Coyote at Big Marsh Park on southeast side of Chicago
Note its awareness of my presence; it turned to look back several times. Zoomed way in with iPhone 14 Pro, so not sharp.
Note its awareness of my presence; it turned to look back several times. Zoomed way in with iPhone 14 Pro, so not sharp.
Ever since I learned about slime molds at school (elementary? junior high?) and my class went searching for them, I’ve wanted to learn more about and observe them in their different forms. I don’t have much opportunity to see them, and I don’t remember where to look or what to look for. This presentation solved that. Unfortunately, I was distracted from most of it by expected phone calls from the maintenance technician I’d called earlier to fix a plumbing problem, but I got the gist. The best part, however, was getting outside, crossing the stream that runs through Sagawau Canyon, and along with the group looking for and finding slime mold fruiting bodies. I managed to take a non-blurry photo of only one, however.
Afterward, we took the pleasant drive down hilly Wolf Road toward Pulaski and Wolf Road Woods, where a coyote crossed the road in front of us at the top of one of the hills (the first?). I didn’t get a photo and put the phone down. A second one crossed of course. No photo of that one either, nor of the one J spotted before I saw what I thought was the first crossing. It’s always a little magical seeing coyotes. Even without photographic evidence/proof.
(The bathroom sign is from Ashbary Coffee House.)
Starting in 2011 with Ryerson Woods Dam, many of the low dams along the upper Des Plaines River have been removed. They hinder a healthy ecosystem, endanger kayakers, and don’t serve a purpose. There’s more on these dam removals here.
A bigger project has been happening on the Klamath in the Pacific Northwest, where much larger dams have been removed. It appears that chinook salmon are returning.
Enjoy the peaceful tinkling sounds of the flowing river.
This year I was vigilant or lucky enough to reserve places on a convenient dte for saw-whet owl banding at the Indiana Dunes Visitor Center, part of Project Owlnet. The weekend spots sometimes go quickly. Who doesn’t want to spend their Saturday night watching saw-whet owls get measured, weighed, and banded before taking flight while wondering, “What was that all about?”
First, though, there was Casper, the ambassador barn owl from Humane Indiana Wildlife. She reminded me how much I miss handling birds of prey, especially barn owl Alba.
After that, there was a wait — it felt like at least 45 minutes. I thought I felt the buzz of an owl being delivered. Until then, I’d been worried this might be a wasted trip. Nope. I lost track, but I’d guess we saw at least five saw-whet owls. This particular set seemed more expressive than some in the past. I think all of them clicked their displeasure or indignation to the handlers.
The last owl, however, didn’t fly off immediately when offered freedom from atop a participant’s arm. It perched for several minutes, so long I began to wonder if it would ever leave. At last, it flew toward the woods, accompanied by the usual “ooohs” from the awestruck participants.
In the middle of the program, J told me there was an owl in a tree. So there was, visible in the harsh lights of the parking lot. I don’t know if it was one of the newly banded owls or one that had escaped being caught in the clutches of the mist nets. It attracted its own fan club, several of them with long lenses.
What started out as a slow night for owl banding turned into a successful one. If only I were six inches taller so I could see better (and get better photos and videos).
Fueled by an excellent buffet breakfast in the Fireside Room, we built a campfire at one of the communal fire pits. While I was tending the fire, one of the employees driving by toward the cabins stopped and asked if I’d heard any noise from the neighboring cabin. I hadn’t; I’d slept as soundly as I can anymore. He told me the people next door had damaged the screen and inner doors as well as the rustic towel rack.
I followed him over to check out the doors. It had taken a fair amount of force not only to rip off struts from the screen door, but to tear off the strip from the edge of the main door. I didn’t see the towel rack. It’s just as well as I was as enraged as the maintenance man about what they’d done to “this 100-year-old historic building” (not quite 100, but close enough). I left him to repair what he could. I hope they were able to get something out of those “guests.”
I had no plans for today other than a visit to Castle Rock State Park and checking out some artwork I found via either Atlas Obscura or Roadside America. First we visited an overlook (wetland area?) I think is part of Castle Rock State Park, followed by the primary area of the park (although this time I was unable to walk up the stairs to the overlook, alas). We also checked out some higher ground across the road from the river that is also part of the park. While driving around, at some point we spotted a turkey vulture flying up into a tree. I hope we weren’t being followed.
Afterward we drove toward Oregon, where we found a low dam, also on the Rock River. Then it was on to the Black Hawk statue, which is (1) in Lowden State Park, also on the list to visit, so two birds, one stone, and (2) a creation of Lorado Taft, the sculptor behind Hyde Park’s “Fountain of Time,” into which he snuck his own likeness. This statue wasn’t intended to be Black Hawk, but the name has stuck.
