Finding Home in the Far Away

Iguazu Falls in northern Argentina, twice the width of Niagara Falls, with tropical forests harboring all manner of animals exotic to a visitor from the U.S. It's on the flipside of the planet, with seasons reversed, and yet, what is that plant growing on the trunk of the tree?

A begonia like those we grow indoors in the U.S.

And these leaves are reminiscent of the purple passion flower native to New Jersey and points south.

Those trees look reminiscent of figs, somehow,

with a broad leaf,

and sure enough, there are the figs, growing along the trunk, clustered on curious stubby shoots.

This leaf has "wings" along its midrib like the winged sumac that grows along the canal in Princeton.

This grass does a good imitation of bushy bluestem (Andropogon glomeratus) that grows in the coastal plain along the eastern U.S.. Princeton's meadows and annually mowed right of ways have little bluestem, broomsedge, and just a few spots with big bluestem--all closely related.

And this Impatiens growing along the slopes of the gorge, seen also along a stream in Venezuela and in Puerto Rico, occupies a similar wet habitat to our native jewelweed (Impatiens capensis), and has similarly spring-loaded seedpods that explode when you touch them.

This succulent plant looks like a variation of the purslane that springs up in our gardens.

Our winterberry holly has similar clusters of tiny flowers along the stem,

and this vine with orange tubular flowers and long pods is reminiscent of our trumpet vine.

The familiar leaf of some version of wood sorrel grows on the moist rocks.

I thought at first this stiltgrass-like plant might be the dreaded eurasian wavyleaf basket grass (can you say Oplismenus hirtellus ssp. undulatifolius?) that has been invading the woodlands of Maryland and being fought against in an effort to prevent its spread up and down the coast. But a little research suggests it was one of the two native subspecies of basket grass whose range extends from the southeastern U.S. down to Argentina.

At this point, I was reminded by a teenage daughter that there were sights to be seen, where mist and sunlight meet to make standing rainbows, and that Dad was falling behind once again. But I liked the idea of an arc of kinship connecting the known to the otherworldly.

Knowing one's local plants makes the whole world a more familiar place.

A Riot of Wildflowers in Quiet August

One perk of spending August in Princeton is the late-summer bursting forth of native wildflowers. The most vivid example of this has traditionally been along the DR Canal towpath, particularly along the small nature trail loop just west of Harrison Street. But we've made some effort to "spread the wealth" around Mountain Lakes House, and also in Harrison Street Park and a few raingardens. Many of these plants can be obtained at plant sales at Bowman's Hill and DR Greenway. I've been meaning to get organized enough to do a literal "yard" sale now and then, because I have so many "volunteer" plants popping up. Always best to seek out local genotypes.

Here's what's blooming along the recreated creekbed in my backyard that handles (exploits) runoff streaming through from the neighbors:

Wild senna

Cutleaf coneflower (also called green-headed coneflower)

Jewelweed, with its pendant flowers and spring-loaded seed pods,

Purple-headed sneezeweed (doesn't make you sneeze)

Some tamed and wooly sunflower planted by my older daughter,

Among the red to blues, a leftover beebalm,

cardinal flower (Lobelia cardinalis) with one of the Joe-Pye-Weed species in the background,

Great Lobelia (Lobelia syphilitica),

the trumpet section--rose-mallow hibiscus (Hibiscus moscheutos), which can also be white with a rose center,

purple coneflower,

blue mistflower (Conoclinium, formerly Eupatorium, coelestinum),

monkey flower, which keeps coming out white in photos,

and swamp milkweed.

White flowers are more common earlier in the summer, but here's a store-bought version of obedient plant (spreads aggressively in full sun but less aggressive in the shade),

sweet pepperbush (Clethra alnifolia), also called summersweet for its fragrance,

the remnant blooms of Culver's Root

and buttonbush,

and the pollinator plaza called boneset (Hibiscus in the background).

Virgin's Bower (Clematis virginiana)--with toothed leaves rather than the untoothed leaves of the Asian autumn clematis, and planted in a pot to prevent it from spreading underground--is also just opening up.

The seeds of soft rush (Juncas effusus) add subtle ornament,

along with sedges like this woolgrass (Scirpus cyperinus)

and green bulrush (Scirpus atrovirens), which sprouts new plantlets at the tips of its seedstalks.

Ducklings Born in Princeton!

In a humble coop behind our house on busy Harrison Street, a mallard named Swee' Pea found herself sitting on five ducklings this morning, where five eggs had been the night before. She had been patiently sitting on the nest of straw, feather down and eggs for several weeks. Yesterday, my daughter noticed Swee' Pea becoming increasingly territorial, hissing and thrusting her beak at anyone who came close. Now we know why.

Buttons the Araucana chicken checked things out from a safe distance,

while the father, Ronnie, lacking cigars, took a dip in the tippable duck pond that gets fresh water from the roof gutter every time it rains.

The other ducks normally don't go back in the coop in the middle of the day, but today they did, apparently out of curiosity.

Congratulations, Swee' Pea!

