There is magic in the first wildflowers which dare to dance in April’s cool breeze. Look closely at the pinstriped Spring Beauty to see the face of an impish sprite staring back.
March knocks on April’s door, and standing there on the dim lit stoop is a visage surrounded by swirling ice and snow, dripping mud and melting frost. Without hesitation, April invites the disheveled traveler in and notices a small parcel wrapped in green, wet with melted snowflakes. It is the gift of spring, and with it comes the remnants of the wintry month’s mercurial weather. As April encourages the sun to stay a while longer each day, the influence of March’s wintry heritage is diminished. A mere promise of favorable conditions is enough to encourage a veil of green to emerge from the cold ground in a resurrection of dormant life.
Within this transitional framework, the brilliant tints of green enliven the dull gray landscape to rouse curiosity and focus attention toward the earth. Energy is a key element in attraction and April is a time of palpable and boundless energy. The invisible movement of time appears betrayed as plants seem animated and grow before our eyes. Many spring plants have a narrow window of opportunity to emerge and mature, so their growth is accelerated.
Spring beauties are ephemerals which grow in isolated patches in open woods and among short pasture grass, their pink and white stripped flowers linger into May. Each short-stemmed flower is distinctly different in petal stripe and color. Some variants are almost all white with faint pink stripes, while a neighboring patch may be dominated by deeper pink petals and dark pink stripes. Color and pattern variations are the rule, which makes this flower so interesting. The variation in a way, compliments the vagaries of early spring weather and the individual character each April presents.
A calendar is not needed to know April has arrived. The appearance of native columbine on the red shale cliffs along the South Branch of the Raritan are as dependable a sign as any numeric score card. There is security in predictability and despite changing weather patterns, columbine remains faithful to April.
Native columbine is a delicate long stem, dark red, inverted, single bloom, composed of four or five individual vase shaped tubes, which collectively terminate in the appearance of a crown where the inverted flower meets the stem. Each tube within the red flower is lined with bright yellow. A distinctive broad, three lobed, pale green leaf adorns each stem and easily catches a breeze to help disperse seeds when the plant matures in early May. Columbine does not grow in profusion and is best described as being found in isolated villages, tucked in among the maroon cliffs. I wonder how many Aprils these cliff dwelling plants have seen, as their existence in such an austere shale environment is not conducive to random dispersal. I think of Brigadoon, a mythical village that appears once every one-hundred years, when native columbine appear during April, on the face of ancient cliffs, otherwise devoid of life.
April’s charm and promise find a spokesman in the form of Jack in the pulpit. As the name implies, this early spring plant appears to portray a minister standing in a raised pulpit, leading the congregation in prayer and praise for the gifts of nature. The personification of this unique plant, based on its shape and form, perfectly fit myth, magic, and folk lore promoting a human/ plant interface. The appearance of Jack standing in a pulpit, could be perceived as a reincarnation or memorial to a revered patriarch.
Any natural phenomenon begs for an explanation, and in this way, April delivers a lesson in the most critical of survival tools, creativity, and imagination. The earliest flowers to appear under April’s umbrella are a sign of hope as they stand in sharp contrast to the stark landscape about to awaken. Consider that flowers are living things that in some magical way, recruited man to further their propagation in exchange for a glimpse of eternal beauty, dreams and imagination. All combined to expand the universe of human potential with unbounded creativity and expression.
April has opened the gift of spring March delivered, and has swept its fresh green carpet clean of any wintry remnants tracked in when the gift was delivered. Conscious of its fleeting time allotted, April honors the delivery of the next month’s explosion of blooms by taming the weather and warming the soil. When may flowers arrive, April deserves a special thanks.
Author Joe Mish has been running wild in New Jersey since childhood when he found ways to escape his mother’s watchful eyes. He continues to trek the swamps, rivers and thickets seeking to share, with the residents and visitors, all of the state’s natural beauty hidden within full view. To read more of his writing and view more of his gorgeous photographs visit Winter Bear Rising, his wordpress blog. Joe’s series “Nature on the Raritan, Hidden in Plain View” runs monthly as part of the LRWP “Voices of the Watershed” series. Writing and photos used with permission from the author.
A fox sparrow takes refuge from a late March snowstorm as it migrates north to its breeding grounds
The fluffy white blanket of an early March snowstorm, preserved by the cold days that followed, began to shrink as the sun fought the darkness for dominance. The snow cover was still unbroken as it grudgingly settled lower each passing day. Eventually the white blanket would lose its loft and become threadbare, unveiling the gravid brown earth.
The days following the storm dawned clear and cloudless. The night sky was a showcase of brilliant white diamonds, alive with energy as they sparkled in the infinite celestial darkness.
An hour before sunrise the west facing snow covered hillside reflected enough light to reveal the fine detail of the skeletal silhouettes of every tree and bush that stood above the white ground cover. Even as the sky began to brighten, the entire hillside remained in shade, preserving the dramatic pre-dawn contrast. For a few slow minutes, the sky above the hill was bathed in a diffuse aura of gold, fading into white, which blended into the palest blue, growing more intense as the brightest stars lingered and were lost among the deepening blue background. For a long moment, night and day, past and present coexisted at one glance. The dynamic scene, frozen on an imaginary vertical tapestry, the black and white hillside held in sharp contrast to the gold and sunlit blue sky above.
In a way, that dawn was symbolic of the dichotomy of March, as the month ushers in the last cold breath of winter and departs amid life emerging from dormancy under the influence of increasing daylength.
Maroon, orange, green, and red buds decorate the bare tree branches to rival fall color, as early spring flowers tolerate the mercurial weather and defiantly poke through any errant late Match snowfall.
Bird migration is now in full swing as flycatchers, osprey, and colorful warblers make their appearance.
