miranda's nr1 phenology blog

…in which Vermont faked us all out and gave us hope for spring. Don’t be fooled, the sun still set at like 5 pm.

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On the fine Sunday afternoon that I most recently visited Redstone Quarry, Vermont was experiencing our first false spring. It was a balmy forty degrees, the sun was shining, and the air smelled fresh. I have observed from years of living in the Burlington area that we’ll have a few gorgeous days in February and March each, just warm enough to trick us—and the wildlife—into believing that spring may have come early. Out of all the birds that were singing that day, the only song I recognized was the notorious chicka-dee-dee-dee of the black-capped chickadee. 

Two weeks before this visit, we’d had a major snowfall, which was inconveniently melting. It was incredibly challenging to document any animal tracks in the snow, given its half-frozen, half-puddle, overall mushy quality. We found what we theorized to be rabbit tracks, since they were in the “hopping” pattern and diagonal. (Levine, 2014). They were much larger than typical cottontail rabbit or even snowshoe hare tracks, but we assume that is due to the fact that the tracks were probably made before the snow started melting. (Figure 1). Note also the faint squirrel tracks in the background of the photo.

Another exciting discovery was scat. Upon close inspection (but not that close, ‘cause germs), it had some dark fur in it and possibly some cattail fluff. (Figure 2). Since most animals mentioned in this month’s chapter of Naturally Curious avoid cattails unless food is really scarce, we used this to reason that it’s been a rough winter for some of the local animals. The closest match from the Mammal Tracks and Scat pocket guide was gray fox (if it were a red fox, the urine would have smelled like skunk). (Levine, 2014). However, this is a highly recreational area for dog-walkers and also very close to a neighborhood, so there is a chance the scat was from a domestic dog or cat. The accompanying tracks were indistinguishable in the snow, due to the ongoing melt.

Right before leaving the site for the day, I came across a gray squirrel. I identified it based on its coloring, and the fact that its nest was in a deciduous tree. Grey squirrels build their nests out of twigs and leaves, very high up in trees. (Holland, 2019). Unfortunately, in my excitement of recording a video of the squirrel leaping along the wall of Monkton Quartzite that makes up Redstone Quarry, I failed to document the nest. 

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Grey squirrels feed mostly on seeds and nuts from trees such as oak and beech, both of which are present at this site. They forage for food and hide it in caches around their home range, which they find later based on smell and memory. (Lawniczak, 2002). Unfortunately, a lot of animals prey on squirrels, especially weasels, red foxes, and hawks, but they are hard to catch because they use trees and understory for cover and can hop quickly in and out of hiding places. (Lawniczak, 2002). The squirrel I documented may have been running from a predator, foraging, and/or picking up more oak leaves (identified by shape) for its nest. 

I look forward to my next visit, when spring has come for real, so I can explore the area further. My goal is to find squirrel caches, and maybe even a den for whatever animal left that scat!  

Literature Cited

Holland, M. (2019). Naturally curious: a photographic field guide and month-by-month journey through the fields, woods, and marshes of New England. North Pomfret, Vermont.: Trafalgar Square Books.

Lawniczak, M. K. (2002). Sciurus carolinensis (eastern gray squirrel). Retrieved February 24, 2020, from https://animaldiversity.org/accounts/Sciurus_carolinensis/

Levine, L., & Mitchell, M. (2014). Mammal tracks and scat: life-size tracking guide. East Dummerston, VT: Heartwood Press.

What’s poppin’! I decided to switch it up this semester, so our new phenology spot is Redstone Quarry. It’s a solid 30 minute walk down to Hoover street from my dorm–or a 7 minute Uber. In a stunning moment of brilliance, I forgot my lab notebook yesterday (I took notes on my phone and transferred them to my notebook when I got home), so a map of this new place is coming soon. 🙂

Redstone Quarry is right behind a neighborhood and has park benches and a path–proof that it’s a very recreational area. It was not surprising to find mostly domestic dog tracks, which we could identify because they were scattered and the toes pointed outwards.

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We also found an abundance of squirrel tracks. It was pretty hard to identify at first, since the snow had melted and refrozen multiple times. When this happens, the prints either sink (like the picture on the left), or barely make an imprint at all.

Now onto trees! There are far more deciduous species present here compared to Centennial Woods, which makes sense because Redstone Quarry is closer to a water source, in a valley rather than on a hill, and gets more sunlight. The full list of deciduous species I identified is in my notes at the end of this post, but the most prominent species were red oaks, yellow birches, and buckthorn.

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Overall I am looking forward to observing the phenological changes the next time I visit, and I can’t wait to get to know this new place. 🙂

“Here’s what’s not beautiful about it: from here, you can’t see the rust or the cracked paint or whatever, but you can tell what the place really is. You can see how fake it all is. It’s not even hard enough to be made out of plastic. It’s a paper town. I mean, look at it, Q: look at all those culs-de-sac, those streets that turn in on themselves, all the houses that were built to fall apart. All those paper people living in their paper houses, burning the future to stay warm. All the paper kids drinking beer some bum bought for them at the paper convenience store. Everyone demented with the mania of owning things. All the things paper-thin and paper-frail. And all the people, too. I’ve lived here for eighteen years and I have never once in my life come across anyone who cares about anything that matters.” 

