The “Aha!” Moment: A Case of Mistaken Identity

I was crouching in the dirt, wrestling with my macro lens and trying to keep my focal plane steady against a slight breeze, when I spotted a classic “yellow jacket” landing on a bright sunflower. I dialed in my shutter speed, expecting a defensive buzz, but then I noticed something was delightfully “off.” The yellow and black stripes were there, practically screaming “I sting!” across the garden, but as I adjusted the manual focus, the creature didn’t behave like a bee at all. Instead of the frantic, heavy-bottomed search of a honeybee, this little pilot was darting and stopping with the mid-air precision of a high-tech drone. Looking through the viewfinder, I realized I’d been completely bamboozled by one of the backyard’s most dedicated performance artists.

Meet the Hoverflies: The Imposters Among Us

What I had actually captured in my frame was a Flower Fly (Syrphid fly). These are the garden’s premier cosplayers, evolving to look like intimidating bees or wasps to trick hungry birds into looking elsewhere for a snack. They come in a surprising variety of “costumes”—some are sleek and sporty like miniature fighter jets, while others, like the ones I find on dandelions, are quite plump and robust.

Flower Fly Fact Sheet

• The Eyes: Look for massive, reddish-maroon or mahogany-colored eyes that take up nearly the entire head, meeting in the middle like a wraparound visor.

• The Wings: They possess only a single pair of translucent wings. While a bee’s wings often tuck back, these flies frequently hold theirs at a sharp 45-degree angle, ready for an immediate takeoff.

• The “Wasp-Waist” Illusion: Their abdominal patterns are sophisticated; some sports bold, blocky bands, while others have intricate, mask-like markings that create the illusion of a narrow wasp-waist.

• The Body Shape: You’ll see everything from slender, elongated models to “fuzzy” mimics that could pass for a bumblebee at a distance.

The “Spot the Difference” Guide

When you’re looking through a macro lens, the “mimic” and the “model” are easy to tell apart once you know the secret cues.

The Fly (The Mimic)

• Two Wings: Only one pair of iridescent wings, often held out like a jet.

• Clean Legs: Thinner, smoother legs that stay relatively clean while feeding.

• Maroon Visors: Giant, mahogany-colored eyes that dominate the face.

• Helicopter Flight: Can hover perfectly still in one spot before darting away.

The Bee (The Inspiration)

• Four Wings: Two pairs of wings that usually overlap or tuck along the back.

• Pollen Baskets: Thicker, fuzzier hind legs often loaded with heavy clumps of bright yellow pollen.

• Oval Side-Eyes: Smaller, more modest eyes positioned on the sides of the head.

• Bumbling Flight: Moves in a more constant, wandering, and buzzy pattern.

A Tour of the Buffet: Their Favorite Garden Hangouts

These flies are the ultimate socialites of the suburban wilderness. If you want to find them for a photo op, check these exclusive “venues”:

• The Dandelion Diner: The flat, sunny faces of dandelions are prime territory for the more robust, plump species of flower flies to grab a quick nectar fix.

• The Umbrella Club: They are absolutely obsessed with yellow umbellifers (like dill or fennel clusters). These tiny, packed flower “landing pads” are perfect for stalking with a macro lens.

• The Purple Spiked Lounge: Look closely at vibrant purple spikes! These flowers have an almost alien, spindly texture with curly, filament-like petals that the flies love to navigate.

• The Daisy Disco: Wide-open faces like sunflowers and Black-eyed Susans provide the perfect high-contrast stage for these mimics to flaunt their stripes in the afternoon sun.

The Social Scene: Do They Get Along?

You might think a real bee would be offended by an imposter crashing the party, but the garden is surprisingly “live and let live.” I’ve often caught both a flower fly and a genuine bee sharing the same Black-eyed Susan head. Even with the bee’s legs heavy with pollen and the fly darting around its personal space, they coexist peacefully, both focused entirely on the floral bounty. It’s a wonderful reminder that there’s plenty of room for everyone in our backyard ecosystems.

Closing Thoughts: Look Closer at Your Leaves

The magic of macro-photography is that it reveals a hidden world on every leaf. Don’t just scan the flowers; sometimes the best shots are of a fly taking a break on a cluster of green flower buds. If you catch the light just right, you’ll see a stunning, rainbow-like iridescent sheen on their translucent wings as they sun themselves.

So, grab your magnifying glass or your favorite camera and head outside. Slow down, check the “pollen baskets” on those legs, and see if you can spot the masquerade happening right under your nose!

Stay curious, and I’ll see you in the undergrowth!

The Mid-August Garden: Setting Your Sights

Welcome to the peak of the lepidopteran season. In the suburban gardens of Southeastern Pennsylvania, mid-August represents a crescendo of biological activity, where high temperatures and abundant nectar sources converge to bring out our most diverse array of species. For the beginner, identification can feel like a chaotic flutter, but I invite you to view it as a visual puzzle. Rather than trying to name the insect instantly, look for the specific “signatures” left by the butterfly’s anatomy and behavior.

To solve this puzzle, we must first master two essential terms: Dorsal (the top side of the wings, seen when they are spread open) and Ventral (the underside of the wings, seen when they are folded closed). To use this guide effectively, focus on these three primary observation points:

• Wing Shape: Observe the silhouette. Is the margin smooth, or does it feature protruding “tails”?

• Color Blocks: Identify the primary hue. Is the butterfly a solid moving block of color (yellow or white), or a complex tapestry?

• Patterns: Look for geometric signatures. Are there circular “eye spots” or a repetitive “lattice” grid?

As we sharpen our focus, we begin with the most magnificent residents of the August landscape, the giants that command our immediate attention.

The Power of Tails: Identifying the Giants (Swallowtails)

The Swallowtails are the “megafauna” of our local gardens. These majestic fliers are immediately recognizable by their large wingspan and the prominent, finger-like tails extending from their hindwings. When you spot a butterfly of this scale with those characteristic extensions, you have found a member of the Papilionidae family.