Great horned owls, hatched a month earlier, are flightless and near adult size.
March is the best time to find migrating woodcock and observe the unique mating flights performed by the males at dusk, choreographed to impress a potential mate. Woodcock were common locally in open woods and damp fields. As habitat dwindles, any sighting becomes a rare treat. When March rolls around I head for a likely spot where a swale is formed by the earlier mentioned hillside. The hillside is drained by a seasonal stream which remains wet where the gradient levels. The saturated soil creates a perfect environment for earthworms, the main food source for migrating woodcock. Woodcock, also known as Timberdoodles, will often sit tight and allow a close approach.
All migrating birds must deal with unpredictable weather anywhere along their migration path. So, arrival at any one location will vary from year to year. It is somehow comforting when birds that migrate through, show up on schedule. All is right with the world. When snow buntings, headed to points north, stop over at a specific location year after year, a dependence of sort can develop on behalf of the observer. The snowbirds become a reference point, much as a birthday or anniversary.
March provides the ‘wind beneath the wings’ of migrating birds as well as sweeps the land and grooms the trees, wind and March are inseparable.
March has earned the reputation as the month of relentless wind as it rushes mercurial weather on and off the stage to stir the breeze. Think about the wind and the scale of expression from hurricanes and tornadoes to a gentle whisper, where the wind uses a dried stem of grass or tree branch to etch its thoughts in the snow or on the side of an old wooden barn.
The first day of spring will happen on the nineteenth day of March, 2024, at 11: 06 pm. Day and night reach perfect equilibrium for a split second as winter surrenders to spring.
Author Joe Mish has been running wild in New Jersey since childhood when he found ways to escape his mother’s watchful eyes. He continues to trek the swamps, rivers and thickets seeking to share, with the residents and visitors, all of the state’s natural beauty hidden within full view. To read more of his writing and view more of his gorgeous photographs visit Winter Bear Rising, his wordpress blog. Joe’s series “Nature on the Raritan, Hidden in Plain View” runs monthly as part of the LRWP “Voices of the Watershed” series. Writing and photos used with permission from the author.
Essay and photos (except as noted) by author Joe Mish
Not on par with Shackleton’s adventure, the intent of this winter paddle trip was to see what nature is doing when she thinks no one is watching. Self portrait
Sleepy eyes involuntarily shut to set the stage for transient dreams to vie for recollection in morning’s foggy consciousness, as a mid-winter storm promised a night of undecided precipitation.
The view through the frosted bedroom window at dawn, revealed the storm’s final decision in the form of powdery snow, preserved by an overcast sky and sub-freezing temperature.
First light of dawn appeared as a proxy of the sun who farmed out delivery of a mere fragment of daylight intended to last the day.
A long spell of cold had locked the river in ice and curtailed any thought of canoeing. A heavy rain followed to raise the water level and break up the ice. The water settled down to a suitable flow, and I was anxious to see the aftermath and capture some wildlife images in between winter’s extreme mood swings.
Predawn light reveals broken slabs of ice, thrown asunder, by swollen water from a heavy rain, followed by a dusting of powdery snow. Moody winter weather is the rule.
The air was still and not a breeze stirred, a sure sign of snow to come. The conditions were perfect, as light snow was expected about halfway through the trip, and it would add mood to any landscape or wildlife images. Wildlife tends to feel more secure and reluctant to move in sub-freezing temperatures, allowing a close approach.
View from the canoe. Digital evidence here, though so many more incredible moments in nature are retained only in the form of recoverable memories altered by time, instead of digital editing.
The camera lens is less likely to get blurred in the absence of wind-blown precipitation. If a stiff breeze was predicted, I would never launch my canoe. Wind is the rate limiting step for my winter sojourns, along with safe water levels. Safety is critical and is weighed against any cold weather canoe trip.
I placed the boat in the quiet water along the shore, just inside the edge of the current. I carefully settled into the center seat, holding the carbon fiber paddle across my lap. Out of habit, I always wait a moment after engaging with the current to feel the enthusiasm of the river’s energy to partner with my energy infused paddle strokes.
Are you sure you want to go canoeing? Photo by Mary Ellen Hill.
There can be several distinct reasons to make a downriver run on any given day, all dependent on mood, weather, and water flow. The intent of this winter paddle was to see what nature is doing when she thinks no one is watching.
Digital evidence is nice to have, but not as essential as just being present to experience what cannot otherwise be seen and felt in tamer conditions.
The female red fox hiding behind the branch along the shoreline is a trigger for the behavior that followed and not digitally captured. She looked directly at me while she moved off, and defiantly stopped in the open and still staring back at me, squatted to pee
The current is my guide, as my hull is directed to follow its winding course worn into the hard shale riverbed, especially critical at lower water levels.
Ice out! open water, adventure awaits! Image of me taken without my knowledge, by Bill Haduch. Never know what you might see on the river.
I generally use a hit and switch style of paddling where the boat is kept on course by alternate stokes instead of turning the paddle blade at the end of the stroke, which is grossly inefficient, as it slows hull speed. Though, any paddle stoke in the nick of time is the correct choice.
As I switched sides after each series of strokes, the water dripping off the paddle blade fell on the ash gunnels and instantly froze. Fine drops quickly freeze and after layers of ice accumulate, its collective weight and height above the water, moved the center of gravity forward to make the hull plow left or right with each stroke and reduce stability. An occasional pause was required to clear the gunnels of ice, using the paddle’s sharp edge to shatter the ice.
Clearing the ice was not an existential crisis and at times I would use a north woods style paddle stoke in deep water, where all paddling is done on a chosen side, never lifting the paddle from the water. This is a useful stroke when drifting up on unaware wildlife as paddling motion is restricted to the offside and the stroke, completely silent.
