“Paradise enow…”: Wells Mills Preserve / Pine Barrens

It’s always a treat when someone says, “Carolyn, I have a place I’d like to take YOU to hike!”  Fay Lachmann, –British-born–, has proven her friendship in a myriad of ways.  Many of them had to do with various rescues around the hip operation, and in other challenging times.  My first post-op Thanksgiving meal…  “Carolyn, it’s not about the sheets,” as she helped this unbendable one make the bed Friday after Friady.  Last week, Fay insisted on going right back to Wells Mills together, when she had only just taken her own hiking group there the day before.

Fay’s voice held uncharacteristic wispy notes, as she tried to explain why.  Finally, she simply stated, “Well, it’s about laurel.”

 

Laurel and Old Cedar Wells Mills

 

I could probably end this blog post right here.  The mountain laurel is at peak in the New Jersey Pine Barrens right now.  Even though there isn’t a mountain for miles.

***

Fay Lachmann Cedar Woods Wells Mills early June 2017

***

“The woods are lovely, dark and deep…”  Some of the other lines from Frost’s masterpiece were also true, as in “.,..miles to go before I sleep…”  Enchanted miles in a woods that comprised almost totally of Atlantic White Cedar.

This wood was everywhere in South Jersey when that land was discovered by whalers settling Cape May in the 1500s.  Other explorers were naming shore areas Egg Harbor, for example, because beaches were covered with shore bird eggs.  In the 1700s, white cedar was used for shingles — as house siding and for roofs; for fence posts; and most urgently for casks carrying the tannic Pine Barrens teak water on whaling voyages.  In cedar, teak water stayed fresh for three years.  White cedar casks also protected wild cranberries for sailors, who otherwise would have perished from scurvy.  Such usefulness doomed cedar back when we were East Jersey and West Jersey, except in Wells Mills.

***

Laurel and Cedar and Pine Wells Mills

***

Towering cedars raised their lacy greenery, inky against fresh clouds.  Frail laurel blossoms leapt for the sky.  Here and there, a rough-trunked pitch pine announced to the forest primeval just exactly whose forest this is, anyhow.  A pine cone or two on the sugar sand trails foretold the probable future.

***

Canoeists on Wells Mills Lake

***

Silent canoeists hugged the far shore, of a tranquil lake that resembled finely pleated silver lame.  Anything or anyone could’ve emerged out of it, — a mermaid or The Lady of the Lake of Arthurian days.

A single dazzling swan sailed just out of reach of the paddlers.  A family of geese included a huge pale barnyard goose in the middle of five young — a switch on the Ugly Duckling Story.

***

Rarities at Wells Mills early June

***

Exceedingly rare plants burgeoned at points where peatwater streamlets entered the glistening lake.  If I am understanding my Audubon Field Guide to North American Wildflowers correctly, this is (misleadingly named) Common pipewort.  “Bog or aquatic herbs with crowded head of tiny flowers and long, leafless stalk.”

***

Rarity Wells Mills

And this is purportedly Northern Pitcher Plant:  “a carnivorous plant with a large, purplish-red flower.”  Audubon does speak of “an umbrella-like structure.”

Laurel at Peak Wells Mills June 2017

But mountain laurel carried the day — laurel and friendship.

US 1 Newspaper on US 1 (Poets) Worksheets — poem “How To” from Newest Issue and Marshwalk

Genesis is a new section of US 1 (Business) Newspaper.  Rich Rein, founding editor, generously asked if he could use my “How To” poem from US 1 Poets’ newest beautiful volume, their strongest ever.  I am greatly honored.  I share this with NJWILDBEAUTY readers, realizing that poetry is nothing if not “wild beauty”!  Thank you, Rich!  Fofllowing this, here in the post, but first in the paper, is my story on hiking the Abbott Marshlands as spring ended and summer trickled in, with Clyde Quin and Warren Liebensperger, my dear friends and ‘Godfathers of the Marsh.’   Enjoy both, Readers, and walk that Marsh – it’s magical.

