Tuesday, May 23, 2023

Alleyways

 “...most of us (naturalists) were born with something inside of us, a drive, a stress, a burning, usually inconvenient and annoyingly insatiable curiosity”.  - Matthew Ignoffo

Me in 1983

I think it’s safe to assume that most naturalists got their start as a consequence of living in or near nature.  Many of my like-minded friends come from places afar - the low deserts of Arizona, the boreal forests of northern Michigan, the piney sandhills of South Carolina, the coastal rainforests of the Pacific Northwest, or even the leafy western suburbs of Chicago.  Of course, not everyone from those parts of the country develop deep, lifelong connections with nature; only a select few are drawn in from an early age, forever rejecting a blissfully ignorant lifestyle - one steeped in materialism, vanity, and self-serving*.  In the rat race that is American society, it’s easy to get caught up in stupid meaningless things like celebrity wealth (back in the day we called it “catching the vapors" - thanks Biz Markie), or having more things or bigger things or faster things than the other people.  I can go on and on with this topic but at the risk of derailing the entire subject I’ll touch on a bit of irony in my life that I think is worth exploring.


Before I ever set foot in nature, the extent of my outdoor experience revolved around my backyard and my alley on the northwest side of Chicago.  If you’ve never lived in a place with alleys, let me give you a little bit of background.  An alley of course is essentially a narrow access road to your garage.  Most of the time, they are free of traffic and they make excellent basketball courts, hockey rinks, or even baseball diamonds.  You can really let loose on a bicycle and if you’re so inclined you can even fashion a little (or big) ramp out of salvaged wood. 



The city of Chicago does not plow alleys during the winter, so the snow can really pack down and get slippery - all the better to sled on.  During the summer, the mixture of gravel, sand, and bits of broken glass make for a satisfying crunch sound underfoot.  Alleys are often weedy, neglected places - miniature jungles lush with exotic plants that smell bad when broken or that produce seeds that stick to your socks.  You can pass the time by removing the stringy “skin” from some of the branches or even make spears.  Sometimes you can hide in the more substantial patches of weeds.  Comes in handy at times.



On garbage day, hold your nose.  On a hot summer day, garbage cans (they used to be metal cans a la Oscar the Grouch’s abode but now are plastic “carts”) overflowing with uneaten food scraps, stale beer, and dog shit will repel even the most intrepid souls.  But once the herd of lumbering garbage trucks completes its route, the alleys are as good as new again.  If it’s late summer, you might find grasshoppers living in the concrete prairies.  The big ones are quick and hard to catch but you might be capable of gathering a plastic ice cream tub full of the young nymphs (make sure to provide a bed of grass for them for the duration of their captive lives).  Check the old discarded piles of concrete rubble.  If you carefully dissect them you might find baby garter snakes in there.  And if you’re really lucky you might find the momma.



At night, the alleys are alive with mammalian diversity rivaling any natural area.  The racoons - “trash pandas” as they are lovingly referred to - are mainstays, as are the seemingly dimwitted opossums and the sly skunks.  Rats dart across the alley so fast that if you blink you can miss them.  The rats are big but never as big as many claim; cat-sized rats are about as common as six-foot garter snakes.  Alongside the twitchy rats are the mice that probably outnumber the rats 10:1.  Both are mangy in appearance but resourceful.  They can eke out an existence living off of pet waste while spending their days in the sewers or wedged in cracks in garage foundations.


Somehow, I was born from this environment and eventually dedicated much of my life to the pursuit of nature.  How can that be?  What might the connection be between Chicago’s crumbling corridors and nature far beyond? 



I think it’s sheer curiosity.  Being curious about your surroundings, gaining an intimate understanding of the world around you and applying it to your own existence.  As an adult in my forties now, I still approach life the same way.  I make sure to stop frequently to observe the minute details in the web of life, as beautiful or as terrifying as they may be.  And I try to bestow that curiosity to my daughter (although she is naturally curious) because too many people live for the next day, unable to keep up with what others possess, distracted by the media appealing to fear, and clueless to Earth’s dire state.


Well, this post was sort of all over the place, I’ll admit.  Join me next time when I discuss nature vs nurture, stoicism, and cognitive bias for dummies.

My older sisters and a friend circa 1983


*YES, I am guilty of being materialistic, vain, and self serving at times.  I am aware.  I’m a glowing example of imperfection but I am always striving for improvement.  We’ll see how that goes.

Sunday, May 7, 2023

A windswept maple

Have you ever driven along blank farm fields and seen a random tree standing alone, exposed out in

the distance, and wondered why it’s there?  I have.  A tree obstructing row crops seems like it might

be aggravating to a farmer, but yet it remains, year after year, free from persecution. What is the

significance of such a tree?

The windswept maple


Adjacent to my home is a large (for a developed suburb) farm field.  It is split into two sections -  106.6 acres is owned by an adjacent country club, who recently marketed the parcel to home construction giant Pulte but was met with opposition by neighboring subdivisions (the deal ultimately fell through).

(Pulte is known for its cheap, hastily-built, cookie cutter suburban houses - especially the ones built during the last ten years or so.)

92.7 acres is owned by the Forest Preserve District of DuPage County.  This portion was acquired from the country club in 2007 to help protect a nearby fen by providing a buffer onto which no development will occur.  

