WILD Jersey

Home sweet home

2007-05-08T15:30:00.000-05:00

After a few false starts, it seems spring has finally decided to stay put. At least the house wrens seem to think so. A week or so ago there was a ruckous outside my home office window, and I witnessed the eviction of a pair of chickadees from my birdhouse. Those little wrens are feisty birds, let me tell you.

The male house wren will usually choose the nesting site (often a birdhouse), and begins the process of decorating by cramming the place full of twigs. You can see the twigs protruding from under the tin roof, and the ground is covered with remnants from last year's residents, feathers and such which he apparently removed.

He then finds himself a girlfriend, who will immediately begin remodeling to her own taste. She adds softer materials to make the nest cup, which is what this particular wren was doing at the time I snapped the picture.

Wrens do NOT enjoy being watched, by people or by cats. It only took a few moments of hearing my camera shutter clicking to make her mad, and she perched on a nearby tree to unleash a barrage of warning calls at me. A few more quick shots and I closed the window and let her return to her homemaking chores.

Found

2006-11-20T18:25:00.000-05:00

It took a while, but eventually the missing caterpillar was found, having morphed into a dull brown cocoon and attached itself to a sweatshirt. A clever disguise, indeed, but a tuft of leftover "yellow bear" fuzz was convincing evidence that the runaway had merely been seeking a place to overwinter. The cocoon is now tucked among leaves and mulch in a terrarium in the garage.

BOLO

2006-10-18T21:44:00.000-05:00

Be on the lookout for woolly caterpillar, aka "yellow bear" (pictured at right), last seen circling the top of its critter keeper. Suspect is a Virginia tiger moth larva, and was preparing to pupate when it escaped from captivity. Possible hideouts might be inside the pullout couch or the heat ducts. Effort should be made to keep predators from the area (keep the living room door closed so the cats don't eat the poor fellow). Missing caterpillar is capable of changing disguises, and may reappear in an entirely different form.

Today's forest, tomorrow's "grove"?

2006-10-15T21:04:00.000-05:00

Saturday was one of those crisp fall days that almost makes me appreciate crisp fall days. It was a hiking day that starts with a sweatshirt and a mug of coffee, and warms quickly into a T shirt and water bottle walk. I headed out to scout some trails for future family hikes I plan to guide. My first trail brought me to the NJ State Tree Nursery, just a really, really long stone's throw from my house.

I wandered around just a small part of the 600+ acres of state-owned land, and gave a quick thank you to whomever had the good sense to conserve it for this purpose. The irrigation pond is home to frogs and turtles, sundews and water lilies, and is in close proximity to the Toms River, which is stocked with trout for local anglers. Blueberries, pepperbush, pines and oaks tell the tale of the pinelands here. But another story looms just past that line of trees in the distance...

This is what the brilliant minds who run Jackson Township consider...well, I don't know what they consider it, but they keep letting it happen. I guess this is what they think our town should be - a bunch of barren space with giant, cookie cutter homes (coming soon) and no trees. It feels like every time I drive across our 100 square miles of township, I witness another bulldozer knocking down trees. And this particular MOONSCAPE seemed more brutal than most. Maybe because it was right next to the tree nursery, and the river.

But there REALLY should be a rule that the developers should NOT be allowed destroy a forest and then call the new subdivision on 1/3 acre lots anything like "Royal Grove!!!"

Let them eat poop!

2006-10-11T22:16:00.000-05:00

Cottontail rabbits are vegetarians for the most part. And vegetarians poop a lot. I know, because I am one. But rabbits really poop a lot - twice as much as your ordinary vegetarian, even. That's because rabbits practice the little known art of coprophagy - poop eating.

Unfortunately for rabbits, their favorite meals are found in open areas like grassy fields and meadows, which means they are susceptible to predators while they dine. So they need to eat quick. Cottontails chew some food, then retreat to shelter and pass the food partially digested through their system. They may continue this pattern several times, munching and retreating, munching and retreating. The green pellets are saved for later, when they return to dine on the poop at their leisure and fully digest the meal.

Frogs of summer

2006-09-25T21:22:00.000-05:00

Another summer in the rear view mirror. An early drop in temperature makes fall an even grimmer reality. Leaves on the crabapple tree are already half gone, and the finches are looking unkempt as they molt their brightly colored garb from breeding season. As I head upstairs to get a sweatshirt for the first time since spring, something catches my eye on the storm door. Big frog!

Quite a specimen, at over 2 inches long. Might just be the largest gray tree frog I've seen this year. I can't say with absolute certainly which kind it is - northern gray or southern gray - but I have to assume it's a northern since those are the ones I hear calling on humid nights. These two species are identical to the eye, and can only be distinguished by their calls.

Frogs, I've found, love my full length glass storm door when the porch light is on. Hundreds of insects circle under the light, making easy targets for a frog. In the earliest days of March, I start checking the doors for spring peepers.

My cat Maestro was the winner of this year's contest to find the first peeper. One day he's going to break a tooth trying to bite frogs (and birds and chipmunks, and falling leaves and twigs and hemlock cones...) through the glass.