Reprinted from the Summer 2015 issue of Genesis
Poetry: U.S. 1 Worksheets

How To

people in other lands

know how to be lovers

a man visits Anna Akhmatova

in daytime

demanding

Tell me how you kiss

nothing like this

happens to me

but recently

a man carried two kayaks

one red, one green

one after the other

upon his head

over the arched footbridge

so that we two could explore

evening’s lake

                                                               — Carolyn Foote Edelmann

Heading South from Alexander, 5 to 6:30 on a golden Sunday evening

Recent Kayaking on D&R Canal south of Alexander Road, Princeton

As the first member of the Princeton Community to be accepted through Continuing Ed into Princeton University’s Creative Writing Program in the 1970s, Edelmann studied with Ted Weiss, Galway Kinnell, and Stanley Plumly. She has spent her poetic life honoring their legacy. Her services at D&R Greenway Land Trust are in the broad realm of Community Relations.  Carolyn is an avid kayaker.

Prose and poetry in one issue – a first for me, and a great honor:
Spring Lake, Abbott Marshlands, First Willows

Spring Lake, Abbott Marshlands, First Willows

Reprinted from the June 17, 2015, issue of U.S. 1 Newspaper
In Trenton’s Shadow, A Summer Escape to the Abbott Marshlands
by Carolyn Foote Edelmann

Come with me. Stroll beside tranquil willows, alongside the lilypad lake. Heed red-winged blackbirds’ territorial “okaleeeeee!” on all sides. Be properly impressed by the mute swan male, wings arced in territorial mode, protecting his mate and nestlings hidden on-shore.

Try to remember, we are on the southern edge of the city of Trenton with Hamilton Township to the east and the heavy traffic of the I-295/I-195 interchange just mile or so to the south. We are in the Abbott Marshlands, a 1,200-acre freshwater tidal preserve.

Here tides, pushed by the Delaware River, surge twice each day, bringing new nutrients and fresher water, removing what I tend to think of as “tired water,” carrying it ultimately to the Delaware Bay. We are surrounded by the hush and rich density of one of New Jersey’s most enticing preserves.

On the brink of the opening of summer. we will be seeking spring’s departure, signs of the new season, and anything Clyde Quin and Warren Liebensperger can tell us of the Marsh above which they have lived, and which they have served, all their lives. Clyde and Warren are both retired now (from PSE&G and the GM plant in Ewing respectively) and both are now energetic volunteers with the Friends for the Abbott Marshlands, visiting almost daily to lead field trips, maintain trails, and reporting illegal activity, including turtle poaching and dumping.

We enter the marsh at the Sewell and McClellen Avenue entrance, a 10-minute drive from Route 1 (specific directions can be found easily at the Friends’ website, www.marsh-friends.org). It’s overcast, which turns out to be a blessing, as summer announces its imminent arrival through both heat and impressive humidity this morning. The clouds look especially appealing in Spring Lake, a non-tidal body of water, alongside which we are walking until we’ll cross a tiny footbridge onto “The Island.” The Island is really the deep woods, and holds treasures in all seasons. Have your binoculars ready. The Abbott Marshlands are Rare Bird Central.

Even without optics, Clyde finds the first important bird: Elegant, lustrous, the evening grosbeak poses on a bare branch right over our heads. It turns to right and left, a gilded celebrity, giving us its best side.

Our friendship goes back to the founding of Friends for the Marsh, at nearby Bow Hill Mansion (home of the exquisite mistress of the former king, Joseph Bonaparte, brother of Napoleon). While Clyde and Warren are self-educated amateurs — in the best sense of the word, they are part of a corps of knowledgeable tour leaders who operate year-round: Mary Leck, botanist emeritus of Rider, who’s spent most of her scientific career calling attention to the Marsh and discovering God knows how many new species in its preserved watery acres; her husband Charles, legendary ornithologist of Rutgers; Jenn Rogers, Mercer County naturalist; and Kelly Rypkema, new head of the recently opened Tulpehaking (place of the turtles) Nature Center above the Abbott Marsh. 

Most hikes are free, and all are memorable. There isn’t a plant in that place that Mary doesn’t know. Clyde and Warren are rarely stumped, but a unique delicate pale fern astounds the three of us, lifting golden fronds like wands. “Mary will know,” we say in unison

The lake is to our left, studded with greenery — hefty pointy leaves of spatterdock, that golden pond lily the size and shape of a ping-pong ball. It’ll never get any bigger, never open farther. Two fishermen are out in lake-central, poles catching early light. Trees, thick to our right, are full of urgent birdsong. We are treated to further red-winged blackbird commands to honor each territory. We hear the mellifluous “hello everybody I’m back” of orioles, both Baltimore and orchard, providing glimpses, silhouettes.

