Peat, Pollen, Snipe, and the Future of Oak Ecosystems

Last November at Faville Grove Sanctuary we filled in a series of drainage ditches stretching three-quarters of a mile in the Ledge Lowlands along Prairie Lane. With nowhere to go, groundwater and precipitation began to collect, pooling up and re-saturating the peaty soil of the former wetland. Within only a few days, a tiny bubbling spring began to emerge from the earth, sending a trickle of water into the seeded bare soil. Weeks later, all laid dormant under a blanket of deep white snow with the exception of the tiny spring as the ground continued to release a gentle rivulet of earth-warmed water. For most of the winter, the spring remained visible as the seeping waters exposed the naked black soil against the white backdrop of the landscape.

Now, the snow has soaked into the earth while spring rains and the steady influx of groundwater puddle in our recovering wetland, where last year and for decades prior, water was quickly shunted off to a series of ditches and dumped into the Crawfish River. Just in time to take advantage of the brimming wetlands and waterlogged fields, the Wilson’s snipe has arrived in small flocks from their wintering grounds to descend upon the newly created wetland, where they probe the peaty soil for small invertebrates. By April, the haunting winnow of the snipe, produced not by song but by the open fan of the tail feathers, can be heard in the twilight hours as the first arriving males spar for prime mating territory throughout the floodplain.

Saturated soils greeted returning snipe below the Lake Mills Ledge Savanna

Naturalists will often track the progression of natural phenomena as spring events unfold: the date of first open water on a local lake, the arrival of bluebirds to freshly cleaned nest boxes, and the emergence of the first pasque flower through cold, rocky soils. For a cabin-bound naturalist, recording these events is valuable not only to boost the spirits after a long winter, but also holds scientific and practical significance. Nature is also a dutiful record keeper, with a library of notes that span to the end of the Pleistocene, when life returned to colonize the raw landscape—a clean slate following the retreat of the last glaciers. In less disturbed locations, if you follow the bill of the snipe deep into the peat you may find layer upon microscopic layer of pollen deposits, preserved in an oxygen-free environment. Under careful examination, scientists can identify the type of pollen in the various layers and begin to understand changes in the local vegetation since the end of the last ice age. In southern Wisconsin, the deepest, and therefore oldest, layers of pollen are largely from spruce and fir when the climate was still cool and conducive to the growth of conifers. As you rise higher in the peat to more recent deposits, pollen composition shifts to oaks and hardwoods, indicating a major vegetation change in response to the powerful forces of a warming climate.

While walking under a canopy of oaks on a cool April morning it’s easy to appreciate these stately giants with their flowers (called catkins) dangling in the breeze, budding twigs beginning to shield the last clear view of their massive outstretched arms, perhaps the very same limbs that supported roosting flocks of passenger pigeons, fattened on abundant acorns, over a century ago. The oak can live to be well over 300 years old, and during that time it leaves it’s signature in every patch of peaty soil when rains of pollen are carried by spring winds and deposited in the archives of our landscape.

Oaks leave their mark on us as well. Memories of this magnificent tree have warmed our hearts and bodies for generations. Despite our fondness for this signature tree of the southern Wisconsin landscape, the future of oak ecosystems throughout the state remains uncertain. With the cessation of cleansing fire and the encroachment of exotic brush, dense shade prevents the next generation of oak seedlings from taking root. Look for young oaks in any local woodlot and the you might find only a few gaunt individuals on the edge of the woods, desperately reaching for light, with few remaining leaves and lower branches already lost to the shade. The outstretched limbs on the lower branches of mature oaks face a similar fate as they are overtaken by invading, shade-tolerant trees. The future of the oak in southern Wisconsin, like so many other features of our natural landscape, depends on our active management. Thinning trees and brush (including some native species) and reintroducing the healing quality of prescribed fire will go a long way to insure that the oak remains the flagship tree of southern Wisconsin. When the last pre-European settlement trees have fallen to the earth, the record of our stewardship will remain for the scientist and the snipe.

