A Big Place on a Winter Day

Sitting beside the Trinity River, on the Crosstimbers Trail, I wrote, “The place is so big that it makes the voices of the occasional human visitors seem small.” On a warm Friday in February, there were quite a few people at the Fort Worth Nature Center and Refuge, making bigness an important quality if the trail was going to live up to the name “refuge.”

This is a big place, as nature centers go. Its 3,621 acres are loved by many, and that is partly because it is big enough for a little solitude. The Crosstimbers trail borders the river for the first half-mile or so, and that’s a popular walk for people who want to see the water and maybe hope to see a ‘gator. Once the trail bends back into the woods, there are fewer people, and once you get pretty far back on that loop trail, you might be on your own for a good while.

Two red-eared sliders – an old melanistic male and a younger one on the log below him

I got started at 10:40am on a day when thin clouds could not hide the sun and you could walk comfortably in a t-shirt. I watched a great blue heron fly over the nearby marsh and said hello to the cooters and sliders basking on fallen logs and branches in the water. There were plenty of American coots swimming nearby.

Three American coots swimming in the river

The bottomland forests beside the river were full of stately old trees – cottonwoods and other species – and they are often entwined with one or another climbing vine including poison ivy. One old cottonwood tree has huge vines braiding around its trunk.

Bare woody branches of shrubs frequently contained a spray of bright red berries where a kind of holly called possumhaw grows. And around me in the woods were the calls of many birds, including Carolina chickadee, tufted titmouse, and northern cardinal (identified by the Merlin bird ID app). My thermometer showed that it was 71.8F at 11:25am.

Then it was time to follow the trail back into the woods. There are plenty of oaks; big bur oaks with big notched leaves and the post oaks that are a signature species of the Cross Timbers region. There is ash, cedar elm, and some hackberry trees. Here and there the woodland opens up to a little glade or pocket prairie with native grasses. I took a few photos on the “pano” setting because today the place seemed so big that only a very wide photo might do it justice.

The trail leads through galleries of old trees and the land slopes away to the north toward a wetland. On the other side, the woodlands and open grassy patches gently climb toward a high place. On my walk, the winds seemed to shift around 11:35am and become cooler.

At what seems to be the highest point, there is a bench, perfect for sitting and taking in the wonderful forms of the trees, the carpet of dropped leaves, and the birds. Today it was very quiet and peaceful.

I started back, and as I walked the breeze scattered leaves ahead of me on the trail. That breeze was strengthening and making its voice heard through the tangle of trees. The branches shredded the current of air. Sometimes it was a whoosh and sometimes a soft roar, falling away to silence.

As I got further along, at one point I looked down the trail to see two deer looking back at me. They were silent and still as statues, sizing me up and deciding if I was a source of trouble. After a moment, the group took off, with those white tails flashing a warning to the rest of the group.

Two white-tailed deer froze on the trail as I came into view

When I reached the river and sat on a bench, there was the chatter of a belted kingfisher somewhere nearby (though I could not see it). Merlin also identified the call of a northern flicker. The thin clouds were pulling apart, and when the sun shone down it felt warm. The temperature had fallen a little to 67.6F, but in the little nook where I sat on my bench, the sunshine felt good.

The kingfisher clattered persistently. Another bird came in for a dramatic fast landing, wingbeats skimming the surface of the river. The bird then paddled around as if nothing had happened, sometimes diving down into the water. With the lens on my camera I got a good enough look to see that it was a pied-billed grebe.

Pied-billed grebe

The relatively thick bill with a dark ring around it was a giveaway. The Cornell website gave more information about what I observed about its diving: it was hunting. This bird likes crayfish and also eats small fish, dragonfly larvae, and it would not mind a leech or a small frog.

In that last hour I was grateful to have seen no one along the trail, and was happy to be by myself. I do like walking with others, but on some days like today, the solitude was peaceful. I am so thankful that Fort Worth has one of the biggest urban preserves in the country – and that it “feels” big.

A February Letter

I’ve just uploaded a “Letters to Nature Kids” issue. These are free, short pdf documents written for young people and anyone else who is still a little bit in touch with that kid they used to be. Most of them focus on some place or some species worth learning about, and some of them have a bit of a holiday theme. This one touches on Groundhog Day, National Send a Card to a Friend Day (obscure, but we should try it!), and of course Valentine’s Day and the various ways that love graces our relationships with friends, spouses, or even nature. I hope you’ll go have a look at it here.

On Mild Winter Days

Mild winter days are a gift, one that can make us uneasy and yet grateful for the soft warmth of sunshine in midwinter woods. The uneasiness comes when we recognize that the gift often comes from climate change. A recent Texas Monthly article reported that this past December was 4 to 5 degrees warmer than average, and that January of last year was the sixth warmest ever seen in Texas. In winter, our off-the-rails warming climate can feel good, but it is still brought to us by the worsening climate catastrophe.