Yellow/Black “Tiger”

Bold yellow wings with thick black vertical stripes on the dorsal surface.

“Dark” Pattern

Deep black or charcoal base; iridescent blue or orange accents.

When observing the dark-colored swallowtails, pay close attention to the ventral hindwing. You will see a vibrant “blue wash” of iridescent scales and a distinctive row of bright orange spots. Crucially, these orange spots are located on the inner edge of the hindwing near the tails, a key trait that separates them from other dark mimics.

Once you have admired these giants, your eye may catch the “restless” movement of the solid-colored visitors flitting through the cabbage patches and clover.

Solid Blocks of Color: Whites and Sulphurs

The family Pieridae is defined by its visual simplicity and “restless flight.” Unlike the gliding swallowtails, these butterflies are almost constantly in motion, rarely remaining on a single bloom for more than a few seconds.

Follow this Two-Step ID to sort the Pieridae:

Cabbage Whites: These appear as clean white blocks of color. Look for a simple pattern of black spots on the dorsal forewing: typically, a single spot indicates a male, while two spots indicate a female. You will often see them hovering erratically over greenery

Sulphurs: These are our “moving lemons.” Look for solid yellow to greenish-yellow wings. They are best identified when they land to feed, as they almost always keep their wings closed, revealing a highly saturated yellow ventral surface.

If the specimen you are watching displays complex grids or large circular patterns, you have moved into the realm of the Brush-foots.

Eyes and Lattice: The Intricate Brush-foots

The Brush-foot family offers some of the most sophisticated patterns in the garden. To identify these, we look for “eye spots”—circular markings meant to startle predators—and repetitive geometric lines.

Using “Eye Spots” for Identification

Common Buckeye: A master of the dorsal display. These possess large, dramatic, multi-colored eye spots that are boldly displayed on the top of both the forewings and hindwings

Painted Lady: A study in complexity. While the dorsal side shows a “shattered” mosaic of orange, black, and white, the eye spots are smaller, subtler, and hidden on the ventral side of the wing

Geometric Contrasts

• Complex Mosaic: The Painted Lady lacks a repetitive grid, appearing more like a fractured orange tapestry

• Orange Lattice: Conversely, the Pearl Crescent is defined by its “Orange Grid.” Its dorsal wings are covered in a dark, clean lattice-work that creates a repetitive, square-like effect

While these butterflies occupy the eye-level flowers, a world of tiny “jewels” is waiting just below them in the grass.

Gems in the Grass: Hairstreaks and Blues

These are the miniatures of the garden. Though they require a keen eye, they possess remarkable detail on a microscopic scale.

Grey Hairstreak: This species features delicate, hair-like tails and a distinctive orange “fake eye” spot at the base of those tails, set against a soft grey wing

Eastern Tailed-Blue: These are tiny and elusive. When their wings are closed, they show a pale, spotted grey ventral side. However, the “Blue Reveal” can be tricky; while the species is known for blue, many individuals (particularly females) show a dusty charcoal or brown dorsal view. Look for the tiny tails and the “jewel-like” orange spots near the wing margin to confirm the ID.

While the Blues stay low in the grass, a more muscular, erratic flier often zips past them at eye level, moving with a speed that suggests a different kind of athlete entirely.

Hooked and Hasty: Distinguishing the Skippers

Skippers often confuse beginners because their thick, muscular bodies and rapid flight patterns seem moth-like. However, these “power fliers” are true butterflies with three unique visual traits:

1. Hooked Antennae: Unlike the simple club-tips of other butterflies, Skipper antennae end in tiny, backward-pointing hooks

1. Fuzzy Bodies: Their thoraxes and abdomens are noticeably thicker and covered in fine, hair-like scales

1. The “Jet Plane” Position: At rest, many Skippers hold their hindwings flat while their forewings are angled upward, mimicking the silhouette of a jet fighter

Field Sorting:

• Orange Skippers: Small, vibrant orange, and exceptionally fast

• Duskywings: Darker, brownish-grey Skippers that lack the bright orange but retain the fuzzy body and hooked antennae

Beginner’s Observation Checklist

Keep this checklist in mind to help “grok” the visual puzzle before you:

• [ ] Does the butterfly have tails?

  • Large tails indicate a Swallowtail; tiny, hair-like tails suggest a Hairstreak or Blue.

• [ ] Is the wing color a solid, restless block?

  • If it’s solid white or yellow and won’t sit still, it is a member of the Pieridae family (Whites and Sulphurs).

• [ ] Where are the “eye spots” located?

  • If the eyes are boldly displayed on the dorsal side, it is likely a Buckeye. If they are hidden on the ventral side of a mosaic pattern, it is a Painted Lady.

• [ ] Does it have an “Orange Grid”?

  • This clean, repetitive lattice is the signature of the Pearl Crescent.

• [ ] Is the body fuzzy with hooked antennae?

  • You have found a Skipper, the most athletic and erratic flier in the garden.

Observation is a skill that grows with every season. By focusing on these specific anatomical clues, you transform a simple stroll through the Southeastern Pennsylvania landscape into a deep, insightful exploration of the natural world. Happy spotting!

Imagine an organism weighing less than a paperclip—a fragile flutter of orange and black—setting out on a 3,000-mile high-stakes odyssey across a continent. For most insects, such a feat is a biological impossibility, a suicidal trek against the fury of continental storms. Yet, every year in mid-August, a specific group of monarch butterflies begins this epic migration from the northern United States and southern Canada to the Sierra Madre mountains in Mexico. These are no ordinary garden butterflies; they are the “super generation.” While their ancestors lived fast and died young, this final generation of the year is a biological marvel, a specialized marathoner designed for extreme endurance and the very survival of their species.

