A Column Promoting a More Earth-Friendly Lifestyle
By John L. Turner
John Turner
With the warm weather upon us homeowners are revving up lawn mowers, weed whackers, leaf blowers and the like. If you find yourself in need of purchasing new equipment, now’s the time to go electric! Many types and models are available covering these tool choices (not to mention snow blowers) and more are coming on the market as we move away from a carbon-based economy.
Electric yard tools have numerous advantages over gas powered tools. They require less maintenance, are quieter, and produce no pollution. As for this last benefit, according to the New York State Energy Research and Development Authority (NYSERDA for short) running a commercial gas powered lawn mower for one hour produces the same amount of pollution as driving a new gas powered car 300 miles and, according to the federal Environmental Protection Agency, lawn mowers collectively create five percent of the total air pollution generated annually in the United States while burning about 800 million gallons of gas.
Another major benefit of going with electric yard tools at your next purchase?The State of New York is offering financial rebates! A homeownercan receive a 50% rebate up to $125 when the old gas mower is turned in or a 50% rebate of up to $75 for new mower owners.
So whether it’s for cleaner community air, a quieter neighbrohood, and more green in your wallet, electric yard equipment makes sense.
A resident of Setauket, author John L. Turner is conservation chair of the Four Harbors Audubon Society, author of “Exploring the Other Island: A Seasonal Nature Guide to Long Island” and president of Alula Birding & Natural History Tours.
I had walked for 20 minutes before reaching the intended destination: Hunter’s Garden in Eastport, located in the eastern end of the Manorville Hills, an 8,000-acre section of the LI Pine Barrens.
An opening in the forest, Hunter’s Garden is the spot of a longstanding tradition — where bay- and sportsmen, farmers, and others that live off the land, many bearded and sporting all patterns of flannel shirts, come together to share steaming bowls of chowder and camaraderie. The soup and socialization takes place each May in a secluded pocket in the Hills, reached via a sandy road coming offCounty Route 51. An etched marker stone commemorates the event.
I sat on the ground, leaned against the slanted marker stone, took a deep breath and began to listen. Birdsong soon surrounded me. A few seconds passed and I detected a robin singing in the distance followed by another song that sounded like a robin’s but richer — a Rose-breasted Grosbeak! Lucky for me the grosbeak came closer and I could see it moving around in a lower stretch of the tree canopy.
Rose-breasted Grosbeak. Pixabay photo
I slowly raised my binoculars to enjoy one of the more beautiful songbirds found in eastern North America — a black and white plumage pattern with a bright red triangle in the middle of its breast which gave rise to its macabre common name of “Cut-throat”. (A bit of an apocryphal story told by Roger Tory Peterson, who more than anyone else popularized birding, is that he once was contacted by a woman in Texas wondering what she could do to help a bird in her yard that had been shot in the chest and was bleeding profusely; not to worry he reported, explaining it was just the bird’s natural plumage).
As the minutes rolled by I heard and saw more birds — a Red-eyed Vireo sang incessantly from somewhere in the overhead canopy and much lower to my right came the “veer-veer-veer” of a Veery, a type of thrush. And then, as if almost on cue, its cousin the Wood Thrush began its ethereal song from deeper in the woodland. Scientists have learned that this species, as with many other birds, is actually capable of singing two songs simultaneously due to the complexity of its syrinx or voice box. Soon, the Veery came into view and I could see its distinctive plumage generally indicative of the thrushes — a spotted throat, white belly, and buckskin brown back.These two thrush species are fairly common breeding birds in the Pine Barrens along with the less common Hermit Thrush.
Other sights unfolded. A large glade of wood ferns with highly lacy fronds spilled away from me on the other side of the trail creating an interesting visual effect. It was if the ferns were always fuzzy and out of focus due to the highly dissected form of the fronds. No matter how I looked at them, even with squinted eyes, they appeared out-of-focus although, in reality, they weren’t. Being in the shade the tree canopy overhead formed another series of interesting textures and patterns and I appreciated the distinctive architecture of each tree species. The same held true for individual leaves.
Tiger Swallowtail
Sitting still I began to more acutely pick up movement and soon came the butterflies. In quick succession I saw a mourning cloak fluttering through the understory and then a darker, more rapidly moving butterfly which I realized was a red-spotted purple. And then a tiger! as in Tiger Swallowtail, the largest butterfly found on Long Island, erratically dashing over shrubs in the understory.
