This article is part of a new series in which I'll write a short summary of a photographic experience out in the field.
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I wrote this for class, but figured I'd share it here, since it's about nature. Enjoy!
Preface: I’ve never lived by the sea, but the very thought of doing that has always been a tranquil and distant dream of mine. Waking up in the early hours of the morning, sea-salt air drifting in through the open kitchen window, hearing the waves lapping against the sand, and the shorebirds peeping as they skitter and fly by the water’s edge… one can dream. Though I’ve never had a seaside house, I still sometimes call the ocean home in my heart. I’ve visited the Cape May shore frequently since I was a young child — my family and I would pack some bags and head out in the morning for a day trip to the beach. Of course, it was a crowded beach by a metropolis of arcades and surfing shops, hotels, and restaurants, but it was the ocean nonetheless; nothing could take away from the fact that the water before me connected to everywhere in the world. The ocean lives through rhythm. Every year, arctic terns migrate about 18,640 miles (or 30,000 kilometers). These little birds fly all the way from the Arctic Circle to the Antarctic Circle, spending four months of every year making this journey. Like most birds, arctic terns are tiny — they weigh a mere 3.5 ounces, yet they still manage. Consider the horseshoe crab. They live in the ocean for the majority of their lives, but every year, just like clockwork, they emerge. They arrive in the millions, and under the full moon, they lay their thousands of eggs in May and June. The ocean’s currents are driven by the constant winds, and its tides by gravitational forces we can’t even begin to understand. Cape May will forever be in motion, through the tiny mole crabs burrowing under the sand as a wave passes over, the sanderlings as they run along the shore, and the people as they come to admire the beauty of the place. 1: The Meadows If you were looking for a place that can be at once bustling with sudden commotion yet still and calm as can be, the South Cape May Meadows would be a contender. Sometimes, a northern harrier, a type of hawk with a flat face comparable to that of an owl’s, will be soaring over the reeds, on the hunt for waterfowl. Other times, you can hear the ocean’s waves from a mile away and the wind rustling the cattails due to the chilling silence. I recall one instance in late winter when I paid a visit to the meadows. Before I even set foot on the trail, I could hear the loud grunts and noises of waterfowl (ducks, geese, etc). Upon reaching the pond, I could see dozens of Canada geese littered throughout the frozen-over landscape, accompanied by scores of northern shovelers, a few mallards, and a couple of mute swans. I saw movement in the bare brambles lining the ice, and when I looked at them closer, they revealed themselves to be myrtle warblers hopping about — dashing little birds of drab browns, with a chest and tail of eye-catching yellow. Looking to the skies, I saw gulls in their winter plumage flying past, cutting through the strong winds with their aerodynamic nature. They were mostly herring gulls, a rather mottled and modest-looking species of gull, especially in winter. I did catch a glimpse of a great-black backed gull or two, which was exciting as they’re my favorite species. Great-blacked gulls are the largest gull on planet Earth, and it’s evident when you see them next to something like a herring gull — they dwarf them in size and attitude. They’ve been known to frequently snatch food from other birds, and they go for big game like full-sized, adult puffins. On the shore, there were still little patches of snow from the frigid weather, which made for some interestingly-textured sand: hard and thick, yet not dense. Lo and behold, there was another great black-backed sitting on the sand. I got down on my stomach and watched it through the viewfinder of my camera. Its feathers ruffled and moved in the wind, and after a short while of staying still, it stood up and tucked one leg up into its body, which made it look like a one-legged bird. Birds do this often, especially when it’s cold, to retain body heat. Their legs are featherless, of course, and so by keeping one of them warm they reduce the amount of body heat lost (half the amount of heat lost)! In the spring, there are plenty of shorebirds around the meadows. American oystercatchers, tall black-and-white shorebirds with bright orange eyes and beaks, come to nest here on the East Coast. I saw a few of them, standing tall, behind protective fencing put in to keep shorebird nests safe from would-be egg tramplers. Short-billed dowitchers, dunlins, least terns, Forster’s terns, white-rumped sandpipers, and lesser yellowlegs were spotted too. On days like this, it’s not uncommon to see members of the order Odonata (dragonflies and damselflies), like forktails and bluets, which were quite abundant at that point. After visiting the South Cape May Meadows in so many different seasons, I’ve been able to observe the rhythm of change. The changing seasons bring new climates, and new climates bring in new life. The landscape is much more barren and cold come fall and winter, but vibrant and full of plants when spring and summer roll around. When the meadow is frigid, it brings with it winter gulls and migrating waterfowl, and when the cold departs, it leaves room for the warmth to grow, and it does grow in spring, bringing insects and plants and little shorebirds. All a day’s work for the rhythmic cycle of the ocean, and the natural world. Like clockwork.