As I neared home pasture, a light but steady snow began to fall straight down. This was the time to allow the river’s energy to take control one last time, set aside my physical presence and exist for a meditative moment in conscious stillness. A brief side trip, compliment of the water’s endless energy.
The carry from the river through the pasture to home had its own reward. I have a pair of pile lined, heavy wool mittens stowed in a zip lock bag, reserved just for this occasion.
I rarely wear gloves when paddling in cold weather, though when I take out, stow my pack and paddles, lift the hull on my shoulders, my hands get wet and cold from the water collected in the hull. It is an anticipated treat to wear those mittens on the portage home. As I slipped on the mittens, I noticed a single flake of snow caught on an errant strand of wool, its unique structure designed as if by intelligent hand. This was the essence of a mid-winter canoe trip, ephemeral moments in nature, stored in memory for instant retrieval, to be enjoyed and shared. It was just the icing on the gunnels.
Author Joe Mish has been running wild in New Jersey since childhood when he found ways to escape his mother’s watchful eyes. He continues to trek the swamps, rivers and thickets seeking to share, with the residents and visitors, all of the state’s natural beauty hidden within full view. To read more of his writing and view more of his gorgeous photographs visit Winter Bear Rising, his wordpress blog. Joe’s series “Nature on the Raritan, Hidden in Plain View” runs monthly as part of the LRWP “Voices of the Watershed” series. Writing and photos used with permission from the author.
A children’s game, now fading from collective memory, where an authority figure stood facing away from the players who would ask permission to take steps forward. The question included the refrain, “Mother, may I”. The reply might be, ‘take one giant step forward’ or ‘take two baby steps back’. This game is said to be inspiration for Neil Armstrong’s walk on the moon, when he said, ‘One small step for man. One giant step for mankind’.
The months of May and June are the time turtle step forward, one small step for that turtle and a giant step for preserving that species genetic future as they seek a location to lay eggs.
Turtle species have relied on thousands of years of evolution to reach a relatively stable set of behaviors that has seen them through a millennium of environmental change before the appearance of humans.
If change occurs faster than a species can adapt, it ceases to exist. The changes turtles face today were never included in the genetic mapping that made them so successful for thousands of years. Roads and highways, farming and land development have thrown a curve ball to confound the turtles’ evolutionary success via gradual change. Mower blades spinning at 3,500 revolutions per minute sound a death knell to the species in general and elimination of threatened and endangered reptiles from an already shrinking home range.
The presence of a turtle, no matter the species, is a miracle to behold when you consider it is a time traveler, unchanged in appearance from prehistoric times, who stepped through a wormhole in space into the 21st century.
The most common species found crossing roads, as evidenced by unsuccessful attempts, is the ubiquitous snapping turtle. An aquatic species whose genetic GPS directs it to favorable high ground away from the vagaries of floods and droughts to lay its eggs. Perhaps it is the distance traveled to lay eggs that has made the snapper so successful and vulnerable to predators, among them autos.
Another turtle commonly found crossing roads is the eastern box turtle. Box turtles are often concentrated in upland areas. A terrestrial species, it follows the rule of not laying eggs in the area it normally lives. I speculate that predators know where to find their prey and the prey know that the best chance for eggs to reach term would be somewhere away from the general population. So it is that each spring, female turtles will leave home grounds for a suitable nursery in which to incubate their eggs. Eastern box turtles are assigned a ‘concerned’ classification, given a shrinking environment and loss of genetic variation due to populations isolated on islands of habitat. Continuity of habitat is a critical concern and a prime reason to establish and preserve greenways along rivers and streams.
The wood turtle is classified as endangered by state and ‘under review” by federal US Fish and Wildlife Service and is found locally. Aquatic and terrestrial, it spends time in meadows and uplands near rivers and streams making it more vulnerable to mowing not only during spring egg laying but throughout the season from April to October. Wood turtles are long lived and do not reach reproductive age for several years. This makes wood turtle populations very sensitive to loss of any mature adults. Research finds the loss of one or two adults may mark the end of that population over time. From the Wisconsin DNR website “Wood turtle populations are particularly sensitive to removal of reproducing adults, and Compton (1999) determined that removal of only two adults annually from a group of 100 individuals would result in extinction of that population in 76 years, and removal of three adult individuals annually would lead to extinction in 50 years.”
The meadows and uplands along our rivers are prime wood turtle habitat and any mowing must be evaluated for benefit vs harm. Walking trails trod by hikers is preferable to mowing. A mature wood turtle was killed on open space land when a path was mowed for the convenience of some local walkers. This act may have signed a death warrant for the wood turtle population in the area. In this game of survival, the wood turtle may ask ‘Mower, may I ?” when traversing our meadows during egg laying and feeding.
Check these websites, one from Wisconsin and one from New Jersey for more information about Wood Turtles,
and most interesting, the electronic tracking of a female wood turtle at the Great Swamp National Refuge by the US Fish and Wildlife Service!.
This wood turtle on her way to lay eggs was killed May 16, 2014, by a mower. Considering she was at least 10 years old, the situation is even more tragic. Wood turtles are a natural treasure hidden in plain view and tall grass, who deserves far more than just our consideration.
Another wood turtle barely escaped being run over by a white van in the same area along the South Branch. The location of both turtles was reported to the state, which tracks wood turtle populations. This turtle is missing a left front foot, though well healed over.