While sight and hearing were the two senses at first most triggered by the immersion in this extensive forest, smell and touch soon came into play. I began to feel the coolness of the earth I was sitting on and the texture of the slightly uneven ground. Scuffing a little of the leaves out of the way caused a pleasant earthy aroma to waft upward, an aroma very much like one experiences while planting vegetables in the spring garden.
It also changed my focus from looking at trees and birds both distant and afar to immediate close-ups of soil creatures including a pill bug (which you may know by its more colorful name: a roly-poly). I was instantly transported back to my youth when I and friends routinely found roly-polys while turning over logs to investigate what creatures might be living beneath.
I was practicing a version of what the Japanese refer to as Shinrin-yoku or “forest bathing,” an activity in which one immerses oneself in a forest and uses the full suite of senses — sight, sound, touch, smell and even taste — to take in the sights, sounds, odors, and textures of the forest, thereby achieving “sensory engagement.”
Shinrin-yoku doesn’t have totake place only in a forest although the practice is quite conducive there; it can be in a meadow or along the shoreline or other natural or mostly natural landscapes. And research, most conducted in Japan where the practice began in the early 1980’s and is widely practiced today, shows demonstrable mental and physical health benefits from regular episodes of forest bathing.
Forest leaves in the canopy. Pixabay photo
These peer-reviewed, scientific papers indicate that practitioners are calmer and more relaxed, have lower stress hormones, and are generally happier from regularly “bathing” in the forest. According to the research “forest bathers” also sleep better and have an enhanced ability to focus.The benefits also accrue to those who experience nature indoors — a study of hospital patients with a wall in their room displaying a forest scene, or who could visually see the outdoors through a window, spend less time in the hospital than patients with no visual connection to nature.
To practice forest bathing you don’t have to sit still as I did. You also can gain benefits from a leisurely to mid-paced stroll through a forest. The key is to open your “sensory self” to the living landscape happening all around you.
After an hour or so I arose from my stationary ground-level seat, stretched some lightly aching muscles and slowly walked the mile back to the car, feeling physically and mentallyrelaxed yet with my senses quite alert to the surrounding forest landscape.I wondered: Is this state what a wild animal like a deer, fox, or box turtle always experiences?
I hope you take a bath soon.
A resident of Setauket, author John L. Turner is conservation chair of the Four Harbors Audubon Society, author of “Exploring the Other Island: A Seasonal Nature Guide to Long Island” and president of Alula Birding & Natural History Tours.
A Greater Yellowleg searches for food during low tide. Pixabay photo by Steph McBlack
By John L. Turner
Ifirst heard their piercing, three-parted “tew-tew-tew” calls while sitting on the slatted bench in the northwest corner of the Three Village Garden Club property on a day in early May. I’m looking out over the mudflats revealed during low tide at the southern end of Conscience Bay and on the far bank are eighteen Greater Yellowlegs, a highly migratory species of shore bird feeding on the west bank of the bay.
Living up to their name, the birds have spindly, bright yellow legs that stand out amidst the brown background of the intertidal mud. Their piercing calls have led to a few colorful colloquial names: the telltale and the tattler.
The flock could have begun their northbound journey as far south as southern Argentina in February or March and during the intervening weeksmoved north, soon passing the equator, all the while hopscotching from one fresh or saltwater wetland to another, like the ones at the southern sliver of Conscience Bay. By the next day they had departed to make their way another thousand miles to the north to nesting grounds — a wide swath across the middle of Canada.
The bay was a waystation for these hemispheric globetrotters and I felt blessed to watch them live a tiny sliver of their wild lives and it reinforced an important concept in conservation — the need to preserve wild habitat, not just for resident wildlife like squirrels and box turtles, but also for species that depend upon these critical sites during some part of their annual cycle. As the Yellowlegs illustrate, Long Island’s wild habitats are a type of “migratory motel”for many birds and other mobile species.
Behind me I hear the season’s first Baltimore Oriole, its sweet but piercing whistle emanating from the top of a tall oak and toward the end of his song a newlyarrived Grey Catbird joins in, emitting a low-key series of sweet and jangled notes, as if practicing vocals for the first time.And then, behind me to the left, the bubble-up song of a Parula Warbler. The presence of these birds and scores of other species announce that spring has arrived in the northern hemisphere.
Each species’ wintering range, from which they depart as they begin their spring migration, is unique although many species have similar ranges. For example, both the oriole and catbird have a wintering range that includes the peninsular section of Florida, the Caribbean, and eastern Mexico and Central America, just dropping into South America, although the oriole goes a bit deeper into this southern continent.