The 8-Month Lifespan: Nature’s Ultimate Extension

The “super” in this generation refers to a staggering feat of longevity. Throughout the summer, three successive generations of monarchs fly north, completing their entire life cycles in a fleeting 2 to 6 weeks. However, as the days shorten, the fourth generation hits a biological “pause” button. To survive the arduous flight south and the long, cold months overwintering in the Mexican highlands, their bodies undergo a radical transformation.

These individuals live 8 to 9 times longer than their predecessors. This isn’t just a slight delay in aging; it is a total physiological pivot that allows them to endure for nearly three-quarters of a year. According to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service:

“They live eight times longer than their parents and grandparents — up to eight months — and travel 10 times farther.”

Navigating by the Noon Sun

The journey south is a masterclass in celestial navigation. These tiny travelers do not drift aimlessly; they are guided by a sophisticated internal compass that tracks the sun’s position, maintaining a precise heading based on a solar angle of approximately 57° at noon.

To cover their 50-mile daily quota, monarchs are masters of efficiency. Rather than exhausting their tiny muscles with constant flapping, they hitch “free rides” on thermal air currents. These invisible elevators can lift the butterflies as high as a mile into the sky, where they glide across the landscape with minimal effort. As seen in the accompanying photography of a monarch refueling on a nectar-rich blossom, these navigators spend their mornings gathering the high-octane fuel necessary for these high-altitude transits.

The Flight Ceiling: 86 Degrees and Rain

Despite their “super” status, these butterflies live on a knife’s edge. Their migration is dictated by a strict set of environmental thresholds that leave no room for error. If a monarch’s body temperature drops below 86 degrees Fahrenheit, they become paralyzed, physically unable to take flight.

Heavy winds and lashing rain act as an immediate “ceiling,” grounding the entire migration. This precariousness means there is no “Plan B.” For the super generation, the migration is a singular, desperate relay; a single poorly timed cold snap or a week of heavy storms doesn’t just delay the travelers—it can halt the entire year’s reproductive hope.

Biological Diapause: Putting Life on Hold

When the super generation emerges in mid-August, they do so with a unique physiological trait: reproductive diapause. In a move that is the ultimate biological sacrifice, these butterflies put their primary purpose—reproduction—on hold. While summer generations mate and lay eggs within days, the super generation delays this drive until the following spring.

By suspending their reproductive cycle, they divert every ounce of energy into building fat reserves for the flight and the winter. It is a counter-intuitive trade-off: the species ensures its future by refusing to reproduce in the present. During this phase, they are often seen as they are in the natural habitat of dense vegetation, tucked away and inconspicuous among green stalks, conserving the precious energy required for the thousands of miles ahead.

The Milkweed Bottleneck

The monarch’s survival is governed by simple, uncompromising math: no milkweed equals no monarchs. This specialized diet makes the monarch a vital indicator species—a living thermometer for the health of our entire North American ecosystem.

The news from the field is sobering. Monarch populations in Mexico have plummeted by 70% over the last 30 years, a decline directly tied to the disappearance of native milkweed and nectar sources. As the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service emphasizes:

“Since milkweed is the only food source for monarch caterpillars, if there’s no milkweed, there are no monarchs - it’s that simple.”

How to Become a Steward of the Skies

Preserving this extraordinary natural phenomenon requires us to move from spectators to active stewards. When we see a community of pollinators gathered together on a single plant, we are seeing the direct result of intentional conservation. You can help secure the path for the next super generation by taking these steps:

• Plant Native Milkweed: This is the only plant where monarchs can lay their eggs. Ensure it is a species native to your specific region.

• Provide Nectar “Fuel Stations”: Plant local, fall-blooming flowers to provide the energy needed for the 3,000-mile flight.

• Garden Organically: Eliminate pesticides that kill pollinators and contaminate their food sources.

• Contribute to Science: Become a citizen scientist by monitoring local monarch populations and reporting your data.

Conclusion: A Journey That Spans Generations

The monarch migration is not just a flight; it is a multi-generational relay of survival. The same “super generation” individuals that fly south in the autumn are the ones that begin the journey back north in the spring, passing the torch to their offspring to complete the cycle. This ancient rhythm depends entirely on human stewardship and our willingness to protect the habitats they call home. As we watch the skies each fall, we must ask ourselves: what role will we play in ensuring these extraordinary travelers have a place to land for summers to come?

By stacking woody debris between sturdy wooden stakes, homeowners achieve a “trifecta of functions”: biodiversity enhancement, carbon capture, and climate change mitigation. Even a small residential lot, such as my .25-acre site in southeastern Pennsylvania, serves as a vital “stepping stone” or “node” within the regional environmental corridor. The ecological “yield” of such a small lot is significant; my own biological audits have documented 53 bird species on this site alone. This represents nearly 40-50% of the species richness found in significantly larger regional hotspots within a short walking distance from my front door, like the Briar Bush Nature Center (126 species recorded on eBird) and Baederwood Park (104 species recorded on eBird), proving that a single garden can become a high-value “bead on a necklace” supporting regional wildlife movement.

The Ecological Power of the Dead Hedge

Integrating a dead hedge into a landscape provides immediate and long-term benefits for local fauna by creating a concentrated microhabitat that supports several layers of the food web.

• Microhabitat Creation: The dense, protective brushwood offers essential shelter for small mammals like the North American Deer Mouse and provides secure nesting and roosting sites for birds.

• The Insect Food Web: Decomposing wood is a primary resource for beetles, bees, and butterflies. Specialist species like the Red-banded Hairstreak rely on these “untidy” habitat features; their larvae require decaying organic material and standing leaf litter for survival.

• Host and Nectar Support: By providing a permanent structure for cover and a nursery for insect biomass, dead hedges support resident avian species. Beyond the Carolina Chickadee, Downy Woodpecker, and Screech Owl, these structures are frequently utilized by the Carolina Wren and the Northern Flicker, both of which rely on the dense cover and the abundance of wood-dwelling invertebrates.

