waiting for the wind

waiting for the wind

silk parachutes packed in a pod 

bearing brown seeds

On a walk around Bonnefield Lake, I come across a little patch of milkweed, two different varieties. One has long, slender dark brown pods shaped like green beans or small catalpa pods. Some of the pods have split in half, revealing tiny golden seeds attached to the silky floss. Empty, the pod pairs curve around each other like a dancing couple.

The other variety looks more like common milkweed, only the pods are much smaller. The large, flat brown seeds are still packed inside like fish scales attached to a white silk cone.

As I walk under a grove of tall white pines, copper needles rain down on my head and my shoes slip on the mat of slick fallen needles.

Here and there, little groups of mushrooms that look like biscuits are pushing up through the pine needles. The underside of these mushrooms looks like a mustard-colored sponge. Edible? Well, squirrels have been biting off hunks, but then squirrels will eat half of a highly toxic buckeye, so I leave the mushrooms to the squirrels.

late spring at the lake

late spring at the lake --

ten gray goslings all in a row 

play follow the leader

On a walk around Bonnefield Lake, I'm enjoying the fantastic fragrance and seductive white blossoms of black locust trees when I surprise some Canada geese browsing on the freshly mowed grass on the path. The town has attempted to keep the geese from nesting at the lake by draping lines along the shore, on the theory that the geese won't cross the lines to get to the water. Obviously didn't work.

Two families, one with five goslings, the other with ten! The fuzzy gray goslings have golden heads and stubby wings and tails, while the parents sport elegant black caps with white chin straps and long wings and tail feathers. The goslings are too young to fly but the fully feathered parents are not going to leave them, so they all walk as quickly as they can on webbed feet designed for swimming, through the tall grass along the shore and into the safety of the water. 

At first the two groups seem to be headed in different directions.

In the water, one of the parents with the biggest family takes the lead and the other brings up the rear, while the goslings line up in a row in between.

Both groups head for the end of the lake, where a brush-free gravel embankment above a culvert makes a nice gangway from water to land. One gander keeps a lookout while the others climb up.

Now that they're on the gravel path that's part of the longer loop trail, one couple seems undecided about what to do.

Just then a man on a bike whizzes by. Oh no, back to the water! So down the ramp they hustle again.

They swim back to the other side of the lake, and I continue the long way around, where I surprise them again, grazing on the path, and send them hurrying once more back into the water. Brrr! Must be cold!

raising spiky heads

raising spiky heads

above the turkey foot grass

a brigade of teasel

On a walk around Bonnefield Lake, in the prairie restoration area I come across a small patch of teasel in bloom. The flowering heads look like Dr. Seuss characters, with spiky hair and frilly white bands on top of stiff collars. On some flower heads, the blossoms are growing on top, while on others they form one or two bands. From the dried flowers, it appears that they emerge in the middle and grow up and down. Honeybees are busy gathering nectar from the tiny tubular blossoms. The spiny stalks stand nearly twice my height. Along each stalk march pairs of lance-like leaves, which form a cup where they meet. The cups collects rainwater and act as insect traps, though I can't imagine an aphid attempting to suck sap from the rigid stems and prickly leaves. In one cup I find a miniature flower head, like an untouchable baby in an impregnable cradle.
          Cut-leaved teasel (Dipsacus laciniatus) is a perennial herb that flowers once and then dies. The first year it forms a low-growing rosette and the following year it becomes a 3-8 foot (1-1.5 meter) stem. Each head produces massive amounts of small seeds, which are eaten by birds, especially goldfinches. Historically, the dried seed heads were used in textile weaving as a comb for "teasing," that is, cleaning, aligning and raising the nap of wool cloth. A tincture of the root is widely used as an anti-inflammatory and analgesic in the treatment of Lyme Disease, arthritis, fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue. 
          However, teasel is an invasive plant that threatens prairies in the Midwest. The seeds can lie dormant in the soil and then sprout. In order to rid an area of teasel, the first-year rosettes may be dug up, making sure to include the entire root. The stalks may be cut down, but only after they have begun flowering to prevent new flowering stalks. Even after cutting, the seeds will continue to mature, so the cut stalks must be removed. Another good reason to conduct a controlled prairie burn every few years.

frightened by a fish

frightened by a fish

jumping, a gaggle of geese

flee across the lake

Rounding a curve on the path around Bonnefield Lake on a hot spring afternoon, I catch a gaggle of Canada geese launching one by one into a small cove, four adult females and seven goslings. I'm amused to see the mothers with their babies because the Park Department has been trying to prevent these giant birds (Branta canadensis maxima) from nesting at the lake. Their droppings make a mess on the sand beach, the nitrogen in the droppings causes algal growth that reduces water quality, and the feces may carry the eggs of a parasite that causes swimmer's itch rash (cercarial dermatitis). So the Park staff strung rope along the shoreline, with the notion that geese don't like anything obstructing their access to the water. I've seen some of the "barricade" in other areas but none around this little cove, so their partial efforts failed with these geese.
          They look like teachers taking a group of students out for recess. While the adults watch, the goslings bob and splash about. Suddenly, a big fish jumps not far from the "playground." Startled, one of the geese instinctively lifts her wings to fly off, but then, remembering her charges, she turns the take-off into a dash across the water, followed by all the others. Fright forgotten, they swim sedately toward the middle of the lake.
          It's mid-May and so hot that the Park Department has already opened the lake for swimming. There's a roped-off swimming area by the beach, but because some swimmers like to swim all the way across the lake, there are long buoys placed at intervals for them to rest on. So far, the only swimmers I see are the geese.