Let’s get to the gratefulness part; while some days I try to wrap my head around climate issues and see what I can do, on other days I want to accept the wonder and joy that nature gives. On those days I’ll live in today, not next year or last year. Even as I sit under a blue sky, surrounded by the sheltering oaks, some part of me knows where the gift comes from, but that will not spoil the day. And so here are a couple of slightly edited entries from my journal, reflecting solitude and time in the woods at my favorite preserve.

On February 1st I made my way to the top of the hill under a sunny sky with no clouds. The local weather service said that it was 73F. I was on a little-used trail and the traffic noise was in the background. There was a sense of quiet because the noise seemed distant and subdued. I noticed a little chatter of crows. Nearby it was quiet and peaceful, warmed by the afternoon sun and surrounded by oaks reaching their bare branches up into the blue sky.

It was as if I had a distant memory of sleeping outside on such a day, in a peaceful place with all noise far away. Being lulled to the edge of sleep with a warm sun and soft breeze, in the close company of trees. Or perhaps it just seemed like a perfect place to drift away.

And then a strong breeze blew through, dislodging a remaining leaf or two. “Rock-a-bye baby, in the tree-tops…” Will the bough break? The cradle fall? What a strange lullaby.

A fungus in delicate and beautiful concentric rings

On February 4th it was partly cloudy and a little less warm (61F, reportedly) but at the start of the walk it was mostly sunny. The clouds that moved through were low, thick and heavy, slipping eastward and sometimes hiding the sun. After making my way up to the boulders, I wandered down the trail past lots of small sulphur butterflies and found a small wasp in a tangle of dewberries. Nearby, a Carolina chickadee called from low branches. Blue jays fussed somewhere as the breeze came and went, blowing a few loose leaves.

A small wasp that survived the recent freeze

I came back to the sandstone bluff, and the movement of clouds was putting on a delightful show. Using my shoes as a pillow I lay on the rocks and watched those clouds. Sometimes the thicker gray clouds obscured the sun, and I was glad for my jacket, and then the sun re-emerged with wonderful radiant heat.

Looking up at clouds

There were low clouds still sliding to the east, sometimes wispy and light, and other times wet and gray. High above those, a layer of clouds slowly crept in from the north. Some of those were thin and feathered in intricate bands, but others were ropy and white. The edges of the low, gray clouds were rimmed in bright white from sunlight and almost too bright to look at. As always, the slow graceful movement of clouds was mesmerizing.

Darker clouds were massing nearby, and I started my walk down the hillside. Somewhere along the way I heard thunder, and rain began to fall as I reached the car.

Rain clouds visible from the bluff

I hope you are able to get outside sometimes on days like this. I’d love to hear in the comments whether you feel the same as I do about these warmer winter days, or if you prefer days when winter has a little bite and maybe brings some snow.

Leaving No Trace in Small Places

A pond at Sheri Capehart Nature Preserve, Arlington, TX

In recent years, many articles have appeared with titles saying that we are “loving nature to death.” Most of the ones I have read pertain to national parks and wilderness, but the issue applies equally to small preserves and urban parks. During the first year or so of the Covid pandemic, people lost jobs or worked from home and had extra time on their hands with fewer things to do because we were trying to practice social distancing. Many discovered – or rediscovered – getting outside.

For those of us who recognize the benefits of time spent in nature and hope for a reconnection between people and nature, more people outside is good news. But the amount of public space available for wildlife refuges, preserves, and nature parks did not increase. Neither did the budgets for taking care of such places. As a result, public natural areas have to contend with more traffic and the accompanying litter and the impact of our camping spaces, fires, new “rogue” trails, and other wear and tear. 

There’s a little preserve in Arlington where I volunteer. (And my comments here are my own and do not necessarily reflect the thoughts of the group that I am affiliated with.) I spend a lot of time there because it is near my house. I have walked its trails, sat watching and listening, and become very familiar with its ponds, woods, and meadows. It is a resilient place, but these days it is contending with lots of traffic. That results in rogue trails, soil compaction and erosion wherever people walk off-trail, litter, issues with dogs and horses, dirt bikes and mountain bikes (which are not allowed), discarded or lost fishing tackle, and the occasional improvised shelter although no camping is allowed.