Practical Landscape Functions for Small Lots

Dead hedges offer several practical advantages over artificial fencing or living hedges, which can be costly and slow to establish.

Windbreak

Shields sensitive native plants and young saplings from harsh weather.

Natural Fencing

Marks boundaries and directs foot traffic without the need for artificial materials or “stockproof” living barriers.

Erosion Control

Acts as a physical “check” for runoff on the rolling hills typical of the Piedmont Uplands, preventing soil loss.

Cost-Effectiveness

Utilizes free, on-site “waste” materials instead of requiring the purchase of fencing or intensive professional maintenance.

Sustainability and Soil Health

Dead hedges contribute significantly to the long-term health of the local ecosystem by recycling nutrients and managing water within the suburban landscape.

• Carbon Sequestration: Keeping woody debris on-site allows the structure to act as a natural carbon sink. This provides a sustainable alternative to the carbon-releasing practice of burning garden waste.

• Soil Enrichment: Over time, fungi and microorganisms break down the wood, recycling vital nutrients back into the soil. This process is essential for returning “Made Land” (soil altered by construction) to the nutrient-rich, well-drained state of natural Chester Silt Loam and Glenelg Silt Loam that is the common soil feature of southeastern Pennsylvania.

• Hydrological Support: Positioned at a hydrological high point, these structures help manage stormwater runoff. By slowing water movement, they protect the three primary watersheds draining the region—the Pennypack, Wissahickon, and Tookany/Tacony-Frankford Creeks—mitigating the impact of heavy precipitation before it enters the Schuylkill and Delaware River systems.

How to Build a Dead Hedge in a Residential Setting

Constructing a dead hedge is a straightforward process that requires minimal tools and can be scaled to fit any property.

1. Planning: Select a location where you need a windbreak or wildlife refuge. Ensure the site is away from buildings to allow for natural decomposition.

2. Driving Stakes: Hammer sturdy wooden stakes (such as Oak) into the ground. Create two parallel rows spaced 18 inches to 2 feet apart. The stakes should be 3 to 5 feet tall and spaced 1 to 2 feet apart within each row.

3. Filling: Layer the largest logs at the base to create a sturdy foundation. Stack smaller branches, twigs, and brushwood on top.

4. Compacting: Periodically press down on the material as it settles to maintain density. Add new garden cuttings to the top to maintain the desired height.

Specialist Tip: To ensure structural integrity, use a variety of branch sizes—place thicker branches at the base and finer ones at the top. Angle some branches diagonally to interlock the materials, preventing the structure from becoming a loose pile. Finally, avoid using invasive species to prevent unwanted sprouting within the barrier.

Conclusion: From “Made Land” to a Certified Corridor Node

Suburban lots are frequently handicapped by “Made Land” soil that lacks the structure of undisturbed silt loams. A dead hedge directly addresses this by allowing organic matter to accumulate and improve the soil through natural decay.

By constructing a dead hedge, homeowners transition their gardens from isolated patches of lawn into high-value “corridor nodes.” These small-scale interventions are essential for regional conservation goals, such as those championed by Bird Town Pennsylvania. Even a tiny suburban lot can function as a vital link in the regional wildlife network, ensuring our landscapes support the movement and survival of native species.

One of my survival tactics is participating in an Eco-Mindfulness program at a local nature preserve. This is a monthly program that combines guided breath work, walking meditations on nature trails, and group discussions on various books. We are currently reading and discussing our way through Douglas W. Tallamy’s insightful book Nature’s Best Hope: A New Approach to Conservation that Starts in Your Yard. This is a wonderful guide to turning your own backyard into a conservation corridor, a mini National Park. We sat in our circle of eco warriors last Saturday morning, breathing in and out together in unison and peaceful bliss. We sat in our circle of hope, reminding one another that the ice encrusted tundras in our back yards are the very best thing our gardens could ask for. The best survival tactic of a native garden is a consistently frozen dormancy season.

I have also been participating in an environmental book club since the begining of 2025. Our book for this month is Eager: The Surprising, Secret Life of Beavers and Why They Matter, by Ben Goldfarb. I am continually blown away by the books we read in this book club. They all seem to weave together as little parts of a larger puzzle. Four pages into Goldfarb’s book stopped me in my tracks. He is introducing the vital importance of beavers, and the wetlands they create.

“Trumpeter Swans squat rent-free atop beaver lodges, commandeering them as nesting platforms upon which their chicks shelter from land-bound predators like foxes… Swans are the poster child of the importance of beavers”

Last summer, while paddling a beaver-built wetland in Manitoba, I found exactly what Goldfarb described. At the time, I had no knowledge of the beaver lodge/swan nest connection. I also assumed the nest might be abandoned, as there were no adults anywhere nearby to defend it. (I later learned swans don’t sit on their eggs full time like most birds do) Even in my ignorance, the discovery felt extremely special. It felt like I saw something a human isn’t meant to see. It was among the most powerful gifts I have ever received in the wilderness. A very significant piece of the puzzle.

The experience of discovering this nest was so powerful that I fit it into the opening lines of a chapter within a fictional memoir I am writing, that is loosely based around the life of my ancestors in 17th century Quebec. A fourteen-year-old girl will find the bones of a Wendat infant & mother along the shoreline of her farm. The memoir I am writing is in the voice of the Wendat infant…

“The bones of my first mother form a circle around my smaller, infant-sized bones. Sand-washed white, picked clean of every last speck of meat, blood and sinew by a frenzy of ravenous birds, rodents, crabs and insects for weeks. We resemble a nest assembled of bleached, beaver-chewed driftwood sticks. Our skulls look like two mismatched Swan eggs you might stumble upon in tall reed grasses while foraging along a beach. I am going to tell you how my first mother and I ended up as this circle of bones that looks like a nest on the sandy grassy beach of a small cove where a rivulet feeds into the large river flowing around the island where we lived on the day she died.”

