A Misty Sunrise at Lake Appert

Sunrise? What’s that?

This morning, I was determined to use the sunrise hours for other than coffee and crossword puzzle. I hit the road and arrived at the Celery Farm at six. I waded through a herd (too cow-like to call it a flock) of Canada Geese, repeating “excuse me, boys; excuse me ladies” and receiving grunts in return. I climbed Warden’s Watch, greeted the just-risen Sun, and enjoyed an hour of solitude, ever-changing sight and sound and a time in God’s Word.

Romans Chapter 8 exhorted me to not be lulled by the beauty of the sunrise, reminding me that God’s perfect creation is full of beauty, yet it is marred and under the corruption of sin—but that redemption is near.

“For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us. For the earnest expectation of the creation eagerly waits for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of Him who subjected it in hope; because the creation itself also will be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation groans and labors with birth pangs together until now. Not only that, but we also who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, eagerly waiting for the adoption, the redemption of our body.” (Romans 8:18-23 NKJV) When reading Romans 8 it’s difficult to read just a portion. So read the the the whole thing for yourself, even if you are not enjoying a Lake Appert sunrise.

Now to the coffee and crossword. One across, "small branch". Ah, a sprig. Now I’ll take a swig—of java.

A Splash of Color

Cabbage Whites are delicate gems, as are all butterflies, and are beautifully engineered and adapted to their food species and for slurping nectar from a variety of flowers. The one thing the CW lacks, however, is vibrant color. But the day after the spectacular CW light show brought that splash of color in the form of a perfect specimen of the Red Admiral.

The Red Admiral is not an officer in the Russian Navy as its name may suggest; it is one of the more common butterflies in our area and one of the few that I can identify without frantically thumbing through a field guide.

The National Audubon Society Field Guide to the Butterflies has a couple of interesting statements about Vanessa atalanta:

“Unmistakable and unforgettable, the Red Admiral will alight on a person’s shoulder day after day in a garden.” I must say that this particular specimen had no intention of doing that. It rested first on bare ground and then on the leaf where I photographed it, with some difficulty because it was several feet away and unapproachable because of the intervening poison ivy.

“In midsummer it is not unusual to see them chasing each other or Painted Ladies just before a thunderstorm or at dusk.” This one was a loner. Maybe that statement would apply to a Russian naval officer, but this insect just sat a spell and all too quickly flew out of sight into a nearby thicket. (Just in case you wondered, the Painted Lady is another butterfly, closely related to the Red Admiral.)

Anyway, the color splash provided by this lovely Lepidopteran made me quickly change lenses and still fail to get a perfect shot. It only gave me a few seconds of shooting time before it decided to leave.

Maybe there will be more butterfly photography opportunities as the summer progresses.

Prayer for patience is a constant requirement, both in photography and blogging.

Of Cabbages and...Cabbage Whites

In a recent post, fellow blogger Jim W. reminded us that even though the Cabbage White butterfly is so common a sight that we usually don’t give it a second thought or look, it is yet a marvelous creature. (Give the pictures a click.)

This morning, as I once again made tracks to the milkweed patch, I was given a special visual treat. Not far from the milkweeds is a large stand of another fascinating plant, the Indian Hemp, a relative of the dogbanes. This morning, that stand was alive with scores—perhaps hundreds—of Cabbage Whites, fluttering from flower to flower and plant to plant, producing a spectacular glittering light show. These butterflies may be common, but this morning they put on a decidedly uncommon display.

Other than being common, what else is there to know about Cabbage Whites? First, they’re not native. They were stowaways on freighters from Europe in the 1860s, landing in Quebec. From there they have become ubiquitous throughout North America—everywhere except the extremely cold north.

Second, as their name suggests, they—that is their larvae—eat cabbage leaves, as well as the leaves of most other members of the cabbage family, that is, the Crucifers (or Brassicas.) That means they are not popular with farmers and gardeners who try to grow those plants for fun and profit.

That’s the way it is with aliens, as we mentioned before in our post on Garlic Mustard. A species introduced into a new area devoid of its natural enemies will exploit the situation and grow out of control, to the detriment of native species and the environment in general. It happens every time. Just look at the Celery Farm Natural Area. As you walk along its paths you will see mostly aliens, at least at the understory level—Japanese Knotweed, Japanese Barberry, Tartarian and Japanese Honeysuckles, Multiflora Rose—and of course, the infamous Garlic Mustard. Not that some of those species aren’t attractive and even beneficial as wildlife food and shelter, but they have certainly crowded out or done other nasty things to many of our native plants.

One success story in battling the invaders has been the introduction of tiny Gallerucella beetles to munch on the leaves of Purple Loosestrife. That biological control has virtually saved the Celery Farm from ecological disaster.

Now let’s see. Garlic Mustard is a member of the same family as cabbage. So why aren’t those Cabbage White caterpillars munching on their leaves? Could it be chemical warfare? More research needed.