Green heron seen at Sheri Capehart Nature Preserve

Urban nature preserves and urban parks share some similarities, but they are also fundamentally different. The preserve is land set aside and protected in a nearly natural state, so that people can see how the surrounding land once was and can enjoy some of the communities of flowers, trees, and wildlife that are part of our heritage. You can see it as a living museum of natural history, letting us experience the place like it once was, at least to a degree. At the same time, you can see it as our wild neighbors, the plants and animals that are our companions who deserve a chance to live alongside us at least somewhere.

Urban parks, lovely as they may be, are usually modified for human use so that little of the original nature remains. There may be lawns, sidewalks and soccer fields, jungle gyms and ponds with domestic ducks. We need such parks, but they are not nature preserves. We might be urged not to leave litter, but hardly anyone feels the need to say, “leave no trace” of our visit there.

By contrast, many of us would urge each other to leave no trace when we visit wild places and nature preserves. There is an important movement that promotes this idea, and one organization, Leave No Trace, promotes seven principles that will help us. “Leave no trace” is a plea for us to visit nature in the spirit of cooperatively and respectfully sharing a space where many of our wild neighbors live and where other humans will visit. Yes, it is there for our enjoyment and learning, but it is not ours alone, and its purpose is not really entertainment.

The first Leave No Trace principle is to Plan Ahead and Prepare. In a small urban preserve that might mean taking the time to review the preserve’s rules, seeing when it opens and closes, and getting a copy of a trail map. Many preserves allow your dog to come if they are on a leash. Almost all prohibit motorized vehicles. 

Another principle is to Travel (and camp, if allowed) on Durable Surfaces. In small preserves this translates to “stay on the trail.” Wandering off-trail means trampling plants, compacting soil, and creating conditions where rainfall will erode the soil away. When a place gets trampled, others assume it is a trail, and soon there is a “rogue” trail. When a small preserve gets criss-crossed by lots of such trails, serious damage is done. From wildlife’s perspective, there is no safe place away from people. The habitat that these animals use is of much lower quality, and when rain comes, there will be much more erosion.

Next is Dispose of Waste Properly, and simply put, it means everything you pack in should be packed out. It’s easy to bring a small bag in your backpack or even your back pocket so that you don’t leave litter. Snack wrappers, water bottles, fishing gear, even Kleenex should be bagged and taken with you. I know that when fishing line snags and breaks, it can be difficult to retrieve it. However, hooks, lines, and lead sinkers are responsible for many wildlife injuries , and hooks can cause human injuries. And here’s another difficult but important thing: use the bags provided to pick up your dog’s waste. If it is left in the preserve, not only is it unpleasant, it is potentially a source of new parasites for wildlife. (The waste from the resident wildlife contains stuff that’s already found in the preserve, things the residents are already adapted to.) 

The Leave What You Find principle means leaving the living things how you found them, and don’t introduce non-native species. It also means not collecting artifacts like arrowheads and not “tagging” or carving initials into rocks and trees. We all have a tendency to think, “It’s just this one little thing, it won’t hurt anything.” But if you dig up a few plants, you won’t be the only one, and the losses add up. It’s the same with animals. That lizard might look cute, but don’t catch it! And please do not add things that did not come from the preserve. We’ve seen raccoons relocated and dumped at our preserve, and once at one of our national grasslands I found someone had released goldfish into a pond. They probably thought they were doing the fish a favor. When we add things or take things away from a natural community, the negative consequences might not be easy to foresee.

A boulder with graffiti at the preserve

Minimize Campfire Impacts, in small urban preserves, really means “don’t,” because making a fire is almost certainly prohibited. There is the risk of a fire spreading and also the gathering of firewood and tinder removes homes and hiding places for small wildlife. 

The next principle is to Respect Wildlife. Every time we see a photo of someone taking a selfie with a bison, we are reminded of how much people misunderstand wildlife. In general, if we are far enough away they may ignore us but if we get too close they may respond in self-defense and we (or they) may be hurt. Or our getting too close may disturb nesting, courtship, hunting, or other important activity. We should not only be aware of how we may affect wildlife, but also how our pets may do so. One reason our dogs should remain on-leash is to keep them from running ahead and investigating the nooks and crannies that small wildlife shelter in. 

“Admire me from a distance and please don’t take me home”

Finally there is Be Considerate of Others. People have different ways of enjoying a small preserve, and we can try to see to it that everyone has a good experience. Some of this involves little courtesies such as stepping a little off the trail to let people pass and minimizing noises (ear buds will let you listen to music without others having to do so). If dogs are allowed in small preserves, it is crucial to keep them on-leash and do not let them threaten other dogs or people.

When you think about it, all this follows pretty naturally when we visit a small preserve with respect for what it represents and gratitude for what it provides us. I hope if you visit one of our small, urban preserves, you will keep these principles in mind. That way, those living museums of natural history can continue to thrive.