Speaking of ravenous animals, have been leaving meat scraps out for the fox who visits my pond every night. A few days ago I bought a small bag of dog food and put out a few handfuls. The next morning I noticed it hadn’t been touched, but throughout the day it was being devoured by Crows and to my surprise, Blue Jays!

I smile when I notice Juncos feeding on the seedheads of the “dead” native plant stalks that I leave uncut in the garden through winter. These are the only things sticking up out of the ice encrusted tundra of my back yard. The suffering of tiny animals unable to scratch through the frozen crust is offset by the contentment of the garden below. I throw seeds and nuts from a cup and they skitter across the icy yard, completedly gone within an hour by Juncos, Sparrows, Cardinals, and Titmice.

Last Saturday, I drove home from the Eco-Mindfulness program feeling full of peace and bliss. I felt relaxed and less stressful, which is the purpose of the program for its participants. We sat in our circle of hope that morning, contemplating the benefits for our backyard conservation coridors sleeping underneath the frozen ground.

It took less than ten minutes after returning home last Saturday for the serenity to shatter, and the resulting shock of discovering what happened on the streets of Minneapolis while we sat in meditation. Sucker punched. Winter in America.

I hope we survive this season

The club’s selected book for April is North Woods, by Daniel Mason. This happens to be the only book on the list that I have already read, so that gives me this month to explore some other titles.

It is hard to spend any amount of time in the world of nature, climate issues, and environmentalism without encountering the name E. O. Wilson. His influence has touched so many scientists and writers across all spectrums. I have read so many books over the years that mention his name, and yet until very recently I honestly could not even tell you if he was still living and actively writing. That is embarrassing! ( He died on December 26th, 2021 at the age of 92 )

I was determined to finally read one or more of his books, but where to begin? He has written over thirty books spanning fifty years. With a little research I found that Wilson describes the three books pictured above as “a trilogy that describes how our species became the architects and rulers of the Anthropocene epoch, bringing consequences that will affect all of life, both ours and that of the natural world, far into the geological future.”

Who doesn’t love a good trilogy?

These are very enjoyable reads. Wilson has the unique gift of translating the intensely scientific into highly readable and captivating story telling. (my other favorite scientist/writers are Robert Sapolsky and Carl Sagan) As I write this, I am about half way though Half-Earth, after devouring the first two. One book flows right into the next. This has me wanting to explore more of his writing, and I intend to start with his books on Ants, the field of study that consumed the majority of his long career as a scientist.

Its been eight months now since my father died. Sometimes it feels so much longer, and other times it feels like only a few weeks. Life has been a blur of chaos since last August. Elections and holidays and the settling of estates, and taxes, and piles of paperwork. They all blend into one sometimes. My five, soon to be six, grandchildren are all under the age of five! Controlled chaos of the best kind! I am reaping the sweetest whirlwinds.

So this week it is ALL magic. The good, the bad, the in between. The joy, the sadness, the fear. Death and birth. All of it. The cycle of life is never more evident to us than the emergence of Spring. Signs of it are everywhere.

I have been shedding tears off and on all day today. Tears of joy. Tears of sadness. Tears of worry. It happens every time. By the end of this week I will be a Papa again for the sixth time, and it is all so overwhelmingly magical. I embrace it all.

Thanks to each of you who read these little weekly vignettes. You add to the magic more than you will ever know. I am deeply grateful.

With luck I will see you next week.

I like that the word inspire is found in both definitions. The reason I write this weekly series is mainly so that I will remain mindful and open to seeking the awe inspiring each and every time I walk in nature, and then hopefully share that magic with others. That might be the first tiny wildflower of spring poking up through the melting snow, or hearing the mewing of Catbirds again as they fill the void left by the departed Juncos. If you look and listen carefully, you will always find some magic. Sometimes the magic is so subtle it whispers.

And then there are times when the magic smacks you right in the face and screams HERE I AM !!

I started this week waking up inside the cozy and dry Bake Oven Knob shelter. This was the location I landed for the March portion of A Year In The Woods project, in which I spend one night each month of 2025 on the Appalachian Trail. It was quite magical enough to have this iconic shelter all to myself. In another couple months, there will be a high volume of thru hikers trekking their way north or south through Pennsylvania, and shelters will be coveted real estate. Space in these shelters is first come first served, and hikers are expected to share the space with fellow hikers. Those who arrive late typically sleep somewhere on the ground outside, if there is not enough room to cozy up next to those already occupying the shelter.

Bake Oven Knob is a well known and frequently visited rocky outcrop along the Appalachian Trail in Northeastern Pennsylvania. There is a trail head parking lot less than 1/4 mile from the gorgeous north and south views, so it attracts quite a few day hikers, especially during spring and fall migration when hundreds of Hawks can be seen riding the thermals over the Blue Mountain ridge tops each day. The Bake Oven Knob shelter is situated about another mile north of the Bake Oven Knob overlook, and it is one of the last remaining original shelters still standing. It was built in the 1930s, and is lovingly cared for by a team of dedicated trail volunteers.

It was a beautiful clear sunny day in late March, and the evening was just as pleasant. It helped me forget the zero degree windchill of January, and the all night ice storm of February. For the first time this year on the Appalachian Trail, I slept soundly through most of the night. I woke well rested, thankful to not have to struggle with half frozen hands taking down an ice coated tarp. I looked out of the open sided shelter and saw that the entire valley and ridge top was engulphed in a dense misty fog. A fog so dense you can reach out and touch it.

I rolled up my air mattress and sleeping bag, and tucked all my gear neatly back inside my pack. The hike back to my car was only a mile, but it was up and over Bake Oven Knob. Many AT thru hikers will tell you that Pennsylvania is the rockiest and toughest state to get through in the entire 2000 mile journey. When those rocks are slick and wet it can be really challenging, so I prepared myself mentally to go slow and steady.

