The Swan

If I were to make a collage of my childhood memories, there would be many images of swans. I read and reread my volumes of Grimm Brothers and Hans Christian Andersen, eyes tracing every line of the old-fashioned pen and ink illustrations. I especially remember the story of The Seven Swans, bewitched brothers who could be restored to human form only through the long suffering loyalty of their sister. Her task was to remain mute while knitting seven shirts out of nettles. Who of us hasn’t felt kinship with the ugly ‘duckling’, hoping, as he did, to someday find that niche where we feel right and true and beautiful--swanlike. I owe my love of nature in great part to my paternal grandmother. The backyard of her modest home was separated from a large city park by just a narrow alley and hedge. It was magical to slip through a gap in the hedge, holding my grandmother's hand, and enter a vast world of huge trees, squirrels, fat goldfish, fountains and flowers. We spent hours walking the paths where swans glided to and fro across a lake. Nana died more than 40 years ago. She is forever connected in my heart with swans.

Alien Invaders

Alien species, non-native species, exotic species. These are plants, animals or other organisms that have been abruptly (compared to natural migrations) introduced to an ecosystem, usually by human doings-often accidentally, but sometimes intentionally. This phenomenon has caused dramatic changes worldwide, and continues to do so.

I recently learned that many of our most familiar "wild" flowers are non-native and have been around for centuries. Seeds hitched across the Big Pond with early European immigrants. Each summer I'm happy to see the 6 foot tall flowering spikes of fuzzy leaved Common Mullein that stand at attention like soldiers reviewing a parade. What country girl hasn't picked a bouquet of Queen Anne's Lace and marvelled at its umbrella of tiny white florets?

These roadside weeds are rather benign, but for an example of negative effects, one word: kudzu. A noxious vine, kudzu strangles and smothers everything in its path. It was aggressively planted by the U.S. government in the 1930's for erosion control before it was discovered that in our humid southern states it grows just too well.

European starlings (Sternus vulgaris) were brought to North America by a man who wanted to seed our continent with all the birds that are mentioned in Shakepeare! The descendants of the original 75-100 birds released in New York's Central Park in the 1890's now number more than 200 million. Starlings have voracious appetites, migrate in flocks of up to 100,000 birds, and have contributed to the decline of the bluebird, purple martin and tree swallow.

Not all non-native species are home wreckers, but those that are earn another moniker: invasive, although this term is passing out of favor in ecological circles. (Truth be told, a native species may be invasive as well, meaning it rapidly colonizes an area, such as the Maryland state flower, the Black-eyed Susan. )

By any name, an exotic invasive species does not "smell" sweet-- but through no fault of its own really. In its homeland, it probably evolved to be in relative harmony with its surroundings. But transplanted to a new environment, it may have few or no natural predators, no competing species, and other species may have no natural resistance to it. The result is imbalance and perhaps irrevocable degradation of indigenous flora or fauna.

Since species are interdependent, when one species goes it can take others with it in a chain reaction. This dynamic has severely impacted the vulnerable islands of Hawaii. Seventy three percent of U.S. extinctions have occurred in Hawaii. Feral goats, pigs and sheep are some of the worst offenders there.

We learned how wolves benefitted the ecosystem when they were eradicated (by homo sapiens) from places like Yellowstone. Without wolves, elk proliferated and began overgrazing vegetation, which in turn affected other species, increased erosion, and impaired water quality. The ecosystem there is now mending due to the much publicized, and controversial, re-establishment of wild and free wolves.

Growing to 60 feet, the American Chestnut was formerly a dominant tree throughout our eastern forests, until a blight hit it early in the 20th century. The culprit? -- a variety of chestnut brought here from Asia that had resistance to the blight. Scientists are working to develop resistant strains of our native tree in hopes of restoring the chestnut to its former place as king of the forest. Doing so could have a substantial impact on mitigating climate change.

It is sobering when I consider not only changes I've witnessed in a half century of outdoor wanderings, but just recently. This past spring I saw infestations of garlic mustard in shady glens along the Potomac, choking out trillium, mayapples (see photo left), jacks in the pulpit, and other delicate native wildflowers that were flourishing only a few springs ago.

From my childhood, I remembered the path at Cunningham Falls State Park as a magical tunnel formed by the delicately needled branches of eastern hemlock trees. Wanting to get an early start on sharing my love of nature with my grandson, I took him there when he was only one year old. The magic remained. While perhaps not as plentiful, the hemlock branches still drooped gracefully above us like tiers of shyly lowered eyelashes. My grandson is now almost five years old. On a recent solitary visit, I felt like a survivor on a battlefield. The skeletons of eastern hemlock trees littered the forest floor or stood gray and silent like ghosts.