In the meantime, let’s at least enjoy the magnificence of insect engineering and beauty—and even a light show like the one I witnessed—as examples of God’s creative handiwork and His power in sustaining His fallen, sin-cursed cosmos. After all, at least in the setting of the Celery Farm, the fluttering Cabbage Whites and their leaf-munching larvae are one of our lesser concerns. (Unless someone more expert in the field knows better—let me know.)

The Magnificent Milkweed

Is that an oxymoronic title? I think not. Ascleplias syriaca has an undeserved common name—the Common Milkweed is uncommon in many respects and certainly is not weedy in stature. And after taking a close look at a few of this plant’s intricate structural adaptations, I have to say the adjective “magnificent” is not an overstatement.

That bit of purple prose comes after another trip to the Celery Farm to chronicle the milkweed flowering and fruiting cycle. Right now, the Phair’s Pond milkweed patch is in its flowering prime. The globular floral umbels are doing what they are designed to do—attracting pollinators and ensuring the transfer of unique pollen packets from male to female floral parts.

The pollinators are mainly honeybees. That is comforting to see, what with all the stories going around about mysterious colony collapse and empty beehives. The bees buzzing around the milkweed patch seem active and healthy—active enough that successful photography was a challenge for this amateur. I’ll share some of my less than spectacular results in future posts.

What is it about the Common Milkweed that excites me every time I visit the patch? In a word—everything! A few future posts will be devoted to some specifics about the structure, functions, biochemistry and symbiotic relationships that make this plant so special. Meanwhile, spend some time staring at the unique and intelligently designed flower structure—and the downright beauty you can see in the photograph. (Click on it to enlarge it.)

Cute and Cuddly

In the last post, I wasn’t kind to the snapping turtle for its non-cute and cuddly attributes. So this time, let’s go for the C&C Cottontail Rabbit. (Click on the picture to fully appreciate this guy.)

In my frequent trips to the Celery Farm Natural Area, usually in search of weeds and bugs to photograph, this guy or one of his buddies nearly always greets me somewhere along the meadow or pond trail. Usually, I have the wrong lens on my camera—a macro lens suited for flower and bug photography. But today, I had switched to a big howitzer, because one of the flowers to be photographed was about ten feet into a poison ivy patch.

On my hike back to the car, the “Meadow Supervisor,” as I call him, confronted me on the path and posed without even a nose twitch for a few portraits.

The cottontail is everything the snapper isn’t—furry instead of scaly, land-loving instead of aquatic (except for laying eggs), herbivorous instead of carnivorous (mostly), and cute instead of, well, handsome, in a reptilian sort of way.

The main occupation of cottontails (besides greeting visitors) is grazing on almost any plants they find tasty—all day long. It’s a relaxed sort of existence except for watching out for predators, of which there are many candidates in the Celery Farm—hawks, fox, coyotes (?). The snappers, meanwhile, are cruising the pond, snapping up fish, ducklings and most anything that moves.

A surprising finding, however, is that a stomach content analysis of snapping turtles reveals up to fifty percent plant material, a reminder that before the sad events of Genesis 3, everybody ate plant material exclusively. Predation was not a factor and there was no scavenging because there were no dead things to scavenge. It wasn’t until after the Flood that God permitted people to eat meat (Gen 9:3), probably because the Curse and subsequent degradation of soil and plant nutritional content would have made an exclusively vegetarian diet increasingly insufficient.

How we got from bunnies to Biblical truth may have been confusing—but that’s what we do here (both heading for Biblical truth and trying to confuse :-)

If you don’t understand Genesis 3, you don’t really understand anything.

Crossing Paths with Snappers

Snapping turtles are not cute and cuddly—that goes without saying. The photo proves the point. (Click on the photo to enlarge it.) This one, photographed at a safe? distance (about 3 feet), raised up her hind quarters and snapped her jaws, a sign that she was not pleased at being approached. After all, she was about the business of finding a suitable spot to dig a hole in which to deposit a clutch of eggs. It’s that time of year. In fact, at the Celery Farm Natural Area there were scores of turtles seen along the paths and in nearby yards doing their reproductive duty—laying enough eggs to at least maintain the population status quo, if not to increase it.

This means laying lots of eggs, because there are lots of egg-loving critters around to dig them up for breakfast the morning after they are laid. Raccoons and skunks are particularly partial to Egg McSnapper when in season.

Of course, those of naturalistic mind-set would say that this is all part of nature’s way of maintaining its balance. And we would agree. An overpopulation of snapping turtles devouring ducklings and biting the feet off of adult swimming birds would certainly throw ecosystems out of balance. (We would rather not think too long about what we do to hens—stealing their eggs every morning so they will keep laying more until they wear themselves out and are shipped off for “other purposes”).