The weather may turn chilly, and the trees may start looking bare, but as long as there are frogs on the storm door, I don't have to admit that summer has ended.

Won't you be my neighbor?

2006-09-15T09:47:00.000-05:00

About this time every year, I feel I must apologize to my neighbor, Mike. Mike keeps a meticulously neat yard - not a leaf to be found. He'll ride his tractor mower around for hours, trimming the lawn and suctioning up clippings and leaves.

Anything that falls on my acre stays put - leaves, acorns and walnuts, twigs, pine needles... If it's organic, it has a purpose in this little backyard habitat o' mine. By late summer, most of the wildflowers are past their prime. Dried up petals lay scattered on the mulch, and all that remains are the seedheads, ripe for the picking. Neat and tidy isn't my brand of gardening.

I have three niger feeders in my yard, and most of the year the finch traffic is nonstop. But once the echinacea is ripe with seeds, that changes. Goldfinches in particular seem to relish these seeds, and I'm lucky if I get to collect any before they've been picked clean. Each time I open my door to go outside, I'm met with the whoosh of wings as a dozen finches take flight at once. Sometimes they land in Mike's oak tree, where they can watch from high above until I'm at a safe distance from their favorite wildflower patch.

That's about the only time I see birds on Mike's side of the dirt road that separates our yards. There's a stark contrast between our two worlds, and I'm happy to be living on this side of the proverbial fence. I much prefer the crunch of leaves underfoot, and the sight of finches bobbing with the breeze as they harvest my coneflower seeds.

Time for a change

2006-09-06T15:10:00.000-05:00

The sun managed to stay in the sky for a two consecutive days, though the ground was still saturated on Labor Day morning. I revisited the nearly leafless milkweed patch to see if any cats remained. Less than a dozen tiny caterpillars clung to bare stems, so I gently moved them to a couple of leaves. They seemed happy with the new surroundings.

A single large caterpillar made its way across the mulch. It really didn't seem big enough to pupate yet, so I assumed it had strayed from the milkweed. I plucked it from the ground and placed it on a plant. Without hesitation, the caterpillar marched down the stem and resumed its course across the mulch. I should know better than to assume a caterpillar doesn't know what it's doing. Caterpillars have a single-minded determination when it's time for a change.

As the morning passed, I watched the long journey from milkweed to grass, under shrubs and through the garden fence. The long walk ended in the asparagus bed. The caterpillar didn't stop to rest, but climbed immediately up a stalk. By evening, it had spun a silk "button" in its location of choice.

The next day brought more rain, but I found the caterpillar hanging in "J" form, ignoring the droplets that dripped from its antennae. For a full day and night it remained in that position. I assume the cold rain kept it from pupating, because I've never seen one hang for so long like that.

I guess the warm sunshine on Wednesday morning did the trick. I took a peek in the garden about midday, and found the newly formed chrysalis, crumpled caterpillar skin still attached.

I never get tired of observing this transformation in my backyard. I know the plot, I know the ending, and yet I enjoy the movie every time. I think it's because of what I don't know. How do those little caterpillars know just what to do? How do they know when it's time for a change?

Nothing to do but eat and poop

2006-09-03T21:46:00.000-05:00

At least that's how it looks from my vantage point in the milkweed patch. A full week of unseasonably cool and rainy weather drove virtually all the wildlife in my backyard into hiding. I peered from windows, but other than the occasional rainsoaked finch on one of my feeders, there were no signs of fauna to be found. Worrying about the fate of my caterpillars, I pulled on my rain gear and sloshed out into the remnants of Tropical Storm Ernesto to see how they were faring.

Much to my surprise, the cats were going about their business, undeterred by the 30 mph wind gusts that were whipping the milkweed stalks around. Raindrops rolled down leaves and left tiny puddles on the ground below, but caterpillars carried on their mission as if it was just another warm summer day. And that mission was clear. Eat and poop. Eat and poop.

These are the final generations of monarchs I'll see this year, as the gradual shortening of days signals the butterflies to begin their journey south. There always seems to be an abundance of caterpillars at the end of summer, despite the quickly dwindling supply of milkweed. I worry the leaves will be devoured too fast, and my trips to run errands become exercises in spotting emergency food supplies along the roadside.

This morning, the sun finally returned and the butterflies followed close behind. Still, my attention was drawn to the largest of caterpillars, who eat with a fervor that suggests they know they are running out of time. I suspect tomorrow many will be gone, having inched their way down bare milkweed stems, over mulch and weeds, and up a tree or downspout. In the morning, I'll search for a suspended cat in telltale "J" form, getting ready to pupate. Most likely all I'll find will be a lot of poop.

It's a girl!

2006-08-28T12:03:00.000-05:00

How can you tell? It's all in the eyes when it comes to eastern box turtles. With few exceptions, female box turtles have brown eyes, and the eyes of males are red.

When I was a kid, box turtles were a fairly common find in the undeveloped areas around our neighborhoods. These days, it's an exciting discovery that sometimes leads to a knock on my door. Neighborhood child: "I caught a turtle but it won't eat, Debbie! What am I supposed to feed it?!!"