The final planned stop was to see a smaller statue of a man with a fish on his head. It’s at Kiwanis Park, which we’d passed on the way to Lowden State Park, both on the Rock River.
On the way back to Chicago, we passed wind turbines — many wind turbines. I wonder if they’re the source of my electricity?
Other than hearing the name a few times, I didn’t know anything about Rock Cut State Park. Now I know why it’s called Rock Cut:
The Illinois version of Harlem was moved in 1859 when the Kenosha-Rockford Rail Line was built. The dammed waters of Pierce Lake now cover much of the railroad bed within the park, although portions of the railroad grade are visible along Willow Creek below the spillway. But blasting operations in a rock outcrop that railroad crews conducted during the 1859 construction left lasting impressions here – they cut through rock to provide a suitable roadbed and gave Rock Cut its name.
It matches Rockford, another literal name: location of a ford through Rock River.
I’m not sure I saw where the rock was cut, but here’s what I did see:
The latter came in a stream to Pierce Lake, although I didn’t see what the emergency was. J heard someone had reported an overturned kayak. Whatever happened, I saw a lot of vehicles and many first responders looking around. If there was a rescue, though, I missed it.
I spent most of my time at Rock Cut on the deck behind the concessions. I ordered a horseshoe, which I’d never heard of before. It’s an Illinois thing, I found out.
The horseshoe is an open-faced sandwich originating in Springfield, Illinois, United States. It consists of thick-sliced toasted bread (often Texas toast), a hamburger patty or other choice of meat, French fries, and cheese sauce. While hamburger has become the most common meat on a horseshoe, the original meat was ham.
From Visit Springfield:
The Signature Horseshoe Sandwich was created in 1928 at the Old Leland Hotel by Joe Schweska. The idea came about with the help of Elizabeth, Chef Schweska’s wife, after he came home saying he was in need of a new lunch item for the Leland Hotel. The name “horseshoe” was derived from the shape of the cut of ham used in the original sandwich. The French fries represent the nails of the shoe, and the sizzle platter represents the hot anvil. It wasn’t until the 1939 Christmas Edition of the State Journal Register that Chef Schweska finally revealed the secret recipe.
It was a gorgeous day to sit by a lake and see conifers and wild turkeys. After a farewell drive around, it was time to leave, alas.
First on the weekend agenda — a bonfire at Camp Shabbona Woods. The last bonfire J and I had been to there was on December 16, 2023, when the Forest Preserve folks had managed to keep both campfire and bonfire going despite a steady and sometimes hard rain.
This time the weather was nearly ideal, and more people showed up. There’s nothing like hot dogs and s’mores over a campfire while nearby it looks like the gates of hell are opening.
As evening closed in, J went on a short group hike. While he was gone I spotted some flying creatures I was sure were bats. When the group returned, they also reported seeing bats. Fires, hot dogs, s’mores, and bats. What more could I ask for?
After a cookout at the Chellberg Farm picnic shelters, J and I headed over to the farmhouse to hear Save the Tunes. I always love a late afternoon walk through these woods with the sun glowing through the leaves and onto the path, and the mostly dry creek bed to the side.
And on that note, so ends a summer weekend.
There’d been a storm that had knocked out all the panels in the fence that separates the garden area of the Flamingo from the back area of the Park Shore. I’d taken advantage to walk over to look, and found out the Park Shore has quite a lovely backyard. Either I didn’t have my phone or hadn’t thought to take a photo. By the next morning, the panels had been restored. I managed to get an awkwardly framed photo through the gap between the fence and the framework. I love the circular bench and the fountain. It looks like a peaceful oasis. I wonder if it gets less noise than we do, with the building shielding it from the street. Less noise is good.
Today, the plan was to go to Sagawau Environmental Learning Center to see hummingbirds. I couldn’t get any good photos of them, so I started looking at the pollinators visiting the flowers — from bald-faced hornets to sweat bees. There may even have been a fritillary, but if so I missed getting a photo. I love fritillaries. They’re flashy.
Sagawau closes at 4 p.m., so stopped at Saganashkee Slough, which is vaguely reminiscent of a Minnesota lake, and Joe’s Pond, which once had a pair of trumpeter swans. Then we visited Little Red Schoolhouse Nature Center, where they’ve installed a signpost with distances. It even includes Niagara Falls (560 miles) and the Boundary Waters (also 560 miles). Now I want to go to both. After a stop at Maple Lake, it was time for Ashbary Coffee House and then dinner at Capri Lounge & Grill. Mmmm.