Naturally (or super-naturally) we, in this blog, try to think beyond the naturalistic, materialistic worldview and ask the question, “is this really natural?” The answer is, "of course it is—in the post-Genesis 3, fallen, sin-cursed, Romans 8:22 cosmos". And we have to live with that fact until Romans 8:21 is fulfilled. But it was not that way “in the beginning”, before the tragic event recorded in Genesis 3 and its life-and biosphere-changing consequences.

That should be enough scripture to look up and provide much food for thought, over a delicious Egg McMuffin breakfast. Have a good day.

A Fascinating Shrub

I don’t know what it is about the Highbush Cranberry (Viburnum trilobum) that captures my attention in a special way. Probably it has to do with the maple-like leaf form. It looks like a maple, yet it’s not a maple—what maple would produce flowers like these? And it is the floral inflorescences that are the most fascinating feature of this shrub. A crown of large florets surrounds a disk of much smaller ones (shown here before the buds have opened), producing a unique doily-like effect. (Click on the picture to enlarge it.)

What kind of DNA programming or developmental hormone distribution must be involved to produce two differently sized flowers in the same arrangement? Plant development is a mind-boggling concept to begin with, and this example has me once again praising the Creator and His seemingly infinite bag of design tricks.

By the way, the Highbush Cranberry is not a cranberry--Ocean Spray would not give it a second look. It does produce red berries, which I suppose reminded someone of the boggy plant. Such is the confusion caused by common names. That's why the contribution of the man whose 3ooth birthday we celebrate tomorrow is so important. That's right, it's the birthday of Carolus Linnaeus, the father of our system of classification and binomial nomenclature--who was a fine Christian and creationist.

Aliens

Ecology is a fascinating area of biology, especially in the sin-cursed biosphere (the only one we have ever known). Plants and animals--as well as members of the other kingdoms--get adapted to a particular environment and establish relationships with all the species with which they live, for better or worse. Then someone imports a species from another region, or even another continent, and lets it escape--and a whole ecosystem gets thrown out of whack.

Such is the case with the pictured species, Alliaria petiolata, the infamous Garlic Mustard. Imported from Europe in the 19th century as a culinary and medicinal herb, it escaped (as most imported species seem to do) and has spread across at least two-thirds of the US. It looks harmless enough, but its secret weapons are deadly, not to humans, but to the plant life around it. It crowds out native species, especially the spring woodland wildflowers--and that is only the visible effect of this very prolific invader. Its more insidious attack takes place underground, where its roots exude chemicals that have a deadly effect on a group of organisms we seldom hear of but which are vital to a host of forest tree species. The victims are the mycorrhizal fungi, which form symbiotic relationships with the roots of trees and are essential for their nutrition. So it's not just the pretty spring flowers that suffer, but grown forest trees like oaks and maples.

In other words, Garlic Mustard, once it gets established, can seriously alter and damage an entire forest ecosystem. And once it is established, it is nearly impossible to eradicate. It grows fast, flowers fast, produces seeds fast--and those seeds can remain viable in the ground for up to five years.

Of course, there has to be a theological lesson in there somewhere--Bioman seldom let's you get by without connecting biology with more important things. In this case, I can easily make an analogy of our invasive alien plant to the insidiousness of sin. Unless it is stamped out early and completely, it can infect every area of our lives, both visible and secret. And the result can be disastrous.

Thank God every day that He has provided a way of escape--a wonderful Savior, who came to save His people from their sins (Matt. 1:21).

Genesis 3 in Action--Even in Swans

As I glanced over last year's posts (when I was a much more active blogger) I reflected on the last item and its prophetic nature. The Genesis 3 predictions unfortunately were fulfilled. By early July, when this picture was taken, only three of the original cygnets remained. This guy seems to be asking why life is so tough. And it got tougher. A few weeks later, the swan family wandered across the street and got trapped in a concrete pool and had to be rescued. The male flew off to a neghboring town, leaving the female to care for her diminishing brood. By the end of the summer, only one cygnet was left. All others had been victims of snapping turtles or disease.

So you see, it is a rough world out there, all the result of sin and the Curse. Indeed, the tragic experience of the swan family was merely a small example of the effects of sin in God's created world. Even His innocent wild creatures suffer because of Man's sin.

"For we know that the whole creation groans and suffers the pains of childbirth together until now." (Romans 8:22 NASB)

By the way, no swans nested at the Celery Farm this year. A pair visited early in the season but (wisely) decided not to stay. This was fortunate, because the "flood of the century" would surely have overwhelmed even the most secure nest they could have built.

Bloggeration CPR

Almost a year…

Let’s face it, when I go into a blogging slump, I really go all the way. Just a week shy of a year of blog passivity is next thing to a near death experience. So let’s make an attempt at CPR.

Looking back at the past two years of posts, I see that the subject matter has ranged from New Jersey bears to Intelligent Design debates to musings about PETA to thoughts about Darwinism and Darwin the man—some serious stuff, some just fun.

Now I can’t promise that this entry will be a sign of revival—it may be a last gasp. Time will tell.