Hubbard Fellowship Blog: A Few Steps More for Foxtail Dalea

South channel of the Platte River, facing west.

South channel of the Platte River, facing west.

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A guest post by Anne Stine, one of our Hubbard Fellows.  All photos are by Anne.

The birds are flocking up and the cottonwoods are yellow on the Platte River Prairies, so our seed harvest days are officially over.  Last week, I was scrambling to gather some seeds that I’d wanted a smidgen of before the wind scatters them and we miss out for the year.  Foxtail prairie clover (Dalea leporina) was number one on my list. Strangely enough, the only property where you can reliably find foxtail clover this year is a first year prairie planting that is fairly unimpressive looking in all other respects.

Hidden in the dead ragweed, sweet clover, and buffalo bur you can find some ‘good’ plants.  Dalea leporina is just one example.  As you can see in the picture below, despite the tangle of ‘ick’, there’s still bundleflower and maximillian sunflower. Chris often says that, on our properties, annual weeds are not really a problem. They pass. More desirable plants are often just hanging out in the understory.

A fairly unimpressive prairie.

A fairly unimpressive prairie.

Another thing Chris often mentions when we’re assessing sites dominated by annual weeds is that they make good quail habitat.  The mixture of dense cover and open runways protect the baby quail but allow them to move through the patch. I was not musing on the benefits of thick weeds as I thrashed through until I flushed a fat covey of mourning doves. They were probably drawn by the thick cover and forage.  Rocky mountain bee plant, which I’ve previously written about as a major boon to pollinators, was common on the site.  This annual produces abundant seeds that are much loved by mourning doves.

Good for baby quail?

Good for baby quail?

I’d only found one foxtail dalea plant in the tangled mess and I was so cold I was having trouble keeping snot out of my seed bucket, so I was ready to call it and head back.  The very next moment I noticed steaming fresh deer scat in the center of a visible deer trail.  I decided to follow the trail for a bit, hoping to catch up with the deer.  Sneaking up on deer is quality entertainment when you live on the prairie. I’d only gone a few steps when I found a large patch of the plant I’d been seeking. I don’t know if there’s a lesson here (other than “Anne can justify following her bliss” or “when you want to give up go a few steps more”), but it was nice to end the morning with a full bucket.

For more on foxtail dalea, you can read an earlier post by Chris.

South channel of the Platte, facing east.

South channel of the Platte, facing east.

Hubbard Fellowship Blog: Moo-Muration

A guest post by Eliza Perry, one of our Hubbard Fellows.  All photos are by Eliza.

Giant black clouds of birds have been erupting from cottonwoods everywhere I go the past few days.

An overhead murmuration.

A huge overhead flock (called a murmuration when the birds are starlings).

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Another one.

Another one.

Last one.

Last one.

As Anne recently shared, the cows have been taken away from our prairies for the winter and, somewhat surprisingly, their absence has really been felt around here. They were quiet company, but extremely entertaining at times, creeping toward me while I picked seeds until I lurched suddenly just to watch them bolt in the other direction. Before long, they’d crept back even closer to me, and we went on like this for many hours.

I have a quick story to share that I captured driving around on the last afternoon the cows were here, though the story is as much about birds as our dear
cows. I  saw a large flock of birds along a fenceline and pulled over to the side of the road to get a better look at them. The cow-bird interaction I witnessed was, or seemed to be, quite playful. And funny.

Brown-headed cowbirds resting peacefully on a calm afternoon...

Brown-headed cowbirds resting peacefully on a calm afternoon…

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As if on a mischievious (or vengeful?) whim, the neighboring cows rushed at them.

As if on a mischievous (or vengeful?) whim, the neighboring cows rushed at them.

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So they lifted into the air in perfect unity, an effortless coordination that is said to resemble magnetism by statistical physicists studying similar behavior by European starlings.

The birds lifted into the air in perfect unity, an effortless coordination that is said to resemble magnetism by statistical physicists studying similar behavior by European starlings.

Reluctant to give up their spot entirely, the flock settled down again close by.

Reluctant to give up their spot entirely, the cowbird flock settled down again close by.

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That is, until a lone calf honest-to-goodness peeled away from the group and charged the fence, seemingly aiming right for the birds. Although I’m sure there was some other unseen reason for his behavior, I like to think this calf was putting on a show.

That is, until a lone calf honest-to-goodness peeled away from the group and charged the fence, seemingly aiming right for the birds. Maybe there was another reason for his behavior, but I like to think this calf was putting on a show.

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But that was apparently the last straw for the birds and they flew away toward the river.

That was apparently the last straw for the birds, and they flew away toward the river.

I know starlings are invasive, outcompeting other species like bluebirds and woodpeckers, and cowbirds have a nesting parasitism habit, but the huge flocks these creatures form are a wondrous sight. I was picking rosinweed one morning when things were going any way but mine (I thought I broke two backpack sprayers in a span of two hours), and a gigantic murmuration passed right over me for about ten minutes, with no end in sight. Just a long, chirping highway. This event, along with my renewed awareness of the quiet, scenic solitude where I work, lifted my spirits and ended my morning funk.

The prairie has a knack for doing that to me – and I imagine it does so for everyone else reading this – so I think I’ll be all right without my cow companions.