Just about everywhere I go, I hear people complaining about the weather as if we haven’t been here before. The truth is spring is less of a date and more of a process. Spring  comes in fits and starts. We have no control over this. After the cold and snow of winter, everyone is ready to move on, and though spring has succeeded in asserting herself here and there, winter has stubbornly refused to completely let go. It just might be time to take control of the issue.

My youngest son and I have been forcing the issue. Literally, forcing the issue; you know, cutting the twigs of shrubs and trees to force them to bloom indoors ahead of time. We started this at the beginning of March with the Nature and Ecology Enrichment Program at Hopewell Elementary School and we continue today to harvest twigs to force their bloom indoors.

I would rather say that we are encouraging the branches to bloom but the accepted horticultural term is “forcing”.  Early spring-flowering shrubs and trees form their flower buds in autumn before the plant goes dormant for the winter season.  When spring arrives, with its increased day length and warmer temperatures, the plant goes through changes which includes the rising of sap carrying with it any stored sugars from the last growing season.  Thus the plant blooms.

 If you bring these buds in, attached to their twigs, after they have experienced some winter, you can encourage them to bloom ahead of schedule.  I usually wait until late winter to start this activity thus decreasing the forcing time indoors. Simply target some trees or shrubs that you know will bloom early in the spring.  Or you might experiment. Look for swollen buds.  Some popular shrubs or trees to try are:

Pussy willow

Forsythia

Flowering quince

Apple or crabapple

Cherry

Redbud

Red maple

Spicebush

 Using sharp clippers, cut twigs off, just above a lateral bud, so that you aren’t leaving an awkward stub on the branch. Your harvested twigs should be 10 to 20 inches in length. Once indoors, cut the bottom of the twigs again, adjusting their length if you like. Put your twigs in a vase or glass filled with warm water. I little dissolved sugar will help fuel the process though it is unnecessary.  A drop or two of bleach will discourage bacterial growth which impedes the blooming process.

Now you are ready to watch. Some plants will bloom quicker than others. Trees tend to take longer. You can experiment, bringing different plants in throughout the season or simply enjoy the little touch of spring, just ahead of schedule. As a result of this, you will find yourself being more attentive to the beauty and magic of flowers everywhere you go.

There certainly is no doubt here that spring is upon us. At the Buttinger Nature Center this means some well-calculated family programs to share the impending arrival of the season. Last night we gathered in the failing light of twilight to witness the nuptial dance of the American Woodcock. After a series of emphatic calls from the dusky meadow grasses, which by the way, sound somewhat like a tiny cartoon automobile honking, the male launches himself skyward in a flight designed to capture the attention and affection of a female. This morning another group headed to the Mount Rose trails on the Watershed Nature Reserve to visit the hidden magic of the season’s first wildflower - the skunk cabbage. Standing at the dry edge of the swamp, participants first smelled the presence of these flowers - a faint pungent odor reminiscent of cabbage and a small rotting animal. Ah, yes, spring is indeed in the air.

Our hike this morning was simply to embrace the turning of the seasons. It seems that spring is here but one must remember that we are in that temporal territory where spring and winter battle for dominance. For now, it seems that spring has won.

Along the way this morning we discovered the signs of some of the resident animals. Pressed into the chocolate mud of the trail were the handprints of a waddling, wandering raccoon. Several trees bore the telltale signs of the large crow-sized pileated woodpecker - large rectangular holes chiseled into their trunks exposing the galleries of resident carpenter ants. There was scat along the trail - the spiraled cylinder of a turkey; the twisted, tapered, droppings of the red fox; and, on the broad gray trunk of a fallen oak, a collection of blunt-ended raccoon scat in their communal bathroom.  While the scat were photographed by more than one curious youngster, it was the skunk cabbage that stole the show.

