Bluebirds

August 29. The Eastern bluebirds have started their migration south. It's an annual event that I look forward to here in east central Minnesota. Bluebirds don't migrate in large flocks as some birds do. They seem to prefer traveling in groups of about 30. Their migration is spread out over several weeks, with groups arriving and leaving constantly. Amazingly this entire southbound movement seems to organize and pace itself like a parade. I have never been aware of hosting two groups at the same time.

One might ask how I know that I'm seeing migration and not just the same group hanging around. I have no scientific proof that the birds are migrating, just educated guesses and inferences. On numerous occasions I have noted the birds arriving from the north. They fly across the acre of prairie to the south of the house and alight in the staghorn sumac and pagoda dogwoods that border the line of trees at the end of the property. They flit back and forth and seem to be finding food in the shrubs. They appear to be energized, reminding me of a group of youngsters gathered together just before some exciting activity. Some pairs chase one another around aerial twists and turns. Some may visit the birdbath. Some land on the roof of the house and then dive down into the vegetable garden or the prairie grasses.

But in an hour or two the group is ready to move on. And this is where the second inference comes in. I have got in the car and followed them.They don't make great soaring flights. They just move on a short distance to the next stand of trees and shrubs.  I've followed them as they travel directly south on 112th Street for about a mile. Then they have another little party. And when I've driven further down 112th Street I've encountered other bluebird coteries, all presumably following the same route.

Three years ago I put up a bluebird house and each summer I have had at least one brood of bluebirds. This year there were two broods, perhaps three. Since the youngsters hang around one soon loses track of who's who. It's such a pleasure to see the spiky speckled young ones stationed on our deck while the parents are out on their never-ending search for food. Eventually the young ones follow the parents on their foraging missions, but parents and juveniles always return to use the deck as a reconnaissance platform.

One fun-filled event is watching the parents coax a youngster to take that first flight. I have seen a young bird emerge to stand on top of the family home while the parent coaxes from a nearby bush. Perhaps it is hunger that finally adds courage to wings. Eventually the flight is made and after those first few yards there is no lack of confidence for the next short jaunts. The youngsters quickly disappear into the shrubbery, not to reemerge for a couple of days. Presumably during their absence they have been safe from predators and have become stronger and learned a few survival skills.

I have bluebirds all summer and I think it is because I have the bluebird house. Perhaps bluebirds like to stay near where they were hatched as long as the food supply is good. And that's where my appreciation comes in. I have a little happy moment every time I see a bluebird dive down into the peppers, tomatoes, beans, and cabbages in pursuit of some unfortunate insect. Sometimes there is a little chase on the ground, but the bluebird always wins and I say "Thanks! That's one less reason to resort to some toxic insecticide." I imagine that in the course of a typical summer day my bluebirds pick up a few hundred insects. And I imagine that is part of the reason I've never had a big insect problem in the garden.

I started out writing about the bluebirds' fall migration, and that includes a ritual that has to do with the house. I've seen it lots of times with each new group passing through. The house is like a magnet that draws in bluebird attention. Some land on top of it. Others flutter around it. Many will land on the front and stick their head inside. Some will actually enter for a minute or so. The excitement is so great that one bluebird will push another bluebird off the front of the box so as to get a peek inside. I have even seen two bluebirds trying to stick their heads in the entrance at the same time.

Why would bluebirds heading south be excited (yes, that's the operative word) about a nest box that won't be of any use until next spring? I can imagine that as they travel south they build a list of available sites for the next spring nesting season. That might seem like a stretch, but we know birds have all kinds of uncanny abilities, including the ability to return to the same nesting territory year after year. So why not a list of sites to check out in the spring? I just hope that when they come back I won't have to mediate any disputes between potential residents. In the past I've observed that they always have such squabbles, which can go on for a while, but the birds can settle the affair without any help from me.

The Ghosts of Banning

During an early June visit by my friend Mike from Atlanta, GA, we decided to look in on Banning State Park near Sandstone, Minnesota, an intriguing place I last visited more than 30 years ago.

The park, just off Interstate 35, about midway between Minneapolis and Duluth, is not a primary destination for most folks. They whiz on by at 70 per, completely unaware of the park as they head for Duluth, or for their lakeside cabins further north, or for recreation on the north shore of Lake Superior. Banning State Park stretches along the rockbound  Kettle River but it has no lake for recreation. Since most Minnesotans prefer their watery recreation in boats on lakes, Banning's rapids on the Kettle River are left to the kayakers.