All of the nearly 200 acres are leased to a farmer who alternates between growing corn and soybeans year to year.  During the planting season, I do not intrude.  But until then, I occasionally will walk the forest preserve-owned portion.  For someone raised in a city, walking out to the middle of a large open area is pretty surreal.  By this time of year, the soil below is at an early state of succession.  Large patches of weeds cover the ground, in some areas reaching a foot or more in height.  Rocks, some as large as footballs, litter the surface.  Any day now, the tractor will arrive and plow the soil as it has for nearly two hundred years.  

A winter scene; maple in the distance

Early May, pre-planting.  Maple is way out there

A plow-struck stone


Near the center of the forest preserve-owned field stands a maple tree.  It’s not a huge tree - I’d call it an average sized maple tree.  I’m not even sure what kind of maple it is.  But as it has always intrigued me, I recently decided to check it out.  Over one thousand feet from the road, it’s a bit of a walk across the windy plain.  When I reached the tree, I noticed a lot of debris near its trunk, such as large rocks, a few old pieces of wood, and a handful of spent shotgun shells scattered about.  Then I noticed what looked like a small, old foundation covered by an iron lid.  The lid was around three to four feet long and it sat flush atop the rectangular concrete base.  When I attempted to move the lid I found that it was extremely heavy.  Like, so heavy that I could barely drag it a few inches.  But I did, and I found that it covered a hole in the ground.  Down maybe four or five feet was some standing water.  I moved the lid back in place and scratched my head a bit.  I needed to know the history behind this hole and the tree that appeared to mark it.

The base of the maple
What is this?


A few friends of mine with agricultural backgrounds offered a few possibilities and although no one was able to specify the hole’s purpose, they thought it may have had something to do with irrigation - perhaps a well for a water tank or for livestock.  With that in mind, I did the next best thing - I sought expertise on Facebook groups (ha).  Several groups specializing in historic farming offered numerous possibilities, including cistern, windmill, dipping vat, junction box for draining tiles, and natural spring.  With all of these answers, where do I begin with my deduction to determine what the hell this thing really is??

Well (no pun intended), let’s start with cistern.  I write that one off since there has never been a house or barn or any structure onsite.  At least, not since the 1870s.  A plat map from that era shows nothing at that site and subsequent maps and aerial flyovers indicate no significant structures in the vicinity.  A cistern in the middle of a field just doesn’t make much sense.

Next - windmill.  As mentioned, no structures - houses, barns, windmills, outhouses - have ever been recorded here.  So into the garbage goes that one.

Dipping vat?  I had to look that up.  A dipping vat, also known as a dipping tank, is a sort of bath where livestock are treated for external parasites such as ticks.  This hole in the ground is both too deep and too short to have been used for this purpose.  Next.

A junction box for drain tiles…so I know all too well what drain tiles are.  They are like little conduits that move excess groundwater away from the fields and into a stream or ditch.  This is done to lower the local water table and to provide more ideal conditions for crops.  During the early years of tiling, the tiles were made of terracotta.  But over the last few decades or so, plastic has been the go-to material.  Drain tiles can be the bane of land managers tasked with restoring wetlands.  They have to be dug up - often with heavy machinery - and disposed of if the plan is to allow water to stay in its place.  Sometimes you can find pieces of old broken tiles in restored wetlands or prairies.

So what is a junction box and how does it factor in drain tiling?  According to my googling, a junction box is a place where two or more drain lines meet underground.  They are described as being circular or RECTANGULAR in shape - but they are often buried and when so they are buried under at least 1.5 feet of soil.  I’m not completely writing this one off but there is a more likely possibility.

If you were going to guess natural spring - you may be right.  About 1500 feet east of this tree - across a two lane road and in a natural area - springs forth subterranean water from a hillside, where it trickles down in small eroded grooves and into a marsh which slowly drains into the West Branch DuPage River.  This is the county’s precious and poorly-known hanging fen known locally as the Klein Fen.  One of a very few left on the region, the calcareous fen produces upwellings of water made alkaline by its travels through the gravelly soils underfoot. Is it possible that someone long ago acknowledged this water source and tapped into it?  The benefit would be free, clean water for irrigation (for crops or even livestock).  We may be onto something here.

Possible evidence of the existence of a spring can be seen at the surface of the field itself.  Immediately east of the maple is a wavy u-shaped area consisting of tussocky grass and other weeds.  Shaped like small streams, these vegetated areas are slightly depressed and coalesce just before they reach the road.  Water that collects in these small streams is diverted under the road via culvert into the natural area where it is held in an engineered detention basin before it empties toward the fen.  It is important to think “big picture” here - this is not a collection of separate natural and artificial features on the landscape.  This is in all likelihood one natural system that has been fractured by humanity and altered such that it is no longer recognized as a living breathing thing.  Prior to European colonization, this area was probably Shangri-La.  Today, it has surrendered to mankind and left trembling under the harvester’s massive tires.  

Tree, with outline of former streams
Note the marshy character of the grassy strips

While I’m not 100% sure what the “well” under the maple tree is, I can assume that the tree is there so that the farmer does not run over the concrete and iron structure and risk ruining his equipment.  To the west, on the country club-owned portion of the field, stands another tree all by itself.  It wouldn’t surprise me if there is another such well here.  But I’m not sure and I’m too old and responsible to be trespassing over there just to see if I’m right (trespassing on railroad property and/or other lands owned by private entities in order to find snakes?  Ehh... 
...maybe?

I’m curious about solo trees in other areas.  Are they denoting similar structures, are they the remains of a long lost homestead, or maybe some farmers are just artsy and appreciate symbolism.  I don’t know.  I’d be interested in hearing from others on the topic.

That’s enough geek for the week.  Til next time…