I was at a professional meeting in January when someone asked this very interesting question: If you had one chance to show someone what you treasure about the Chesapeake watershed, where would you take them?
Here was my answer:
I’d take my kids out on a warm evening in early April, when the woods come alive with panoramic activity. Get your boots, kids. Tonight we will go exploring.
And as the sun began to make its descent, we’d drive off to find a great spot near a creek. Maybe a spot with wet, muddy areas full of frogs who are laying eggs. A spot where some salamanders might linger in the warm night air. A spot where we can shine a flash light and listen for owls once it turns dark, or hopefully be exposed to the deafening chorus that spring peepers like to make when they start mating.
That’s the part of the Chesapeake I treasure the most: the streams and their valleys.
Sure, I love the harbor fronts of Annapolis and Baltimore. I like eating crabs, and I could spend endless days exploring the Eastern Shore. But despite growing up in Maryland, I’ve never been sailing out there myself. Mostly I’ve only watched the boats cross under the Bay Bridge on my way to the beach.
I was a suburban kid, who grew up in a bland little housing development that bordered the woods and fields of the uplands. We were not a sailing family. Our piece of the watershed, the place where we first shook hands with the Bay, was up in the creeks.
Those little muddy waterways were the most interesting thing that rather generic, cookie-cutter housing development had to offer. I remember finding crayfish and hunting for cool rocks. I remember sledding down hill and falling in and laughing till I cried. I remember the sound of the water burbling. That was where I wanted to be all the time: at the creek which flowed behind my friends' houses.
There used to be a lot more spots like that around. It is hard now to find places to enjoy the creeks the way that I enjoyed them back then. Sadly, I also know just how bad the water quality in many of the most accessible creeks has become. The numbers on fecal contamination aren’t good, and there are more toxins in some creeks than I’d like to consider. (The water quality wasn’t even great when I was a kid. One of my earliest “environmental awareness moments” was being furious that someone had poured something mysterious and bright green… maybe antifreeze?... into our neighborhood creek one afternoon.)
But some sweet spots still do exist, and as the spring unfurls like a warm lovely banner you can get out there and be a part of it all. You go in winter-weary, and you come out having experienced the wonderment of warmth as it wakes up the earth. With any luck you are muddy, a bit cold and smiling. You are invigorated and strangely humbled.
There is no better time than April for this kind of adventure. Even if you haven’t ever explored this watershed’s woods ever before, I guarantee you will find something incredible.
I can’t wait to get out there, myself because I’m hoping that all of the snow we got this winter will add up to some great vernal pool activity this spring.
Vernal pools are those little pockets of water that pop up only in the spring time. They fill up with water and become temporary wildlife hotspots, but by mid summer they dry out and disappear. Because they are not permanent they do not contain fish, making them ideal breeding areas for several amazing kinds of amphibians. The frogs and toads lay eggs without fear of becoming a fish’s dinner.
Rock Creek and the Northwest Branch both have incredible pockets of biodiversity in and around their deeper stream valleys, farther away from urban encroachment. Look carefully as you hike and you can find some wonderful vernal pools to view during the soggy spring season. Peer over the edge of the water in those little pond-like areas and you just might see clumps of frog eggs or even tadpoles swimming around. You might find a salamander or two, as well. On a really lucky day you might also bump into a box turtle along the trail, or hear the flute like call of a migrating warbler making its way north.
If you have trouble locating vernal pool areas on your own, you can sign up for a walk with the MNCPPC naturalists who work at any one of the local nature centers. Some of their walks specifically feature vernal pool explorations. Farther south in DC, the National Park Service also offers a full spectrum of interesting hikes in the lower regions of the park. And even farther afield, the Jug Bay Wetlands Sanctuary in Lothian offers some incredible opportunities to learn about vernal pools and their residents this spring.
Many of the same areas of these parks that host vernal pools are also home to colorful native wildflowers. In April, you can find an amazing array of plants which are only here in spring. Known as ephemerals, these plants emerge quickly at the end of winter, bloom and sometimes set seed in the matter of just a few short weeks. Then they wither and disappear, going completely underground again until the next year. These include Spring Beauties, Virginia Bluebells, Trout Lilies and Mayapples.
Again, the same parks listed above offer ample opportunities to join naturalists for wildflower walks. The non-profit Audubon Naturalist Society in Chevy Chase also offers some fantastic walks, including a few that are led by Cris Fleming, the author of a well-loved local guidebook, Finding Wildflowers in the Washington-Baltimore Area.
(If you find that all of the naturalist-led field trips are full you can always buy Cris’ excellent book and head out on your own this spring. She really gives you detailed information and makes it easy.)
No matter whether you go out -- in the daytime or the evening, whether alone or with a naturalist -- please remember to respect the specialness of the vernal pools and wildflowers. That corny, old expression that has long been posted at park entrances still rings true: take only memories, leave only footprints. Don’t pick the flowers or harass the animals. Don’t try to take any home any frogs as science experiments or turtles as potential pets. All of those actions can cause real and lasting damage and ruin the park for everyone else --including the animals. And neither the animals or the wildflowers will give you any pleasure once they’ve died at your house.
Instead, consider yourself a guest at their posh woodland party and enjoy their insanely good music from a polite distance. That party only lasts for a few short weeks and is worth attending.