Baltimore Oriole in Abbott Marshlands by Brenda Jones

Baltimore Oriole in Abbott Marshlands by Brenda Jones

In the midst of all those fluttery leaves, Warren spots and identifies the tiny, sophisticated blue-grey gnatcatcher. In silhouette, we know this bird by its slender angular tail, long for such a minuscule bird. We have been in the Marsh about 10 minutes.

Clyde informs me that most of trees here, of which orioles and gnatcatchers are particularly fond, are aspens. “Be very quiet,” he suggests. “Even though they are barely moving, you can hear the aspen leaves.” This grove of whispering aspens Clyde and Warren have named Mary’s Cove. Mary being Mary Leck. Trails underfoot, despite the name of this preserve, are dry most of the time. Too dry today, despite two recent downpours.

Clyde and Warren tend nest boxes here, of bluebirds (who fly about their heads like birds in Snow White’s homecoming scene, as the men put up fresh boxes each spring), and Picasso-esque wood ducks. These birds need tree cavities in order to build nests and raise young. In case you haven’t noticed, there aren’t a lot of tree cavities any more. Clyde and Warren put them up, and monitor the young, who leave the nest by jumping down many feet from the boxes, often into water, on their first or second day of life. These men — the Godfathers of the Marsh — put out fires; clean up graffiti; try to repair knife marks in the beautiful new information panels there to educate everyone to the riches of this place.

They immediately recognize new fox denning attempts, the broad “apron” distinguishing fox-work from muskrat-work in the woods. They know where every owl nests, each eagle. They pick up newly chewed beaver twigs, point out just-felled beaver saplings, “the chips still wet.” Clyde’s and Warren’s hands hold the brushes that paint roots white for moonlight beaver walks. They remember when monarchical trees, downed by recent tempest and vandals’ fires, reached the sky.

They have a sixth sense for birds, as well as knowing who prefers what corners and crossroads, what canopy, what part of the understory. We hear varied sounds of hairy, downy and red-bellied woodpeckers, drilling to establish territory. We are treated to shadowy glimpses of certain woodpeckers. One parent feeds his offspring a ravenous youngster a mouthful of insects. American crows mutter and complain, and fish crows cry fervent “Uh, ohs!”

Last night was epochal for the turtle clan. Everywhere we find evidence of very recent digging and egg-laying. Sadly for amphibians, all too many new sanctuaries have been discovered. Even at the sooty place of a former fire, ivory shards — museum quality — of former eggs lie scattered like bones after the raptor’s feast. We know it’s the work of a predator because (1.) it’s far from time for eggs to hatch and (2.) natural hatching is immaculate, no shell remnants to be seen.

As we make our way in deep shade as the day grows hotter, Clyde and Warren marvel at how swiftly recently trimmed trails have been re-invaded by healthy new plants. They’re excited to find the flower “Double Cynthia,” bright orange, and quite rare — new to me. On both sides of the trail, it may be a new colony.

“Here’s spiderwort!,” Warren exclaims. This ineptly named gorgeous purple bloom rises on iris-like tendrils. It’s on both sides, spilling all the way down to the water. The men decide this new array of that shy yet vivid plant could have been caused by flooding.

They recount the sad saga of ineradicable Japanese knotweed, despite heroic efforts by Trenton High School students. We puzzle over inexplicably vanished wetlands, formerly famous for frogs.

The best part about being with Warren and Clyde is that they speak the past. It springs to life, their eyes alight. They are boys again, “using cane poles, pulling in fish, sometimes snagging turtles we have to release.”

Of course, long before Warren and Clyde there were Indians here, especially Lenni Lenapes, convening between hunting and gathering seasons, spring and fall migrations. Beginning in their boyhood days these two men have found artifacts, donating them to a local museum. I guess they sensed Indian presence as did Thoreau.

Clyde and Warren lament sounds no longer heard: whippoorwill, bob-white, wild pheasant, clapper rail, black rail, American Bittern. They enriched my knowledge with locals’ names for every twist in these trails, maintained by the two of them weekly if not daily, year-’round.