In this heavily used park, where biodiversity has already been severely diminished by grazing white-tailed deer, I suspect the hemlocks may have been even less resistant to the Wooly Adelgid-an introduced aphid-like pest. To add insult to injury, Japanese Stilt Grass was making rapid headway in crowding out native Lady ferns. (Where's Waldo the fern?) The overall effect was one of barren sterility.


Young families walked past me as I stood shell-shocked. They were blissfully unaware of what they had missed. But I knew, and mourned their loss. Especially on behalf of the children.

At my feet, a huge black beetle scurried at a surprising pace across the path to avoid being trampled. He frantically pulled some leaf litter over his head and body, obscuring not only himself but his own vision. Although tempted, I didn't disturb him. I knew how he felt.

ABC Wednesday

Deceive and Perceive

One type of animal camouflage is known as cryptic coloration. The colors of the animal mimic its habitat to fool the eye of predators or prey. Matching patterns of dark and light in order to blend in with the natural play of shadows, lines and textures in the environment is a highly effective strategy. Predator and prey have co-evolved in their abilities to perceive and deceive one another.

This young black rat snake Elaphe obsoleta obsoleta was coiled on the back of a wrought iron chair in the gazebo of our rented house in Great Cacapon WV this past weekend. My daughter entered to set the table for our evening meal and had quite a surprise. The snake makes a nice addition to the floral design, don't you think? However, my son-in-law removed the snake before we sat down to eat. I would imagine humans' ability to see snakes despite their attempt to camouflage themselves would be an important evolutionary advantage!

A childhood experience that made a big impression on me was the late summer evening when my father asked who wanted to accompany him on the short drive down to our small pumphouse. My younger sister and brother eagerly jumped up to go with him, but uncharacteristically for me, I hung back, preferring to stay on the porch with my mother. When my father returned he had a story for us. While my siblings had fumbled at opening the heavy car door, my father started toward the pumphouse. Directly in front of him were two stumpy mottled sticks lying across the path. Just before stepping on them, he realized what they were--a pair of copperhead snakes out for their evening hunt, or perhaps mating, but now attempting to camouflage themselves in the waning light. My father pointed out in a serious tone that if I had joined them on the errand, I may have jumped out more quickly than my siblings and encountered the snakes before he did. I believe this was the first time I grasped the meaning of the word "fate."

I don't remember if my father killed those particular snakes, but we frequently encountered copperheads, black snakes, and tiny ringneck snakes when I was growing up in Maryland. Sometimes the poisonous copperheads and even the larger of the nonvenomous black snakes (often 5 or 6 feet long) were slain if they encroached near our mountainside home. Mostly they seemed to stay in the nether region of overgrown briars and poison ivy between the driveway and the public road.

Our German Shepherd "Rinnie" would kill a snake by repeatedly grasping it in his mouth,violently shaking it from side to side, then flinging it away through the air.. He seemed able to avoid its jaws by this method. One time however, he was bitten on his paw by a copperhead. I remember pleading with my father to take him to the veterinarian as Rinnie began to show the effects of the venom. I rode along to the doctor's office in the back seat of our car with the dog's head cradled in my lap. Rinnie survived to hunt copperheads another day.

Despite the presence of these creatures, my siblings and I ran freely around the meadows and woods of our country property. For a while my older sister kept a milk snake in what I remember as a tall finely crafted wooden case with glass windows and a hinged door that latched with a metal clasp.

The local folk lore said that black snakes were a good thing to have around your house-they kept copperheads away. I don't know if this true. I do know they make pleasant pets, except for the problem of feeding them live prey. It would have been nostalgic to have caught the little rat snake for the enjoyment and study of my 4 year old grandson (and my own), if only I still had that beautiful wooden case. I do prefer to leave wild things wild and study them in their natural habitat.

The other photo is a Fowler's Toad Bufo fowleri seen at Eidolon Nature Preserve. It blended in perfectly with the leaf litter. My eye and camera snagged it only because it moved and disrupted the camouflage pattern. B. fowleri uses its earth toned skin to elude predators such as birds and small mammals. Like other toads, it can also release a foul liquid from the 'warts' on its back to irritate a predator's mouth. Another survival tactic it might use is to play opossum-it will lie belly up as if dead.

The genius of crytic coloration is the cuttlefish, a relative of the squid and octopus. It has special cells in its body that can change in color, pattern and texture almost instantly to mimic the variety of surfaces it encounters on the sea floor, allowing it to merge seamlessly with its surroundings. It has a very complex brain in order to control the up to 20 million cells that produce these optical illusions.