We arrived in June 2009 to a sterile, weedy landscape. Morning glory vines had overrun all of the landscape beds, their long tendril roots anchored firmly through the landscape fabric that smothered the soil. Transforming this property into an oasis of nature in suburban Chicago has been a labor of love so generously rewarded that I don’t even know where to start. Nature just needs a little space, a little relief from human pressure and control, and She will take care of the rest.

We pulled out the morning glory, the Japanese barberry, the privet, buckthorn, garlic mustard, and more. Over the years, I’ve planted natives in their place; Indian grass, little bluestem, prairie dropseed, spicebush, black chokecherry, birches, and oaks.  In the traditional landscape beds, beebalm, prairie smoke, blazing star, coneflowers, woodland sunflower, wild geraniums, and spiderwort bloom in the soil freed from the fabric.  Butterflies and caterpillars come in droves; monarchs, swallowtails, tussock moth caterpillars, dagger moth caterpillars, and swallowtail caterpillars. The songbirds raised brood after brood on this bounty (it takes 6,000-9,000 caterpillars to raise a nest of chickadees). Yet, somehow there were still enough for them to transform into moths and butterflies.

There are chickadees, wrens, house finches, sparrows (white-crowned, tree, white-throated, song, and more), catbirds, blue-grey gnatcatchers, cardinals, juncoes, orioles, goldfinches, nuthatches, downy woodpeckers, red-breasted woodpeckers, flickers, and more.  There are more than 50 species of birds on my backyard list.  Every year, someone new shows up.

I dug up part of the lawn in the front yard to plant ferns, Virginia bluebells, wild ginger,  side oats gamma (grass), butterfly weed, foxglove beardtongue, and New Jersey tea.  Our resident mallard pair nested here in its first year.  A song sparrow laid her beautiful spotted eggs in the low bush of the NJ tea.

Under the bird feeders at night, raccoons, skunks, opossums, and coyotes come out of the shadows the dine on the spilled seed. They were always respectful (even the raccoons!) and never caused trouble (my dogs might disagree).  Grey and fox squirrels planted peanuts in the most unusual places. I let a few plants grow and, in the fall, dug them up and put the new peanuts back in the feeder.

Deer wander through. A rare red fox was always exciting. Coyotes were regular visitors, befriending a couple of our dogs and figuring out the others (all bark, no bite).

We didn’t mow along the pond shoreline initially for erosion control. I started planting prairie grasses and forbs. Rob took to burning it in the spring.  Over the years, sedges and flowers took over and crowded out the turfgrass, morning glory, and canary reed grass.

Mallards and wood ducks came. A pair of geese have raised their family here every year for the last decade. 

Muskrats and beavers came.  American toads have populous spring mating gatherings despite the substantial population of large bullfrogs (they’ll eat just about anything they can get their mouths around).

We have a regular Great Blue Heron who, of all the wildlife here, raises the ire of my Vizsla, Bridger, like no other.  The Great Blue Heron ignores that crazy barking dog and just fishes the opposite shoreline. A pair of osprey have been nesting nearby, and for the last few years, our pond is a regular fishing spot for them.  They soar, hover, and then dive, piercing the water in a spectacle of stealth and power.

I could go on for pages telling the stories of all the ways this land has given back to me, all of the ways its saved me, inspired me, guided me and taught me.

I am writing  today from my front porch in the cool breeze a late March day, a blanket on my lap and my dog curled at my side. The spring sun is hot, warming the ground, spurring all that lies dormant through the winters. A cardinal song floats in from across the street. The bluebird pair is back, checking out their old nest box. A woodpecker calls from my right, always sounding urgent and alarmed.  The crocuses are ablaze in their bright purples and yellows, always the first to pierce the gray of the early spring landscape. The noise from gas-powered engines from distance lawn equipment intrudes into my peace. A house sparrow eyes me from the edge of a naked lilac bush chattering in a one-bird show just for the sake of her song. 

I get up and wander. I can’t help but pull the sprouting lawn grass from the landscaping and the creeping jenny that is so easy to control now, but if left unchecked, it will be a monoculture carpet by July. I do it for the land and for myself. To help whatever is in store next for this place.  A family of five is moving in. Will they be too busy raising little kids or, will they embrace this outdoor classroom. Will they feed the birds? Will they tolerate the coyotes, raccoons, skunks, opossums, and beavers long enough to see that they peacefully share the land. Whatever the future holds here, for a time, it was a thriving habitat, a respite for Nature in the middle of suburban Chicago.

There is something else out there calling me. A new place where I will thrive. A new relationship with the land and the wild to begin. But first, a stop in a rental house on a sliver of congested land. But I hear there’s a resident fox in the neighborhood. And so I leave this land that I love, but take it with me in my heart.

Subscribe here to receive an email whenever a new blog posts.

The post Saying Goodbye appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

I often get distracted walking past my patio doors by the sights outside: songbirds eating, bluejays demanding their peanuts, ducks waddling in the lawn, a swimming muskrat, a foraging beaver, hunting herons, coyotes passing through, deer, geese, anything and everything.

My camera sits on the table right here, always ready. Today, I paused to watch the two Canada Goose families raising their goslings here. The kids are getting their downy grey feathers transforming from cute yellow fluff balls into ugly ducklings on their way to adulthood. They are nearing my garden. Over the last week, they’ve been venturing further from the safety of the pond as their goslings grow.

I started to photograph the families. The one gosling is about a week older and still subtly larger than the four from the other brood. Even though they hang out together, they never comingle. Suddenly, they flushed. The goslings ran as fast as their little legs would carry them, flapping their near-naked wings to speed them along. Their parents were running right behind. I thought that the dog next door must’ve come outside. A fence restrains her, but she takes delight in shooing the geese. The geese, not ones to take chances, always oblige.