Author Joe Mish has been running wild in New Jersey since childhood when he found ways to escape his mother’s watchful eyes. He continues to trek the swamps, rivers and thickets seeking to share, with the residents and visitors, all of the state’s natural beauty hidden within full view. To read more of his writing and view more of his gorgeous photographs visit Winter Bear Rising, his wordpress blog. Joe’s series “Nature on the Raritan, Hidden in Plain View” runs monthly as part of the LRWP “Voices of the Watershed” series. Writing and photos used with permission from the author. Contact jjmish57@msn.com.
The rebirth of the Raritan River is symbolized by a waxing moon hovering above a Bald Eagle, perched along the river, teeming with ancient fisheries, whose recovery is a result of recent dam removals. A birthstone to define the Raritan River as an entity removes its status as a documented enigma and affords it the respect and honor it deserves.
The Raritan River is the longest river that flows within NJ, its rich, pre and post-colonial history well documented in archives and books. Surprisingly, its location has confused state and federal authorities who have mislabeled the North and South Branch of the Raritan River as the Raritan River. Signs on interstate 78 in Clinton identify the South Branch as the Raritan River. Further east on I-78 the North Branch is designated at the Raritan River. State road 202 at the border of Branchburg and Bridgewater claim the North Branch of the Raritan River as the Raritan River.
Last of the cast irons signs which correctly identify the North Branch of the Raritan River. I know of only two other cast irons signs, long gone, which marked the course of the South Branch and Raritan River proper.
To further muddy the waters of the Raritan, an online search of the River’s length will show anywhere from 69.60 to 115 miles. Imagine, a defined measurement of a major river’s length cannot be established! For the record, based on my two canoe trips down the entire Raritan River, I estimate its length at 33 miles. Given the margin of error, 33 miles referenced against the lowest published estimate of 69.60 miles, creates more of an enigma than a reality.
To bring the Raritan River in focus from an enigma, and accord the respect it deserves, it must be properly defined and labeled. Once the river’s identity is established, a gravitational pull of curiosity arises and compels a quest for more information. A better understanding of the river’s role in its watershed and the community it supports can provide critical perspective needed to make sound land and water management decisions.
The first step in establishing respect, whether a person or a river, is to know their name. It is innate in our nature to respond kindlier when a name is offered upon introduction. Consider a hiker walking across a field, free of obstruction, the path will be a straight line. Point out a single species of grass, and the hiker will alter their path to avoid stepping on the now identifiable plant.
Toward that end, an effort is underway to define the beginning of the Raritan River with a boulder placed at the confluence of its north and south branches. A bronze plaque will be attached and petroglyphs carved into the boulder to memorialize native animals and first people.
This indelible marker will, in a way, serve as a birth certificate in the form of a ‘birthstone’ to legitimize the Raritan River proper.
“Raritan River Birthstone” (DRAFT for plaque) “This stone marks the beginning of the
Raritan River and defines this natural treasure as an entity. The Raritan River’s legacy of beauty, inspiration and use, has nurtured all life since its post glacial formation. Arising from the confluence of its north and south branches, the Raritan River begins its thirty-three mile journey to the sea. The petroglyphs carved into this stone represent wildlife and symbols of the Unami, a branch of the Lenape tribe, which would have been seen in glyphs carved by the earliest people”. “Dedicated by the Lower Raritan Watershed Partnership 2023.”
Placement of the ‘birthstone’ and the location of the Headgate dam at the very top center of the image.Image taken on flight compliment of LightHawk and No Water No Life.
In 2023’s Raritan River, dolphins and seals ply the waters up to New Brunswick, while young Hudson Bay striped bass and alewives make their way up river to Bound Brook. As dams are removed and historic fisheries revitalized, the Raritan River is in a way reborn and deserving of a ‘birthstone’ to finally mark it place of birth.
The Burnt Mills dam on the Laminton River which flows into the North Branch and eventually into the Raritan river was removed in 2020.
The Headgate dam on the Raritan River, built in 1842, is scheduled for removal. This dam is located a few hundred yards below the beginning of the Raritan River at the confluence of the North and South Branch. The hydraulic created by the dam has caused several deaths over the years.
Author Joe Mish has been running wild in New Jersey since childhood when he found ways to escape his mother’s watchful eyes. He continues to trek the swamps, rivers and thickets seeking to share, with the residents and visitors, all of the state’s natural beauty hidden within full view. To read more of his writing and view more of his gorgeous photographs visit Winter Bear Rising, his wordpress blog. Joe’s series “Nature on the Raritan, Hidden in Plain View” runs monthly as part of the LRWP “Voices of the Watershed” series. Writing and photos used with permission from the author. Contact jjmish57@msn.com.
When the Eagle Lunar Lander set down on the moon in 1969, astronaut Neil Armstrong spoke these immortal words, ‘the eagle has landed’.
Those simple words announced to the world that the man in the moon finally had company. The proximity of the moon to the earth made it a central part of myth and legend and directed human behavior as if it were a nurturing celestial caretaker. That humanity now stood on the moon was unbelievable, the impossible had now been achieved!
That headline, ‘the eagle has landed’, perfectly described my emotion when I scanned the latest NJ eagle report and saw an image of an eagle nest and the word, ‘Keasbey’, as its location. I was stunned as a range of emotions swept over me. Keasbey? Eagles? Eagles associated with Keasbey? The same Keasbey I intimately knew from my youthful wandering among the swamps, streams, and tidal creeks in the 1960s and 70s?
Previously, the only reference to eagles in Keasbey were the Keasbey Eagles, a weight lifting club on the Keasbey Heights overlooking Raritan Bay. Another reference was Eagleswood, a utopian society situated along the shore of Raritan Bay, which ended at what is now the Keasbey border. Visiting naturalist, Henry David Thoreau, linked Eagleswood to Keasbey when he described in his journal on November 2, 1856, a walk two miles upriver from Eagleswood in Perth Amboy to what is now the Keasbey shoreline.