Last November at Faville Grove Sanctuary we filled
in a series of drainage ditches stretching three-quarters
of a mile in the Ledge Lowlands along Prairie Lane.
With nowhere to go, groundwater and precipitation
began to collect, pooling up and re-saturating the
peaty soil of the former wetland. Within only a few
days, a tiny bubbling spring began to emerge from the
earth, sending a trickle of water into the seeded bare
soil. Weeks later, all laid dormant under a blanket of
deep white snow with the exception of the tiny spring
as the ground continued to release a gentle rivulet of
earth-warmed water. For most of the winter, the spring
remained visible as the seeping waters exposed the naked
black soil against the white
backdrop of the landscape.
Now the snow has soaked
into the earth and spring rains
and a steady influx of groundwater
puddle in our recovering
wetland, where last year
and for decades prior, water
was quickly shunted off to a
series of drainage ditches and
dumped into the Crawfish
River. Taking advantage of the
waterlogged fields, the Wilson’s
snipe has arrived in small
flocks from their wintering
grounds and descended upon
the newly created wetland,
where they probe the peaty
soil for small invertebrates.
By April, the haunting winnow of the snipe, produced
not by song but by the open fan of the tail feathers,
could be heard in the twilight hours as the first arriving
males spar for prime mating territory throughout the
floodplain.
Naturalists will often track the progression of natural
phenomenon as spring events unfold: the date of
first open water on a local lake, the arrival of bluebirds
to freshly cleaned nest boxes, and the emergence of
the first pasque flower through warming, rocky soils.
For a winter-weary naturalist, recording these events
is valuable not only to boost the spirits, but also holds
scientific and practical significance. Nature is also a
dutiful record keeper, with a library of notes that span
to the end of the Pleistocene, when life returned to
colonize the raw landscape—a clean slate following

Summer in the Sanctuary

By John Pinzl, 2009 Intern

On the Friday before the last week of our internship, with rainy weather momentarily dampening our anticipation for a field trip to Dorothy Carnes’ Park, Dave suggested watching a slideshow featuring Faville Grove Sanctuary through the years. As my four fellow interns, Dave, Roger, Lars, and I craned our necks to get a clear view of the computer in the upstairs room of his and Roger’s home, Dave began the slideshow with a click of the mouse. Pictures of various prairie plants and different areas of the sanctuary illuminated the screen and I couldn’t help but reminisce on my summer, specifically my experiences with the internship. The slideshow, along with everyone’s comments on the images, enhanced the vividness of my memories. Slide transitions set the pace for the transparencies within my imagination as I plunged into a prairie-induced mental narrative of my summer internship with the Madison Audubon Society on the Faville Grove Sanctuary.

The super intern crew of 2009: from left, John Pinzl, Justin Nooker, Matt Weber, Mallory Berrey, santuary ecologist Lars Higdon, and Ben Bisbach.

Appropriately, the primary element of the internship upon which my imagination dwelled was the sanctuary’s land itself. The foremost thing I noticed was how much the sanctuary landscape had changed over time, in terms of both the years covered by the slideshow and the three months that our intern crew had worked on it. From the picture of prairie docks ‘jumping’ the fence from Faville Prairie to its Milwaukee Audubon annex 45 years ago, to the image displaying the abundance of prairie docks in Snapper Prairie prior to the flooding last spring and summer, I realized that the land as I knew it was only a small segment in the long history of the Faville Grove Sanctuary. This realization impressed upon me how quickly and profoundly things such as invasive species, human misuse and mismanagement, and other human agents, can degrade a landscape. However, our work this summer, that of previous years’ crews, and the vast accomplishments through it all, attest to the importance of our internship in the restoration of degraded landscapes and the protection of remnant prairies.