Banning, in Minnesota's "Big Woods" biome, is covered by cool dark maple and oak  forest with a few pines mixed in, quite a contrast to the open prairie biome where I live. Entering the Big Woods habitat is, for me, like a venture to another country.

Some orange hawkweeds welcomed us to the park with their bright cheerful flowers. I have seen this invasive European plant as far south as the Florida panhandle but nowhere is it as lush and beautiful as in Minnesota's "Big Woods".  I once read that the ancient Greeks gave this plant its name because they believed hawks got their excellent vision by eating it.

We relaxed as we rambled on down a wooded trail, protected from the hot sun, checking the inhabitants along the way.

We passed a feasting chipmunk that paid us no attention.

And a garter snake who also seemed unconcerned, and even curious about us.

Numerous newly hatched Canadian Tiger Swallowtail butterflies added color to the scene. This pair, engaged in a little courtship activity, were so intensely focused that they did not show the usual wariness of the species.

The trail along the river brought us to arresting landscapes of trees, rocks, and water.  It's a good place for a photographer.

And a great locale for many species of dragonflies and damselflies.

Michael Birnbaum photo

The Kettle River is relatively smooth and placid where it enters the park.

Then it pours over layers of the local red sandstone and swirls around boulders as it moves down the course it has carved through other sandstone layers over thousands of years.

At one point a boulder, polished smooth by the endlessly abrading river, reminded us of a large animal trying to clamber up the river bank.

From a high spot we looked down on a lone empty-handed fisherman  enjoying the sun and the river even without a catch.

 

The river exits the lower end of the park through Hellsgate Rapids, a challenging stretch of whitewater for Minnesota kayakers. During our visit the water was a low normal, but a rise in river level can turn these rapids into a treacherous challenge. Here's a link to an example of what these rapids can be like on a good kayaking day.

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u4gB3EWiSJY&feature=related



What makes Banning especially interesting is the fact that it once was the site of a small town focused on a single industry, the quarrying of the local red sandstone for building blocks. The red sandstone is found in lovely old courthouses and other buildings throughout the region.

The quarrying business supported about 400 residents from 1892 until the quarry closed in 1910. Over the next decade the town of Banning faded away, and now nature has reclaimed the townsite and is obliterating the last traces of the human activity of that era.

One hiking trail follows the old roadbed along the working face of the quarry, the area where slabs of rock were cut away from the vertical exposure. The picture below shows holes drilled by the long gone miners. They are visible in the stone and look like long stripes.

Waste fragments of quarried sandstone were left beside the trail. The size of the trees that have grown up since the quarry closed gives some idea of how slowly trees grow in this northern climate where they bear productive green leaves for about four months of the year.

Michael Birnbaum photo

The river trail passes by some of the old quarry buildings looming up like ancient Mayan ruins in the jungle. The standing remnants of the quarry powerhouse exude an aura of mystery. How many people spent their days tending the machinery in this building a century ago?

One view of the powerhouse evokes the sense of an ancient abandoned temple.

Michael Birnbaum photo

Thirty years ago there was a power house dam here. It has since been removed to free the Kettle in its downward course to the St Croix River.

The remains of the crusher building near the powerhouse reminds one of a European castle remnant.

The large slabs from the quarry were cut into finished product on these sliceways. Can you see, in your imagination, the men who labored here dressing out the stone to make uniform building blocks?

 

A large eyebolt, part of the sliceways,  shows very little rust after more than a hundred years. One can conjure an image of the men who installed it taking pride in a job well done with no thought for how long their work would outlast them.

 

As we walked the trails I saw more than the ruins of a long dead business. I envisioned men carrying lunches as they walked to work. I could see the ghosts of quarrymen cutting rock on the quarry face with tools and techniques as old as this ancient industry. I could imagine children running along a path, shouting and playing tag. I could see and hear the steam engine crews and the engines themselves hauling away the finished red blocks on the railroad tracks that were here then. These hard working people, largely unknown in their own time, and completely unknown to us, must have had children. Their grandchildren and great grandchildren must still be among us, probably knowing little or nothing of the details of the old way of life at Banning. Only these ruins and the ghosts we conjure remind us they were here. As we pass by we should thank those long forgotten residents for the red sandstone buildings we still admire today, more than a century later.