A handful of days before summer, ferns are at peak. No more fiddleheads, just enormous clumps, catching the light, back into the deep woods. Some of these ferns are taller than we are, but the men tell me ferns used to be 15-feet tall.

We chronicle the departure of spring in spent false Solomon’s seal; the seed pods of vanished trout lily blooms. Clyde hands me a Mayapple, oval and Granny Apple Green. “Box turtles eat ‘em,” he lets me know. “I’ve eaten them. Have a kind of mothy taste.” To me, they smell like green beans.

They take turns reciting the old names: Devil’s Bend; Second Sandy; Cobra, Rooster Tail, The Catwalk, The Springs, Snapper Pond, and Mary’s Cove. The last line of Death of a Salesman comes to me here, “Attention must be paid!” Who will chant these titles, a decade or two from now?

Who else can tell of the dredging of the lake, how “they took out all the muck, dragged it, used mules. Then they put in clean sand… waited for springs and rains to do their work.” “At first, this was just a strolling park. Then people came along and added the amusement park and the chute-the-chutes with the wooden boats.”

We sit on a lakeside bench, so Clyde and Warren may continue to reminisce. I tell them, “There is no one with whom I would rather walk the Marsh.”

They give me exquisite responses, laced with almost breathless gratitude that the wild and the beautiful have been and are being continually preserved, in the heart of New Jersey’s capital region.

Carolyn Edelmann works in community relations for the D&R Greenway Land Trust and takes advantage of every opportunity to hike and kayak through New Jersey’s natural resources.

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Exploring The Berkshires, with The Intrepids

I convey this brief post on the evening we arrived home from our Berkshires week of hiking, arting, feasting, laughing, exploring, wildflowering, birding, treeing…   all to the tune of brooks, streams and rivers, and the leitmotifs of mostly invisible birds.

These lively pictures were taken by Jeanette Hooban, one of the Intrepids, as NJWILDBEAUTY readers well know.

My fellow author of the book on Stuart Country Day School’s fifty years, Carolyn P. Yoder, has become an official Intrepid — our heroic driver who wrote immediately upon return to say, “fabulous, just fabulous,” adding, “everything was so easy, even the driving.”  No one in my experience has deemed the negotiation of the NYSTATE Thruway from Troy to nearly Somerville, ‘easy’.

Both Carolyn and Jeanette are always ready for anything.  They don’t bat an eye, for example, when trail maps, such as those from the Clark Art Institute, turn out to be misleading, wrong and just plain infuriating.  “More time on the trails,” they sang out, as we trundled on.

Our birding was mostly by ear — especially exuberant oven birds of the Hopkins Forest Trail maintained (and well mapped and signed and blazed) by Williams College.  At one point, alongside a wildly twisting stream, we heard the few unmistakable notes of the almost-never-encountered bob-white.

I don’t trust words tonight.  And it’s beyond me to upload my own pictures.  Jeanette’s will serve as appetizer, partly metaphorically, and partly in reality, in the interim.

Enjoy!

Our Hiking Feet Cool Among River Rocks, at the Clark Art Institute Reflecting Pool

Our Hiking Feet Cool Among River Rocks, at the Clark Art Institute Reflecting Pool

One of the main reasons we go there is the Sterling and Francine Clark Art Institute.

My Favorite Renoir, as well as Sterling Clark's Favorite, Clark Art Institute, Williamstown, Mass

My Favorite Renoir, as well as Sterling Clark’s Favorite, Clark Art Institute, Williamstown, Mass

This is my all-time favorite Renoir.  It turns out to have been Sterling Clark’s as well.  Eat your heart out, Barnes Foundation!

Our favorite work there, bar none, is Ghirlandaio’s lady with a red dress.  If Jeanette has an image of that, I’ll add it.  Or find on line.  But not tonight.  This aristocratic Florentine remains vividly gracious, across all those centuries.

Another major reason for the Berkshires is hiking.  You’ll get that post when my pictures are uploaded or downloaded – could someone explain the difference.

In between hikes and arts, we feasted:

Arugula Salad, Coyote Flaco, Williamstown, Mass

Arugula Salad, Coyote Flaco, Williamstown, Mass

Stuffed Pepper Appetizer, Coyote Flaco, Williamstown, Mass

Stuffed Pepper Appetizer, Coyote Flaco, Williamstown, Mass

In more ways than one:

Margaritas Arrive, Coyote Flaco, Williamstown, Mass.

