You may recall my recent post about my morning spent at Lake Erie Metropark, the highlight being the face-to-face, er … nose encounter with the delightful doe in the woods. Then I capped off that wonderful walk by capturing some shots of the Osprey family at the nearby fire station.
So, when I returned to this Metropark on Sunday, August 13th once again I stopped at the fire station located on the fringe of the park. To my delight, the two Osprey chicks were sitting on the side of the nest and a very vocal Mama Osprey was uttering high-pitched chirps while scanning the skies from her perch on the fire station siren.
I grabbed the camera, excitedly calling to the group to “hold that pose please!”
Mama was restless, as she looked up, down and around, while wearing an angry scowl.
Here are Mama and the chicks.
After about 10 minutes of watching the trio and taking umpteen photos, the hunter-and-gatherer, a/k/a the male Osprey, returned, similarly chirping away. Was he scolding me for bothering the family or announcing his arrival?
His nest stick-gathering duties were done for the year, but Mama and the kids were hankering for a nice fish dinner. But, as you can see, he only brought himself back to their humble and twiggy abode. Did he forget or were no fish to be found?
I watched as Dad plunked down onto the nest nearly knocking one of the chicks flying off the side; obviously grace is not his strongpoint.
Everyone stayed put after Dad’s clumsy kerplunk. No further chirps nor angry looks were exchanged so I moved on. What a treat to see the entire family close up.
Note: I researched a little for this post.
First, how to tell male and female Osprey apart. Had the pair been perched side by side, I would have seen that the female was 20% larger than the male. They weren’t anywhere near one another, so I also learned that the female has a darker “necklace” at her neck and chest area than the male which has much lighter markings. That is evident in these photos.
I also wondered how long it takes for Osprey chicks to fledge and learned Osprey chicks, a/k/a “gulps” (who thinks up these crazy bird baby names anyway) fledge the nest 55 days after hatching. I first saw their tiny heads poking out of the nest on my June 18th, Father’s Day, visit, so 55 days would be August 12th. I was here a day later. Apparently the chicks will still use the nest as a home base until migrating in September and are dependent on their parents until they are able to fish for themselves.
Hmm – I hope Dad does better next time – perhaps he needs a bamboo rod and some popcorn? As you know, it worked for me!
I know just what you’re thinking. You are looking at this blog post title and scratching your head. Where is Linda taking us today? Will this post be yet another melding of culture and nature?
Well, you know how sometimes blog fodder falls right into your lap? You really didn’t go looking for it and this was one such occasion.
My sole reason for strolling over to Memorial Park on Saturday, July 22nd was to photograph Swallowtail and Monarch butterflies. The past few years I’ve gotten some up-close and vibrant photos of the Monarchs converging on the orange Lantana and the Swallowtails posing perfectly on purple Coneflowers.
You know I cram a lot of walking and photo-taking at larger parks on the weekend, so I was already a little weary after almost four hours of walking at Lake Erie Metropark and Humbug Marsh and I was looking forward to a tall glass of something cold, but I told myself I had one more stop to make, bopping over to Memorial Park. I had not been there since visiting the Memorial Day flag display back in May. Now that I drive to Council Point Park every day, it is not the same as walking to and from the Park, then veering over a few blocks on foot to visit the volunteer gardens. Plus, we have had so many mornings with gray skies that you can’t tell if it is overcast due to impending rain or the result of the Canadian wildfire haze, so I’ve been leaving my camera at home most weekdays. But the brilliant and sunny afternoon, prompted me to pay a visit to this venue.
However, when I arrived at Memorial Park, assuming I would be alone to meander around the four raised bed gardens, I really didn’t know where to look first. That is because the most-recent severe weather had ravaged this park, leaving tree limbs and huge branches scattered throughout the grounds. Before I could move from where I stood transfixed while gazing at the damage, I heard the strains of a violin. A violin in the park? Very quickly Your Roving Reporter went to discover the “who, what, where, when, why and how” of this story. Every Thursday night all Summer the City sponsors free concerts at the Bandshell, mostly tribute bands. City residents flock to Memorial Park to hum, sing along or even dance to their music. We also have events featuring all-day/evening tribute bands battling it out. But those bands – that genre – is rock music, NOT classical music.
The butterflies would have to take a back seat for now while I investigated this phenomenon, dogging the source of the music like Detective Columbo. Thus a blog post began to percolate.
Well, there they were, a violist and cellist tucked away near the gardens.