As a result of our work this summer, all of the sites on which we spent considerable time were dramatically improved. These improvements were not brought on by natural forces and a lack of human intervention that had aided the spread of invasive species in the first place, but by parsnip predators, brush cutters, and hard work on the part of our intern crew. With these implements, we pushed back an impenetrable thicket of aspen saplings, cottonwood bunches, and other brush that stand where the prairie docks had once jumped the fence into a former farm field along the western border of Faville Prairie. Although much of the thicket remains, the prospect of restoring this area to the open prairie that the landscape was revertingto at the time of the prairie docks’ feat seems more promising. The Zoology Ridge, an area that was permeated by sweet clover, wild parsnip, and Queen Anne’s lace three months ago, is now rid of such weeds (although only temporarily for many) thanks to contract spraying, Roger’s mowing, and our crew’s ‘walkthroughs’ on dew-filled mornings. My attempt to visualize how many white feed-bags we filled with sweet clover, garlic mustard, and parsnip were foiled as I recounted how much we had accomplished this summer.

Matt and John declare victory over the brush at Snapper Prairie

Seeing the slides of previous intern crews, volunteers, and other individuals doing the same work that we had performed over the last three months, I wondered how these various other individuals involved with the restoration of the sanctuary felt as a result of their work. They undoubtedly felt the same sense of pride, accomplishment, and connection with the land as our internship crew did. Thinking of the people we had the opportunity to meet and work with throughout the summer, it was evident to me that the land provided a common basis upon which individuals from all backgrounds pulled together and collaborated to work towards the common goal of improving a landscape that they all care about.

Over the past three months, surrounded by my fellow interns, whose knowledge of the ecological elements that surrounded us ‘on the job’ was remarkable, and Lars, our fearless leader, whose expertise on anything ranging from bird calls to plant species was extraordinary, I have learned more firsthand than I could have ever imagined. I feel lucky to have had the opportunity to work with Matt, Mallory, Justin, Ben, and Lars, all of whom share a deep passion for the outdoors and the conservation and restoration of the environment. Furthermore, meeting and working with volunteers and those who have caught the ‘Prairie Bug’ such as Nolan Kollath, Lars’ neighbors Steve Bower and Leslie DeMuth, and Jim Kerler, has been rewarding in that it truly impressed upon me how a diverse group of individuals can form such a homogenous and tight knit community of conservationists been selected by them for the internship and to have had the opportunity to get to know them.

Mallory thinks the ironweed looks good enough to eat

Possibly the most profound change that I witnessed as a result of the internship was a change in my own perspective. On one hand, my perspective towards the local environment has suffered a “fall” from the bliss that accompanies ignorance of the severity and proliferation of many of the problems associated with the degradation of our landscapes. The amount of sweet clover, Queen Anne’s lace, and wild parsnip lining the bike path downtown and most of the roadsides I regularly drive will make it difficult to travel without a parsnip predator and weed bag within reach. On the other hand, the internship has strengthened my appreciation for both the subtle and profound aspects of ecological systems. My deeper understanding of the ways in which even the smallest organisms play a vital and stewards of the land. The primary individuals amongst this group of stewards are Dave and Roger, whose prowess as conservationists and passion for the sanctuary’s well being is manifest in the unmatched quality of the sanctuary as well as the incomparable experiences provided by the internship program. Without Dave and Roger, neither the internship nor much of the sanctuary would exist. It was a privilege to have role in such systems’ functioning has impressed upon me the need to both appreciate these various elements and work to ensure their integrity. The internship addressed both of these requirements on numerous levels. In essence, I feel that my experience with the internship has made me a better conservationist, a better environmentalist, and better prepared for a career in environmental law.

As the last slide faded from the screen, it was impossible for me to determine which had benefited more from our internship on the Faville Grove Sanctuary; the sanctuary itself or the individuals working to improve it. During the following ride to Dorothy Carne’s Park, the above changes wrought through the relationships formed between people and the land, as well as between each other, were more evident to me than they had ever been. These changes and experiences share the common characteristic of reaffirming how profoundly we are all connected to the land and how profoundly our well-being relies on the ecological health of our own backyards. Regardless of where my fellow interns and I find ourselves in the coming years, I am confident that our time spent together on the Faville Grove Sanctuary this summer will be at the forefront amongst the experiences that have shaped each of our outlooks on, and passion for, the natural environment and the outdoors.

