By Michael Wojtech
As tree buds unfurl in spring, they cast sweet hues of yellow, pale green and red in the canopies of our local forests. Soon after, this new growth matures into a kaleidoscope of dense greens. This is the season when deciduous trees seem to come back to life, when they transform from a blur of browns and grays and resume their individual identities. But the source of these browns and grays—bark—harbors more distinguishing characteristics, more beauty and has been more active during the past six leafless months than you might imagine.
By Ted Watt
Every year around April 15 I go to my favorite (and secret) spot to find hepaticas in bloom. I spend time there all by myself; it’s an antidote to filing my taxes and the many other complexities of everyday life.
By David Spector
“Hip, hip, hooray, boys, spring is here.” This, according to one classic transliteration of the song sparrow’s song, is a characteristic sound of a North American spring, a sound that actually starts in winter and continues through the summer. Male song sparrows, those that spent the winter here and those recently returned north from warmer regions, are now singing to proclaim their presence, establishing their territories and attracting females.
By Michael Dover and Rebecca Reid
Here is a hypothetical tale of two elementary-school teachers, both teaching a unit about energy and the environment. Both explain what the term “fossil fuels” means and discuss the consequences of burning them—air pollution, acid rain, smog and climate change. One teacher goes on to describe the potentially disastrous effects of climate change around the world. The other moves the conversation to alternative fuels for cars and different ways of producing electricity, after which the students brainstorm ways of conserving energy at home and in school.
By Robert T. Leverett
There are many reasons why people like trees, but big trees in particular have always stimulated human imagination. Size matters. Hulking forms casting twisted shadows vie with arrow-straight trunks of the forest cathedral. These are contrasting images, but equally iconic. In honoring the giants, some employ the camera. Others prefer canvas or pen. My greatest satisfaction comes from measuring big trees. It’s been a lifelong passion.
By Ginny Sullivan
As an advocate of the kind of learning that happens naturally, outside, “without being taught,” I consult with schools, child care centers and other institutions to help them develop habitat in every nook and cranny of their outdoor environment.
By Henry Lappen
One day last summer, I watched something small and brown fall to the ground. Not sure if I was seeing a leaf or a moth, I knelt to have a closer look. Sure enough, it was a moth—one so perfectly adapted in size and color and in its flying behavior as to imitate a dead leaflet from a honey locust or some such tree. I’m sure it must fool many a predator, whether dragonfly or phoebe, and continue to survive and propagate its species.
By David Spector
As I walk down my wooded driveway at this time of year I often get a strong whiff of grape, a smell very much like that of grape jelly or grape juice. Wild grape vines climb many trees along forest edges in western Massachusetts, and the grapes not eaten in the fall release their odor when damaged by freezing in the winter.
By Lawrence J. Winship
Even in our modern, instant-messaging, planned-obsolescence culture, something about really old trees still captures our imagination. If that tree could talk, we wonder, what might it tell us?
By Michael Dover
Last month I had the privilege of hearing all the Hitchcock Center’s educators talk about their work. They spoke about getting children outside, helping them see the natural world that is right around them— sometimes on their own school grounds, sometimes on local field trips. Instead of reading about the frog’s life cycle, kids see frogs develop in a stream. Instead of watching a video about pond life, they dip a net into a real-life pond and see what comes up.