Scattered almost invisibly among the gray and brown leaf litter of the awakening swamp were countless “blossoms” of the skunk cabbage. They are certainly an oddity - a grenade-like spadix bearing a grid work of tiny pale flowers, cloaked by a spiral spathe with yellow green and deep burgundy streaks. Each blossom was different from the next and the whole collection of them emitted a slightly disturbing odor produced by such distinctly-named chemicals as cadaverine, putrescine, and skatole.

Possibly more memorable than the appearance or odor of the skunk cabbage blossom was their feel. During its peak bloom, the skunk cabbage spadix actually produces heat about 30 degrees greater than the ambient temperature!  Every participant on the morning hike searched along the edge of the swamp, crouching down to test a suspected blossom with the touch of their fingertip inside the spathe. It had to be among the strangest of ways to enjoy a wildflower, and because of this, probably the most memorable. Inside the blossom of the skunk cabbage was the undeniable warmth of spring.

Remember those dense patches of large, rubbery green leaves last spring? Though they have not yet returned anew, it is time to pay them a visit. Take your kids, your neighbor’s kids, your nephews, nieces or grandchildren, and introduce them to the wonder of nature.

For a little more information about skunk cabbage, check out this link from the Packet Publications’ Timeoff of March 4: http://www.centraljersey.com/articles/2011/03/05/time_off/entertainment_news/doc4d6ebb03714bd346673237.txt

It was a beautiful end-of-winter day today so I went searching for spring with my youngest son Emerson. Specifically we went into the Sourland Mountains to investigate some vernal pools.  We were curious to see if the last rain we had, on Thursday and Friday, was the salamander rain.

The salamander rain is that end-of-winter soaking rain that wakens the ambystomid salamanders from their winter slumber.  In the Sourlands it is the spotted salamander, a large black salamander with golden spots, that rises from the cold but thawed earth during the salamander rain to head to vernal pools for an evening of courtship and mating. With warm rain coming again tomorrow, we wondered if we had already missed our chance to witness this spectacle this year.

Once on the trail, the mission of our hike was largely lost. There were birds to spy - a crazy nuthatch, hanging upside down on the branches overhead. There was a rushing stream, talking excitedly as it ran over and around the rocks. There was water to throw stones in and logs to walk along and boulders to climb. And there were other hikers, some with dogs.

There were lots of vernal pools, everywhere, but we headed to the large vernal pond in the center of the woods. Impressive in size, it was nevertheless devoid of any salamander eggs. The clock of spring had not quite reached that point yet which was just fine with me. That meant we still had a chance to catch the salamander rain - maybe tomorrow evening.

After a search for the globular masses of eggs from the edges of the pool, Emerson enjoyed hopping to several rock “islands” in the pond. It was one of those parental moments where you deliver the obligatory warning - “Be careful - you might get wet and that water is cold” - but hope that it doesn’t impede the fun. It didn’t. He made several trips to the islands before he was ready to head back.

On the return walk, Emerson quickly strayed off the trail. “I am going on an adventuring walk back” he said as he headed along a fallen tree for a prominent boulder. He climbed and wandered and explored. The walk back was simply a delightful expression of spontaneous play in nature and joy for the outdoors. It is in his blood to do this - it helps that I have brought him out here where the impulse to physically experience nature simply cannot be ignored. We will be back soon - maybe in the rain.

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I have had nearly a lifelong affair with all things feathered. My mother maintained some birdfeeders in our backyard and on our deck and she delighted in the birds’ regular visitations. Her joy for the diversity of backyard birdlife, the birds’ varied appearances and colorful antics eventually became magnified in me. Though she appreciated birds anytime/anywhere, she never really pursued bird watching as a hobby. Nevertheless, her appreciation was passed on to me where it sat for some time before blossoming into a wonderful obsession. Thanks Mom!

It was in college that I caught a full-blown case of bird fever. I caught it from Charlie Leck (thank you Charlie) who was my ornithology professor. My passion for birds took me to Point Reyes Bird Observatory for a job early in my career and since then to varied habitats all over this country. It has drawn me into the woods at the crack of dawn and in the dark of night. Though I no longer consider it an obsession, birds and bird watching still brings me great joy.

