By Casey Beebe
I vividly remember, as a child, playing make-believe house in the hollowed-out bushes in the side yard of our rural Wisconsin home. One little alcove was the kitchen where we prepared our own version of stew—dandelions and various other plant parts floating in water in one of my mother’s cast-off bowls. Under the sumac there was a nice little tuft of grass that was the baby’s bed, and we traded aspens’ coin-like leaves as money. The world outside and my imagination wove together effortlessly.
By David Spector
One of the pleasures of being a biologist is exercising my curiosity about the natural world. Sometimes I come up with satisfying answers, while at other times I simply get to enjoy exploring the questions. Another pleasure comes from the chance to do this without leaving my yard.
By Michael Dover
On the weekend of May 16, I plan to be out on the property of my cohousing community with my wife and a neighbor or two counting as many non-domesticated species of plants and animals as I can. The immediate reason is to raise money for the Hitchcock Center for the Environment’s Biothon, an event where teams of people identify and tally up the region’s many different species and enlist friends to support their efforts. The fundraiser aspect is reason enough to participate, but another is to inform myself and all my neighbors as to who else occupies this space with us—to learn something about its biodiversity.
By Ted Watt
It’s the first, gentle afternoon of April—not a breath of breeze, even up here on our ridge-top blueberry farm. A pale sun is sinking down the western sky. Peepers are tuning up in the farm pond across the fields. From a distance, the chorus of a group of half-dollar-sized frogs are a comforting reminder that soon bloodroot will be blooming under the sugar maples and warmer times are coming.
By Mary Kraus
As a “green” architect, I’ve spent my career designing energy-efficient buildings, including my own small home. This past year, though, I was inspired to push my family and myself a bit.
By Ted Watt
It has happened every year, since the glaciers melted and forests returned to New England. And it will happen again this year, from now to mid-April in our area.