Trumpeting a new visitor to the Beach

Sweet C16, a young female trumpeter swan, has joined us at Woodbine Park in the Beach. © BCP 2010

What’s this? A new swan has taken up residence, if only temporarily, in a tiny man-made pond at Woodbine Park (near Coxwell Ave. and Lakeshore Blvd. E.).

We’re used to seeing the mute swans (Cygnus olor) at the Beach (the old-marrieds, Penny and Tycho, and their annual clutch of cygnets). But the new arrival is a trumpeter swan (Cygnus buccinator) wearing a yellow wing tag announcing her number, C16.

It didn’t take too much fancy fingerwork on my keyboard to find out that C16 is a female trumpeter hatched in the late spring of 2009. She was subsequently banded, with her nest mates, at Bluffer’s Park on Sept 17th, 2009, by Harry Lumsden. (To find out more about C16’s siblings, click here to go to the Trumpeter Swan Society’s blog.

Well, once I found out that our young female was number 16, I just had to call her Sweetie. I’ve been to see her a few times, now, and I can report that she is very very friendly, and seems amazingly intelligent. You can see it in her eyes. But she  was damn sure yesterday that she didn’t want to share her tiny pond with a rambunctious labrador. (I’ll try to get the very short video I took of that encounter up shortly.)

Don’t know how long Sweetie will stay with us. After all, she’s very young (likely 16 months or so) and may be looking around for a place to call her own. Not sure if the fountain pond at Woodbine Park is the right place for her though. It’s very, very tiny. Can she even get out of it? I did wonder if she were maybe trapped without enough pond runway, as it were, to take off. Have sent a query to the folks at the TSS and hope that they will answer soon.

She certainly seems to be getting enough to eat, at least for now. Who knew that there was so much submerged aquatic vegetation in the fountain pond?

I’ll keep everyone posted on Sweet C16.

© BCP 2010

Indian summer, Crothers Woods

Crothers Woods, Wednesday, Oct. 27. A palace in spun gold, head architect, Ma Nature. © BCP 2010

Inspired by the bright autumn sunshine yesterday afternoon, (and surprising t-shirt weather) I took off for Crothers Woods, a part of the  Don Valley I have only just begun to explore.

Crothers Woods is a mature forest  generally considered to run on both sides of the Don River from Pottery Road in the south to the Leaside Bridge in the north. A couple of weeks ago, I parked at Todmorden Mills and walked to the trail head by Pottery Road, then ascended on some quite vertiginous mountain bike paths that took me to Sun Valley. (More on Sun Valley later.) I never really made it to the main part of Crothers Woods, as I ran out of time.

So Wednesday, I decided to bypass the long hike from Pottery Road, and accessed the woods instead from the Loblaws parking lot just off Millwood Rd. on Redway.

A path in Crothers Woods descending to the valley floor. © BCP 2010

I checked out the map at the top of the trail head, then arbitrarily picked a path heading towards the valley floor. A few steps in from the parking lot, I was surrounded by a golden sea of sugar maples.  I felt as if I had stepped into a magic castle where the walls, ceiling and floor were all spun from gold. Here and there, fiery sumacs and a few low-level understory bushes still wearing green, stood out as if they were precious jewels — rubies, garnets and emeralds —- spilling out of a golden treasure chest.

I walked through the woods scarcely able to contain my joy at being in such a place of rare  beauty, smack dab in the middle of the city.

But Crothers Woods is known not just for its beauty, but for its rarity as an ecosystem.

The 52-hectare plot is one of the few remaining fragments of Carolinian forest  — a type of forest common in the eastern U.S., but rare around  Toronto area and the rest of Canada. The Welcome to Crothers Woods plaque at the Loblaws trail head describes the woods to be a beech-maple forest that contains “rare understory plants and old-growth forest features that provide important habitat for many wildlife species.”

The overwhelming majority of the trees in the woods appeared to me, at least, to be sugar maples, (Acer saccharum) wearing shades of gold, orange and harvest yellow. And certainly American beech (Fagus grandifolia) all dressed in bronze, and butternut or white walnut (Juglans cinerea) wearing more bright yellow. Oh. And black oak (Quercus velutina) I think, too, clad in dark brown.