A wooly mammoth might sooner be unearthed in a Keasbey clay bank than the shadow of a bald eagle pass over the land. Eagles existed only in far-away pristine wilderness destinations.
For that matter Canada geese were unknown to the area, mallards were found only in parks and on occasion a deer track might be seen and be a cause of conservation.
Crows Mill Creek, whose source was a clear spring, now tinted acid yellow, after passing through HR Grace property, flowed over the sandy bottom to the tidal creek at Jennings boat yard. HR Grace, Hayden Chemical Company and Hatco dominated the spring fed area. Some nights, downwind of the factories, the wind might burn your eyes, and in the morning, white flakes would cover your car.
The mouth of Red Root Creek which flowed through the arsenal past the restricted areas where phosgene was buried.
During the summer when mosquitoes were nigh, an olive drab military vehicle would ride up and down the streets spraying thick clouds of DDT, through which all the kids rode their bicycles. Keasbey itself had rerouted Crows Mill Road around a large abandoned clay pit and used it to dump garbage. Upstream of Keasbey, in Edison, the Raritan Arsenal buried weapons and explosives in the wetlands along the river. Within the Arsenal property, Phosgene was buried in small isolated fenced in areas. National Lead was situated across the river, lead slag was used to support the shoreline in many locations along the Bay. Lead, among other chemicals, entered the food chain to accumulate in top feeders.
The clay banks and local brick factory produced hollow tile and bricks. The tiles were packed in local sea grass sea grass for shipment all over the country.
Signs along the perimeter fence of the Raritan Arsenal
The lower Raritan and Keasbey were in no way suitable eagle habitat, even though the Raritan is a major migratory extension of the Atlantic flyway. The lower Raritan region is one of, if not, the most naturally diverse regions in the state, it is where the soils of south Jersey meet the soils of the north. From the soil springs a diversity of plants and a cascade of wildlife to make this region a veritable United Nations where all members are represented in one location. This cannot be emphasized enough, the potential for diversity is critical to build upon the success of the eagles. In fact, it is stunted, to look at a single species and not the community in which it exists.
While remediation of the chemical factories is underway and DDT use curtailed, we are still plagued with legacy pollution and a spectrum of novel emerging pollutants. Microplastics combine with pharmaceuticals and other chemicals to attack the immune system of humans and other top food chain feeders such as eagles. Blood samples taken from eagles remain in frozen storage for lack of funding. Even if processed, there is no plan to look at the impact of specific pollutants on the immune system. The preoccupation with lead poisoning diverts attention from the impact other pollutants have on the immune system. We hope the exploding eagle population is not a flash in the pan and only time and further research will tell.
An article from the 1970s revealing a blood sample from an eagle tested for pollutants. We have traded pollutants which still pose a threat as exposure comes from new chemical entities and microplastics.Testing for pollutants which attack the immune system has been a hole in current eagle research at least in NJ.
So, the table had been set for an explosion of natural diversity denied by decades of abuse. When one lives to see the dramatic contrast take place over a lifetime, the impact approaches the status of a miracle. The nesting bald eagle in Keasbey is on the level of man landing on the moon, a cause for celebration in and of itself.
Author Joe Mish has been running wild in New Jersey since childhood when he found ways to escape his mother’s watchful eyes. He continues to trek the swamps, rivers and thickets seeking to share, with the residents and visitors, all of the state’s natural beauty hidden within full view. To read more of his writing and view more of his gorgeous photographs visit Winter Bear Rising, his wordpress blog. Joe’s series “Nature on the Raritan, Hidden in Plain View” runs monthly as part of the LRWP “Voices of the Watershed” series. Writing and photos used with permission from the author. Contact jjmish57@msn.com.
Virginia blue bells grow in profusion wherever they may be found, and appear as a fluffy blue blanket hovering above the ground. Delicate spring beauties dot the short grass along the flood plain and present a spectrum of white to pink flower petals lined with dark pink pinstripes. Each flower is so individual, it begs investigation and comparison.
The green veil of April is laid upon the earth to cover the landscape, washed clean and left bare by the cold wind and melting snow jettisoned during winter’s hasty retreat. The blanket of winter’s white cover cloth is now torn asunder into a patchwork of pale fragments scattered across the land. A mosaic of green tints emerge and expand as April distances itself from winter.
April’s arrival comes just ten days after winter’s meteorological conclusion to make the first full month of spring a mixed bag of weather. Snow squalls, frost, bright sun, cold rain and a sampling of temperatures from freezing to torrid, make April unpredictable; except for its unassailable promise to pave the final path to summer with an explosion of colorful blooms.
Spring’s arrival is heralded in by the last gasp of winter’s fury, whose blustery breath escaped March to shake April’s greenery and ghost it with flakes of vanishing snow.
April’s struggle with the remnants of winter weather is aided by the sunlight, which now dominates the darkness, to give confidence to a profusion of life waiting to emerge from the gravid earth. The path of the earth’s orbit and tilt, makes the sun appear to ride higher above the horizon to shrink shadows and warm the earth. The increasing daylength triggers a cascade of chemical change in all life on earth, to direct behavior in animals and rapid growth in plants.
As April progresses, the translucent, pale green veil, weaves itself into a thick verdant blanket of coarse yarn as grasses and leaves emerge and unfold to partner with the sun, converting light into nutrients and clouds of life sustaining oxygen.
As seen from the perspective of a celestial theater seat, a time lapsed image of spring appears alive as it moves north, leaving a thick green carpet in its wake. Rivers, appearing as long shimmering threads of blue and silver, decorate the green tapestry as if by artistic design. The bright thread appears and disappears, as generous stitches, roughly sewn into a green cloth, penetrate and emerge along a torn seam.