I crept up slowly behind them as I didn’t want to interrupt their concentration and yes, to get some photos. Just then another person appeared on the scene and he was holding a video camera and a microphone. The music stopped suddenly. I was introduced to the trio, first the musicians: Annette, the violist and Paul the cellist and then the videographer, whose name was Don.
I learned that these gardens were the last stop on the City’s Garden Walk.
Yes, I already knew the Garden Walk was today, but in the past it was only residents’ homes, not public gardens. Who knew? The annual event resumed last Summer after a COVID pause. You have to go to the Historical Society, make a donation and then you get a map to each stop on the Garden Walk.
So, Annette and I chitchatted about which flowers are bee and butterfly magnets, then I asked if I could take a few more photos …
… then I moved along as the “tour group” began to assemble for Annette’s welcoming speech as she switched hats from violinist to gardener.
That gave me an opportunity to take pictures of her violin and sheet music.
Oh ya … back to the gardens and the reason I was here.
The flowers were scant unlike other years. That might have been from the drought-like conditions we had earlier in the Summer, but all that rain and searing sun in July should have produced prolific blooms, right? There were a few pretty flowers and a few roses in the Blumrosen Memorial Garden.
I went from one garden to the next – hmm. Where were the butterflies? I believe it when I read or hear about our beautiful butterflies slowly becoming extinct because, instead of the usual half-dozen or so butterflies alighting on Lantana and Coneflowers, my eyes honed in on a single butterfly on that visit, a delicate creature with wings so tattered I wondered how it could flit from flower to flower.
Tenacity and tattered wings.
Well amidst a group of lackluster Lantana and droopy Coneflowers, a Black Swallowtail fluttered by. Its tattered wings did not impede it in the least. I took many shots of this butterfly. Here are some of my favorites, including the one up top. Look closely at those wings – however does it fly?
From tattered wings to tattered trees.
I was happy to kick July to the curb after a month of severe and scary weather. I assume this tree damage at Memorial Park had been the Wednesday before storm that ravaged large trees and scattered debris everywhere. These slideshow photos show some of the significant damage.
Even Sergeant Craig Frank’s hat (a baseball cap from a Vietnam vet which I showed you in my Memorial Day post) …
… was not exempt from the nearly 60 mph wind. A kindly soul had replaced the hat with a wooden plaque with letters spelling out “love” as seen below.
Many photos later, I trudged home. What was supposed to be a 15-minute stop had morphed into an hour-long visit to this venue.
… it already felt like Summer was here – whew! So much for savoring the last weekend of Spring.
Perhaps if I had not arrived midday at Elizabeth Park, I would have appreciated the ambiance of this venue a wee bit more. But, after walking around Lake Erie Metropark for hours, the warmer it got, my pace became pathetically slow. Then I stood, melting in the hot sun at the fire station, awaiting some Osprey action.
But, the six-mile drive to Elizabeth Park with the car’s A/C cranked on high revived me a bit, so off I went to wander the waterfront, albeit briefly.
Don’t let that flag flapping in the breeze fool you – it was a hot breeze.
There is new signage throughout this park and, as the sign says, Elizabeth Park is Michigan’s first county park and it is 104 years old. By now I am sure you recognize this picturesque locale, from the trio of vintage bridges that span the Canal, to the Boardwalk. And, of course I always show you lots of waterfowl bobbing in that Canal, honking and/or quacking and, in the case of the Canada Geese, often bossing the kayakers around once when their paddles invade their personal space. (Hey, geese have rights too you know!)
Every time I stop at this venue, I always pause at the vehicle bridge to take a photo of this vintage footbridge which is a popular spot for wedding, prom and homecoming photos.
Then, I usually climb up the bridge, on its series of steep steps, to peer down into the Canal to look for photo ops, while trying NOT to be obvious or annoying … of course, sometimes people wave back from their kayak just as I snap their photo – then I don’t feel so badly about taking those candid shots. These two kayakers needed a break – they were too pooped to participate. (No, they didn’t wave back at me.)
My short visit at Elizabeth Park that day did not yield a ton of photos, just a few about fishing, which seemed to be the main attraction that day, whether along the Canal, Boardwalk or from a kayak – there were many fisher men and women and even a few dads and kids.
But, because a 400-word post by me would have you virtually feeling my forehead, I thought I’d tuck a little flash from the past in here as well.
Anyone wanna read about a fish story?