I was NOT prepared for the magic that would unfold on the trail before me! Navigating the extremely rocky sections of the AT in Pennsylvania require that your eyes remain focused on the ground immediately in front of your feet. One slight break in focus and concentration can mean a bad step, a turned ankle, or a tumble. My intense gaze at the trail floor began to light up in a vivid green that was not there on the clear dry day before when I hiked in. Lichen blooming! Well, not really blooming, because Lichen are not plants. They are a uniquely beautiful alien like creature that is a symbiotic partnership between two organisms, a fungus and an alga. If you want to read more about Lichens, here is a good article from the U S Forest Service

Whatever Lichens are, they can be stunningly beautiful in the right environmental conditions. I stopped walking and focusing on the ground in front of me, and gasped as my eyes took in the trail ahead of me. On an early Monday morning in late March, in a dense misty fog, at 1500 feet above sea level, the Lichen put on a show like I have never seen before. Fifty years of hiking these sections of the Pennsylvania Appalachian Trail, and I have never seen these dreaded rocks look so spectacular! Awe inspiring Trail Magic!

This is why I return to the Appalachian Trail again and again, and want to experience it every month of the year. Every day of the year, in all cycles of the seasons, all types of weather, there is always magic to be discovered.

With luck, I will see you again next week! Thanks so much for taking the time to read and share this journey. I am grateful to all of you.

Be well

Looking for things that emerge in the earliest warmth of the year, seeking the life giving properties of light, moisture, and minerals. Like the Mourning Cloak butterfly that can typically be found right on the trail as it seeks moisture and minerals from the well trodden soil. Or the Turkey Tail mushrooms that begin to bloom with vivid colors, not by photosynthesis, but via the thawing organic matter within the trees on which they grow. Death and decay on the forest floor provides essential life sustaining nutrients to emerging species in the spring.

Fixated on the forest floor I almost didn’t notice that the man(elf) had caught up to me, and silently passed me without a word as I stared through the viewfinder of my camera. At the point where I was standing, the trail takes a sharp bend to the right and transects a narrow stream that requires a nimble crossing over some stepping stones. Not tremendously difficult, but enough to cause a bit of concern about the ability of a slowly shuffling elderly walker.

Within in minute I finished my photographing and resumed walking and scanned across the stream to the trail path and there was not a sign of him! Impossible, I thought to myself. He disappeared. I scanned up and down the stream. Did he turn around and pass me again without me noticing? How could he just vanish?

As I stepped across the rocks in the stream I looked up to the startling realization that he was watching me from inside a massive Sycamore tree! He was laughing! A twinkle in his eyes, he looked ten years younger than he did when we first spoke earlier on the trail. He was transformed. Absorbing the energy from an ancient tree. All worry and concern for him melted away. I was now quite envious. I have passed this tree before and never thought to look inside!

I know very little about Wood Elves. They play a prominent role in the world of J. R. R. Tolkien’s Middle Earth, and fantasy role play games such as Dungeons & Dragons. They are deeply connected to the natural world, acting as guardians of the trees and wildlife. They work to protect and preserve the forest. They are known to move stealthily through the forest and are adept at using magic. This one surely worked some magic on me!

Happy Spring! Hope to see you on the trails next week.

Here is a link to my photography web site if you are interested…

Christopher Paquette- Environmental Artist

Full set of images are on my website, linked below.

Witness 2 Resistance

It landed first on a nearby log and spread its wings to bask in the glorious morning sun. I took a few photos and then made the mistake of moving so I could try to get behind it. If you have ever tried to photograph butterflies then you know how skittish they are! As soon as I began to move it took off and I thought that would be my only chance.

This is an Eastern Comma butterfly, one of our east coast butterflies that do not migrate. They winter-over as adults, hibernating deep under wood piles, rock walls, and loose bark of trees. It is amazing to me that a creature as delicate as a butterfly can survive the long months of bitter cold, but they do it by storing up fat reserves in autumn, and alcohols in their body provide anti-freeze protection. On unusually warm days in winter they emerge and the Commas are typically the earliest butterflies of the year to be seen in the Mid-Atlantic region.

To my delight, the first butterfly I would see in Pennsylvania in 2025 decided to land on a tree right next to the trail and I got the photo above of the beautiful pattern of markings on its wings. A few minutes later along the same section of trail, I saw my second butterfly of the year, a Mourning Cloak, which is another species that hibernates over the winter. Unfortunately that butterfly was on a mission and flew off to where ever it is that butterflies go on warm spring like winter days.

The link below is a good article from the website Animal Researcher that discusses eight butterflies that hibernate in the winter, and how they do it.

8 Butterflies that Hibernate in Winter

Thanks so much for reading this week’s edition of Trail Magic. Hope to see you again next week!

But perhaps the most important coping strategy of 2025 has been my intention to connect with more people who share my love of nature and the environment. I joined a local environmental book club that meets once a month. I was unable to attend the January meeting because I was on a birding trip to the Panhandle of Florida, but I decided to read the first book anyway. On Trails by Robert Moor is one of the best books I have ever read on the subject of hiking. Part travelogue, part natural history, and beautifully meditative from start to finish. My only disappointment was not being able to discuss the book with the group!

The book selection for February was Coyote America by Dan Flores. The book is a brilliant blend of history, biology, and American folklore that is an incredibly timely metaphor for our current times. The survival of the coyote in spite of hundreds of years of effort to wipe it from the face of the earth. I devoured this book, and read some of it by lantern light huddled under a tarp during a sleet storm on my February go out on the Appalachian Trail. That night I was startled awake to the sounds of Coyotes howling all around me! I followed their tracks in the snow as I hiked back to my car the next morning.