Descending into the greenery, the broken silver-blue thread becomes a gentle flowing river, the sun reflecting off the rippling surface. Beneath the shallow water along the bank, tightly furled spikes of yellow pond lily emerge from the mud with encouragement of the bright sunlight, in preparation for next month’s floral debut.
A cloud of muddy water among the expanse of the submerged spikes betrayed the presence of a muskrat. The rat’s trail led ashore leaving an obvious mud-stained path across the matted down fresh green grass. The path ended at a large patch of mugwort, an invasive plant impervious to control, and a bane to gardeners. Likely a female, the muskrat gathered greens for bedding to line her bank den and food to wean her kits.
Beyond the mugwort, in the shade of the river birch and swamp maple, grew a variety of native plants typically found in moist woods along more pristine waterways. Trout lilies and trillium were scattered about, familiar to early season fishermen and the few who gather spring greens like fiddlehead ferns and dandelions.
Trout lilies have distinctive mottled green spear shape leaf with a yellow flower on a single stalk.
Trillium is an associate of trout lily and said to have four varieties recognized in New Jersey.
Like the yellow trout lily, trillium is a short plant just a few inches high and easily recognized by its three petaled flower. The most common color I have seen is a deep rich burgundy, and appears more as an errant jewel, carelessly lost by a passerby.
Mayapple grows in enmass as groundcover in moist woods where groups of jack-in-the- pulpit appear ready to preach a sermon.
The native wildflowers which appear briefly in early spring are collectively known as ‘spring ephemerals’. These delicate beauties sprout out of the cold ground in a resurrection inconsistent with expectation, to lend an air of magic to their presence.
The spring ephemerals hide among April’s green veil and whisper the arrival of spring and a promise of summer to anyone who seeks the solace of wild places and open space. They whisper just once, and then they are gone.
Author Joe Mish has been running wild in New Jersey since childhood when he found ways to escape his mother’s watchful eyes. He continues to trek the swamps, rivers and thickets seeking to share, with the residents and visitors, all of the state’s natural beauty hidden within full view. To read more of his writing and view more of his gorgeous photographs visit Winter Bear Rising, his wordpress blog. Joe’s series “Nature on the Raritan, Hidden in Plain View” runs monthly as part of the LRWP “Voices of the Watershed” series. Writing and photos used with permission from the author. Contact jjmish57@msn.com.
A flightless great horned owl, born in the dead of winter, now thrives in the late February sun, surrounded by maroon tree buds which began to emerge around the time the owl eggs were being incubated.
Imagine a door with twelve windowpanes, each frame a portal into a month of the year, and every time you turn away and look back, the scene changes. Some views, in a series of glances, stand out out more than others, and from that subjective perspective we link an emotion to an image that is different from anyone else’s interpretation.
This perfectly describes how the impression of each month and season is characterized in our mind.
The image of each month has been generalized to create a static image to establish its collective reputation. December is always dark and snowy, July is always hot and dry, while February is portrayed as a full month of winter, a time of hibernation, deep snow and howling wind. February becomes an abbreviated but intense survival test where only the strong survive. Sometimes February’s visit is tempered with warm weather and no measurable snow. So, having been visited by February each year of our life, what image appears in our mind when we think of February?
Reality is that each month demonstrates a flexibility in the character it portrays and together with the rest of the cast, summarizes that season’s show. A back up actor follows the same script, while using nuance, expression, and timing to elicit audience reaction. A Broadway play is always a different experience with a new lead actor.
Our impression of the month, yet to unfold, is really artistic expression. Each person who peers through the portal of February sees that view differently. Barely tolerable to some, this mid-winter month represents a never ending imprisonment in darkness and cold. Stripping away the emotion, February delivers a full hour and seven minutes of daylength in just twenty-eight days to flood the earth with light and shrink the long shadows that grew in the low winter sun.
The bright light of sunshine forces the darkness into retreat to make legible an early promissory note, guaranteeing the arrival of spring twenty days after February’s departure.
The leafless gray brown stands of trees, as seen in the distance as muted vertical brush strokes, now wear a dark maroon veil as color seeps from emerging buds to signal change is in the air. The increasing daylength promotes the flow of energy in the form of sugary sap to awaken the buds and give them their burnished blush. Freezing nights halt the flow of sap which resumes when the daytime temperature rises above freezing. Ice shrouded fine tree branches hanging just above the surface of the river are often broken during strong winds and by large shards of ice and debris carried downstream by raging flood waters. The broken ends drip with concentrated sugary sap and form long icicles during the cold night to provide a passing paddler with a sweet icy energy boosting treat.
Among the treetops, bald eagles and great horned owls are incubating eggs or brooding hatched chicks. Winter is now well aware its days are numbered when new life appears despite the inexhaustible supply of cold, snow and ice that remain in winter’s armory. Live eagle cams make it possible to watch a brooding eagle, covered with snow, faithfully await an early morning exchange with its partner. Both parents share brooding, feeding and incubating responsibility as they defy the threat of winter’s oppressive cold that stands opposed to emerging life.
Bird migration is well underway in February to brighten the stark frozen landscape, soon to be liberated by planetary position and tilt of the earth in relation to the sun. Brilliant colored warblers and waterfowl are the first to journey north to summer breeding grounds. Blue and green wing teal, ring neck ducks mingle with winter holdovers who are herded short distances by the vagary of unfavorable local weather. Small flocks of boldly colored male warblers light up the dull landscape and foliage as bright as a string of multicolored miniature lights hidden within the branches of a Christmas tree.
February fights a losing battle as the walls of a depleted winter fortress begins to crumble and the month surrenders days in frustration to become the shortest month of the year.