Living by the Land

“The drama of the sky dance is enacted nightly on hundreds of farms, the owners of which sigh for entertainment, but harbor the illusion that it is to be sought in theaters. They live on the land but not by the land.”

-Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac

Even those of us who consider ourselves the most dedicated “outdoor enthusiasts,” “conservationists,” or “nature lovers” find ourselves out of tune with the rhythms and rituals of the land compared with preceding generations. The incessant demands, distractions and comforts of our fast-paced, technological society have drawn us away from our connection to nature. The privileges and conveniences of our time have come at the cost of insulating us from the natural world, shadowing our inherent interconnection with the land. Many of us would be ashamed to admit that we are more familiar with the sequence of television programs on any given night than the sequence of flowering plants in a local prairie. A recent study found that kids today can identify 1000 corporate logos but only 10 native plants and animals. Our daily lives are increasingly out of sync with the natural world around us, to the detriment of the land as well as our quality of life.

Pasque Flowers

And yet, natural events and yearly cycles continue to take place all around. There is at least one annual cycle that never goes unnoticed, even by the least observant. Each April we witness the extraordinary rebirth of our slumbering Wisconsin countryside. The sun rises earlier in the morning sky, buds begin to break, and the singing of birds is unlike anything we’ve heard in months. Spring! The time of year when many living things, including some people, emerge from hibernation. Even those of us who cherish the solitude, silence, and beauty of the the serene winter world begin to grow anxious at the prospect of the shifting seasons. The landscape awakens from the fog of a long dormancy. April fires sweep away the remnants of last year’s growth, rejuvenating the landscape. Pasque flowers and prairie smoke bloom again, soon to be followed by a parade of brilliant colors and soothing textures, fertilized by the ash of last year’s duff. Chorus frogs, spring peepers, and leopard frogs can be heard serenading each swollen pond and shallow meadow across the land. It’s truly a miraculous season that people and prairie eagerly anticipate.

This season of rebirth marks the real new year in nature’s calendar. Take this opportunity and make the resolution to become more intimately familiar with your local landscape as we slide into summer. Although we may never part with the many luxuries of our time, it’s critical for us to remain attuned and connected, and to continue to enjoy the rhythms of the natural world. I’ve heard stories of a distant time before the onset of ipods, internet, and satellite television when families would gather in the April twilight and sit on blankets at the edge of a woodlot, eating popcorn as they watch the sky dance of the woodcock before them. Perhaps it’s time to take a lesson from our history and reacquaint ourselves with the natural world around us.

Just Walking in the Rain

“One swallow does not make a summer, but one skein of geese, cleaving the murk of a March thaw, is the spring.”

-Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac

March is when we expect (and some of us hope for) those late winter storms that can dump ten inches or more of wet heavy snow. Yesterday it rained an inch. It’s raining again today. At least we won’t have to shovel! Not the best conditions for a walk, but why not? Things are happening out there.

Getting soaking wet. Despite recent temperatures in the 40s and 50s, the ground is still frozen and shunts the rain down slope as fast as it falls, filling every dip and swale. Ephemeral puddles, ponds, and even small lakes dot the landscape: a late “winter waterland” with Faville Marsh as full as we’ve seen it, as are other surrounding wetlands. We hoped that perhaps there might still be a chance to walk out onto the frozen marsh to see things up close one more time, but that was wishful thinking. The ice is already honeycombed and too soft to trust.

