Other friends dealt with cardiac problems, memory loss, falls, and other of the ills to which flesh is heir, and I myself had several health crises, all resolved but all reminders that the body fails with time. Nothing unusual or unexpected in human life, but never easy when it's your turn.

    And of course, life went on despite our losses and struggles. The pollinator habitat did not get as much human attention as it has sometimes gotten, so particular plants became excessively enthusiastic and had eventually to be cut back or thinned to make room for less space-hungry neighbors. (Are you listening, Silphium perfoliatum?) What had been an open mulched space between the bottom of the slope and the shrub border filled in with partridge pea, evening primrose, cosmos, wingstem, violets, and what proved to be saw-toothed sunflower, a ten-foot yellow daisy with purple stems.

     The site's fauna had no problems with the perhaps-excessive plant growth. While people in some parts of the county reported seeing few bees, they were all over our site all the time,

along with butterflies, moths, beetles, caterpillars, and quite an assortment of birds, including gaggles of goldfinches. After a hard frost left most of the site's vegetation looking less than its best, the little brown birds moved in to forage among the stems and on the ground.

     And, thinking back, the human involvement did not stop. The city approved the planting of a memorial garden honoring our late volunteer and the couple who first gardened the site many years ago. Though work on that part of the site has only begun, neighbors and others, including children of the late couple, have donated plants. In April, Marietta's mayor joined a Girl Scout troop in planting an apple tree as one of the first additions to the memorial garden.

Mayor Josh Schlicher and Girl Scouts, photo by Nancy Taylor of the Marietta Times

Other amenities for humans have been added. Thanks to a health department grant, the habitat has a one-of-a-kind bench designed by local artist Todd Morrow.

     Along the riverbank below the habitat, the city has installed two more benches, giving the human users of the site multiple places to rest and enjoy river and habitat views. Across the river, behind Marietta's Armory Square, the solar charging bench that was part of the initial grant project was installed along the river trail and dedicated in November. Almost from day one, users of the trail have topped off their phone batteries while recharging themselves along the river. 

     Hmmm. It might be more accurate to say that this particular human did not get much done. Other things are moving along just fine.

Loving it, but. . .

Our part of Ohio has moved beyond being "unseasonably warm." Yesterday a birthday gathering in the neighborhood found a group of women over sixty sitting outdoors in short sleeves as the temperature was still over seventy--at 6:00 PM--IN FEBRUARY. According to an article in today's Guardian, southern Ohio and many other Eastern regions are seeing spring conditions earlier than at any time since record-keeping began.

Part of me welcomes the warmth, my bones and breathing not doing well in cold. I love being able to pick daffodils on a sunny afternoon,

and the year's first creeping veronica is always a cheerful-making sight.

But--it's February. February should not be springtime in Ohio. As welcome as warm weather and spring flowers are, plant growth needs to sync with the needs of wildlife. You might notice the pollen on the veronica petals in the photo above: unfortunately, I have yet to see a single pollinating insect. If our native spring bloomers (which neither of the aforementioned plants is) bloom early, before some of the specialist pollinators emerge, these insects that depend on particular plant species may not survive. If other less specialized insects emerge and manage to reproduce early, before migratory birds start on their day-length-dependent journeys, those birds may discover reduced food supplies. Nesting birds may not find the protein-rich larvae on which the young of nearly all species depend. 

February should not be tick season in Ohio, but ticks are already being reported, and at least one acquaintance has had to seek medical attention for a tick bite. Yuck.

And did I mention hay fever? Earlier springs and later falls mean longer growing seasons, with more plants' seasons overlapping, resulting in more types of pollen in the air for longer periods of time. This is not good news for allergy sufferers.

As much as I love spring, these are worrisome signs.