The Beautiful Arboretum

What a pleasure, to be invited to Kirtland, Ohio's gorgeous, 3,500-acre Holden Arboretum to give a talk on warblers! I spent the weekend in the company of friends, birds, and innumerable plants, each and every one of which I lusted after. The plants. I mean I lusted after the plants.
I learned what constitutes a "good" rhododendron from my new friend Marian, who is director of public programs. It's a completely round ball of flowers, served up in a "cup and saucer" arrangement on a saucer of leaves. Oh. I've been looking at "bad" rhododendrons all my life, I guess, and enjoying them anyway. I was struck by the arbitrary nature of the adjustments we make to plants to make them more pleasing to our aesthetic. And yet I'm as immersed in that arbitrary aesthetic as anyone...I see a lobelia with flowers twice as big as mine back home, and I snap it up. It's a "good" lobelia. And don't even get me started on orchids, those wacky children of crazy breeders' fevered imagination.
Speaking of wacky manipulations and strange aesthetics, this woman appeared in the Rhododendron Collection sporting a very "good" head of hair--glimmering lavender, served up in a "dotted i" arrangement, her head nicely balanced atop her neck. I so wanted to ask her to pose, crouched in a pale lavender rhododendron, but held myself back. It rained, of course, as it has for every field trip I've led this spring, but it was a gentle, English rain, and it gave the landscape a special serenity. Mountain laurel about to burst. This cultivar is a lot redder than wild types.
One of my favorite moments of the breeding bird symposium was when we all gathered for lunch under a shelter in the woods, and disturbed a big brown bat who had been sleeping in the rafters. It swooped and flittered in low loops over the assembled birders and plant mavens, and instead of shrieking and ducking for cover, everyone held their ground and simply admired the little creature. That's when you know you're in good company. Note the bat's creamy throat, fairly pale fur, and lovely grin, hallmarks of a big brown.

Horseshoe Crab Festival

My big sweetie digiscoping. His pretty much most favorite activity.

Part of the immense attraction of Delaware Bay in late May is the concentration of shorebirds that come to feast on horseshoe crab eggs along its shores. These birds are tired and famished from flights as far away as Argentina, and they depend on the precise timing of crabspawn to replenish their wasted bodies when they arrive. Needless to say, overharvesting of horseshoe crabs has played havoc with shorebird populations worldwide, but we're beginning to wake up and protect these utterly prehistoric looking crustaceans, if only because they nourish more glamorous life forms. Each huge female lays thousands of eggs, each one no larger than a pencil point. The turnstones, knots, and peeps dig holes in the sand at the high tide line, and gobble down crab caviar as if their lives depended on it--which they do.

A river of semipalmated sandpipersRuddy turnstones are so beautiful they're almost unbelievable. Why so ornate? Only the turnstones know.
When, when, when will we wake up and stop pulling the shorebirds' resources out from under them? When will the State of Delaware step in and at least put some signs up along this narrow strip of beach on Port Mahon Road, asking people not to walk and frighten these exhausted birds? As we watched, there was a steady stream of people blundering around amongst the flocks, forcing them away from their much-needed meals. We were told that at one time there was a guard there, asking people to respect the birds. It's the least we can do for these weary travelers. As you know, this is usually a light and cheery blog, but I feel compelled to quote Paul Baicich's excellent Swarovski Birding E-bulletin on this issue:

RED KNOT REPORT

The Red Knot predicament continues to attract increasing attention this
season. As you know, this shorebird makes a remarkable 18,000-mile
round-trip annual migration from its Arctic breeding grounds to the tip of
South America every year. Each spring, Red Knots, along with great numbers
of Ruddy Turnstones, Semipalmated Sandpipers, and Sanderlings stop on their
marathon flight to "refuel" on the beaches of Delaware Bay, specifically to
devour the eggs of the world's largest breeding aggregation of Horseshoe
Crabs.

Recently, however, the over-harvesting of the crabs has contributed to a
disturbing decline in the North American population of the Red Knot. A
drastic increase in the take of Horseshoe Crabs for use as bait in conch
pots and eel traps in the mid-1990s significantly diminished their numbers
in Delaware Bay, an activity that also resulted in a diminution of the
birds' food supply. Without the fat-rich diet of Horseshoe Crab eggs at
this major stopover site, the Red Knot's ability to complete its
long-distance migration to the Arctic is severely compromised. Red Knot
numbers in the Delaware Bay dropped from a high of perhaps 150,000 at the
end of the 1980s to about 13,000 in 2004, which some authorities suggest
could be just barely above the number needed to maintain a viable population.

Within the last year, the USFWS denied an emergency request to list the
North American race of the Red Knot as Endangered, and the final "90-day
decision" determination is now overdue. (Gee, why would we worry about a bird whose population has dropped from 150K to 13 K in 25 years? Mr. Bush, care to answer that? Didn't think so--JZ)

Red knots (the big ones with the robin-red breasts) at Port Mahon Road. There were maybe 50 birds all told. There should have been a carpet of them. Those days may be forever gone.

Last month, at the meeting of the Atlantic States Marine Fisheries
Commission (ASMFC), the Horseshoe Crab Management Board voted against
imposing a moratorium on Horseshoe Crab take in Delaware Bay. This was
actually against the wishes of Delaware and New Jersey, which both sought
the moratorium. Instead, the Board decided to adopt something called
Addendum IV to the Interstate Fishery Management Plan for Horseshoe Crabs,
which would reduce permit each state's take from 150,000 to 100,000 crabs
and limited the harvest to male crabs. The moratorium would have been an
important step toward securing the survival of the species.

Although the Board decision reduced Horseshoe Crab landings for each state,
New Jersey has wisely imposed its own moratorium, meaning that no crabs
will be taken in that state. Delaware has not decided whether it will
implement a full moratorium, but unfortunately Virginia continues to
advocate for the highest possible take of Horseshoe Crabs. At the moment,
Virginia is the largest obstacle to a moratorium.

For more information on the situation, see Defenders of Wildlife.

Off to speak at the Holden Arboretum Saturday. I'm going to poke around, hit an orchid supply house, a Trader Joe's, a Border's...all the things we have none of down here in the foothills. I'm going to take my notebook and scribble some NPR commentaries and maybe a couple of poems. Time alone, it can be a beautiful thing. See you Monday!

Beach Blanket Baker

Chet Baker had never experienced salt water before our trip to the Delaware shore last weekend. Lake Chautauqua was as close as he had come to any large body of water. The first lesson he had to learn was that it wasn't drinkable. He'd lap a few times, then get this sick look on his face, cough, and throw up. After awhile he wouldn't even pick up a stick thrown into the water, for fear he'd get that yucky stuff in his mouth again. Some retriever he'd make.
The concept he really flashed on, though, was waves. He'd never played in waves. And so, though these waves were indescribably foul, thanks to Delaware's thriving factory chicken farms that pump untold ppm of nitrates into the bay, he romped and played in them. He had a peculiar humpty-backed posture as he skibbled up and down the beach, and a wide grin on his face. It's not hard to tell when a Boston is having a really good time; they grin. This was a dog's idea of heaven: REALLY stinky waves and sand to roll in and a bunch of people laughing along with him.
I let him go in twice in the same day, and then bathed him with a spaghetti pot full of hot soapy water back at the cabin. Clean again, he was ready to play with our fabbo bass/guitar/vocal expert Vincenzo Serafino Mele
and flake out on the cool tile floor of the conservation lab with the kids. As much fun as we had, we're sure Baker had more fun.