Leopard Frogs and “Horse-Apple Soccer”

Two years ago I took a co-worker, her daughter Embry, and Embry’s friend Maddy on a walk through the bottomland forests at Fort Worth Nature Center & Refuge. We had fun and some good discussion about the things that live in the forest. Here are my notes:

We had barely started our walk down the old trail down through the bottomland forest when the girls froze in surprise and fascination. Ahead of us, a whitetail buck stared back at us, his head up and alert and ready to bolt away through the quiet woods. After a moment, he turned and disappeared behind a ridge, leaving Embry and Maddy fumbling for cameras. We walked toward where he disappeared, with as much stealth as we could, and peered around the ridge, but the deer had gone. These moments, even with a common animal like this, are magical and evanescent; one moment he is present, with his black, shining nose, dark eyes, and rack of antlers, and the next moment he has vanished.

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Embry and Maddy

We walked further down the wide track that cuts through the cottonwoods, burr oak, beech, and bois d’arc in this bottomland near a marsh within the refuge. Despite the abnormally warm autumn, many of the leaves were yellowing and some were falling, evidence that the trees knew the significance of the shorter days despite the warmth. Embry and Maddy, alert to every movement in the sedges and leaves, spotted wolf spiders and one that might have been a rather dull six-spotted fishing spider (my spider identification skills were not up to the task). I reassured them that these spiders held no danger and were trying to get out of our way. This was an odd role for me – if I ran into a web with one of the big orb-weaving spiders, I’m sure I would freak out as much as they would. The experience of having a spider on me overwhelms any objective knowledge of their benefits and general harmlessness.

At the edge of the path, I turned a section of fallen log and at one end, head tucked a little beneath an elm leaf, was a southern leopard frog. Its color was dark, with the spots practically obscured along its three to four-inch body. When more alert, they are often brighter and some have areas of pretty green color. At night, they snap up a great many insects, and jump away in long leaps if disturbed. Embry stepped in for a closer photo, positioning her phone over the frog to take a shot. Then I reached down, hoping to capture the frog for a moment and show its bright eyes and powerful legs, but at that moment it made its getaway.

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Leopard frog

At some point we came to a pool of water, four or five feet across, with tiny disturbances in the surface of the water here and there. What could this be? We talked about how bottomland forests flood from time to time, and the rain-swollen river and marsh stretch out to cover the ground where we stood. The flood waters carry fish along, and when the waters subside, smaller fish may be trapped in pools like this. A couple of dozen mosquitofish swam among the leaves and along the surface of the water, creating little disturbances when they suddenly turned or darted away. The girls showed a slight revulsion when I mentioned “mosquitofish,” until I explained that they were small fish that ate mosquito larvae. Embry was determined to catch one, circling around and trying to ambush one. Her mom commented, “You won’t catch it,” correctly judging that human hands are not effective tools for catching such a lightning-fast little fish. Nevertheless, it was delightful to watch Embry spot one and then another of these fish and make a quick grab into the water. Her enthusiasm made this common little fish new and exciting.

Isn’t this one of the things we treasure about children? I might have walked past this pool and noted that there were mosquitofish in it, with little reaction. Thanks to Maddy and Embry, I remembered what it is like to want to see them close up, and try my hand at grabbing one, in the process learning a great deal about how fast fins can propel streamlined bodies through the water. I once again see the crosshatched pattern of fish scales on a partly translucent body, and the iridescent blue that these fish show in the right light. I promised myself to bring a dip net on the next walk through the bottomlands.

They taught us the same lesson regarding the lowly bois d’arc tree, also known as the Osage orange or “horse apple” tree. They are medium-sized, somewhat thorny trees that grow well in deep, moist bottomland soil. The iron-tough wood was prized by Native Americans for making bows (thus the French “bois d’arc” or “bow-wood”). And, as most kids used to know when we spent more time in the woods, they produce a green, wrinkled fruit that roughly resembles a green orange or maybe a bumpy green apple. Just the right size for throwing, but completely unsuitable for eating. They are a fibrous, spherical collection of seeds that oozes a milky substance if cut. But the girls knew another thing that you could do with these horse apples. They could be kicked like soccer balls!