― John Green, Paper Towns

The above quote is one of the most relevant explanations I could apply to my current hometown of Springboro, Ohio. That goes to say, this is not going to be a blog post of white-privilege-fueled bitterness from the mouth of a spoiled brat. I am grateful that I even have the ability to make such a criticism, that I’ve lived in enough suburbs to be able to state somewhat controversially that they’re all the same. In retrospect, they’re really not; the other places I’ve lived are Washington, Colorado, and Vermont—all progressive states in terms of green technology and all beautiful concerning the natural environment. Leaving Ohio for college, I felt like a paper doll leaving a paper town, mass-produced and a carbon copy of my peers, with a flawless GPA and pure white graduation dress, but with nothing meaningful on the inside. In the past three months, I’ve had the chance to grow more as a person than I ever did during my three-year stay in Ohio. 

I’ll argue that I didn’t develop a sense of place for Springboro until I returned. I saw my best friends, a group of three lovely girls who all chose to be roommates at a college 30 minutes outside of our town, and knew that I no longer fit into the same cookie cutter as they did. I drove through my neighborhood and saw the perfectly groomed lawns, the matching mailboxes, and the sparkling BMWs parked in driveways, and pondered the comfort found in conformity. But I have developed a certain fondness for these people whose sense of place depends upon living in a snow globe society. I’m not a part of it, but I get it. It’s structure and control in a big, scary world. 

I truly found my sense of place in Springboro when I woke up Monday morning. Snuggled beneath my comforter, between my cat and the wall like always, I listened to the house wake up. I heard Dad’s footsteps as he clanged around in the kitchen at 6 am, always “accidentally” loud, though we all know he secretly hopes someone else will wake up for a quick chat before he leaves for work. I heard my brother’s alarm go off and the shower water running as he prepared for school. At 6:45, the cat and I wandered downstairs to have coffee in the sunroom with Mom, chatting as we gazed into the backyard, hoping the two deer we’ve been watching grow up the past few years might wander through. The same morning routine as we’d always had, just adjusted as we moved states and my sister (and now me) left for college, was my wake up call. I felt the comfort in regularity that is reflected by the homes in my neighborhood, but mostly, I felt the reassurance that my family would always be able to adjust together. Going home made me realize that sense of place is just as much about the people as it is about the physical environment.

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….and then it snowed. Cool beans, ya know?

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I have visited my place twice since my last blog post. I went last Thursday, hoping to catch the first snowfall, and instead it. Rained. Buckets. That was not a fun time. I went again today and got a good look at my spot after our first big snow—about 8 inches. It was much prettier, colder, and quieter. In terms of the phenology, everything except the buckthorn and some younger hardwoods lost their leaves. Now, instead of hearing leaves rustling in the wind, there is silence—save the occasional soft patter of snow falling off tree branches. Visiting today, I overall felt a sort of peace that I haven’t sensed yet in this place. 

On Thursday, in the rain, I had happened to bring along a friend who hadn’t been to Centennial before, so after visiting my phenology spot we explored. I’ll be frank, the trailhead is a pretty boring spot compared to the rest of the woods, but when I picked it it was because I knew I would come here alone most of the time, and venturing into the woods alone is not the safest idea. Seeing the rest of Centennial reminded me why I enjoy it so much—in the middle of suburbia, this is one of the few places where you can forget society, especially in comparison to my place. At my phenology site, you can forget society for five minutes, until another hiker comes along or a car horn honks. Just a half mile deeper into the woods, you can easily forget society for an hour. 

Given Bertha’s size (the beloved eastern white pine at the front of my site, in case you’ve forgotten), and her second trunk, it’s reasonable to assume that there were once a lot less trees around her. The other eastern white pines in the general area also indicate this. In the future, I hope Centennial remains a designated natural area, especially for recreational use, because even if Burlington becomes greener and succeeds in being 100% sustainable, there should still be somewhere for residents to escape to. 

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Today was the first day in several weeks that I ventured out to Centennial Woods to visit what I’ve deemed “Miranda’s Place.” Centennial Woods is an absolutely lovely natural area about a 10 minute walk from my dorm, and Miranda’s Place is within a quarter mile of the opening. When you walk into the natural area, take a left at the first pine stand and when the boardwalk trail begins, you’re there!

I find this spot very important because even though it’s very close to an urban area and the highway, it registers with me as the first point on the Centennial Woods trail where you start to feel disconnected from society. The first thing I noted was a change in scent. It’s been about 2 weeks since peak foliage in Vermont, so the trees have shed and the forest floor is a springy mix of leaves and pine needles from various species. Walking off the main road and into Centennial, the smell in the air quickly shifted from exhaust and gasoline (if there were a Yankee Candle scent for pollution, this would be it) to decaying leaves. It’s the kind of smell that brings back nostalgic memories of walking home from school in the fall, and has a wonderful calming effect. 

Miranda’s Place is in the midst of an eastern white pine stand, but I noted today that there are several hardwood species as well: Norway maples (especially sprouts!), green ash, and basswood. This area is also overgrown with buckthorn—one of Vermont’s most persistent invasive species. I stepped off the boardwalk for the first time with the intent of sitting on a mossy rock and observing, and immediately sank into a several-inches-deep spread of thick, dark, rich mud. I can honestly say I felt truly connected to nature in that moment, as the mosquitos that had been hovering there swarmed around me. I sat on the rock regardless, and named Bertha, the giant, elderly white pine on the edge of my place. Looking up, I could see the overcast sky peeking through the pine needles and umbrella-like Norway maple leaves, and I felt as though I were several miles deep in the wilderness, rather than in a constructed forest mere meters from society. I consider that sensation to be the best part of Miranda’s Place. 

Just out here in Centennial hanging with the trees baby!

Better pics, tree IDs, and some wildlife friends coming soon:)