Margaritas Arrive, Coyote Flaco, Williamstown, Mass.

Coyote Flaco was a first for all of us.  It’s on Route 7 north on the left-hand side heading into town.  We were welcomed like royalty, even though it was MOTHERS’ DAY! evening.  We were graciously seated outside, beneath vivid umbrellas, at the edge of a babbling brook (which also ran alongside our motel, a little farther along Route 7.)  A steep hill, completely forested rose directly from the brook, which never stopped singing.

The vivid, most exciting food is Mexican and Spanish, with exquisite sauces, tropical beauty, exciting yet subtle flavors, and lashings of lobster.

The Staff so welcoming, as though we were their long-lost relatives, at last come to town.

Wonderful people, murmuring with delight, filled the indoor rooms.  We could savor vivid delicacies in a timelessness not known by any of the three of us in our complex professional lives in Princeton.  At the end, the Staff GAVE us their three signature desserts.

And THREE ROSES, still velvety and fragrant, as we reluctantly drove south on 7 this morning.

Stay tuned for other Berkshire miracles, and some from Hyde Park, in quest of Eleanor, of course.

January Stroll: Fleecydale Road, Carversville, PA

Despite glowering skies and spitting snow, fellow birder/photographer Anne Zeman and I set out across the Delaware this gelid day.  Our first goal was a superb meal at the Carversville Inn.  Our expectations were, if anything, surpassed, as we celebrated her birthday.  Pull up their menu and order anything on it — especially the Diver Scallop wrapped in apple-smoked bacon, the Paillard of Salmon coated in minutely crushed almonds, the Mushroom Ragout, the Bisque of Seafood, the salad of darkest greens and burnished golden beets with piquant goat cheese that must be aged…

Carversville Inn, Decorated for Christmas

Carversville Inn, Decorated for Christmas

Carversville is a town that time forgot.  NJWILDBEAUTY readers know my passion for time travel, and this is some of the best there is.

Carversville Home

Carversville Home

Carversville’s Post Office is also the domain of one of our region’s most legendary caterers, Max Hansen.

Max Hansen's Timeless Sign

Max Hansen’s Timeless Sign

Inside the P.O., there is a charming modern interpretation of Van Gogh’s Postman.  The original is at the new Barnes in Philadelphia.  The P.O. Postman may be in the back room, depending on how much other art is on display in this unique setting.  Ask for it!  You can also buy splendid lavender products from Carousel Farm near Doylestown.

"Come and Set a Spell"

“Come and Set a Spell”

Despite it’s being January 16, when we entered the Inn for our superb repast, there were two men, without coats, intensely conversing on these appealing benches.

Inside the old grocery, the new Max center, you’ll find very helpful people.  They simply know they are serving excellence, eager to assist you in your culinary needs and desires.  I was in quest of dessert for a Sunday Stroll ‘n’ Sup here, and was able to buy half a Key Lime Pie.  It’s gorgeous.

Max had strolled into the Carversville Inn, just as we were finishing our flourless chocolate creation with homemade dark caramel sauce.  He is renowned for everything gastronomic at the Michener Museum of Doylestown, and frequently for Bowman’s Hill Wildflower Preserve’s “Black Tie and Muck Boots” Gala, held when the bluebells turn fields and stream banks to floral oceans.

Fleecydale Road Sign

Fleecydale Road Sign

We began to stroll Fleecydale Road, somewhat like Lombard Street in San Francisco, as the sign above attests.  For reasons never explained, it has been officially closed for years.  We met people out for January strolls, of many different ages and accents, one even with a cane who put us photographers to shame, pace-wise.  All were grinning ear-to-ear, gracious to these strangers.

HIstoric Carversville Sign -- We strolled between mill ruins and spring houses, and near the 1830 home of Mr. Carver.

HIstoric Carversville Sign — We strolled between mill ruins and spring houses, and near the 1830 home of Mr. Carver.

Bucolic Fleecydale Scene

Bucolic Fleecydale Scene

Fleecydale Road is one of America’s corniches.  Having lived in Provence in 1987 and 88, I have had my share of corniches: moyenne, haute and I forget the other one, inferieure?  Princess Grace starred in To Catch a Thief, zooming along corniches in a dashing convertible, with the dangerous, handsome cat burglar.  She also died in a crash on one, which is all too common in the hills of Provence.  Trying to describe the circuitous roads that surrounded me, that were my only way to and from anywhere, I’d tell my family, “It’s as though someone dumped a plate of cooked spaghetti from on high, waited for it to solidify, then told you to drive the strands.”