signs of spring -- one bluebird

signs of spring -- one bluebird,

two fishermen by the lake,

five lambs gamboling

Spring is here at long last. On a walk around the lake, I spot a bluebird sitting on a branch, red breast and white belly as bright as the sky blue head and back. When the bird takes flight, it's blue and all blue. By the shore a little boy watches as his father sets out two fishing poles. "Any bites?" I ask. "Not yet!" the man replies. In a nearby pasture, five lambs race around -- two white, two black, one brown -- while the staid sheep, still in their long winter wool, placidly graze on the greening grass.

swimming in the rain

swimming in the rain --

half immersed in warm water,

half spattered with cold drops

Once you're wet, a little rain hardly matters. But I'm in the minority on that score. In fact, I'm the only person swimming, some might say foolishly, in the rain. It's a rare experience, the contrast of the relatively warm water in which I'm immersed with the cold raindrops spattering my arms and face. I've also been known to swim in a lake with a glacier at one end. Now there was an experience in contrast, my body hot from hiking, plunging into the frigid water. Of course, once you're numb, you don't feel anything anymore, so icy water hardly matters.

fire flowers reflecting

fire flowers reflecting

in the lake, mirroring the light

of the rising moon

We sit on a blanket at the end of the lake, waiting for the sky to get dark enough for fireworks. It's still hot for this Fourth of July celebration even though the sun has left us for the other side of the world. A few stars pinprick the darkness. Finally, at 10 pm, the bang and bursting lights begin. Each colorful fire flower briefly illuminates the black sky, reflecting in the black water. Toward the end of the show, another light begins to glow below the the line of trees. As the explosive display ends, the bright, just-past-full moon rises, lighting our way home.

spring, Bonnefield Lake

spring, Bonnefield Lake --

rippling reflections of water

grass stems in water

Illusion of a duck's head on a white mushroom cap.

Clusters of white wild blackberry blossoms on dark red stems, serrated emerald leaves.

On a stunted witch oak by the water's edge, spider webs festoon clusters of oak galls and the baby paws of green-gold leaves.

Explosion of kelly green leaves bursting through the slanted mat of last year's brittle gray stems.

a room for men to rest

a room for men to rest --

deadwood around a live tree,

signs of an artist

Not far off the path in a little grove of trees on the west side of Bonnefield Lake, someone has cobbled together a little hut from deadwood piled up around the pillar of a live tree. Pasted on the trunk are little slips of paper neatly printed with words pertaining to relatives: father, mother, brother, sister, uncle, aunt, niece, nephew, lover. And on the ground is a collection of miniature watercolors with titles like "Knee on heart, I love them all," "Florescent Bulb," "Way," and below a faded sign advertising MEN'S RESTROOM BASEMENT, "a room for men to rest." It's certainly a cozy place to rest, with a couple of logs beside the remains of a fire in front of the hut, polka dots of sunlight pouring through holes in the grass roof, and a clear view of the lake. Yet how many people pass by on the path and don't even notice, let alone take time to rest in the little room?

spring at Bonnefield Lake

spring at Bonnefield Lake,

wild plum humming with bees,

couples everywhere

Early April but it feels like July, 88 F (31 C). I'm sweating as I walk around Bonnefield Lake after lunch. Passing a thicket of wild plum in bloom, humming with bees drawn by the sweet scent, I spot a pair of bikes lying on the path. Their owners, drawn by the water, are perched on the bank. Completely engrossed in each other, they don't even notice me passing by. A pair of ducks do notice me before I see them, flying off in a flurry of splashing water. And a pair of snapping turtles, sunning on a dead cedar tree a few feet from shore, slip into the water when I approach. 

in dawn's snow blue light

in dawn's snow blue light

bare branches flocked with last night's

crystal offering

How quickly the weather changes in the Midwest. Day before yesterday, short sleeve shirts, yesterday, raincoat, today, snow. In the dawn's early light, the star magnolia is bundled in soft blue blankets, the trunk of a shagbark hickory is plastered on the north side with a whitewash of fresh snow, and a white dome hydrangea looks like a cupcake on a lace doily. By midday, the sun melts the snow on the south sides of trees and bushes, and the wind sends clumps of snow hurtling down to pit the white ground. At Bonneville Lake, ice free, but frosted around the edges, a girl wearing black and white plaid pants and a furry gray hat with ears smiles as we cross paths.

girl in a red coat

girl in a red coat

reading under an oak tree –

harbinger of spring

In the last days of winter, the colors are mostly drab browns, muted grays, dull yellows. Along the trail around the lake, the only spots of brightness are white shelf mushrooms on fallen logs and rust-orange needles under the white pines. In the little park the sight of a young lady in a red coat with a red notebook and red water bottle pops out from the monotone landscape. Sitting with her back against one of the large oaks, she is enjoying the charms of fresh air, sunshine and reading.