You might think that spring and fall migration are mirror images of each other – birds head north in the spring and south in the fall, with each migration season taking about the same amount of time.And while the “north in the spring and south in the fall” aspect of these seasonal migrations is true, they are more like images in a distorted mirror. Many species take different routes in the spring than they do in the fall and in some cases involve a strong east-west component.
Also, spring migration is a more compressed affair beginning in earnest in late February and ending by early June, a period of about 3 ½ months. In contrast, fall migration can last as much as 5 to 6 months. In the spring male birds have an imperative — to gain high quality territories from which to advertise their availability to prospective females. In the fall this mating urge has dissipated and it’s the increasing scarcity of food that propels the birds south.
It is hard to overstate the physiological demands that migration places on birds, particularly those species that traverse great distances without stopping to feed.Many songbirds familiar to us like warblers, vireos, grosbeaks, and thrushes head north through Central America and then, instead of continuing through Mexico, diverge east to the Yucatan peninsula.
The Yucatan is the launching point for the birds that populate eastern North America and they face the daunting task of flying across the 550 or so miles of the Gulf of Mexico as “trans-Gulf” migrants.If they benefit from good weather containing a tail wind, these birds may make it to the coast of Texas or Louisiana in 16 to 20 hours. During this trip their heart will have beat more than half a million times and the bird will have flapped its wings nearly 200,000 times. For birds that fly greater distances like Red Knots which launch from northeastern Brazil and make landfall on the beaches of Long Island’s south shore in one flight, the heart beats and wing flaps are counted in the millions.
Physical stress is not the only hazard migrating birds face. Avian predators, like bird-eating hawks, are omnipresent and the lack of such predators at night is one reason why so many songbirds are nocturnal migrants. Another reason is the atmosphere is generally calmer allowing for efficient flight and birds can use the circumpolar star constellations to navigate.
But birds now migrate in an increasingly human-dominated world and the lit glare of urban centers can disorient and/or attract them. They’re drawn to this glow and come morning they can face a hostile environment of countless buildings clad with glass exteriors, which reflect surrounding landscapes.
Birds, of course, often cannot distinguish between a row of trees reflected in a large window from the real thing — with fatal consequences. Birds dying from flying into windows is the second leading cause of avian mortality, with as many as one billion birds dying annually in North America alone. Shutting off your outdoor lights and applying window stickers can help you become part of the bird conservation solution.
Remarkably, for a few millennia scientists didn’t believe or understand that birds migrated at all. They were thought either to hibernate out of sight only to reemerge in warmer weather, transform from a migratory species into a resident species, or perhaps most astoundingly, a belief birds went to the moon, returning when the spring came around.
This last concept, which seems so strange to us now, made sense hundreds of years ago — after all scientists at the time had no understanding of the vacuum in space that is fatal to life and they regularly noticed and documented birds flying in front of themoon when full or near so. Many of these stories and more — such as the first efforts of banding birds and later the use of radio transmitters to track the migratory movements of birds — is documented un Rebecca Heisman’s wonderful new book, Flight Paths — How a Passionate and Quirky Group of Pioneering Scientists Solved the Mystery of Bird Migration.
A relatively new and very useful Internet tool for gaining a sense of bird migration is Birdcast. The website provides remarkably specific information on real-time migration both on a continent wide and local scale.For example, the data shows that on the morning of April 26, 2024 at 12:50 a.m. an estimated 336.2 million birds were winging it north through the United States on spring migration. And for the Setauket area on the night of Memorial Day an estimated 3,000-6,000 birds passed overhead.
What Birdcast cannot do is tell you specifically where you’ll see Greater Yellowlegs, Baltimore Orioles, Parula Warblers, or Catbirds. For that you’ll have to head out and explore Long Island’s parks and preserves.
A resident of Setauket, author John L. Turner is conservation chair of the Four Harbors Audubon Society, author of “Exploring the Other Island: A Seasonal Nature Guide to Long Island” and president of Alula Birding & Natural History Tours.
A Column Promoting a More Earth-Friendly Lifestyle
By John L. Turner
John Turner
The collective impacts to the environment to grow the food that sustains us is astronomical. Using more of the food you purchase is a worthwhile way to reduce your impact on the planet.
A recent article in Living Well (a Newsday supplement) points out that when it comes to produce it’s not just the typical vegetable target that you bought that’s edible, but often the entire plant. And the bonus is no food waste and your dollar is stretched a tiny bit further.
For example, you can eat all of a beet plant, not just the delicious roots. The stems and leaves are delicious when sautéed and the same whole plant approach can be taken with carrots and leeks. If you like collard greens or kale don’t throw away the “ribs” but sauté or roast them.