I always answer with the bad news (bad for the kid, not for the turtle) first - "It's against the law to catch a turtle and keep it in NJ. You're going to have to let him go where you found him." That's always met with a blank stare, so I follow it up with some details on what a turtle is really looking for in a home. I hope my advice will help the child see things from the turtle's perpective, without quelching the enthusiasm of a young naturalist.

In ideal conditions, a box turtle can find everything it needs on land about the size of two NJ McMansion lots. It needs open woodlands and meadow, with at least some moist areas; it favors sites with loose soil, lots of leaf litter, and perhaps some rotting logs.

During hot summer days, box turtles siesta in the shade, concealed under leaves or hiding in a hollow log. From fall to spring in most regions, box turtles hibernate, sometimes as deep as two feet underground.

Box turtles spend the cooler morning hours foraging on a buffet of food choices as only a true omnivore can. Favorite foods include earthworms, slugs, mushrooms, berries, and insects. Oh, and from my own experience I can tell you they like to nibble on impatiens.

The quest for a mate begins soon after a turtle emerges from hibernation in spring. Females may lay several clutches of 3-8 eggs during the spring and summer. After two to three months of incubation, tiny box turtle babies emerge and do their best to stay hidden from the many predators looking for a tasty snack.

So there's your excuse for avoiding that yard work - you could rake the leaves, but then where would the box turtles go?

Doodlebugs!

2006-08-24T13:48:00.000-05:00

Yep, you read it right - there really is such a thing as a doodlebug. Walk along the sandy trails of southern Jersey, and you have a good chance of spotting their traps, funnel-shaped divots. Also known as the antlion, they are masters at catching their favorite food - ants!

A doodlebug constructs its pitfall traps with great precision, walking in circles to excavate the loose sand. Once finished, it buries itself at the bottom of the cone, with its jaws protruding. And then it waits... A hapless ant who wanders into the trap will quickly slide down the soft sand toward the center of the cone, where it will meet its end.

The doodlebug is the larval form of an insect that looks a lot like a damselfly, but is actually in the same order as lacewings. The adult can fly, but not very well, and it feeds on nectar and pollen. So when you put the whole life cycle together, it's an omnivore - carnivorous as a larva, and herbivorous as an adult.

So why's it called a doodlebug? As it crawls along the sandy ground looking for a place to make a trap, it tends to walk in circles and swirls. Its trail looks much like a doodle - the kind of squiggly, curvy drawing you scribble while bored or daydreaming.

Gypsy moths in Jackson Forest

2006-08-23T14:41:00.000-05:00

What kind of naturalist am I, sitting here all day at this computer? That's what I asked myself in frustration this morning before I headed out with a bottle of water and my camera to see what I could find. A few minutes later, I pulled into the parking area of Jackson Forest, a little piece of preserved land that may be all that remains when developers move on to destroy another Jersey community. But that's another story.

I wasn't long down the trail when I started to see odd little gatherings on the trunks of oak trees. Almost like little ghost towns left behind on the bark and under leaves - telltale signs of gypsy moths. It's August, prime egg laying season and the trees were covered with yellowish masses and spent pupal cases.

The eggs will develop for a month or so, and larva will be fully formed then. But rather than emerge in time for fall, when food would be scarce, the clever gypsy moth caterpillar suspends its animation (diapause) and waits through winter. In spring, as temperatures start to rise, the larva reawakens and emerges in time to eat the newly opened leaves.

Next in its life cycle comes a behavior that terrified me in my childhood - ballooning. The new caterpillars climb to the top of the tree from which they hatched, cast a long silky thread, and wait for a breeze to carry it off, often as far as 150 yards. When I was 6 or so, there was a particularly bad gypsy moth infestation and I remember seeing hundreds of caterpillars descending from the tree tops in my grandmother's backyard. They were so numerous we had to dash from the car to the house to keep from getting creepy crawlies in our hair.

But that was then, and this is now. Back in late May, the planes flew all morning long, just over the powerlines and houses, spraying to keep the gypsy moths at bay. They stopped for an hour or so when the schoolchildren were at the bus stops in the morning. I guess big people don't matter as much. Since reading Silent Spring back in college, I've tended toward skepticism when the government declares something "safe."

Anyway, once the caterpillars land on firm ground (or leaf), they begin a 5-6 week feeding frenzy that can literally defoliate trees overnight. After molting 5-6 times and reaching full size, the cats find a quiet little place to rest, usually between ridges in the bark, and shed their skin a final time. Two weeks of stillness leads to the emergence of the adult gypsy moth.

At this point, there's nothing left to do but reproduce. Females, oddly, can't even fly. The males spend their afternoons flying in search of a mate. With only two weeks left to live, this is a frantic dating game at best. Once true love has been found and the marriage is consummated, the female lays a mass of eggs and covers them with buff colored hairs from her body. You can see egg masses, as well as pupal cases, in my photo (above, right). A well-nourished female may lay 600-1000 eggs in a single mass.

I guess the spraying over the years has helped controlled this exotic pest, since I can't remember another year like that from my childhood. Still, I can't help thinking it would be better to spray for developers - don't they destroy more forests per year than gypsy moths?