Winter "blues"

March 22nd, 10:00 am.  It is cold out, 37 degrees Fahrenheit to be exact.  The sky is grey, the air is raw.  The wind is whipping up and broadcasting the aromas of woodland detritus and char.  The sounds of distant traffic provide an ambient noise level, through which the occasional lonely red-winged blackbird calls.  I stand, looking upwards with a look of suspicion at a large gap in the canopy, and watch for warnings from the sky.  I adjust the cotton-knit hat over my ears, and trudge forward, toward what most might call a mud hole in the middle of the woods.  Looking down, the mire appears lifeless.  The ground is plastered in decaying bur oak leaves.  Everything is a shade of brown.  Nary an indicator of spring has been conjured by the suprafreezing temperatures.  Strewn about the woods, in patches of various sizes, is snow.  I notice, as I kick aside a few leaves lying next to a glacial erratic, an earthworm.   It disappears in a split second, as if some clandestine subterranean force pulled it from one end down.  I kneel down to inspect the small boulder.  I passed my hand lightly over its eroded surface, and visions of it bearing the weight and pressure of ancient glaciers, while many of its counterparts were reduced to grit, fill my mind.  Standing, I gaze to the North.  The vernal pool, still blanketed in ice in sections, enjoys its final days as a barren puddle of water and leaves.  Soon, it will explode with life as woodland amphibians thaw and stagger toward it with the intention of manufacturing progeny.  I knew coming here, that I was early to the party.  Yet, I was drawn to the prospect of experiencing the first signs of revival.

This Cook County preserve has been one of my favorite semi-local locations for spring amphibians.  I have documented my discoveries here several times before.  Not only is it a stronghold for several species of woodland amphibians, but it is also fairly isolated and quiet.  Usually, the only other people I see are volunteers working to restore this woodland back to pre-settlement conditions.  They have done a superb job, removing buckthorn and invasive understory trees like green ash, and punching holes in the canopy that allow sunlight to penetrate down to the ground.  There, later in the spring and summer, rare and beautiful wildflowers fill the woods and remind us about how bad of an idea it was to have planted buckthorn and suppressed fire.  This day, however, I was alone with the woods to myself.  In cases such as this, I feel completely synced with nature.  I don't feel like an apex predator. I feel a lucid sense of vulnerability that I oddly find attractive.  And interestingly, that sense of vulnerability doesn't stem from any worry I have of scary creepy ax murderers.  It stems from the idea that where I am, at that time, I am in nature's hands, and nature isn't always copacetic.  It is a feeling that keeps most people away from wilderness.

I had hoped that conditions were such that I'd be able to observe early breeding behavior from Pseudacris crucifer, Pseudacris triseriata, and/or Ambystoma laterale.  We've had a few nights of not-so-cold temperatures, and a little rain.  However, nature did not schedule that at this time.  However, I did find my first herp of the calendar year (and first in over four months) - a lone laterale.  It was underneath a curved piece of bark and was standing on all fours with its ventral surface elevated when I flipped the bark.  I felt a rush of adrenaline come over me, which was all but extinguished when I realized that I couldn't get a decent photo with the lens I have.  I absolutely need to get one soon, especially since I'll be heading to Snake Road next month and want to be sure I'm equipped when I come across some other small species such as cricket frogs (Acris crepitans).  The salamander was active in spite of the temperatures and the snow patches located a few feet away.

 A rodent's winter stash.

 Owl pellet, presumably from one of the great horned owls that nest in the area.

An illustration of how essential restoration is.  The next two photos were taken from the same vantage point.  The first faces west, and the second, east.  You can clearly see the difference.  The view west will transform into a healthy woodland ecosystem in the spring and only increase in quality as it becomes more established.  The view east is what was once a healthy hickory/oak woodland that has become choked with buckthorn and other invasive brush.  This area does not support the biodiversity that the other areas do.  It will be interesting to watch as this area also is cleared of the brush and is allowed to be taken over by native plants and flowers which attract rare insects and birds (I witnessed breeding behavior from hummingbirds in these woods last summer).

 In the wings.