And so, there was an impromptu soccer game in the woods, with Maddy crowding Embry out to move the ball to the goal (under the fallen log over there), and Embry giving one a little side-kick to position it for the goal shot. Horse apples rolled over a layer of leaves, between downed logs, and past stately cottonwoods and oaks. It was great!

We also encountered several places where feral hogs had rooted the ground up to find things to eat, and we talked about how these animals didn’t really belong here but a few might do only minimal harm. Turning the soil might even be seen as a plus, but these hogs reproduce quickly and there is little to hold their population in check. Large groups simply tear up habitat and eat everything in sight, and a sow, surprised with her piglets, can be quite dangerous. So can any hog in close quarters, so we would certainly not want to approach them if we saw any.

Cottonmouths were another species that we might have run into in the bottomlands. These venomous snakes are common in the bottomlands around Lake Worth, and on an autumn day with temperatures in the 70s, it would not have been surprising to see one. Embry and Maddy were on board with looking for snakes, but were not so sure about cottonmouths. That is hardly surprising, as many stories as people tell about being chased or attacked by these snakes, which are really quite nonaggressive if left alone. I told them there should be no problem as long as we saw it first and avoided stepping on it, and I said it was my job to spot them. That settled, we resumed our walk, the girls confidently in the lead as we explored the woods.MS-willow-FWNCR-5Nov16

IMG_0699At the farthest extent of our walk, at a very old, twisted willow at the edge of the marsh, we found and photographed a gigantic black ant on the tree, which discouraged some climbing that the girls had considered. Embry had no hesitation to bring the phone in close, finding the ant at the end of my finger (I pointed but did not touch!). Afterwards, I asked each one if they had any thoughts about today’s experience.

“At first, I thought about whether there might be something that could hurt me,” Embry offered, “but then I knew it was OK.” She had enjoyed a walk through these woods with curiosity and confidence. Maddy added that the things that lived in this place really did not want to hurt you. I loved hearing that. This was a place that offered beauty, tranquility, and fascination, along with a few things that needed a little watchfulness and care. Even the “creepy” things turned out to be fascinating. I hope that they will carry this and a hundred (or a thousand!) experiences of nature with them through their lives. Maybe they will hold on to that sense of wonder at seeing fish in a pool, or a frog hiding under a log. I hope, as adults, that they can still be playful with horse apples and bring their own kids to walk through the woods and have the delightful surprise of seeing a whitetail deer staring back at them along a forest trail.

Autumn

fullsizeoutput_172eIt is autumn, a time to be in the woods. Time to be attuned to colors, smells, the chill in the breeze that seems to carry some lost recollection, just beyond memory. The leaves that partitioned the woods into a series of intimate rooms now fall to become a soft carpet, opening the view through the trees.

fullsizeoutput_172cBut before falling, the leaves can turn brilliant colors. In a year like this one, with rainfall in the last month or so and some early low temperatures, the woods can become a kaleidoscope of reds, yellows, burgundy and orange. The work of the leaves is done, the green chlorophyll breaks down, exposing the other leaf pigments. The tree prepares the leaves to drop, and for a time the woods is painted with thousands of dabs of color.

fullsizeoutput_1047An evergreen like the juniper stands silently, keeping its green amid all this changing color. It can get through winter with its needle-like leaves intact, and so it remains like a dark green sentinel as the deciduous trees strip down to trunks and branches.

IMG_2820Sunlight comes at a slanting angle as our patch of earth tilts away from the sun. The quality of light on a bright November afternoon in the woods is part of the essence of autumn. The light filters through branches and creates long shadows, making a quiet afternoon even more contemplative. The life of another year in the woods is wrapping up; it is a time to reflect on where you have been, and what it meant.

