Going camping, but with glamour.  It’s like regular camping, but with nicer things than usual, being warmer, and more comfortable.

I’ve been spending one week every summer in my grandparent’s old summer cabin on a quiet lake in the Northwoods of Wisconsin for twenty years or more.  I sleep on the second-story three-season porch at the water’s edge to listen to the loons tremolos in the night and the purring of beavers eating.  The cabin sits at the bottom of a steep hill surrounded by an oak and birch forest. Surrounded by windows on three sides, I get the effect of sleeping in the forest canopy.  Except in a bed, free from mosquitoes and convenient access to indoor plumbing.

Birding from Bed

Awaking on the first morning and lounging in bed, I noticed a tightly woven birds nest nestling in the crook of an oak’s branches. If I prop myself up on two pillows, I can watch a pair of robins feeding their three offspring from where I lie.

When the parents are gone, the nestlings settle into the nest hunkered down so low they can hardly be seen until a parent returns with a mouthful to share.

With their outstretched necks and gaping mouths, each seems to be saying, “Me! Me! Me! Feed me first!”

The female (with a dark grey head) always lands to the left to feed them while the male (with a jet black head) perches on the right—creatures of habit.

Sometimes mom will settle in on top of the chicks after she feeds them, amazingly adding to the small cup without anyone falling out or getting squashed. It’s like a clown car.

There is an occasional flutter of activity while the parents are away as the nestlings stretch and flap their wings, preparing for their big day.

They’re mature nestlings, I expect they’ll fledge any time now.   Until then, there’s no better way to start the day.

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The post Birding from Bed appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

This is literally a hidden gem. Bluff Spring Fen in South Elgin, IL, is tucked between a cemetery, the Metra train tracks, a gravel pit/industrial park, and a well-traveled road. Even as I tell you about it, driving up, it seems unreal – dump trucks, trains, glacial kames and a fen??? There is no signage to lead you here. The entrance is at the back of the cemetery. The meandering, circuitous lane winds past crypts and old gravesites, eventually leading to a wooden, split-rail fence and six parking spots. This is it.

I’d heard that the purple coneflower here is spectacular this year. Even though it’s overcast and cool, today is my only chance to see it before the blooms fade. Walking among the ancient bur oaks at the entrance, I’m looking out over the green fen. Green on green. Skunk cabbage, fading foxglove, wispy strands of sedges bowing in the breeze.

It’s early morning, and birdsong fills the air with life. There are cavities in these thick, tall, rough trunks that I’m sure are home to raccoons and others. I glass for tufts of fur poking out at the edges of the hollows to no avail.

As I round the back of this small kame (a hill made of sediment deposited by long-since-gone glaciers), I see the purple hillside ahead. The sight invigorates me.

I decide to walk the long way around and explore more of the area before looping back to today’s main attraction. The trail is single-track, worn to the bare ground and predominated by boot prints and deer prints. Along the path to the marsh are occasional coneflowers, the tall puffy spikes of Baptista, budding butterfly weed, milkweed and foxglove blooms.

A pair of mallards is hanging out in the marsh, undisturbed by my approach. Even the red-winged blackbirds aren’t alarmed – they’re always alarmed! Back on the main loop, lead plant is budding and cup plant is reaching for the sky, it’s fuzzy stems begging to be touched.

A pair of cedar waxwings is plucking cattails for their nest. They are intolerant of my approach, no matter how slow, so I leave them to their preparations.

At a gravelly spot in the marl flats, milkweed and sedges predominate. I looked for caterpillars or eggs. I couldn’t even find a chewed leaf. There are busy bees and butterflies, though.

Back around the fen to the coneflower kame is a stunning profusion of pinks and purples, new unfurling petals, older, curled petals, stamens loaded with pollen, others already harvested clean. Among this glory, the blazing star are thick, preparing for their own show in another week or so adding their purples to the then-fading coneflowers.

I’m distracted by a wild oyster flower seed head. It’s like a giant dandelion with its lacy parachutes ready to carry away it’s seed on the wind.

I spent more time immersed in the individual coneflower blooms watching bees and butterflies enjoying the bounty.

There’s so much more to explore at this small preserve, but I’ve been here a couple of hours, and it’s time to go. I have to come back to see the next act in this spectacular wildflower season, and then I will explore further. Special bonus: I didn’t see any ticks today!

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The post Coneflower Prairie appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.