Today the greatest joy I get from birds is from sharing my passion with others. Especially my youngest son Emerson. He loves to point out the birds visiting our feeders and gets very excited about the many birds who nest in our yard. He notices birds everywhere we go and enjoys learning about their lifestyles.

It was with this in mind that we made a point to participate in last weekend’s Great Backyard Bird Count sponsored by National Audubon Society and Cornell Laboratory of Ornithology.  We didn’t really make much of a special effort - we counted birds at our feeder and in the yard and made note of them and we counted birds as we took a walk out on the Watershed Nature Reserve.  What made this different than our usual outings is that we “collected data” - we counted birds knowing that we would contribute our lists to this project.

At home, we noted the usual pair of downy woodpeckers at our suet feeder along with one red-bellied woodpecker. Among the other birds was a flock of ~6000 common grackles. Awesome! On the Watershed Reserve, on a very gray day, we saw two turkey vultures and a black vulture. We saw two bluebirds. In the same section of woods there was both a pair of downy woodpeckers and a pair of hairy woodpeckers. And while we saw and counted other birds, it was the Canada geese that most excited Emerson - all 200 of them on the Honey Brook Farm fields.

While we were enumerating our birds, others were doing likewise all across the country.  This is known as citizen-science. The data collected reveals to ornithologists various trends in bird populations. The data may answer some questions and pose others.  In the end, almost 100,000 lists will be submitted. I think this notion was almost as appealing to my six year old as the birds themselves. We are not alone in our admiration of birds!

Sound like fun? Block off next President’s Day weekend and check out the Great Backyard Bird Count website at  http://www.birdsource.org/gbbc/

We are in the midst of one grand snowmelt. In yards everywhere, patches of grass in pale shades of browns and yellows are exposed and gasping. The piles of snow along the roads wear a fine speckled coat of gray and black. The streams, after freezing solid are running with great vigor and purpose. Snowmen have lost their heads and snow forts have fallen. Most of them anyway.

At least one snow fort still stands tall in Hopewell, New Jersey. Actually, less a snow fort and more an igloo, this structure stands as vivid testimony of the persuasive powers of snow. Snow presents so many invitations for play, and in this case the lure of sledding turned into a fine feat of engineering.

It all started with the notion of getting together with friends for sledding. In the hands of a resourceful teenager, a missed connection became an opportunity that simply needed harvesting. When given lemons, make lemonade. Or in this case, when given snow, and lots of it, make something.

Penner started building. He molded blocks of snow in large plastic storage containers the way you might use yogurt containers in the construction of a sandcastle.  He began putting the blocks together forming a circular fort. He did this until he was tired or bored. Or both. But he was never satisfied. It was no longer just snow calling him, it was an unfinished project. So off and on, for over a week, Penner took his shifts in the construction business in his backyard.

Penner is not a little kid but a tall muscular teenager, so the fort took on impressive dimensions. As the fort grew, it required an even greater effort, lifting the blocks higher and higher, row after row. It also required an intuitive sense of engineering and a little knowledge and appreciation of other cultures. The curved top of the igloo was completed with dad’s help just before Super Bowl kickoff.

I have to say that I was impressed and still am. Despite sixty degree weather the igloo still stands. And it stands as a testament of the beauty of humanity - the qualities of creativity and inventiveness; determination and perseverance; and simple optimism. It warms me as I look at it and I expect to see it there until springtime with robins come poking around its base in search of earthworms. Penner - job well done!

Kinda scary - a Kids and Nature blog with nary an entry in how long?? Well, I could wax poetic about simply living in the moment with kids in nature or lament about the lack of real time to address this topic in writing but I will do neither. I will, however, begin the blog anew with the same notion I have held dear to my heart since I was a kid - that children need to have an intimate relationship with the natural world. Period.