Days keep getting shorter. The afternoon shadows deepen, the woods become dark. Time accelerates, the sunset comes when it seems it should still be afternoon. What is left to be done in this year had better be done soon. A reminder that nothing lasts forever, neither years nor lives. Make the time count. There’s not a moment to waste.Cp%yXthiSjWxYFqLM2cy9w

Why Did We Do It?

Why did we write Herping Texas, and travel around to all those places? I’m sure that some people would wonder why two grown men would keep chasing after snakes and frogs long after the time when you “should” outgrow such things. So I guess it’s a fair question, and I will offer a few answers.

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A guy who still chases snakes and frogs

One answer is that Texas is full of beautiful places, if you go out of your way to seek them out. The reptiles and amphibians that we wanted to see are most interesting, natural, and beautiful when you see them in places that are relatively undisturbed. That’s our opinion, anyway. As a result, we planned trips to preserves, national parks, refuges, private land, and wildlife management areas. All (except the private land) were accessible to most Texans and a few, like the Fort Worth Nature Center & Refuge, were at the edge of cities. Even Big Bend or Guadalupe Mountains National Parks are no more than a day’s drive from most places in Texas.

The Texas Banded Gecko is a pretty common lizard in parts of the Trans-Pecos, but the one we found on a night walk in the Chihuahuan Desert might have been the best one of its kind I had ever seen. It was very quiet except for a light breeze and the occasional rumble of distant thunder rolling across the desert. It was also very, very dark, with a brilliant field of stars overhead. The little lizard was beautiful, especially in that context.

Additionally, we wanted to visit each of Texas’ ten or so ecoregions. The boundaries between them are sometimes indistinct, but each one is like a different country. Obviously the dry desert flats and mountain ranges of the Trans-Pecos are different from the woodlands and wetlands of the Piney Woods. Even across north Texas’ grasslands and woods, the Rolling Plains are very different from the Cross Timbers, the Blackland Prairies, and the Post Oak Savannah. You might find a Marbled Salamander under logs or leaf litter in a bottomland forest on a sunny winter day in the Post Oak Savannah, but on such a day a walk out on the Rolling Plains may be windy, colder, and will turn up no Marbled Salamanders.

Another reason is that the past seventeen or eighteen years have provided us quite a natural history education about herps and their habitats. Maybe it has been more like a practicum course, after reading field guides, natural history books, and journal articles. There was no better place than the Big Thicket to see just how persistent a male snake like a tan racer can be in courting a female, even one who has been killed on the roadway. I cannot imagine a better way of seeing how a mother alligator can be protective of her babies while remaining calm and watchful than in a coastal marsh at Brazoria National Wildlife Refuge. All that time in the field and the experiences that we wrote about were priceless. We still have plenty to learn, but a large part of what we do know, we learned during our travels.

I have often noticed how safe these places feel, even in the desert at night in the company of Mohave rattlesnakes, or on the slopes of the Guadalupe Mountains. Maybe some of this is related to the sense of peace and well-being that comes from doing something you love in a beautiful setting. It is true that if you want to prove to yourself how dangerous such places can be, you can do it fairly easily. However, with some preparation and experience, common sense, and a desire to watch and learn (rather than a desire to prove something about yourself), you can visit the wild places of Texas free of worry. I feel safer in any of those places than I do in the malls and on the streets of Texas cities.

We could have traveled and experienced all this without writing a book. However, I want to carry all this with me in future years, past the time when I might not be able to hike the Chisos Mountains or wander through the bottomland forest along the Sabine River. I want these memories and photographs in case some of the places disappear, for reasons that could include fracking, being sold off, or being walled off at the border. But the absolutely most important reason is to pass the experiences along to others who may want to go there, or who may want to live it through the pages of a book. Nothing could be more gratifying than to hear someone say, “After reading what you wrote, I had to go visit,” or “Your book made me think of reptiles and amphibians more positively.” We want the book to be an invitation into a world we know and love.

That’s why the dedication of the book is “to all young herpers and naturalists who follow their dreams into the field.”