So there was a young boy and a man, which I assume was his father and they were fishing off the Canal bank. The little boy was excited for a “bite” on his line, but when the line emerged from the water, there was nothing there. Most likely the “tug” on the line was because the fishhook got hung up on some seaweed. He looked so crestfallen I called to him to put that line back in the water if he was going to have a fish fry for Father’s Day. His dad quietly chuckled at my quip, shook his head and said “not hardly.”
This boy and man triggered a long-ago memory as I recalled the one and only time I went fishing with my father when my parents rented a cottage for a couple of weeks in the Summer of ’68 near Alpena, Michigan. My father bought a fishing rod and reel and a tackle box filled with lures because the cottage had a boat and he aimed to take me fishing. He bought me a flimsy bamboo rod with a hook and a bobber. Mom made lunch to take with us and also shoved the rest of a bag of Jiffy Pop popcorn toward me for a snack. Clearly she wanted to read and relax, likely happy to get the two of us out of her hair for a while. Before leaving, we dug up a few worms to double our odds at catching something. My father alternated between worms and different lures with no success. At 12 years old, I was a bit bored, so, on a lark, I scattered some popcorn onto the water and when a few fish nibbled at the surface, I baited my hook with some popcorn and dropped the line.
Suddenly a fish nibbled on the popcorn on the hook and when I felt it tug the line, I yelled “I got something” and my father, ever the pessimist, said “probably a piece of driftwood” but he helped me lift the line and flailing fish out of the water (no reelin’ it in for me with the bamboo pole). He flopped the fish into the bottom of the boat near my feet. I was excited. Time to go home and show Mom and get a photo with the Baby Brownie camera.
Well our family never ate fresh fish … salmon patties, tuna salad, both from a can and Mrs. Paul’s fish sticks, but not fresh fish. So, Mom freaked out and said “I don’t want to cook it, then smell fish here for two weeks so do something with it – now!”
We took the picture, albeit a black-and-white shot that’s a bit blurry, but it memorialized my fish tale forevermore!
I think the fish was on its last legs, er … fins, when we went to the dock and deposited it back into Rush Lake.
‘Tis the first Monday of a new month, so it’s time to use the August nature calendar page which is featured above. This venue is Tipperary, Ireland … not that there is anything Irish-looking about the photo.
It was Father’s Day when I made this two-park trip and yes I did explore. I had planned to go on Saturday, but Mother Nature played spoiler with hazy skies, very poor air quality and two days prior, a tornado had touched down in Monroe County, not all that far from this venue. Sunday was clear and bright, but hot and humid. Summer had not even officially arrived yet and I realized I had already whined plenty about the muggy weather, even after saying in the depths of Winter “I will not whine on searing hot Summer days!”
In the end I sure was glad I waited a day as you will see as this post unfolds.
I planned on getting to Lake Erie Metropark early to beat that heat and for the off-chance I’d see some deer out foraging and who knows … maybe even a fawn or two.
Since I’d just visited Cove Point and the Marina in May, on Mother’s Day, I decided my June visit would be the marshy areas and the boat launch. It’s a fairly long drive from the entrance of this park to the Marshlands Museum and on that last turn, I saw a half-dozen Egrets, their reflections as gorgeous as the birds themselves. This was across the street from that pyramid of Egrets I saw, photographed and blogged about last year Stopping is forbidden, (or at least discouraged), so I zipped over to the Museum to park and walked back.
I encountered this gaggle of geese …
… then hurried over to the marshy area to see the Egrets. I admired them and got a few shots …
… when a pick-up truck hauling a big boat rumbled on by thus spooking the Egrets and in a flurry of white wings they departed … so much for that fabulous find (although there was a bonus deer in the last shot).
On the other side of the road, the Great Blue Heron was undaunted by my presence.
There were fabulous flora and fauna finds!
I headed back to the Museum to say “hey” to Luc, the resident bald eagle who uttered not a single chirp of recognition, but I had his attention, albeit with his head swiveled backward, the entire 10-minute chat.
Next, I decided to check out the progress on the lagoon by the boathouse and was pleased to see the water level was normal again. Pond Lilies and especially the invasive aquatic plant Frogbit were already overtaking the water’s surface.
Gone were the dredges and airboats and the promised increased waterfowl did return. A few Egrets and Herons were fishing way across the lagoon and I saw a Mama Mallard with her young’uns. I think there are nine ducklings, though my eyes were running together and it is confusing with the reflections to do an exact count.
Doe, a deer, a female deer.