Another delicious use of the whole plant involves broccoli and cauliflower. The ribs and stems of both can be spiralized or disked and cooked. They taste as good as the heads themselves. No need to have any of these plant parts in your compost bin or worse yet in the garbage!
A resident of Setauket, author John L. Turner is conservation chair of the Four Harbors Audubon Society, author of “Exploring the Other Island: A Seasonal Nature Guide to Long Island” and president of Alula Birding & Natural History Tours.
A river otter caught on a trail camera in Bellport.
Image courtesy of Luke Ormand
By John L. Turner
John Turner
I slung on the backpack, shut the car door and walked off quickly, fueled by excitement and expectation. Aftera brisk walk on a shady forest path, bordered by a few small fields hinting at the property’s past farm use, I reached my destination — a wooden observation platform providing sweeping views of a freshwater pond situated within the North Fork’s Arshamomaque Preserve. I immediately began a binocular scan of the water and the far shore for any sign of movement revealing their presence. Nothing. Scanned for a few more minutes and nothing. I soon fall into a pattern of picking up the binoculars and looking first along the water surface and then the vegetated far shore. This goes on for an hour. Still no action.
I learned a long time ago that nature is not a zoo and the comings and goings of animals are never done to please us humans, but always in response to their needs. So I will see them, if I see them at all, on their schedule. I continue to patiently sit, soaking in the beauty of the warm sunshine, bolstered by a large cup of strong coffee and a cinnamon-raisin bagel.
I was also enjoying the many marsh mallow shrubs blooming in profusion amidst the abundance of cattails ringing the pond. The flowers of this species border on the spectacular — three to five inches across, deep but bright pink petals with a red throat or base, and a prominent tower containing both the stamens and the stigmata. This species is related to the plant whose roots were once the source of that delicious confectioneries used to make s’mores — marshmallows.
Suddenly, there was rippled movement along the far shore. It took me a moment to process what I was looking at but it was a family offour river otters (Lontra canadensis) — two adults and two pups — weaving in and out of the wetland plants.I enjoyed them for about 15 seconds until they all broke back into cover of the cattails at the eastern edge of the pond. A minute or two later they reappeared this time swimming along the wooded shoreline before doubling back to the cattails.
What I was witnessing is a small part of a welcome recovery of the species taking place over several decades now, as an increasing number of otters are colonizing suitable wetland habitat on Long Island, after decades of their dearth. According to Paul Connor’s definitive Mammals of Long Island published by the New York State Museum in 1971, otters were thought to be extirpated from Long Island in the latter part of the 19th century. He states that Daniel Denton in his 1670 description of Long Island mammals noted the presence of otters, but goes on to mention that more than 170 years later J.E. DeKay declared the species extirpated from Long Island.
Through the 20th century otters were occasionally seen or reported but there was no sense of a sustained recovery of the species on Long Island. Connor reports no sightings in all the field work (conducted over several field seasons in the late 1960’s) that formed the basis for his monograph. This began to change in the first few years of the 21st century when sightings of otters became more commonplace. One of the first sightingswas near the well-known Shu Swamp sanctuary in Mill Neck, Nassau County.
Mike Bottini, a well-known Long Island naturalist and founder of the Long Island River Otter Project, has studied this recovery as well as other aspects of otter ecology and biology and published an informative published paper investigating the status of river otter in 2008. He states: “This survey estimates that there are at least eight river otters inhabiting Long Island: four on the north shore of Nassau County, one in the Nissequogue River watershed, one in the west end of the Peconic Estuary, one on the south shore, and one in the Southold-Shelter Island-East Hampton area.” Remarkably, a mere decade later otter signs were found in 26 watersheds; the recovery was well underway.
Three years later, in 2021, Mike noted: “otter home ranges included all the watersheds on the north shore from Oyster Bay east to Orient, the Peconic River watershed and a significant portion of the Peconic Estuary, and two watersheds on the south shore.”Painting a rosy picture, Mike concludes: “Much excellent otter habitat on Long Island remains unoccupied, especially on the south shore.
In addition to the obvious confirmation formed by actual sightings or finding their tracks in mud or snow, the use of latrines or “otter bathrooms” by this highly aquatic mammal is one of the ways researchers use to gain a better sense of their distribution on Long Island. For reasons that are not entirely clear, otters often defecate (known as scat) in upland areas adjacent to the waterways, these latrine sites thought to be used to communicate information.