An Excerpt from “The Cross Timbers”

I wish Steve Campbell was here to see the publication of “Herping Texas,” as Clint and I draw on recollections of Steve in more than a few stories we tell in the book. Steve passed away six years ago, and he was a wonderful and funny friend to many of us. In the chapter on the Cross Timbers I talked about the western massasauga rattlesnake, a small rattlesnake that was once common in prairie habitat west of Fort Worth. One of the stories in which Steve played a part involved a massasauga:

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Western massasauga

“One other observation of a massasauga’s behavior helps explain why people may claim that one or another venomous snake chased them. On a spring night out on the road near Weatherford, Steve Campbell and I came up on an adult massasauga. It was Steve’s first encounter with this species, and so we got out and lingered over it for a couple of minutes, admiring it. The snake remained motionless on the caliche road under our lights, and we talked about the intricacies of its pattern. At some point I wanted to see it in a different position, and I nudged it with my snake hook. It exploded into movement, heading straight toward where Steve had crouched to look at it. He, of course, also exploded into movement, and in my memory it is always something close to a back flip that I witnessed, although I doubt he was that acrobatic. In any case, as he moved out of the way, the snake continued on past him and toward whatever spot it may have considered to offer shelter. There was no chase, and no attack – the snake was simply racing for cover, with no thought of who might be in the way.”


Herping Texas: The Quest for Reptiles & Amphibians, Michael Smith & Clint King. Texas A&M University Press (release date November 5).

Ghosts of Alligator Snapping Turtles

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Skull of an Alligator Snapping Turtle

When Carl Franklin calls, you know there’s going to be something cool happening as a result. This time, today, it was the skeletons of two Alligator Snapping Turtles that could be salvaged for the university – did I want to come along? Well … sure! The two unlucky turtles were beside Catfish Creek in Anderson County, and we were soon making the hundred mile-or-so drive southeast of Fort Worth and Dallas. (It was a plus that the skeletons were supposed to be pretty clean; if he had invited me along to salvage a couple of rotting corpses, the decision might have been different.)

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Carapace (upper shell) of one of the turtles

The Alligator Snapping Turtle is a behemoth; it has a carapace as long as 29 inches and weighs (in the wild) as much as 175 pounds, according to Carl’s Texas Turtles website. In addition to that large upper shell, it has a long tail and very large head, making it the largest freshwater turtle in the western hemisphere. This turtle is found in bayous, rivers, sloughs, and lakes in east Texas (and follows the Trinity River drainage up to the metroplex), and it spends so much of its time underwater that people may not see it, even if it is living in their midst. People also may not see it because it is generally not common and in many places it is declining due to things like poaching. It is legally protected in Texas, but taken by poachers in unsustainable numbers.

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The carapace includes fused spine, ribs, and other bones (a view underneath the carapace)

It also may be killed, as these two turtles probably were, by fishermen who consider them a nuisance or believe that they could deplete the fish they are trying to catch. The Alligator Snapping Turtle does eat fish, though not in numbers that should worry any angler. They also eat lots of other things including acorns that drop into the water, plant material, mollusks, frogs, smaller turtles, and perhaps an unwary nutria. They are fairly well-known for the little fleshy part of the tongue that is wiggled in the floor of the turtle’s open mouth like a worm – a lure to attract a fish or maybe a crayfish or mud turtle. Whatever comes to the lure may cause those enormous hooked jaws to slam shut, and then the predator becomes the prey.

Although, as probably the most passionate turtle researcher in Texas, Carl might have been able to bring us straight to these specimens by sniffing them out or detecting their auras or something, we had GPS coordinates to go by. And so, we found them easily, discarded beside a place where people go fishing. One had a bullet hole in its carapace, and each had an apparent bullet hole in the skull. After we took a few photos, we carefully placed each carapace into a plastic bag and added skulls and other bones that were still present, along with a number of scutes. These specimens will add to the documentation of this species in Anderson County.

