A Visit to My Wisconsin Marsh

Early on Saturday or Sunday mornings, sometimes before there's truly light; I awake. I grab something small for breakfast, slink about the house quietly to not disturb my sleeping family. I sneak out of the house and trek out to the marsh. Upon exiting my car, I start down the path.

The trail runs through the wetland. Can you find the Cranes?

Through most of the summer the warm tunes of the Song Sparrow welcomed me. They often ventured near the trail just above head height and trilled loudly early morning. "Good morning, little sparrow," I'd say. I find myself talking to the more social birds some mornings. It's often early enough that they are the first beings to greet me, and I feel compelled to acknowledge their presence; it seems only polite.

There are a great number and variety of sparrows. The field marks and calls are handy, but it's difficult to keep track of Swamp, Clay, Field, Chipping, and Song Sparrows.

I wander by wildflowers and stop to pull out my camera. It's zoom is better than my binoculars, and it's proven to be a trusted ally in identifying the locals. On one occasion, I stood still beside some Bergamot and soon had Ruby Throated Hummingbird visitors. On my next of trips out, I made sure to stand near this Bee Balm cousin to ensure future encounters.

Genus Monarda is high in nectar and great for pollinators.

My visits never seem complete if I don't see the my original quarry. I first explored the area during the April Crane Count. Not all of the Sandhills I encountered that day stayed all summer, but two are regulars. I see them in nearly same spot each time I visit. They bugle and forage. They fly overhead and even stroll down the trail. They appear to have not been successful in producing a colt this year. I imagine nesting on the ground in the wetland must be difficult. I've seen mink here and muskrat. I assume there are a number of mammals lurking, waiting to snatch up an egg breakfast.

I thought they had chosen a good neighborhood but they seem to drive their neighbors to distraction.

As morning light grows bright, and I inevitably get hungry, I turn back to my car. Evening Primrose and other wildflowers grow near the gravel parking pad. By now others are here. They are on bikes or on foot on the trail. They've missed the trumpeting Cranes, and they won't stay still long enough to draw the ire of the House or Sedge Wrens. I'll catalog my sitings and plan to be back next weekend and witness how all things change over time.

Evening Primrose