Staking out this year's territory

This of course is of no concern to the recently arrived Canada geese; we imagine they are quite grateful for the changing conditions. But, they are not pleased at all with our intrusion in their reclaimed territory. We can see at least four pairs out there standing on the water-covered ice, plus a single goose high on a muskrat lodge, most likely staking it out as its soon-to-be nesting site, complaining with incessant honking as we pass by. Up ahead, first a pair of mallards and then a pair of hooded mergansers take the geese’s discontent seriously, and explosively take wing from a small area of open water close to shore. Further out, with nary a sound, a pair of sandhill cranes on lanky legs struts away across the slushy marsh toward greater security, as a lone muskrat sits nearby pondering it all. The now driving rain evidently doesn’t suit our other early migrants – red-winged blackbirds, robins and killdeer – who arrived at Faville Grove just days ago, as they are nowhere to be seen.

As we pause and watch this awakening theatre, we admire the hues of the marsh and its surrounding landscape, which have deepened with the rain: a subtle palette of tawny browns, magentas, golds, and tans. Even the unweathered cedar boards of the ten new wood duck houses, recently installed by neighbor Ohne Raasch, have taken on a richer glow. The foliage of the leatherleaf (a close relative of blueberry), which seems to flourish in the zone between the sedge meadow/sphagnum bog and the shrub-carr, is already responding and taking on its characteristic dusty gray-green pinkish color as it rehydrates after the winter’s cold drying winds. Here and there in the shallows of the marsh’s edge the first willows are opening their silver catkins, those soft pussy willows we have long awaited, heralding too that spring is upon us.

But now, here comes that snow. We might have to shovel after all, but at least it won’t last long.

February Thaw

“Each year, after the midwinter blizzards, there comes a night of thaw when the tinkle of dripping water is heard in the land. It brings strange stirrings, not only to creatures abed for the night, but to some that have been asleep for the winter.”

-Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac

Perhaps this break in the weather has conjured up stirrings within you too? Each year around this time we are treated to a reprieve from the cold winds and driving snow of our harsh Wisconsin winters. The first hint of mild weather triggers a primitive reaction within us. With a taste of what’s to come, some develop a yearning for the warmth and comfort of the approaching spring. Others are less anxious to part with the serene beauty and brisk air of the snowy winter landscape. But whether we are ready for it or not, we know that we are entering a time of transition.

Here at Faville Grove, the impending spring is reflected by recent activity in the wildlife community. The nightly courtship hooting of great-horned owls signals that nesting season is almost underway, at least for this early bird. The loss of snow cover has come at a fortunate time for nesting owls, exposing the runways of unsuspecting mice that once found protection in a maze of tunnels under the snow. The unveiled ground is also a welcomed advantage to the stalking coyotes, whose eerie yippings can be heard in the distance. The coyote has also begun mating, in order to time the birth of their kits to coincide with the rebirth of the landscape, a plentiful and opportune time to raise a new generation.

For the outdoor enthusiast, now is the time to scour the woods and fields in search of antlers shed by white-tailed deer. This is when the largest trophies are often found, not during the hunting season, when the wisest and largest bucks are hunkered down by daybreak in the nearest swamp. Those who search for antlers know they are not alone in the pursuit. With mice no longer bound to their familiar snow-lined runways, an exposed antler provides a much needed calcium supplement to their winter diet. Shed hunters who are late to the woods will often find an otherwise perfect trophy gnawed on by the local rodent population.

February is also time to clean out wood duck boxes. Last year’s nesting materials must be replaced to prepare the box for another generation of ducklings. By counting the eggshell membranes remaining in each box, it is possible to learn last year’s hatching success. In Faville Grove Marsh, where neighbor Ohne Raasch maintains 11 nest boxes, he just determined that a total of 123 ducklings hatched, including 19 in one box alone. In just a few short weeks the first of our ducks will arrive to freshly thawed waters. At the waters edge, skunk cabbage blossoms will push through remnants of snow and ice, aided by the remarkable ability to produce heat through metabolic processes, and returning phoebes will find insects attracted to the warmer blossoms.

The February thaw invokes stirrings within us all, wildlife and human alike. Join us at Faville Grove Sanctuary to enjoy the waning days of winter and celebrate the turning of the seasons. We hope to see you soon!