I told Luc I was off on an adventure and would see him soon and, as I climbed the hill to the parking lot, a flash of a deer tail caught my eye. A White-tailed Deer was standing 10 feet from my car! I crept closer toward her as she stood there stripping the leaves off the trees that grew on the fringe of the parking lot.
I spoke to her softly, so hopefully I could get closer. Unfortunately, my efforts were thwarted when a vehicle came speeding by and she trotted away toward the woods.
Should I follow this doe into the woods?
Well, you know me, so you already know the answer to that question. I picked up the pace and headed over to the Trapper’s Run Trail to see where she was, or if we would be playing hide-and-go-seek. I barely stepped onto the Trail and was rewarded for doing so as the doe had discovered another tree with tasty leaves and was happily munching away.
This little lady was as hungry for leaves as I was for photos of her enjoying those leaves.
I spoke softly and she didn’t bolt – yay! I planted myself on the wooden boardwalk, camera pointed in her direction. She stepped forward – so did I, pleased that I didn’t scare her. I figured she tolerated my presence because those leaves were mighty tasty. The dappled sunlight made it a tad dark but that was okay too.
A young woman came along and stopped to see what I was photographing and asked if I was a birder because her sister was. Her name was Rebecca and I pointed at the doe which she had not seen up to that point. We chatted and she left to continue her walk.
The repeated clicking of the camera’s shutter gave the doe cause to pause and occasionally she looked up at me, aware and alert of this human, those hauntingly beautiful eyes and twitching ears, endeered, er … endeared her to me.
Well, I never made a move and spoke to her in a soothing voice so I know I didn’t spook her, but something else did. With a sudden start she bolted, and ran out of the woods, through the parking lot…
… then she loped down the road and crossed into a dense wooded area. Although I was not going to be that easily deterred, those cloven hoofs were no match for me. She was hoofin’ it and left me in the dust.
The long and winding road to the Boat Launch area.
I headed down to the Boat Launch area and Cherry Island Trail, alternating between walking on the road in the shade and along the wooden overlook in the heat, the latter being the more-scenic view. A loud chirping noise above caught my attention. I recognized the call of an Osprey and saw one gliding overhead, then out of my clear view. I figured it was on a stick-finding mission, so I decided to stop at the fire station on the way home to check out its nest.
I looked across the lagoon to take a photo of the boathouse just as a Heron alighted on the wooden overlook fence. Hmm. It couldn’t have done that while I was still there?
It stayed on that fence for a while. Behind this young fisherman I watched it, but I was really too far away for a good shot. It eventually flew down to the water.
The nature trail ends at the Boat Launch area where, by mid-September, the raptor counts will begin and folks with binoculars and cameras with tripods will gather here.
Ambling along the Cherry Island Trail.
Happily the shoreline trail was neither soggy nor muddy. This female Mallard posed prettily, her profile even nice as a reflection.
As I stood on the wooden overlook across the marsh I was surprised how many Lily pads were already floating on the water – no blooms yet though. There was a bird which I instantly recognized by the shape of its head and unusual-looking beak as a Common Moorhen … it was not on my Birdie Bucket List. It is also known as a Swamp Chicken.
But, before my walk was done I WOULD find a bird from my List, but did not realize it until I saw it on the computer screen many weeks later. Not to disparage female birds, but its drab plumage and disheveled feathers made me think it was a Mallard.
So that “Big Reveal” will be Wednesday.
There were no more fab finds at Lake Erie Metropark that morning. Even the Ring-billed Seagulls were scarce and, as I headed to the car, a Great Blue Heron was shrieking its head off as it flew away in a huff once it spotted me.
It was late morning by then and I still planned a stop at Elizabeth Park, so I walked back to the car and drove to the fire station on the outskirts of this Metropark, hopeful for an Osprey photo op. As I parked and looked up, I knew I would get that photo op.
There he was … a big ol’ Osprey sitting atop this pole.
The pole was next to the nest area, which, you may recall from last year’s posts, is actually the fire station’s siren!
The Osprey perched, in King-of-the-Hill fashion, on that tall pole (which truly didn’t look too comfortable to me) and finally took a notion to go on another stick-finding-mission.
Poof, it was gone in a flash, giving me an opportunity to view the beautiful underside of its wings.
I waited about ten minutes for it to return, then left. Of course I saw that Osprey once I was driving along West Jefferson Avenue, a beakful of sticks to refurbish its already twiggy-and-disheveled-looking abode. Soon thereafter I was at my next venue, Elizabeth Park, which will be the subject of next week’s post.