Meeting together with the group for the first time was beyond my expectations. Twelve extremely well read and knowledgeable people sharing their thoughts on Coyotes, politics, conservation, religion, history, etc etc. Nothing was off limits and everything was connected. I never wanted it to end. It felt like the best therapy session ever. I can’t wait for the next meeting!

The book for March is The Invention Of Nature by Andrea Wulf. This is a deeply researched biography of Alexander Von Humboldt, who is considered the father of the environmental movement. The first scientist to connect climate change to human causes. I am only a few chapters in, and it is enthralling.

The book for April is North Woods by Daniel Mason. This is the only book of the five that I have already read. I loved it, but it seems an odd choice to me, if for no other reason than it is fiction. I will be interested in hearing what the group thinks about it.

The final selection is Light Eaters by Zoe Schlanger. How the unseen world of plant intelligence offers a new understanding of life on earth. Really looking forward to reading this one. I adored The Hidden Life of Trees by Peter Wohlleben, which explores the ways that trees communicate with one another, and I suspect Light Eaters will continue that theme.

My full plate of environmental reading for the first half of 2025! In between Coyote America and The Invention Of Nature, I managed to read my first book by E. O. Wilson, The Social Conquest Of Earth. I have two more of Wilson’s books waiting in the queue for after book club is over.

This leads to a question for my readers… What books would you select for an environmental book club? The books listed above were selected by the group at the first meeting (which I was unable to attend) I am happy with the selections, but I might have substituted a different title for North Woods, for instance.

What are the best environmental books you have read? I would love to compile a list and continue this theme in future posts with a crowd sourced reading list.

May you find your way to cope and practice self care in 2025. Be well friends!

There is magic to be found in collectively gathering to take a stand for what is important. Making your voice heard and supporting the voices of others. We need to know we are not alone, and that many thousands are gathering together to fight back.

Find your magic this week!

To read more about the Stand Up For Science rallies across the USA you can click the link below to read an article from Scientific American magazine.

Stand Up For Science

A journey of reconnecting to the rhythms of Nature in a fast paced world

In this episode, Christopher Paquette shares his experiences with cold weather survival, recounting a harrowing night spent camping on the Appalachian Trail during a severe winter storm. He reflects on his fascination with survival stories, the challenges faced during his adventures, and the beauty of nature, including encounters with wildlife. The narrative emphasizes the importance of preparation, respect for nature, and the thrill of outdoor exploration

One and a half miles from my front door is a factory that was built in 1903. An American manufacturer of steel products that specializes in screws for the military and aerospace industry. I have lived in this town my entire life and that little factory has always been a part of my personal landscape. As an infant, I lived in a second floor apartment in an old house where my parents would have been able to see the workers arriving each morning from their windows. I have good friends who worked there. In my town, virtually everyone knows someone who works, or worked there. Generations of local families worked there. It is an iconic American success story, somehow surviving the pressures of neo-liberalism and the exodus of American manufacturing.

On Monday night something inside the factory exploded, igniting a massive fire that raged through the night. Sixty employees were in the building at the time. None were injured and all made it out safely. The fire was subdued, and then the next morning another explosion and a flare up of the fire again. The smoke could be seen from center city Philadelphia, miles way.

Chemicals

Toxic Chemicals

Massive amounts of toxic chemicals used in the production of screws for the military and aerospace industry. This factory, one and a half miles from my house, produces and disposes of 177 tons of toxic waste every year. In 2023 they were required to pay a fine of $109,000 to the EPA, for failing to properly dispose of and store hazardous waste, as well as failure to have a clear contingency plan for evacuation.

From Monday night until this morning, there was a shelter-in-place order for all residents living within a one mile radius of the factory, and on Tuesday after the second explosion, there was an evacuation of residents living in the immediate vicinity.

My friend, who once was a contract worker at the factory, (because of course one of the ways factories survive neo-liberalism is to hire temporary contract labor) lives within the one mile shelter-in-place zone. Today at 10am she was free to leave, and the barricades to all roads to her home were removed. I could finally drive to her neighborhood and liberate her for a much needed walk in the woods. I drove across the dried white residue of fire retardant spray that crunched under my tires like frozen snow. The still smoking remains of the burned out shell of the factory faded from my rear view mirror as we drove away from town.

Five miles away from the toxic wasteland of the factory is the pristine nature preserve where I find my sanity and serenity. For five miles I drove away from that smoldering mess in a rage. Who is going to help clean this up? Who is going to monitor the air quality? Who is going to monitor the ground water? The EPA that no longer exists??

One of the ways a small local factory survives in America since 1903 is through a long history of mergers and acquisitions. Since the 1980s, our little iconic factory has been bought and sold and re-engineered many times. It is now owned by a much bigger company, and that company is owned by an even BIGGER company.

Berkshire Hathaway

Warren Buffet

“THAT ASSHOLE BETTER PAY EVERY LAST PENNY OF THE COST TO CLEAN UP THE MESS IN MY TOWN!!”

That is what I heard myself screaming to my friend in the car as we pulled into the parking lot to find our serenity in nature.

Today was one of the birdiest days in that preserve I have seen in weeks. We counted over thirty Mallard Ducks, dozens of Eastern Bluebirds, Finches, Sparrows & Robins. We watched a Pilated Woodpecker devouring insects from ten feet away. A pair of Hooded Merganzers nervously kept their distance. The native Dogwood and Blackberry shrub stalks are beginning to explode with shades of red, yellow and green. Pussy Willow buds are emerging. Spring is so close. The forest is re-emerging.

We did find some peace. A four mile walk across the newly mowed high meadow, studded with empty Bluebird boxes on poles, waiting for occupants. We meandered down along the creekside with frequent stops to count the ducks. At the turn around point there is a small sandy beach where I caught sight of a little ice formation in the creek that looked to me like an explosion, frozen in time.

Just like my rage.

Momentarily frozen by a walk in the slowly melting weeks of late winter.

