The Benefits of Constant Vigilance

Young Green Herons, Minneapolis Sculpture Garden. Photo by Christina

What: Two Green Herons fledglings, seen out of the nest!
Where: Along the east border of the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden, a pair of Green Herons built a nest high in a pine tree. For several months now, Rachel, Christina, and I have been checking on the nest, watching to see that the adults were present and straining our eyes to detect young. In the week before my long vacation, we finally observed indications of a successful brood --- scarcely perceptible, we could see movement of downy head(s) and maybe a small beak at the nest's brim, under a vigilant adult.
When: June 18, 2012
Observers: Christina and Rachel, two colleagues of mine who enthusiastically stepped in as proxy phenologists over my vacation. I'm so grateful to Christina and Rachel for sustaining the continuity of our phenology practice!
Conditions: Elated! (I wasn't there to report on weather or other objective details, so I'll skip ahead to to the subjective conditions.) Upon arriving to town after vacation, the first thing I did was log into my Twitter, @openphenology. I was thrilled to read my colleagues' report of the fledglings and view their terrific photo (above). It all serves as a reminder that phenology entails a continual and regular practice. Or, to use Christina's and my mantra: Constant vigilance!

From bloom to seed

What: Today is the first day I've seen dandelion flowers gone to seed. When I spotted the season's first open blooms on April 2, I made a promise to record the timing of the next stage.
Where: These tall stems were growing along the west edge of Cowles Conservatory in the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden
When: Wednesday, April 11, at about 3:30 pm
Observer: Abbie
Conditions: Sunny but brisk. Last night brought frost.

While You Were(n't) Looking

What: Eastern Forktail, Ischnura verticalis—I would have missed these had I not paused and stooped by the water's edge. These dainty damselflies, at just over 1" long, hover low to the ground. Interested in learning more about dragonflies (or, as they're known to taxonomists, Order Odonata)? Check out Minnesota Odonata Survey Project (MOSP).
Where: Pond perimeter, near Spoonbridge and Cherry
Observers: Abbie (and, via Internet, Kurt Mead, MOSP educator and scientist, who identified this insect by species name)
Date/Time: Friday, August 12, 10:20 am
Conditions: Overcast and 70°-ish

What: Abloom, left to right: Joe-pye Weed towers at about 7' tall; hibiscus bloom 8" in diameter; and the Honka dahlia finally on the scene (as anticipated in June by Open Phenologist Lindsay)
Where: Arlene Grossman Memorial Arbor and Flower Garden, north edge of the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden
Observer: Abbie
Date/Time: Friday, August 12, 10:30 am
Conditions: a-buzz with insect pollinators and pests

What: I'm reluctant to report these harbingers of fall, left to right: Maturing spruce pine cones (compare to this picture from May 27); yellowing locust tree leaves; and maturing arborvitae cones (compare to this picture taken June 1)
Where: Minneapolis Sculpture Garden and The Grove (entrance to the Walker off Vineland Place)
Observer: Abbie
Date/Time: Friday, August 12, between 10 and 11 am
Conditions: Warm and overcast—insistently summery with incipient signs of autumn

Noisy Streets and Quiet Gardens

The morning of August 5th was a hot one. Two brave phenologists were not deterred. We met at the FlatPak House, and feeling bold, decided to make a trip across the Armajani bridge to Loring Park. Our plan was take the stroll and observe carefully, embracing the time in our morning to appreciate our surroundings. As we walked up the steps we were struck with the loud roar of traffic from below. The sound and speed of the moving cars took on a different meaning from our elevated prospect. We reflected on the chaos of everyday life, and became more aware of the drone of noise always around us in a city. From this position we even spotted some sunflowers on the side of the road. Such a thing would surely go unnoticed from our car. We were off to great start!



















The sound of traffic went as suddenly as it came. Once across the bridge we were greeted with green grass and peaceful quiet. In the morning heat the park was lush and filled with many shades of green. Tall grasses and cattails had completely overtaken a section of the pond. Not even a patch of open water could be seen. In them we heard the rusting of birds and other animals. It seemed a nice and shady spot for many small critters.



















Our stroll through the park gave us an opportunity to appreciate the overwhelming amount of growth during the season. Beautiful flowers were everywhere as were mallards and butterflies. As we made our way back to the bridge we felt energized and rejuvenated from the trip. Taking in our surroundings in this way was refreshing. We discussed how easy it is to miss all the exciting things happening in your immediate surroundings. As we climbed up the steps, my fellow phenologist commented that the sky looked unmistakably of summer. I agreed and we wondered if our conclusion was due to context or if we were on to something. Does the look of the sky really change through the seasons? If so, in what ways? Readers, if you were to picture a quintessential summertime sky, would it look like this?

Median: No Man's Land or Guerilla Garden

Abbie in the 'median garden'
Photo by Christina

What: Measuring the height of sunflowers
Where: Median between Hennepin and Lyndale Avenues (see the Walker in the background)
Observers: Christina and Abbie
Date/Time: Tuesday, July 26, about 3 pm
Conditions: Sunny, hot, traffic

Rumor has it these sunflowers are non-conformists, the rogue plantings of horticultural vandals. The next median to the north (behind me in the photo) is uniformly planted with tall grasses, evidence of some management plan though I don't know the details.

If you know the dirt on medians, roadsides, highway clover-leafs, or the centers of round-abouts, and the powers that battle over these marginalized territories, please do tell! Broadcast your comments here.

WAS // NOW

On my bike ride to work this morning, I made a short list of how things were but are no longer:

• Dock weed
• was: green flower stalks . . . 
• now: rusty spindles
• Canada thistle
• was: flowering . . . 
• now: almost all gone to down
• Bee balm
• was: unnoticed . . . 
• now: beautiful pale violet blossoms
• Cow parsnip
• was: green umbels with seeds forming . . . 
• now: umbels are brown in color
• Clovers
• was: in June, only white clover flowers
• now: by July, the purple clovers complement the scenery

Dock Swatch

Inspired by an observation the Open Phenology group made last Friday, I collected specimens to create this "dock swatch." As the plants' flower spires turn rusty in color, you'll spy this 'weed' proliferating on banked sides of highways.

Knee high by the Fourth of July

Once more, I'm expanding Open Phenology's micro-local focus, this time with a regionally relevant observation. While hiking at the Trout Valley Management Unit in Winona County, a stretch of path led me along a cornfield's perimeter. By my casual estimate, the plants measured up to the old adage, being "knee high by the Fourth of July." Modern agriculture typically surpasses this now-outdated benchmark, but this year's late spring was a setback for the crop's stature.

Turns out that 'knee high' is not a measurement of height. After a bit of research (the clickety-click Web surfing kind), I discover that it refers to a stage of the plant's maturity. Knee high corn is characterized by the sixth leaf's emergence from the stalk and the uppermost growth point's emergence above the soil surface. (Source: David Laatsch, as reported in the Watertown Daily Times) 

I'll have to look more carefully next time!