Though February is devoted completely to winter, it cannot conceal the increasing daylength nor suppress the awakening of life that begins before winter can exit the stage.
A male ring- necked duck in full breeding plumage, rests on a local pond during early migration north to traditional breeding grounds. Migration may be early or delayed, depending on the variable weather conditions each winter brings.
Author Joe Mish has been running wild in New Jersey since childhood when he found ways to escape his mother’s watchful eyes. He continues to trek the swamps, rivers and thickets seeking to share, with the residents and visitors, all of the state’s natural beauty hidden within full view. To read more of his writing and view more of his gorgeous photographs visit Winter Bear Rising, his wordpress blog. Joe’s series “Nature on the Raritan, Hidden in Plain View” runs monthly as part of the LRWP “Voices of the Watershed” series. Writing and photos used with permission from the author. Contact jjmish57@msn.com.
The beaver, like many endangered species, was known more as a marketing icon rather than a commonly observed live animal. Whether it be an eagle, an owl or a beaver, all presented unique features, behaviors or sounds that immortalized them in the eyes the general public. Each animal had qualities easily transferrable as desirable human characteristics, making them kindred spirits and role models. Artistic impression blended fact and myth, using wild animals to capture their intended audience.
Endangered species appeared in cartoons, sales ads, and as insignias and mascots. The bald eagle is the symbol of our country and mascot of the 101st Airborne Division. The wise old owl’s hoot call in the night, sent chills down the spine of fright night movie goers. Beaver, whose ability to fell trees and build dams is legendary, is associated with industriousness, hard work and effort all desirable human behaviors. The cartoons featured its flat tail and timber felling ability as main elements in a story.
Bucky Beaver was a cartoon character created to promote Ipana toothpaste, given the beaver’s prominent front incisors. In the commercials, Bucky had shiny white teeth, though in reality, beaver teeth are bright orange; it mattered not, as few consumers ever saw a beaver to notice the difference.
Pursuit of beaver pelts promoted early exploration and settlement of North America as their European cousins had been obliterated as the demand for beaver top hats and coats was insatiable. In the new world, beaver were found to exist in profusion and the greed for profit eventually depleted the beaver population in the east to isolated populations. By 1895, NJ and other northeast states were thought to be devoid of beaver.
Beaver, captured in Canada were transplanted to the Adirondacks and quickly spread to populate distant regions by the innate behavior of young beaver leaving the core family to seek new territory. This transience is observed each winter on the South Branch of the Raritan where itinerant beaver travel waterways and streams to establish dens throughout the entire river system down to Raritan Bay.
My first encounter with a live beaver was on Lawrence Brook, an outlet of Farrington Lake. I was about thirteen and fishing a narrow part of the stream for calico bass. A heavy canopy of trees hung low over the smooth slow flowing water to create an eerie mood. I was completely focused on casting my lure without getting caught in the branches. The day was almost over, and I kept telling myself, ‘just one more cast’. It was then I noticed a large wake heading upstream toward me. I could not imagine what it might be. Its head appeared square and held slightly above the water. It was closing in and clearly it knew I was there and yet its course remained unchanged. Starving alligator crossed my mind as my hair stood on end. What else could it be? An instant later I found out… and the surprise was perhaps more astounding than an alligator. A loud slap of the animal’s tail numbed every cell in my body. This is how a prey animal must feel when a raptor’s talons sink into its flesh. The quiet evening was shattered, and water exploded frothy droplets high it in the air. It could be only one animal on earth and that could not be: but it was! It was a beaver!
Over the years, since that day on Lawrence Brook, beaver populations have dramatically increased throughout their original range. Beaver are now ubiquitous in NJ, one even built a huge lodge in a small stream running through a local condo development before entering the North Branch of the Raritan. Our smallest waterways are often explored by itinerant beaver.
On a warm September day, I took my grandson, Caleb, on his first canoe trip, a mile up a local stream and back to Grammy and Dad standing on shore. The water was crystal clear and had a steady flow as I paddled upstream. Caleb was full of questions, and I had all the answers. Upstream about seventy-five yards, at the base of a shale cliff, deep in the shade, I saw some low-slung animal move. A fox seemed to fit the impression, though the spot was on a ledge at the base of the cliff. It was high noon bright and sunny. What could it be? I cautioned Caleb to look in that direction and be quiet. As we closed in, there was a huge beaver.
I was thrilled that we got within a few yards as it dove into the clear water and disappeared into a bank den. I could not contain my excitement seeing beaver at midday with my grandson on his initial canoe trip. As we approached the takeout, I could not contain myself relating to all, what Caleb and I experienced. The next day I called my daughter to hear what Caleb said about our maiden voyage, hoping he would share my enthusiasm about the rare mid-day, close encounter with the giant beaver. What most excited Caleb was that Grampy lifted the canoe over his head and carried it to the river! Alas!
Beaver are fascinating animals in terms of behavior, interpersonal relationships, and anatomy and make a great introduction into nature for children of any age as well as adults. Beaver live quietly among us, and on occasion, make an appearance to bring myth and legend to life. The beavers’ come back is a lesson in how our land and water are used and the long-term impact of today’s land planning decisions. All that aside, beaver are an unexpected wild treasure placed in our midst to pique our curiosity and guide us deeper in the mysteries of nature.
Two excellent books to gain insight into the life of this unique animal are.
“Lily Pond, Four Years With a Family of Beavers”, by naturalist, Hope Ryden.
“ The World of the Beaver”, by Leonard Lee Rue, a New Jersey pioneer of wildlife photography, written, circa 1958 and filled with Len’s images of NJ beaver.
Beaver dam across a small stream.
Beaver lodge on a flooded stream
Beaver slide
Beaver tracks
Beaver do climb trees. This branch could only be reached by climbing, there was no snow pack, the beaver actually climbed to about eight feet up to choose that specific branch.