Anne Zeman and I, out for nature, out for air, out fully to experience January as her birthday year unfolded, walked America’s, or shall I say, one of Pennsylvania’s, corniches.  The curves are gentler on foot, and beauty and history more accessible and apparent.  All along we were serenaded by the creek – is it the Perkiomen?

Equally accessible are the shocks of this 21st Century — stunning reality of the dread PIPELINE (this one proudly claimed by a Texas firm), when you come upon them at eye level, in the midst of beauty.

I showed NJWILDBEAUTY readers the horror of PIPELINE pipes at Heinz “Refuge” (there is NO REFUGE from PIPELINES) down near the Philadelphia Airport a few weeks ago.  Many months ago, I showed you the ones on either side of the D&R Canal and Towpath, a STATE PARK, our DRINKING WATER — south of Alexander Street in Princeton.  They’re along the Great Road in Princeton, near some of our finest schools, teaching the leaders of tomorrow.  They’re on roads between tiny Lawrenceville and tiny Pennington, in the midst of farm fields, near residences of Cherry Hill, Cherry Valley — nowhere is safe.

In the midst of bucolic beauty, we came to these:

PIPELINE!  Coming soon to a neighborhood near you...

PIPELINE! Coming soon to a neighborhood near you…

TEXAS PIPELINE - Texas doesn't care what habitat it destroys, what beauty it ruins for all time, let alone what it does to the health of people who've lived here since the early 1800s...

TEXAS PIPELINE – Texas doesn’t care what habitat it destroys, what beauty it ruins for all time, let alone what it does to the health of people who’ve lived here since the early 1800s…

See what the PIPELINE abuts and scars.  Walk with us:

The Long and Winding Road called Fleecydale

The Long and Winding Road called Fleecydale

HISTORY IS AT RISK HERE, AT THE HANDS OF PIPELINE MOGULS

HISTORY IS AT RISK HERE, AT THE HANDS OF PIPELINE MOGULS

A MAGNIFICENT CREEK IS AT RISK HERE, WHICH FLOWS STRAIGHT DOWN THROUGH FORMIDABLE ROCKS TO THE DELAWARE RIVER AND THE SEA

A MAGNIFICENT CREEK IS AT RISK HERE, WHICH FLOWS STRAIGHT DOWN THROUGH FORMIDABLE ROCKS TO THE DELAWARE RIVER AND THE SEA

AND WONDERFUL NEIGHBORS WITH EXQUISITE TASTE, WHO THOUGHT THEY'D FOUND SANCTUARY ON FLEECYDALE ROAD

AND WONDERFUL NEIGHBORS WITH EXQUISITE TASTE, WHO THOUGHT THEY’D FOUND SANCTUARY ON FLEECYDALE ROAD

"Baby, It's Cold..."

“Baby, It’s Cold…”

If Ice Could Speak, or Sing...

If Ice Could Speak, or Sing…  This is the beginning of an Aria

Determination:  Anne Zeman and Ice of  Fleecydale - Ice Fleece...

Determination: Anne Zeman and Ice of Fleecydale –           Ice Fleece…

Just-Fallen Beech Leaves

Just-Fallen Beech Leaves

Berries and Ice in Fleeting Sun

Berries and Ice in Fleeting Sun

New Growth in Winter

New Growth in Winter

Oak and Lichen

Oak and Lichen

Outbuilding of Yesteryear

Outbuilding of Yesteryear

Sandy Remnants -- yes, very serious damage here, far west of and far above the Delaware River

Sandy Remnants — yes, very serious damage here, far west of and far above the Delaware River

Fallen Monarch -- Sandy Victim

Fallen Monarch — Sandy Victim

Not how close together those tree rings are.  One would need a micrometer to measure its growth.  Slow-growing trees are the strongest.  Ash is legendary for slow maturation, and it used to be the only wood for baseball bats.  This once towering majesty is still imposing, no match for Hurricane Sandy.