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The mushrooms in lowland habitats were pretty

Before heading back, we took a drive through Gus Engeling Wildlife Management Area, which is not too far away. Clint and I visited there in early March, and it’s always a good place to visit. As we drive through it, we saw what looked like a chunky brown line stretched out along the edge of the road. It was a Northern Cottonmouth, an unsurprising and a welcome find. We hopped out of the car to get some photos, and the snake responded to our approach with some good old-fashioned mouth-gaping. The snake got its “cottonmouth” name from this bluff display, which it often uses instead of attempting to bite. It simply gapes its mouth, exposing the pale tissues lining the mouth. This one’s fangs were clearly visible, along with its several rows of teeth (including two rows down the center of the roof of the mouth, the “palatine” teeth). This little cottonmouth never actually tried to bite. It simply sat there, sometimes closing its mouth but responding when we moved by gaping again, or widening the gape.

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Northern Cottonmouth, gaping. The fangs are folded and sheathed, extending back to about the eye; the rows of palatine teeth on the roof of the mouth should not be mistaken for fangs

After several photos, we wanted to get the snake off the road so that it would not be run over. This was a little problematic, as neither of us brought a snake hook. Carl handed me a windshield shade with which I gently poked the snake. It neither turned to leave nor struck at this object. We did eventually pester the snake until it left, and it never attempted to bite. This sort of encounter always makes me think of a well-known study in which Whit Gibbons and Michael Dorcas found lots of cottonmouths out in the wild and tested their defensive behavior – some might say “gently pestered” them – and found that for the most part, cottonmouths either try to get away or bluff and often do not attempt to bite. Of course, fair warning, you should always treat a cottonmouth with the respect it is due and assume that it would bite if pestered.

Gibbons, J.W., & M.E. Dorcas. 2002. Defensive Behavior of Cottonmouths (Agkistrodon piscivorus) Toward Humans. Copeia, Pp. 195-198.

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A pond near where the cottonmouth was seen

An Excerpt From “The Big Thicket”

100_0498One chapter of Clint’s and my book, “Herping Texas,” covers the Big Thicket region. In the chapter, I talked about finding tan racers, including one that had been run over on FM 943, as follows (p. 33):

“I would take this specimen for the museum collection at the University of Texas at Arlington, but I hated putting this slender and graceful serpent into a plastic bag. I would much rather have seen her for a moment alive, slipping from pavement through roadside grasses like a bolt of lightning and into the safety of the forest. Like other racers and coachwhips, these snakes are alert and visual, with large, bright eyes set beneath a small ridge that gives them a stern expression – like that of a hawk. They scan their surroundings and detect movement of lizards or other small creatures, and they are swift and agile predators. Such an animal deserves better than to be run down on the road.”

Turns out that there was a second racer nearby, slipping out of sight and then boldly returning, so that I was able to catch him for photographs later. What could explain it? I hope you’ll read the book and find out!


Herping Texas: The Quest for Reptiles & Amphibians, Michael Smith & Clint King. Texas A&M University Press (release date November 5).

Texas Field Notes – October Issue

The October 2018 issue of Texas Field Notes can now be downloaded and read from the Texas Field Notes page. Not only does this issue explore the Lower Rio Grande Valley, but it includes contributions from Marianna Trevino Wright and Andrew Brinker. Marianna writes about the biological as well as cultural and social impact of the border wall whose construction seems imminent. Andrew writes about the turtle survey he and his Paschal High School students have been conducting on the Trinity River in Fort Worth.

Texas Field Notes Oct-2018Over the course of several visits, the Lower Rio Grande Valley is becoming one of my favorite places, along with the Big Thicket of southeast Texas and the Big Bend region. The Valley has such an amazing diversity of habitats and wildlife species, many of them found nowhere else in Texas or the U.S. Between the chain of fast-growing cities like Brownsville, Harlingen, McAllen, and Mission, and the conversion of land for agriculture, we are lucky that there is any native habitat left in the Valley. But the places that do remain are real treasures, worth working hard to save.