Meanwhile, the owners of said ducks and coop are sent scrambling to the internet to ask a recurring question in animal husbandry, "Now what?"

Diverse Reactions To Scavenger Diversity--Iguazu Falls, Argentina

People's attitudes and beliefs tend to be resistant to change. Great effort is spent by political columnists and advertisers seeking to change minds, usually to no avail. An exception to this inertia of the mind happened during a recent trip to Iguazu Falls in northern Argentina, where perceptions of various wildlife shifted radically over the course of a day.

If there happen to be any plants or animals reading this blog, a bit of advice. I know most of you really don't care what people think of you. You're just trying to survive in the real world, unaided by the womb-like umbilical cords of piped water and energy that people have built for themselves. Not easy, I'm sure, and I respect that. But if you do find yourselves starting to care, and want people to gasp with admiration upon witnessing your splendid form, then consider a few basic principals. If you're a plant, play well with others. Don't overwhelm or dramatically displace. If you're an animal, strive for a balance. Be generally aloof but make surprise appearances so that people can delight in their good fortune. You are of course expected to participate in your natural foodchain, even if it means occasionally being eaten. Above all, avoid tapping into the trash humans carelessly leave behind, or raiding their gardens. The temptation is huge, I know, but this is a slippery slope towards a bad rep.

This Plush-Crested Jay is a good example of that slope. Taking a boardwalk to a lookout above the massive Iguazu Falls in Argentina, we thought ourselves fortunate to catch a glimpse of this colorful bird.

We felt less lucky when the jay showed up for lunch the next day on the hotel patio. We're appreciative, of course, of the greater diversity of scavengers that a national park provides--a nice break from the usual song sparrows and squirrels. But a word to the wise, here. It's bad manners to eye people's food over their shoulders.

This dove is being much more discreet, averting its gaze in a respectful manner.

Fine to eat peanuts while holding them between your feet,

but the least you can do is wait until all the guests leave before moving in on the leftovers.

And you're teaching the mockingbirds bad habits. Of course, have to say: nice job cleaning the plates, and reducing in some small way the organic component of the wastestream.
But you'd get more respect

if you stuck to posing at a distance, flattering those who brought superzoom cameras.

A good zoom and a high boardwalk also reduce the risk of photographing a caiman, which seemed to understand that its big teeth are a plus as long as it keeps its distance.

The rodents didn't make much of a show. We saw no 100 pound, 4 foot long capybaras--the largest rodent in the world--nor guinea pigs, a wild relative of which is said to live here. But we did come across this delicately structured agouti exhibiting appropriate wildlife behavior, grazing photogenically at a discreet distance from human traffic.

It's hard for insects to win friends, which makes the butterfly's success all the more impressive. Suck nectar, not blood. Dazzle with color and phantom-like flight. Hang around flowers and tree bark, not restaurants.

Perhaps this monkey had taken to heart the signs warning people about its capacity to steal food and even bite, because it was limiting its behavior to wonderfully adroit and graceful harvesting of seeds up in a tree.

Got to say, though, the coatis are blowing it. Cute balls of fur with a ringed tail. Great first impression.

But those bold forays into eating areas are problematic.

Snarling over candy wrappers? Wrestling in the walkways? Our biggest change in perception came when one grabbed the bag of empanadas set next to us on the bench, and dragged it off into the woods. That's not scavenging; that's blatant theft.

They're not even fazed when restaurant managers start coming after them with sticks. It's almost like they think they're as smart as we are. Being kin to raccoons, they may not be far off the mark. In fact, all of the more aggressive scavengers were also the most intelligent--jays, monkeys, coatis. Intelligence may be the real slippery slope, bringing with it the capacity to think outside the ecological box, break free of the foodchain, spot opportunities, and give in to temptation. Sounds like the history of another mentally enabled species I know.


An extensive writeup on the wildlife of Iguazu can be found here, including photos of toucans.

Ducklings Coming?

One reason my younger daughter was eager to get home from a trip has to do with a certain female mallard named Swee' Pea, who decided a couple weeks ago that it was a good time to make a nest in the chicken/duck coop. She sits there for long periods, taking periodic breaks to get water and food. The contents of the nest are kept warm during these breaks by a blanket of down.

Before leaving, my daughter shined a light through one of the eggs and detected motion in what looked like a reddish cloud in the egg. She left clear instructions, just in case our friends who took care of the ducks while we were gone didn't notice the well-disguised nest.

"DO NOT DISTURB ME AND MY EGGS"

The sign clearly worked, because Swee' Pea and eggs were safe and sound when we returned. At this point, the ducklings are moving about in the eggs, their motions detectable by 13 year olds but not yet by adults. Though this is largely a take-things-as-they-come approach to having birds in the backyards, there are questions to ask and decisions to be made. If we actually do end up with ducklings, do we separate them from Swee' Pea and raise them in a bathtub in the house? Or do we separate off a portion of the coop for her to raise them? How will the other birds behave around the ducklings? Will the male, Ronnie, play any role? I'm interested to see if the mother will promptly march the newborns off to the nearest minipond, to get acquainted with the joys of water.