Nature Note: A Naturalist's Travels Through Nature

In the United States, we are blessed with a bounty of birds. We have some of the most iconic birds in the world from the stately bald eagle ( Haliaeetus leucocephalus ) and whooping crane ( Grus americana ) to the diverse collage of songbirds like warblers, finches, and bluebirds. That being said, there are some species of birds that rarely, if ever make it to America's shores. Just this past May, my girlfriend and I missed our chance of seeing one of these birds. A curlew sandpiper ( Calidris ferruginea ) had decided to show up about 40 minutes west of the Biggest Week birding festival in Oak Harbor, OH. As we arrived at the hallowed ground it had graced for several days before (which was essentially a flooded field in the middle of flat Ohio farm country) it instead had decided just minutes earlier to depart to places unknown. This got me thinking about what birds I might want to see, but couldn't due to my current geographic location in the countryside of central New Yor

As I was driving home from work this evening, exhausted and glad to be done, I saw a bird flying over my car. It was large with long, black wings, a thick bill, and a wedged tail. It soared and looped on wide wings seeming to test each breath of air, each bank, each twist, as it lazily, yet masterfully trailed my car before disappearing behind the trees along Harris Road. I was being trailed by a raven. This seemed unusual given the time of year. Ravens are birds associated with Norse mythology, birds of the frozen north and mysterious ones at that. While New York is home to four species of corvids (which is the collective name for members of the crow and jay family). One species you are going to see in Central New York in the summer months are the mild-mannered families of American crows ( Corvus brachyrhynchos ) that hop from branch to limb while you walk down a trail or speed past along the road. The parents watching warily, cawwing warnings to their children to get out of the w

Tik. Tik. Tik. Tik-tik-tik-tik-gigigigigigigigigigigi. Tik. Tik. Tik-tik. Gigigigigigi. A high-pitched buzz, almost imperceptible shivers from the boughs of the spruce near my window. A small insect, barely a few inches long, sits on a branch. It cranks out a tune produced by it's wings rubbing against one another. This act is called stridulation and is being performed by a creature called a bush katydid. Now whether it is a northern bush ( Scudderia septentrionalis ), or a treetop bush ( S. fasciata ), or even a Texas bush katydid ( S. texensis ), I can't be certain. The fact is that my ears, as dull and imperceptive (at least compared to other animals) as they are, picked up these small vibrations used to attract a female into the male's territory. Those of us with access to trees, meadows, or even an open backyard can experience the variety of songs produced by this annual summer symphony. Their mixed signals and sounds delight us as we rest in our beds after a lon

Exhibit A: The Apple. Sometime on Saturday morning, we were the victims of a break in. Now normally when someone is subject to theft, an item of value is usually taken. Televisions, computers, jewelry, DVDs, and money are all examples of what most burglars will consider to be valuable. Our burglar however didn't want any of these material possessions. All he wanted was an apple. Before leaving to explore Pratt's Falls in Manlius, I noticed a half eaten apple on the sill of the kitchen window. After consulting with my girlfriend, we determined that neither of us was sloppy enough to leave a partially eaten apple on the windowsill and in such plain sight. Upon closer inspection, the teeth marks on the apple were too narrow to be from either of us. It was only after that closer inspection that we noticed the hole. In our apartment's kitchen window, there are the window sashes (that we've been keeping open due to the warm summer weather) and the screen that we tho

For us naturalists, the nature bug never really turns off. We're constantly noticing, watching, listening like an owl waiting for a mouse to make a wrong turn in the grass. Things that most people would walk past fascinate us, drive us mad about not knowing what they are, and implore us to learn more about another piece in nature's puzzle. The sun over the past few weeks has been unrelenting and hot. The summer heat isn't unexpected for us here in the Northeast, but this extended period without rain has left us with hills of dry grass and crisp leaves. I've never seen the leaves change color in July. Maples and oaks turning orange and brown not from a decrease in light, but instead recoiling from their provider with wilted leaves, rattling in the wind. Even the A ilanthus  that mark the border of many city streets and sidewalks are wilting in the heat, their leaves yellowing as a lack of rain punishes anything green below the sun. Fortunately not all are sufferi

Now with a strange title like that, you have to be wondering: "What on earth is this guy talking about?!" What I'm referring to is the intoxicating smell that wafts off of a bluegill sunfish after having played it from the water and into the hand. Fishing is filled with many interesting smells. They range from the neglected soft plastics slowly oozing into a indeterminate mass at the bottom of a tackle box to the powdery outside of trout "marshmallows" in their highlighter pinks and greens. It even extends to the often noxious baits used by catfish aficionados to beguile a large channel cat from the depths of a muddy river. There are so many natural smells to choose from as well. The pond I visited was located at Skaneateles Conservation Area just up the road from Marcellus. As I exited the car, the scent of honeysuckle and roses brimming with honeybees filled the air. The stick-in-your-nose smell of dried grass and soil drifted by as I started up