In the struggle to keep wild places and wildlife as meaningful parts of the lives of Texans,  we all acknowledge that young people and kids are crucial. Unless more young people grow to love the land and its communities of plants and animals, nature will be left with no one to advocate for it as old-timers and their memories fade away. Andrew Brinker is doing the kind of work that is priceless and necessary, getting high school students out in the river trapping, measuring, and studying the turtles in the Trinity River. These are no superficial outings where the kids see something cool and then forget about it. They are doing real biological work, and generating data truly worth sharing. Thanks for all you’re doing, Andrew!

So please download and read the October issue, and let me know what you think. I can pass along any comments to Marianna and Andrew, too.

Hanging Out with Master Naturalists – II

This past week, I taught the herpetology section of the training for an incoming group of Master Naturalists. I’ve done this several times before, and it is an honor – and it’s fun. For twenty years, the Texas Master Naturalist program has trained and supported a great many volunteers who do all kinds of good things for the wild places and wildlife of Texas. Some of them are experts about one or more subjects, and their training is designed to make sure that they become literate across a broad range of natural history topics. What a great thing that is, to be among people who understand the natural world like they do.

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The classroom training happened at the Hardwicke Center, Fort Worth Nature Center & Refuge

On the evening of the eleventh, they sat through three hours of photos and discussion of everything from turtle skeletal structure to the various strategies herps use to find food and defend themselves from predators. They listened to some of my stories from the field and how urgent the conservation needs of herps are (along with most other species of plants and animals). They stuck with me and asked some great questions. Talking with them was a blast!

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Bottomland forest near the marsh

Then came the “field trip” portion of the training, yesterday at the Fort Worth Nature Center & Refuge. The class was divided in two groups, with half of them canoeing with Michael Perez while the other half spent about 90 short minutes with me at the marsh boardwalk and the bottomlands near the marsh (and then they switched places and the other half spent time with me). They were ready to see herps and not shy about picking their way through the deadfall and leaf litter of the forest floor. We had talked about cottonmouths, emphasizing their nonaggressive nature as well as the respect and caution that their venom should inspire. I try to get people to be careful and alert without being afraid, and I didn’t see anyone who looked afraid. And unfortunately, we did not see any cottonmouths on that particular day.

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Toad with some characteristics of both Woodhouse’s and Central Plains toads

They were certainly alert, spotting lots of things in the leaf litter that most people would miss. We found just-metamorphed toadlets and cricket frogs. Someone came up with a rough earth snake, and another spotted a baby Dekay’s brownsnake. One of the toads we saw had spots suggesting that it was a hybrid between the Central Plains toad (previously the Gulf Coast toad) and Woodhouse’s toad. Even though it requires a pairing between not just two species but two different genera, such hybrids do happen, and it was cool to see one.

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Green treefrog

The boardwalk was wonderfully productive. Each group got to see and photograph green treefrogs resting on leaves and stalks of the big Phragmites grasses, and one observant person spotted a young ribbonsnake basking on some vegetation. Looking at the photograph later, I saw that it was digesting a meal, possibly an unlucky green treefrog.

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Western ribbonsnake, digesting a meal

In a world preoccupied with … well, with things that seem less than wonderful, it is a privilege to spend time in forests and marshes with people who get excited about finding a small skink in the leaf litter or finding a particularly diverse group of lichens growing on a fallen branch.

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Lichens

The Clouds Tease, and the Lizards Have a Party

The afternoon sunshine was cooking some clouds, and to the south and then to the east the cumulus grew to cumulonimbus with blue-gray around the base and some curtains of rain here and there. It was sunny at Southwest Nature Preserve but it seemed likely that the surrounding clouds would keep the temperatures down. If I didn’t mind getting wet, the outflow winds from an approaching storm would really feel good – and then when it started to rain, well, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad either. So I parked the car and walked down to the fishing pond to see if recent rains had brought the water level up.

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Maximilian Sunflower

One of the pleasures of walking to that pond is all the Maximilian Sunflower along the way. I was first introduced to this native prairie flower when Jim Eidson showed me around Clymer Meadow (a Nature Conservancy property in the Blackland Prairie). The plant sends up tall, unbranching stems with long, narrow leaves folded lengthwise into a sort of “V” and produces beautiful yellow flowers.