The Pursuit

When I looked up, I saw a coyote coming full speed from the corner of the woods, closing the distance with every stride. The adults could’ve taken to the air and safely made it to the pond, but they wouldn’t leave their goslings running for their lives.   The last goose, an adult, tried to take flight as the coyote lunged into the air with her mouth open. Her jaws caught just enough of the goose to foil her escape. They continued dashing down the incline toward the pond and out of my sight. I could only hear all of the geese honking and squawking in panic.

The Catch

The coyote stopped at the edge of the pond, head down. I could only see her shoulders but could tell by her posture that she had caught one. I thought she’d seized the last gosling – the singleton, the lone survivor of his clutch. It seemed to me that an adult would put up a fight. This was over in an instant. The coyote intermittently looked up and around, feathers protruding from her mouth and sticking to her tongue. She looked like she was feasting right here.

I continued taking pictures, conflicted by the exhilaration of Wild Kingdom in my backyard, the gratitude that I had my camera in hand as this unfolded, and the sadness of empathy for these goose families that I’ve come to know.

The coyote sees me

I’d stepped just outside the door when I first saw the coyote but hadn’t moved any closer. In fact, I’d hardly moved a muscle. She had looked in my direction but didn’t see me until now. She gently gathered up her catch, and it was only then that I saw she’d killed one of the adults. She held a limp, lifeless Ethel in her teeth. The entire sequence lasted just two minutes. 

Canada Geese are surprisingly big birds. This will be a hearty meal. The huntress casually trotted off, turning back towards the scene one last time before disappearing into the woods. I like to think she has a den full of pups that are going to eat well today.

On the water, Fred is honking with his sole gosling by his side. The other family of six geese paddles silently nearby. He’s looking at the shore where he’d last seen Ethel as if waiting, hoping, for her to reappear. It’s heartbreaking to watch. Just a few moments later, Fred is silently preening. His gosling is doing the same. “Is this a displacement behavior?” I wonder. Then, all of the geese casually swim away.

Resilience

I saw them later that afternoon, resting in the adjoining yard. Three weeks have passed since then, and I haven’t seen any of them. It makes good sense. I wonder if Fred and a new mate will return to nest here next year. After all, Mama Duck keeps returning year after year to nest and lay eggs even though she’s never been successful. Having your eggs eaten must be equally traumatic.

That’s just how nature works sometimes. Next spring, I’ll be waiting to see who shows up.

If you’ve enjoyed this article, don’t miss the next one! Subscribe here to receive an email whenever a new blog posts.

The post Backyard Drama: Coyote versus Geese appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.

They wander closer to the deck in their feeding than the other geese.  They don’t run, squawking to the water when the dogs come out.  (The dogs mostly ignore them).  They don’t alarm call or head for the pond when I’m out gardening and walk past them. They tolerate me in the yard but still react to my neighbors or visitors.  Those people warrant an alarm and retreat.

Sometime in May, Ethel disappears to incubate eggs. In all these years, I’ve never been able to find their nest.  Our pond only covers an acre, as does the adjacent pond.  The backside of the ponds is bordered by a thicket of trees, dogwood bushes, invasive honeysuckle, and more. This side has a few homes and yards.  It’s not a big area to search thoroughly.  Geese like to nest in a place where they can see danger coming – decidedly not a thicket. Since the goslings show up swimming when they are only days old, the nest can’t be far.  Yet, I cannot find it.  Could they be the first geese to nest in a forest?!?

Come June; I wait for the goslings, a series of yellow cream puffs swimming tightly between their vigilant parents. 

It’s a hard life for them.  They haven’t had a lot of success raising their whole brood to fledge.  The first year I lived here, only one chick made it to adulthood.  The next year the attrition was fast and merciless.  Eight goslings appeared on day one.  Only six goslings remained then next day. Then two.  By the end of the week, they were all gone.  Snapping turtle? Largemouth Bass? Great Horned Owls? Raccoons? Red-Tailed Hawks? Mink?  Disease?  Some combination of the above?

If they survive the first week, they have made it through the riskiest time.  In 2015, six hatchlings appeared on day one, and all of them survived to adulthood.  I enjoyed watching them progress from cute fluffballs, to ugly ducklings, to ragged teenagers and finally becoming almost indistinguishable from Fred and Ethel.

In 2012, they raised a clutch of five successfully.  In 2018, just two survived the first week, and only one made it to adulthood.  The geese are more protective of the goslings and always head toward the safety of the water with the youngsters.  As they grow, the parents become less concerned, but the goslings remain wary. These kids don’t know anything about these dogs and me. Their instincts compel them to run as fast as their little chicken-legs will carry them into the water as their parents watch from shore.

Years ago, I bought some duck chow for my backyard Canada geese and mallard ducks.  Everybody loved it except for the waterfowl!  Hobbes, my dog at the time, ate it, and got diarrhea. The raccoons ate it; the coyotes ate it; the rabbits ate it; the deer ate it.  The geese and ducks wouldn’t touch it!  I’ve tried cracked corn since then, but it was the same scenario.  I guess offering them a peaceful place when they can raise their family without human harassment is enough.

Last year, when Ethel disappeared near nesting time, so did Fred. They didn’t spend their summer here with or without kids.  I was concerned that one or both of them had died. I’m thrilled to see them back this spring, hope they stick around and would live to watch some goslings grow up on my pond.

*I name all of the recognizable, repeat visitors to my yard.

If you’ve enjoyed this article, don’t miss the next one! Subscribe here to receive an email whenever a new blog posts.

The post Backyard Geese appeared first on Exploring Nature by Sheila Newenham.