Strong Reflections - very unusual in a fast-flowing creek

Strong Reflections – very unusual in a fast-flowing creek

Last light on a venerable outbuilding

Last light on a venerable outbuilding

Determined Woodpecker - Probably a Red-bellied

Determined Woodpecker – Probably a Red-bellied

Pleased Photographer, Anne Zeman, as Fleecydale Stroll Ends

Pleased Photographer, Anne Zeman, as Fleecydale Stroll Ends

Road Sign, Fleecydale Road and Old Carversville Road, PA

Road Sign, Fleecydale Road and Old Carversville Road, PA

Whatever you can do, wherever you live, put the brakes on these PIPELINE PROMOTERS.

Remember that splendid son, “This Land is Your Land, This Land is My Land.”

It is not the PIPELINE PROMOTERS’ land.

They MUST be STOPPED!

Heinz Refuge (PA) in Winter — Nature in Midst of Industrial Ruination

Yesterday, December 27th, brought new nature experiences to ‘The Intrepids’.  Bill Rawlyk, Jeanette Hooban and I zoomed down to the Heinz Refuge, below the Philadelphia Airport, in 45 minutes.  Armed with many layers of winter gear, we were amazed to discover not only sun but warmth, upon exiting the car.  Come discover with us, scene-by-scene, beginning inside the rather palatial Visitors Center.

Fox of the Region in Visitors Center Display

Fox of the Region in Visitors Center Display

The rainbow effect is from the plexiglas, which holds many effigies of nature’s creatures, of land and water, and sometimes both, which one might find while wandering Heinz Refuge.  Often, the three of us caught welcome whiffs of fox territorial markings, during our hours on the trail.

Welcome Sign Near Visitors' Center

Welcome Sign Near Visitors’ Center

Mica Rocks of Pennsylvania - We're not in New Jersey Any More...

Mica Rocks of Pennsylvania – We’re not in New Jersey Any More…

No Refuge from the Pipeline in Pennsylvania

No Refuge from the Pipeline in Pennsylvania

Pipeline -- Beware -- Everywhere we turned at this point...

Pipeline — Beware — Everywhere we turned at this point…

Pipeline -- No Escape

Pipeline — No Escape

Pipeline Warning -- well, you get the picture...

Pipeline Warning — well, you get the picture…

Riverine Still LIfe

Riverine Still LIfe

Mud Preserves Bird Heiroglyphics

Mud Preserves Bird Heiroglyphics

Reading the Tales of Heron Tracks

Reading the Tales of Heron Tracks

Low Tide at Heinz Refuge

Low Tide at Heinz Refuge

Bountiful Banks, Heinz Refuge

Bountiful Banks, Heinz Refuge

Winter's Wildflowers, Heinz Refuge

Winter’s Wildflowers, Heinz Refuge

Osprey Painting, LIfe-Size, along Boardwalk Across Impoundment

Osprey Painting, LIfe-Size, along Boardwalk Across Impoundment

Eagle Painting, Boardwalk

Eagle Painting, Boardwalk

We would be treated to an immature bald eagle, hunt-coasting over the impoundment, which of course generated flight in every duck on that water.

Male Shoveler on Impoundment

Male Shoveler on Impoundment

Ducks are quite wary here, perhaps because of constant noise of airplanes overhead, trains approaching and departing and hooting, and this day, frequent muffled nearby gunfire, for it is hunting season.  That shoveler is all alone, over to the right in the shadow of bare trees.

Ducks Sheltering in the lee of the shore -- shoveler males and females

Ducks Sheltering in the lee of the shore — shoveler males and females

Nests of Winter

Nests of Winter

Nest of Winter

Nest of Winter

Each Nest is that of a Different Species

Each Nest is that of a Different Species

We Decided we were 'Nesting', more than Birding this Day

We Decided we were ‘Nesting’, more than Birding this Day

Sculptural Tree, Eerily Resembling Andrew Wyeth Watercolor We Would See during our Afternoon at Brandywine River Museum

Sculptural Tree, Eerily Resembling Andrew Wyeth Watercolor We Would See during our Afternoon at Brandywine River Museum

Tidal Creek View South

Tidal Creek View South

Sign Describing Heinz Refuge

Sign Describing Heinz Refuge

Sign Inside Visitors Center -- Bountiful Sunshine this Day

Sign Inside Visitors Center — Bountiful Sunshine this Day