Here was my answer:
I’d take my kids out on a warm evening in early April, when the woods come alive with panoramic activity. Get your boots, kids. Tonight we will go exploring.
And as the sun began to make its descent, we’d drive off to find a great spot near a creek. Maybe a spot with wet, muddy areas full of frogs who are laying eggs. A spot where some salamanders might linger in the warm night air. A spot where we can shine a flash light and listen for owls once it turns dark, or hopefully be exposed to the deafening chorus that spring peepers like to make when they start mating.
That’s the part of the Chesapeake I treasure the most: the streams and their valleys.
Sure, I love the harbor fronts of Annapolis and Baltimore. I like eating crabs, and I could spend endless days exploring the Eastern Shore. But despite growing up in Maryland, I’ve never been sailing out there myself. Mostly I’ve only watched the boats cross under the Bay Bridge on my way to the beach.
I was a suburban kid, who grew up in a bland little housing development that bordered the woods and fields of the uplands. We were not a sailing family. Our piece of the watershed, the place where we first shook hands with the Bay, was up in the creeks.
Those little muddy waterways were the most interesting thing that rather generic, cookie-cutter housing development had to offer. I remember finding crayfish and hunting for cool rocks. I remember sledding down hill and falling in and laughing till I cried. I remember the sound of the water burbling. That was where I wanted to be all the time: at the creek which flowed behind my friends' houses.
There used to be a lot more spots like that around. It is hard now to find places to enjoy the creeks the way that I enjoyed them back then. Sadly, I also know just how bad the water quality in many of the most accessible creeks has become. The numbers on fecal contamination aren’t good, and there are more toxins in some creeks than I’d like to consider. (The water quality wasn’t even great when I was a kid. One of my earliest “environmental awareness moments” was being furious that someone had poured something mysterious and bright green… maybe antifreeze?... into our neighborhood creek one afternoon.)
But some sweet spots still do exist, and as the spring unfurls like a warm lovely banner you can get out there and be a part of it all. You go in winter-weary, and you come out having experienced the wonderment of warmth as it wakes up the earth. With any luck you are muddy, a bit cold and smiling. You are invigorated and strangely humbled.
There is no better time than April for this kind of adventure. Even if you haven’t ever explored this watershed’s woods ever before, I guarantee you will find something incredible.
I can’t wait to get out there, myself because I’m hoping that all of the snow we got this winter will add up to some great vernal pool activity this spring.
Vernal pools are those little pockets of water that pop up only in the spring time. They fill up with water and become temporary wildlife hotspots, but by mid summer they dry out and disappear. Because they are not permanent they do not contain fish, making them ideal breeding areas for several amazing kinds of amphibians. The frogs and toads lay eggs without fear of becoming a fish’s dinner.
Rock Creek and the Northwest Branch both have incredible pockets of biodiversity in and around their deeper stream valleys, farther away from urban encroachment. Look carefully as you hike and you can find some wonderful vernal pools to view during the soggy spring season. Peer over the edge of the water in those little pond-like areas and you just might see clumps of frog eggs or even tadpoles swimming around. You might find a salamander or two, as well. On a really lucky day you might also bump into a box turtle along the trail, or hear the flute like call of a migrating warbler making its way north.
If you have trouble locating vernal pool areas on your own, you can sign up for a walk with the MNCPPC naturalists who work at any one of the local nature centers. Some of their walks specifically feature vernal pool explorations. Farther south in DC, the National Park Service also offers a full spectrum of interesting hikes in the lower regions of the park. And even farther afield, the Jug Bay Wetlands Sanctuary in Lothian offers some incredible opportunities to learn about vernal pools and their residents this spring.
Many of the same areas of these parks that host vernal pools are also home to colorful native wildflowers. In April, you can find an amazing array of plants which are only here in spring. Known as ephemerals, these plants emerge quickly at the end of winter, bloom and sometimes set seed in the matter of just a few short weeks. Then they wither and disappear, going completely underground again until the next year. These include Spring Beauties, Virginia Bluebells, Trout Lilies and Mayapples.
Again, the same parks listed above offer ample opportunities to join naturalists for wildflower walks. The non-profit Audubon Naturalist Society in Chevy Chase also offers some fantastic walks, including a few that are led by Cris Fleming, the author of a well-loved local guidebook, Finding Wildflowers in the Washington-Baltimore Area.
(If you find that all of the naturalist-led field trips are full you can always buy Cris’ excellent book and head out on your own this spring. She really gives you detailed information and makes it easy.)
No matter whether you go out -- in the daytime or the evening, whether alone or with a naturalist -- please remember to respect the specialness of the vernal pools and wildflowers. That corny, old expression that has long been posted at park entrances still rings true: take only memories, leave only footprints. Don’t pick the flowers or harass the animals. Don’t try to take any home any frogs as science experiments or turtles as potential pets. All of those actions can cause real and lasting damage and ruin the park for everyone else --including the animals. And neither the animals or the wildflowers will give you any pleasure once they’ve died at your house.
Instead, consider yourself a guest at their posh woodland party and enjoy their insanely good music from a polite distance. That party only lasts for a few short weeks and is worth attending.
(This posting originally appeared in the April 2010 edition of the Voice newspapers, which prints my column entitled "The Sligo Naturalist" each month.)
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