If you are quiet and stand still long enough to listen, you may even notice a few extra special things.
Havenwoods State Forest is located on the north side of the big city of Milwaukee, Wisconsin. It's 237 acres of grasslands, forests, and wetlands are "open" 6 AM to 8 PM to all visitors looking to escape from the rat race that is the largest urban city in Wisconsin. I personally discovered its vast avian diversity in 2007, during an afternoon, post workday reconnoiter. Deciding that it would become one of my favorite local haunts, I have visited many more times since, with my favorites on lazy Saturday mornings.
My latest sojourn had me suited up in my usual geeky birding garb and on the traffic bond gravel pathway, at 8:30 AM. Bushnells firmly strapped crisscross style, I inhaled deeply, pulling in the State Forest air. I wondered how many other fellow Milwaukeans knew of this special place. In the distance, a sole figure dressed in a gray tee shirt was laboring towards me. Continuing southward, sca
nning the shorter vegetation on the sides of the path, I noticed small birds flying in and out of the greenery. American Goldfinches by the dozens darted to and fro, males flashing their characteristic bright yellow and black color while their duller "better halves" did their best not to be outclassed.
nning the shorter vegetation on the sides of the path, I noticed small birds flying in and out of the greenery. American Goldfinches by the dozens darted to and fro, males flashing their characteristic bright yellow and black color while their duller "better halves" did their best not to be outclassed.The jogger was close enough now to read the writing on his chest. "ARMY" was plainly visible in large black letters as the crew cut coiffured man who wore it, passed by with a gracious, "Good Morning." This impressed me and I responded with my own greeting. I recalled that the Army's 84th Reserve base was nestled just to the south and against the land I was currently birding. Earlier in the spring as the unit readied themselves for a 4th of July appearance, I had heard a pretty fair rendition of the famous Sousa "Washington Post March" emanating from the parade grounds, as I searched for Eastern Meadowlarks. Deciding that there is nothing like hearing a good march while walking through a forest, my chest swelled with good old American pride. Now, seeing this guy and the 10 other committed individuals that trailed along behind him, revived that emotion once again. I was proud and glad that there were people who were willing to sacrifice their all for the rest of us.
Trees filled with Cedar Waxwings offered an opportunity to watch some serious bug-catching action as I stood on the edge of a field. Off in the distance, the clatter of a Belted Kingfisher sitting on a small rusty signpost on the edge of one of the water features, caught my eye. A juvenile Pied-billed Grebe floated and dove deep after
some underwater breakfast. Standing still and silent near the 1911 concrete train bridge, looking at a young family of Indigo Buntings in a shrub, I felt something on my leg. I don't startle easily, and I'm glad I didn't reflexively swat the nuisance. I looked down at my hitchhiker friend and saw it was a walking stick insect. I hadn't seen one for many years and smiled at the tenacity of this one, as it climbed and climbed upward. Placing it gently back among the detritus it was expertly mimicking, I walked onward noticing the many native Compass Plants and purple cone flowers. Gazillions of grasshoppers and small black crickets sitting on the gravel flew like popcorn, parting my wake for the safety of the tall grass, while puffy clouds drifted overhead like wads of mozzarella floating in a bowl of french onion soup.
I smiled, counted my blessings and went on looking for birds.
some underwater breakfast. Standing still and silent near the 1911 concrete train bridge, looking at a young family of Indigo Buntings in a shrub, I felt something on my leg. I don't startle easily, and I'm glad I didn't reflexively swat the nuisance. I looked down at my hitchhiker friend and saw it was a walking stick insect. I hadn't seen one for many years and smiled at the tenacity of this one, as it climbed and climbed upward. Placing it gently back among the detritus it was expertly mimicking, I walked onward noticing the many native Compass Plants and purple cone flowers. Gazillions of grasshoppers and small black crickets sitting on the gravel flew like popcorn, parting my wake for the safety of the tall grass, while puffy clouds drifted overhead like wads of mozzarella floating in a bowl of french onion soup. I smiled, counted my blessings and went on looking for birds.
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