Close up of teeth marks
Dog like nose
Teeth marks and trees partially gnawed through are telltale signs a beaver is living nearby. A large dog like nose, beady eyes and flat paddle shaped tail are distinguishing characteristics of the beaver. Social animals, all members of the family will care for the young kits born in lodge or bank den during the winter.
Author Joe Mish has been running wild in New Jersey since childhood when he found ways to escape his mother’s watchful eyes. He continues to trek the swamps, rivers and thickets seeking to share, with the residents and visitors, all of the state’s natural beauty hidden within full view. To read more of his writing and view more of his gorgeous photographs visit Winter Bear Rising, his wordpress blog. Joe’s series “Nature on the Raritan, Hidden in Plain View” runs monthly as part of the LRWP “Voices of the Watershed” series. Writing and photos used with permission from the author. Contact jjmish57@msn.com.
Message from the early nineteenth century remains in place. Hand carved declaration memorializing the men involved in the construction of the bridge. No so different in style and material than petroglyphs from paleo times. Words replace symbols to convey a message deemed important to future travelers.
The stone plaque set in the fieldstone bridge over Cat Tail Brook is crudely chiseled with the date 1825 along with the name of the mason and men who directed its construction.
The graves of the early settlers preserved in a small patch of land are marked with red shale stones, some with hand carved epitaph’s, other small, weathered stones barely decipherable, some messages completely eroded.
A block of shale rests in the river with the inscription J N Stout along with the Roman numeral XVI. Well into the twentieth century, property lines were represented by rocks or trees with slash marks.
The need to communicate is an innate human behavior, messages scribed on whatever canvas is available, whether it be scribbled on a napkin, roadside billboard, or graffiti on the side of a building. From the Chauvet Pont d’ arc caves of France and their well-preserved pictographs, to the Parsippany petroglyphs in north Jersey, each generation of humans, worldwide, expressed themselves in the most rudimentary ways, using whatever medium was on hand.
My interest is in the paleo or pre-colonial people who lived in our area whose rationale for leaving signs and messages is no different than those seen today. Messages that were the precursor of books, told stories of the hunt or other rituals in pictographs, dendroglyphs and petroglyphs. Pictographs are paintings placed in a protected area, dendroglyphs were images carved into a tree who bark had been partially stripped, petroglyphs were figures carved or etched into stone, usually in the open for travelers to see.
Just as the local Indians used trees to convey messages along travel paths, the desire for humans to communicate is as strong today as it was when paleo people walked the North and South Branch of the Raritan river. The search for petroglyphs is not confined to the realm of certified experts.
In the book, “Rock Art of Eastern North America”, the author notes the scarcity of primitive art in the eastern woodlands versus the numerous examples in the western states, primarily due to climate. As trees were the dominant canvasses of the woodlands, trees carved with dendroglyphs are not likely to be found. The rock strewn Sourland mountains would be a prime location for glyphs, while in the glacial scoured highlands of northern NJ, petroglyphs been authenticated.
An example noted in the book explains dendroglyphs were located on well-travelled trails, river crossings and prominences. The topography of the land was also a factor as it restricted or directed travel around obstacles, along rivers or mountain trails. Humans as well as wildlife seek out paths of least resistance as well as places which provide a view. What traveler has not succumbed to the temptation to climb a huge boulder alongside a hiking trail? In paleo times that rock was a safe place to camp, seek refuge from a wolf, or ambush a deer. Some successful hunter might leave a mark to commemorate his luck.
Without having read or heard of such a ritual, I would leave a coin where a deer fell to my arrow. I don’t know why I did that; no one will ever find that coin. Maybe a lingering primal behavior acted out to ensure my clan’s survival by telling another hunter, that the location was a good place to hunt.
The South and North branch and Raritan rivers are prime places to look for petroglyphs on the shale cliffs. You are not likely to discover one, but certainly these would be the places to look. Indian artifacts abound and stories of local collectors are many. The cliffs protruding from the flood plain attracted passersby to the precipice, to see what they might see. We can only imagine a glyph carved into a nearby tree by the Unami clan, represented by the image of a turtle. Perhaps it marked territory, a place to camp or images of a turtle holding a tomahawk to signify a war party, as mentioned in the Rock Art book. Chance of finding artifacts at these outcroppings are greater than finding stone carvings.
Knowing that our rivers were the highways of pre-colonial times, I cannot resist re-examining one particular, smooth red shale cliff, for the remains of an eroded petroglyph. That rare, smooth red shale canvas must have served as a primitive billboard with images of fish and deer taken by the Unami clan. I can’t find a sign, but I keep on looking at that cliff as if the imagined carvings were somehow transcribed to mental images perceived only by kindred spirits who traveled the same watery path.
I keep staring at this smooth cliff face along the river, hoping imagination will be the key to discovering an actual petroglyph. There is no way an early traveler could resist leaving a message on that unusual, smooth red shale tablet!
Further proof of the unbroken, innate need for humans to communicate along travel routes. Just as in paleo times a message board would be updated with symbols perhaps to show the results of a raiding party or successful hunt.
Author Joe Mish has been running wild in New Jersey since childhood when he found ways to escape his mother’s watchful eyes. He continues to trek the swamps, rivers and thickets seeking to share, with the residents and visitors, all of the state’s natural beauty hidden within full view. To read more of his writing and view more of his gorgeous photographs visit Winter Bear Rising, his wordpress blog. Joe’s series “Nature on the Raritan, Hidden in Plain View” runs monthly as part of the LRWP “Voices of the Watershed” series. Writing and photos used with permission from the author. Contact jjmish57@msn.com.