This has been a phenomenal winter of many moods. I greeted our first significant snow, a brilliant white fluffy powder, with a midnight hike out at my workplace, the Watershed Reserve. With my friend Sean and son Zach, we followed tracks of deer, fox and coyote and sometimes just cavorted about in the deepening snow. We spooked a great horned owl, whose dark silhouette cut silently through the snow from a tall creekside sycamore across the Stony Brook into the darkness. It was common sense (we had to drive, afterall) and the need for sleep that finally drew us out of the woods.

As winter has progressed, the snows have gotten deeper, and heavier. Unlike my older children, my youngest son has enjoyed shoveling snow. He has made snow angels and dug snow forts, and with his sister, made some towering snowmen with the wet, compactable snow. He has enjoyed sliding down the tiny slopes of our backyard and being pulled around the yard in his sled by sled dog Dad. He has followed the tracks of animals and made his own tracks. As the snow got deeper, and the artic blasts more intense, his time outside has decreased and his various sleds and snowboards got buried in the snow. At least the shovel was always at hand.

Winter is part of the glorious cycle of the seasons and thankfully she is asserting herself to a measurable degree this year. Maybe it means more work for adults (how does your back feel?) but shouldn’t it mean some fun for the kids? It is not a time to hide indoors but a time for winter play - a time to find the fun in embracing the ice and snow. Fresh air, good exercise, and hot chocolate are the order of the day.  With each day of snow and cold, our appreciation of the coming spring only grows. What was it the groundhog recently said?

Mulberries.  Just one word. And it’s a mouthful.

You either know what I am talking about and are drooling right now, or you have the misconception that this is some trashy, messy berry not worth your while.  You could learn the truth from my son and his preschool buddies at their babysitter where a mulberry tree brings joy to all. The stains on the children’s fingertips offer colorful testimony. 

I have a long history with mulberries, growing up with a sprawling specimen in my yard. There were lots of berries in my youth and I would join my friends in a pack as we would search the neighboring park for all sorts of edible berries. Mulberry season came right on the heels of wild strawberries and preceded the raspberries and blackberries and my tree offered a bountiful harvest for all, including my friends, the deer and a huge assortment of birds.

The mulberries are early this year. I usually start looking in mid-june. We try to arrive at the babysitter’s house a little early each school day so that we can spend some time together enjoying the juicy purple berries. I reach overhead for the berries that Emerson can’t reach and he grabs the berries off the low hanging branches. Overhead, the birds are busy - robins, catbirds, waxwings, woodpeckers and more.

The berries are at their peak now. If you sneeze loud enough, the plumpest ripest ones just fall to the ground. Emerson will pick and eat the mulberries with his preschool buddies before lunch and he will do the same after school. But I have the gift of sharing these mulberries with my son at the start of each day. It is a sweetness that lingers throughout my day.

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Morning time - with my windows open, I usually wake before the kids, to the sound of birdsong. Such a sweet cacophony. I rarely rise right away as Michelle has the job of stirring all the children into action. (Thank you Michelle!) The morning routine for parents has its challenges.

Luckily, one of the kids does not need to rush off yet to catch the bus. He is typically the most difficult to rouse in the morn. After the other kids leave, we will eat outside at our picnic table, listening to birdsong and watching the bird families visit our suet feeder.  It is a great way to start the day.

While this is a beautiful part of our day, I think that our day really begins with Emerson’s visit to the backyard garden. Ever since the garden actually started looking like a garden with paths, turned soil and sprouting seeds, Emerson has wanted to visit each morning before we depart.  It is an affirmation that the magic of gardening has cast its spell.

Emerson’s surveys are different each day. Some mornings he helps harvest the spinach for our egg breakfast. Sometimes he looks to see if the rabbit has visited the garden again. Are there any birds visiting? He checks on the growth of all of our plants and watches for the latest seeds to sprout.  Are there any slugs? He is eyeing the broccoli, patiently, and wondering when. And he is looking for insect friends, discovering ladybugs and caterpillars. With morning dew on our feet and fresh air in our lungs, this is truly the way to start the day.