The fire and police sirens I have heard outside for the last forty eight hours have stopped as I write this tonight. Only the occasional hovering news helicopter remains.

May you find your source of peace. With luck, I will talk to you again next week to share more magic. Stay frozen!

I went out in search of some trail magic yesterday. It was a beautiful sunny early afternoon bursting at the seams of high barometric pressure ahead of a winter storm that was approaching. The nature preserve where I hike most often is a nine hundred acre treasure nestled within the bustle of suburban Philadelphia. It is situated on ancient glacially carved terrain that includes high meadow trails that parallel deep rocky ravines with a creek system that eventually spills into the Delaware river. My typical hike begins with a walk across the high meadow in the sunshine and then return along the deeply shaded creekside. All along these parallel trails there are numerous little side trails that connect the two. I could walk in this preserve every day for a month and never walk the same trails twice.

I am beginning to know this preserve on a deeply intimate level. I know where a pair of Piliated Woodpeckers have been carving out a nest cavity in a Wild Cherry tree. I know the Beech tree where Great Horned Owls have made their nest the past two years (but not this year!) I know all the best places along the creek where the Kingfisher likes to sit on overhanging branches looking for lunch. I am learning to identify the specific locations of micro environments within the preserve that are favored by different bird species. Eastern Bluebirds love certain places, Chickadees love another, and the Sparrows are always foraging at another. I learn some new detail about the preserve every time I hike it.

I set off on my walk towards the Cherry tree that I think is the nest site of the Piliated Woodpeckers. I wanted to sit for awhile and just watch from a distance. Twice on my walks past this tree I have seen the male and female together on and near this tree. I sat quietly for about thirty minutes and there was no sign of them. I never even heard their unmistakable calls from a distance. I did get rewarded by a small group of Eastern Bluebirds that flew in and briefly surrounded me in the trees over my head. And I chuckled to myself when a tiny Downy Woodpecker flew onto the Cherry tree and peaked inside the nest hole.

With no sign of the Piliateds, I started to get a bit antsy. I had a few miles left to go and started to collect my things. I looked at my phone for messages. There was an email from the HR department of my employer. In two weeks I am was starting a new research position conducting learning assessments with kindergardeners. My employer is was contracted with the US Department of Education. I opened the email, assuming it was one of the many things I needed to be aware of regarding the upcoming training involved.

We are sorry to inform you that the contract for ECLS has been canceled effective immediately by the government.

I was stunned. I am still stunned 24 hours later. The job I was to start in two weeks, and last until the end of June, vanished into thin air like morning mist on a pond. At the whim of Elon Musk, my job was deemed wasteful or inefficient (or both). There is not enough space or time here to list the research I have conducted on behalf of my employer over the last eleven years. Some of it under direct contract with the Federal government, but mostly on behalf of universities (Michigan, Brown, Princeton, Columbia) with Federal grants. Vital and important research I am extremely proud of contributing to.

Gone. Dismissed. Unimportant. Wasteful. Fuck you. The Enemy from Within.

For a moment my head was spinning in circles, and I was literally walking in circles on the high meadow trail. Heading back to my car, I walked a side trail down to one of my favorite places on the preserve, a small pond called “Cross Roads Marsh”. There is a Beaver den in one corner of the marsh, and a River Otter lives here too. The Kingfisher hunts here. A Great Blue Heron hangs out on the edges. Ducks, Marsh Sparrows, Marsh Wrens, and Warblers all love it here as well.

But for the past few months the marsh was been frozen over. The Beaver is sleeping in her den. The Kingfisher hunts the cold moving waters of the creek, as does the Heron. The Warblers are all in warmer climate zones. There is very little to see at the marsh in the winter months. I typically just walk past it in the winter without giving it much notice. But yesterday I happened to see something interesting. The picture above is what I saw. A meandering set of footprints across the frozen surface. There is a fence around the marsh to prevent humans from disturbing it, so I could not get close enough to determine what animal made them, but I think they are Fox or Coyote.

Unknown tracks leading nowhere on an impermenant surface at the cross roads.

That hit me deeply. That is me. In the last six months, I have become an orphan, I have lost my country, and I have (temporarily) lost my profession.

I am at a cross road in life.

I am not sure where I am going.

I do know this.

I am not stopping.

This way…. this way…. this way.

See you next week. Maybe there will be better magic

On my hikes in the local nature preserve, I often stop to converse with interesting beings I encounter, and sometimes they are humans. This week I was walking along and noticed the unusual sight of a young woman resting on a fallen log with a fully loaded backpack on the ground next to her. This is not something I have ever seen in this little nature preserve, as there is nowhere to camp (legally anyway). As I got within speaking distance I said…”Are you thru-hiking the preserve?”

To my relief, she immediately got the joke and quickly explained that no, she was not out camping but she was “training”. She had joined the Conservation Corps and was assigned to work on the Appalachian Trail this Summer. Oh be still my heart. This sweet young cherub had won me over more than finding a lifer to add to my species list!

We had a brief conversation as she sat munching on some type of energy bar and I asked her if she had read On Trails by Robert Moor (the current selection of the Ecological Book Club of the nature preserve on which we were both hiking) She was not aware of the book, and eagerly scribbled down the title and author’s name in a little notebook. I told her about my “Year In The Woods” project of spending one night a month in 2025 on the Appalachian Trail, and that while I was never a long distance hiker, that I had spent a lifetime enjoying the trail, and have a deep appreciation for those who maintain and care for this national treasure.

I wished her the best and thanked her for what she was doing. We smiled and parted ways. As I walked on into the woods my mind began to veer off into worries about the cutoffs of funding that will surely effect programs like the Conservation Corps, and will my young forest friend still have her assignment by the time Summer rolls around? I wanted to turn around and run back to tell her I hope she continues her training, and spreading trail magic, regardless of what lies ahead. Keep going! In the words of Robert Moor…. “This way….this way…..this way!”