In the next few days, I’ll post some more photos of this magical spot.

© BCP 2010

Milkweed babies

Milkweed babies, the seeds of Asclepias syriaca, ready to be launched by the wind. © BCP 2010

One thing in Ontario in autumn is as certain as death and taxes: If you open your door and head outside to any vacant lot,  you will surely see milkweed babies — the seeds of Asclepias syriaca, or common milkweed.

In every single milkweed plant — each a remarkable baby-making factory — lies  a botany lesson, an invertebrate zoology lesson and countess ecology classes. And the plant’s good-sized seeds, each with its own silken parachute attached, inspired today’s quote of the day.

Milkweed seeds burst out of their cradle, er, pod. © BCP 2010

Milkweed Babies

Dainty milkweed babies, wrapped in cradles green,

Rocked by Mother Nature, fed by hands unseen.

Brown coats have the darlings, slips of milky white

And wings — but that’s a secret —they’re folded out of sight.

The cradles grow so narrow, what will the babies do?

They’ll only grow the faster, and look up toward the blue.

And now they’ve found the secret, they’re flying through the air,

They’ve left the cradles empty — do milkweed babies care?

This poem, which apparently was sung by mothers rocking their babies several generations ago, is attributed to an early 20th-century primer. Even with some concerted effort digging on the Internet, I was unable to find out the author of this poem/cradle song. It repeatedly turns up in searches as author unknown. (But if anyone does know, please advise so that I can give proper credit.)

Below is another fruiting plant that releases its offspring the same way. A plant, like the common milkweed, as common as dirt.  I’m still trying to nail down what this plant is. As always, any info gratefully received.

© BCP 2010

Seeds on the launch pad, seen at the Quarry last week. © BCP 2010

Party time at Ashbridge’s for the ring-billed gulls

A ring-billed gull (Larus delawarensis) fishes successfully in the stiff breeze at Ashbridge’s yesterday. © BCP 2010

It felt like gale-force winds as I set out for my walk yesterday at Ashbridge’s Bay. The waves were crashing into the headland of the Coatsworth Cut, and I could see whitecaps farther out on the lake. With time short, I had planned to circle the “peanut” quickly and get on with my day. But I only got as far as the first boardwalk before the squawks of the reeling ring-billed gulls (Larus delawarensis) caught my attention.

The gulls were using the high winds to help them fish, using the lift of the wind to hover just over the rocks at the water’s edge. There, presumably, the churning water as it crashed against the shore made the pickings easier for the gulls. They certainly stayed at it long enough. Normally when I watch them, they dive and swoop about the bay, moving restlessly from one fishing spot to the next.

But yesterday, the gulls stayed put, fishing over and over again where the waves were crashing.

No bird brains, they.

A young ring-billed gull lines up his next meal at Ashbridge’s Bay yesterday . © BCP 2010

© BCP 2010

Autumn skies

I got an eyeful of cerulean sky when I finally looked up yesterday at the Quarry. © BCP 2010

If the sight of the blue skies fills you with joy, if a blade of grass springing up in the fields has power to move you, if the simple things of nature have a message that you understand, rejoice, for your soul is alive.

Sometimes, things just snap into place. When I was looking for today’s quote (above), I came across these words from Italian actress Eleanora Duse, who lived from 1858 to 1924. (It’s a good thing she had a belief in nature to console her, because by all accounts she had a rather tragic and tempestuous life.)

When I saw her quote, it immediately reminded me a photo I took yesterday, almost by chance.

I was perambulating over hill and dale in the Quarry Lands, getting up close and personal with all the wild things in front of me. With my camera’s macro lens attached, I was focussed on the world right in front of me. The vivid scarlet leaves (see yesterday’s post), the myriad seed pods exploding, the last brave flowers being buffeted about in the stiff breeze.
Then I looked up. And saw the most remarkable blue sky.

It did, indeed, fill me with joy.

© BCP 2010

M o r e   i n f o