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A young Green Heron

The water level had come up a little, and as I walked the boardwalk, I spooked a medium-sized bird that flew to the opposite bank and stood there (perhaps grumbling, “See, you made me miss a perfectly good little sunfish; I almost had it”). Luckily, I got a workable photo so that I could go through the books – and Cornell’s “All About Birds” website – to identify it. My conclusion was that it was a young Green Heron, and my ID, posted on iNaturalist, was confirmed. It is said to be one of the smallest North American herons, and it prowls the banks of wetlands looking for fish, frogs, crayfish, insects, or just about anything. Adults are much less streaked than the bird I saw; they have what is described as a deep green (almost charcoal) back and crown with a reddish chestnut chest.

 

My next visit was to the smallest pond, where an egret was walking around the far bank. I recorded a small video clip of it entering the water under a willow, rather elegantly walking through the water. (I’m afraid I didn’t have a tripod or even a stick to balance the camera, so it is not as steady as I would like.)

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Clouds to the east, hinting of rain

I walked the trails through the woodland and up to the ridge while watching the clouds and picking up a few little muffled drumbeats of thunder. It was sunny, humid, and therefore hot, and the preserve’s lizards were having a party. I saw several dart off the trail and into the leaves or behind brush. They were almost surely Texas spiny lizards who had been chasing insects but headed for the nearest tree as I approached. As I was coming down from the ridge, I was suddenly confronted by a Texas spiny lizard sitting on a small cut stump, facing me. I looked at him; he looked at me. These lizards are wary and fast, and he didn’t lose any time getting off the stump and running into nearby brush. Another one, further down the trail, stopped on a fallen branch and did a great imitation of a patch of bark stuck on the wood.

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Texas Spiny Lizard, camouflaged like a little patch of rough bark

When not seeing birds, reptiles, or other animal life, the preserve never fails to offer up something beautiful. One such offering was a collection of rounded, red-orange shelf fungi growing on a downed branch. Moments like this make a hot, muggy walk really worthwhile.

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Shelf fungus

Late Summer, Reaching Ahead to Fall

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Marsh, FWNCR

I visited the Fort Worth Nature Center & Refuge today, seeing how it was doing with the rain and more moderate temperatures. Since higher humidity meant a higher heat index even with temperatures in the 80’s, it was a little sultry, but nice. It has been dry, and the cracked and drying mud in parts of the marsh shows it. The marsh is almost always an inviting place, the only exception being the time over fifteen years ago when it completely dried except for some small pools, and Carl Franklin and I hopped down to the dry mud and walked across it. In one upstream pool we found a swirling pit where a number of trapped gar were swimming, gulping air, and wondering why their world was shrinking so dangerously small. Compared to that year, the marsh always looks good.

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Another view of the marsh

I walked a little through the nearby woodland at the crest of a hill that drops down into bottomland forest. It was warm and damp and green, close and thick, guarding its secrets: invertebrates that work endlessly within the leaf litter, creating new soil, and skinks that slither within the layers of leaves and thin the ranks of spiders and insects.

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Woods just above the bottomland

In a nearby pocket prairie, the little bluestem stood in brush-strokes of blue-green with a line of trees behind it. Little bluestem is perhaps my favorite prairie grass. The seasonal change from blue-green to rusty orange is a big part of the beauty of the prairies.

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Little bluestem (with some forbs in the foreground)

I’ve seen several references to fall lately, as if the beginning of another school year and the changing of the calendar to September means that the season has changed. Today was a late summer day; fall does not arrive until September 22, at the equinox when the length of day and night are roughly equal. I am looking forward to fall. It seems like every year, it becomes more of a favorite season, as temperatures drop and sunny days come with that low slanting light. I want the memory of 114-degree (F) days to fade, and I’m ready for the leaves to turn (hopefully some color other than brown). But while I’m waiting, the nature center today was a beautiful place to be.