In April through May of 2022, I documented an Eastern Bluebird's nest as eggs got added daily and until they finally hatched. Follow along with me! April 18, 2022: Whilst visiting family in Indiana last week, I had the pleasure of observing a bluebird couple figure out the ins and outs of avian parenting. Well, not quite yet. These bluebirds were very choosy about which nesting box to use, but eventually, they settled on one in the front yard. I never got to see the nest with just one egg, but on the first day I checked, there were two precious, perfectly-shaped turquoise eggs. I approached the nesting box tentatively, making sure the parents weren't in the nest or watching nearby. I opened the little door and peered inside the nest - and sure enough, there were two eggs. The next day, I did the same thing and was greeted by a newly laid egg, joining its future siblings. This went on for two more days, each day with a new little bird. Most Eastern Bluebirds usually lay four to five eggs at a time. Most Bluebird mothers new to parenting tend to only lay four, so I'm not sure what this says about the female's age. I hope that I get to see the Bluebird chicks grow up and start families of their own. The eggs are beautiful. Now, what happened. April 12, 2022 Two recently laid Eastern Bluebird eggs in a nesting box. 100% positive on the Bluebird ID. April 13, 2022 One more egg than yesterday!! Up to three now. April 14, 2022 Another egg laid!! This makes four, which can only mean momma bluebird is busy. April 15, 2022 And another egg! This will likely be the last one laid, since five tends to be the most that Eastern Bluebirds lay. Really exciting. May 2, 2022 The chicks have hatched! Welcome to the world, little ones. After tracking this nest's progression for about a month, I learned a lot about egg-laying and how birds nest, which was really interesting. I'm glad I got the chance to experience this. You can too! This all took place in a nesting box set up on a rural property in Indiana, and nesting boxes aren't hard to come by. Eastern Bluebirds tend to lay their eggs about 6-7 days after the nest is complete. Egg-laying in the Southern states usually begins in February and continues into March and in the Northern states, March and April.
Dekay's Brownsnakes are generally small and inconspicuous reptiles, spending their days hiding under rocks and chasing after critters like slugs and earthworms. Yesterday I flipped over a rock in my yard and to my surprise, found this year's first live Dekay's, a relatively small juvenile (based on size, most likely). I decided to set up a temporary enclosure in a Tupperware to observe its behavior overnight and into the next day, when I would release it back where I found it.
In the first few hours of captivity it stayed above the surface, doing laps around the perimeter. Later that day when I went to check on it, it was nowhere to be found. A quick glance at the sides of the enclosure revealed that it had actually burrowed underneath the substrate and was hiding in a little tunnel it had created. Sometimes it would stick its head out from one end of the rock while its body was curled up under it, and other times it was curled up tightly in one of its tunnels. The tunnels did not ever collapse and were visible from the sides along the Tupperware. I imagine that it either made a web of tunnels across the entire enclosure or just one that wrapped around the sides. It spent a large portion of its time underground, resting and slithering through the tunnel system.
I am not entirely sure about the reasons for its burrowing, but I came up with a list of potential ones. The reason is probably a combination of them.
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