The new web site for the Field Naturalist and Ecological Planning programs features our graduate explorations and research at the intersection of nature and human nature.
On the site you’ll discover who we are and what we do in our two programs, including research projects this year ranging from the High Sierra to the Maine Coast. Find us online at:
By Laura Yayac
The orbs dangle, pale green with darker stripes, like adorable baby watermelons on a vine of curls. Each one rests under its own leaf awning. Get closer, though, and you’ll see that this is no ordinary miniature fruit. Covered in spikes and ready to impale, it is at once magical and ominous. And that’s not the last of its tricks.
My encounter with the wild cucumber (Echinocystis lobata), a cousin of the ordinary garden variety, released my inner nature nerd. Are the wild cucumber fruits edible? If many plants rely on animals to eat their fruit and disperse the seeds, why the thorns on this fruit? How else would the seeds spread? I watched the crazy fruit over several weeks as it opened and split at the bottom – what triggered that process?
The answers were fittingly stellar for such a spectacular fruit. Continue reading
Although the word conservation suits the laws of physics and the prevention of waste, its highest calling is in the preservation of nature. Conservation is now synonymous with the protection of life outdoors. Yet a protector is now gone. Legendary scientist and conservationist Hubert “Hub” Vogelmann died Friday, October 11, at age 84. Continue reading
By Bryan Pfeiffer
An entire season of fall foliage flares from a single plant. Find your fireworks on Hobblebush (Viburnum alnifolium). This understory gem may be the perfect shrub. It adds food and habitat diversity – for nesting birds and other wildlife – beneath forest canopy. And its blooms play a crafty game of deception each spring. Continue reading
Now awaiting a frolic through your senses is one of nature’s most delightful candies, a reward so discreet that you probably pass it by during walks on life’s long, green path. When you are next high on some mountain trail, in dense coniferous woods, or near a spruce bog, find an elegant vine with tiny, waxy leaves. Drop to your knees because here is your low-hanging fruit: a sweet wintergreen explosion known as Creeping Snowberry.
No wild food is more enchanting. Creeping Snowberry (Gaultheria hispidula), a northern and boreal member of the heath family (Ericaceae), dispenses its little white gifts in August and September. Although I’m reluctant to mention them in the same sentence, Creeping Snowberry fruits resemble Tic Tac® candies. But beyond their size and shape, there is no comparison. Not even close. Willy Wonka couldn’t have designed a more intoxicating experience. Continue reading
By Gus Goodwin
I suspect there is a positive correlation between one’s appreciation for fir waves and one’s distance from them. From a distance, fir waves etch a pleasing pattern on the landscape, pose interesting ecological questions, and remind us that turmoil can be a form of stability. Up close, they inflict scrapes and puncture wounds, incite expletives, and remind us to plan the next vacation to California, where the mountains have no trees (and it hardly ever rains).
April showers bring more than May flowers, and birds aren’t the only creatures producing fantastic choruses in the springtime. While birders will set their alarms for 5:00am in order to catch the rainbow of spring migrants arriving in Vermont, herpetologists – that is, aficionados of amphibians and reptiles – will spend the wee hours of the night up to their knees in muck and water to glimpse the bizarre courtships of frogs and salamanders.
Beating wings fill my view. The snow geese are stark white, and the black tips of their wings pulse in contrast with their bodies. Hundreds – no, thousands – of these meaty birds move in unison. They squawk and honk, thousands of calls melting into an urgent and persistent roar.
At least that’s what I envisioned.
I had never seen snow geese, but I set out confidently to find the birds. I wanted to feel the wind from a thousand birds taking off at once. I wanted to feel their thunderous calls in my chest. Continue reading
There are many ways to rate a day. Perhaps you determine a day’s merit by how many to-do items you’ve crossed off, how many hours you spent outside, how many friends you ran into around town. My personal favorite rating system is the tangle test. By this measure, the best days leave me with bits of the field tangled in my braid as I untwist it in the evening.
Take February 20th, so good I couldn’t even wait until evening to untangle the mess and try to force my hair back into some semblance of order. As our van pulled away from the LaPlatte River Natural Area in Shelburne, my fingers battled a bird-worthy nest of twigs. Apparently that’s what happens when I, in true naturalist form, try to be a bobcat. Continue reading
Rattling My Bones
Dripping with cultural history and utterly unique, the objects cradled in Connor Stedman’s excited hands burned with sentimental value. Their glow reflected in Connor’s eyes and didn’t flicker for an instant upon the delivery of my first question.
“So, what are they?”
To the untrained eye, they were two pieces of wood roughly the size and shape of tongue depressors, but slightly heftier and square at the ends. Connor explained it was a set of bones: A historically Irish one-handed musical instrument that is played by holding one bone stationary while rattling the other bone against it.
While the traditional instrument was made from sheep’s bones, Connor’s version originated as the South American tree palo santo, or “holy wood” in Spanish. Palo santo’s use as a good luck charm and a cleanser of bad energy dates back to the Inca era. Connor says that he’s never heard of another pair of bones made from palo santo.
Connor carved his bones in anticipation of a local visit by Irish bard Gerry Brady, who described bones as “the only instrument you can play with a pint in the other hand”. Gerry blessed this set of bones himself. Continue reading