The March of Dimes was always a favorite charity of my mom’s. I don’t know the reason because I was born a healthy baby, albeit small … 4 pounds, 11 ounces, something that this 5 foot, 9 inch tall current Me finds difficult to fathom that I was ever that tiny. Evidently the baby formula my parents were recommended by Dr. Hamlin made me big and strong, kind of how you boost bloom growth in the garden with Miracle-Gro, only this magic elixir was for babies. 🙂
Mom also liked The Salvation Army and I once was a bell ringer for them from Thanksgiving weekend through December. But I digress.
The annual March for Babies 5K event through the March of Dimes organization never holds their big fundraiser near me and this year was no different. It was held in Pontiac, Michigan, 54 miles from my home. But that was fine because, for now, I’ll keep doing my charity 5K walks virtually if that option is available.
I decided to make the March of Dimes March for Babies one of my 2023 5K events. I have participated in four walks this year, but only written about one so far. I admit that the reason for hooking up with the March for Babies might seem a wee bit self-serving … after all, it was a celebration of sorts for me since it was 50 years ago, while in my senior year in high school, that I participated in my very first 5K, the “March of Dimes 17-Mile Walk-a-thon 1973” on Belle Isle, Detroit, Michigan. I was just one of many participants and I completed not just 3.2 miles (the equivalent of a 5 kilometers), but 17 miles – ahh … youth!
So this year I decided to do the March for Babies again, but with a twist. I would do it, on my own, without joining a team and sponsor myself and, just like that “Order of the Battered Boot” certificate I received five decades ago …
… I chose my favorite nature nook, Council Point Park, a place that is as comfortable to me as an old pair of walking shoes.
Having walked at this venue for a decade now, I knew Springtime is “baby time” in this park, or any other nature setting. I knew those sweet goslings and their moms (and dads too) would be a perfect touch for doing my fundraising meander for the March of Dimes’ munchkins.
I know the past few months I have regaled you (and hopefully not bored you) with lots of pics of Canada Geese with their goslings. But, I am really partial to these goslings you will see below as they were so very tiny, the first of many goslings that I would see along Council Point Park’s perimeter path this year.
So on Sunday, May 7th, with camera in hand, I began my walk. I knew I must be prepared to sidestep the family by giving them wide berth along the perimeter path, otherwise my penalty for getting in their way is the equivalent of getting my hand slapped goose style, i.e. Papa Goose glaring at me, then hissing with that bright pink tongue, followed by some serious wing-flapping. And, if I was not deterred by those histrionics, then he might charge in my direction. Hey, I’m no fool. I know the rules and have obeyed them since I began walking here.
Every picture tells a story says Rod Stewart and Linda Schaub.
I didn’t have far to go, ten minutes on the perimeter path and there they were. Papa guarding his offspring fiercely. I don’t blame him – his babies were cute and I told him so as I inched closer and closer to his brood without crossing that line and invading their personal space. Mama, having a little sit-down and a grass and dandelion break, glanced up and decided to let Papa take care of business with the tall intruder.
So with minimal words and lots of photos, please come and meander with munchkins with me.
Sweetness abounds!
I will admit that goslings don’t have cherub faces, or ten little fingers and toes, but, tell me this cutie pie gosling, snacking on a dandelion isn’t sweet. I know I already used the photo for a Wordless Wednesday post, but it was my favorite shot of the day so I know you’ll indulge me.
I guess snacking and tootling after Mom and Dad left these babies tired …
I got as close as I dared and whispered “will you pose for me?“
They obliged (and no plying with peanuts was necessary.)
A blended family – what?!
Something interesting about this family: clearly, there were four tiny goslings, but also tucked into this group was one older gosling. It is easy to see the size difference. There were no other goslings in the Park so I was a bit stymied. Did Mama lay one egg a few weeks before the others? Is that possible? Have a look.
Papa accommodated me for photos, then he marched his babies down the grassy slope to the Creek for a quick paddle and with his look back at me I figured I had overstayed my welcome.
So that ended my gawking at goslings that day. Besides … Parker, impatient with my fixation on my feathered friends, firmly stepped on my shoes with his front paws demanding my attention and peanuts.
No finisher’s medal was enclosed with my swag packet, but I did get two tee-shirts, one for being a walker and one for being a donor (I matched the amount of my registration fee).
My next 5K would be for Fish & Loaves Food Pantry on Sunday, June 4th at historic Heritage Park.
Linda Schaub
WALKIN', WRITIN', WIT & WHIMSY 