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While this has been a glorious spring OUT THERE, it has not come without some significant challenges. My family is deeply saddened by the recent passing of grandfather, father, and father-in-law Tony Farrugia. Tony was clearly the biggest fan of this blog as it offered him a glimpse of his grandchildren and the spirit of youth in nature. His warm, positive spirit will be missed.

We returned to New Jersey from Tony’s home in Toronto one week ago with heavy hearts. I was quickly reminded of the solace of nature as the scents of spring wafted through our open windows. I knew we would find a least a little comfort in the sweet, intoxicating bouquet.

It is clearly not a time to be an ecological purist.  My youngest son and I went for a hike following our noses and it led us to the ubiquitous multiflora rose. Now this is a plant that has been the target of many a string of expletives, from probably the moment that I first learned to curse. Even before then I probably invented a curse word as I bounded through the head-high meadows of my childhood only to get caught on the sharp thorns of this plant. From adults it earns most of its curses from its highly invasive nature, colonizing meadows and clogging trails. We have been battling this plant in our backyard in the wild strip of land that runs along the Bedens Brook.

Multiflora rose is not without at least some merit. Isn’t that the way in nature? This week that has been apparent in the sweet smell of wild rose drifting across the countryside.  Emerson enjoyed their rapturous scent, avoiding the thorns while sniffing bunches of their small white blossoms. Each time he would lift his head, nose twitching and dusted in pollen, wearing a large smile. “I really like that!”

This weekend, we will again go after the multiflora rose in the backyard with clippers. Isn’t that the way with human nature? The older children will clear it away from the brook so that they can explore and find natural treasure or just keep their feet cool on a hot summer day. Next year, for a brief period of time, they will all stop again and take note of this plant’s sweet gift.

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Wow - doesn’t this look and smell like negligence?!?! I was last seen blogging hereabouts on March 21 and simply haven’t looked back since. It might seem to the casual reader that I have neglected my innate responsibilities to take my children by the hand and dance to the beat of the natural world. It might seem that I have given up playing with words or expressing ideas in print. Let me assure you that this is NOT the case. It has been a glorious spring, so glorious indeed that I have simply enjoyed basking in her glow far from the glare of this or any other screen. Alas, I return, because I like sharing, hope to inspire, and love playing with words.

So what exactly have I been doing out there in the world of Nature with my children? Well, it would be foolish to try to share seven weeks of spring activity with you but I will attempt to illuminate here and now just a little bit of what has been going on. The most consistent activity shared with children in nature outside of my work at the Buttinger Nature Center is gardening with my youngest child Emerson.

We have spent a great deal of time tending our very long, dry, shade garden beneath our spruce trees. Emerson helped feed the plants, shoveling compost about each of their “feet”; kept them “cozy” by mulching the bed; and even moved some to a new neighborhood beneath our big pin oak tree. He enjoyed using his new shovel to loosen the soil for this bed. We visited the local nursery where he helped pick some flowers for that garden as well as some for Mothers Day that we will plant together in mom’s flower garden.  He also asked if he could take some pictures of the garden. Wow! Check out his violet picture!

Emerson consistently joins me in the garden. Our vegetable garden has been getting lots of attention lately. He helped prepare the garden, using his shovel and rake to help turn the soil and making the “football goalpost” path around the beds. He helped shovel and spread the compost. He has met our helpers - the earthworms who help prepare the soil and make food available for the plants, and the wolf spiders who keep a constant patrol for pests. And he has helped plant the seeds and plants as spring has progressed. Broccoli, spinach and arugula are taking shape but I fear for the basil which will certainly suffer from this late batch of cold weather.   

I have always loved gardening. It is part of my dance on the planet, an intimate interaction with plants that will sustain me and my family. It provides an escape from the unfathomable busy-ness of the world and solace for my heart.   But gardening with Emerson, or children in general, fills the soul. With the crystal clear vision of a child you gain a deeper appreciation for the act of gardening and our place in the world. You kindle that sense of wonder that shines a light on almost everything around us. If you are planting, anything, anywhere, take a child by the hand and let him or her show you what it is really all about.

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