I have found their latrines in a few places, the closest being at Frank Melville Memorial Park in Setauket on both sides of the northern pond. Their scat often contains the remains of scales and bones of the fish they prey on, and such was the case by a recent inspection of the latrines at the park — scales and delicate fish bones were prevalent in the sushi meals the otter was consuming. While otters favor fish, they are opportunistic and will eat frogs, turtles, crayfish (yes, we do have crayfish species on Long Island), and freshwater clams and mussels.
Otters are carnivores and are members of the weasel family whose other Long Island members include, according to Connor, Mink, Long-tailed weasel, and perhaps Short-tailed weasel. Further afield in the North American continent we have badgers, the federally endangered Black-footed ferret, and the famous and remarkable wolverine. Thirteen otter species occur around the globe.
As evidenced by my North Fork experience and several other accounts, otters are reproducing on Long Island with their pups presumably helping to fuel the resurgence.As their young (typically between 2-5 pups are born) are quite helpless at birth, being hairless and blind, they grow and develop in dens which provide some degree of protection from the elements. The dens are in close proximity to the water and may, in some cases, be connected to it. As of this writing I don’t know of anyone who has conclusively discovered an otter den here.
The use of remote cameras installed in the field at sites likely to be utilized by otters have proven instrumental in learning some new streams and creeks otters are frequenting. Luke Ormand, a staff member in the Town of Brookhaven’s Division of Land Management, has placed several cameras in numerous locations in Brookhaven Town that have been successful in recording otters. With these cameras, otters have been confirmed in the Carmans River watershed and the Motts Creek drainage system in Bellport.
A significant damper on the continued recolonization and expansion of river otters on Long Island are motor vehicles, as otters are sometimes struck and killed. An otter was recently struck on Jericho Turnpike near the famous bull statue in Smithtown and the total number of road killed otters recorded for Long Island stands at 29 animals.
Bottini notes that the peak time is between March and May both when males are searching for females in estrus (ready to mate) and yearling individuals are striking out on their own. The likelihood of being hit by a vehicle is especially high in places where otters are forced to cross a road that spans a stream containing too narrow a culvert or a dam where the dam is under the bridge; the dam face prevents downstream or upstream access, forcing the otter to climb up the banks and lope across the dangerous roadway.Solutions involvethe placement of stacked cinder blocks to form a ramp or aluminum ramps which otters can negotiate.
I had the pleasure of working with the aforementioned Mike and Luke one day a few years ago in constructing a cinder block ramp along a dam face on the Little Seatuck Creek in East Moriches. Camera footage soon showed otter use of the ramp although the two otters in the area illustrated different personalities; one otter immediately took to using it while the other was quite hesitant.
Mike notes that otters are “ambassadors of wetlands” and given their broad appeal and popularity this is true. Who doesn’t remember wildlife films on Disney and other shows depicting otters tobogganing in the snow, frolicking about in what appears to be joyous play? Perhaps this iconic and charismatic species can help to generate public support on Long Island in better protecting our waterways — important habitats — which sustain so many species.
Let me end by stating the obvious: you “otter” take time out of your busy schedule to look for these furry, very attractive ambassadors. But please drive slowly to your intended destination, all the while keeping an eye out for a sleek, rich brown animal loping across the road.
A resident of Setauket, author John L. Turner is conservation chair of the Four Harbors Audubon Society, author of “Exploring the Other Island: A Seasonal Nature Guide to Long Island” and president of Alula Birding & Natural History Tours.
Oh those lighter-than-air balloons! As the helium gas inside seeps away, causing them to lose their buoyancy, they come back to earth and their deflated outlines appear everywhere —in natural places such as fields, forests, and the island’s wave-lapped shorelines — and human constructed landscapes like dangling from utility lines, even the support wires of traffic lights. Sometimes they’re single balloons tethered with nylon string, other times they’re in bunches — a half dozen or more tied together. Some find their way to the ground while more entangle themselves amidst tree branches.
While most have generic messages, like the “Happy Birthday Princess” balloon I recently found in a hike in the Pine Barrens with 30 6th grade students, if they have a message at all, in a few cases I’ve been able to tell the original purpose of the balloon purchase: a Happy 40th Birthday to Beth! exclaimed one mylar balloon, dangling from a young understory oak tree while another mylar balloon announced “Todd’s 3rd Birthday” with a triangular cake wedge adorned with three candles. As these examples illustrate, buoyant balloons have become a common, unwelcome, andunfortunate, presence in the environment.
Photo by John Turner
The ubiquitous presence of balloons in the environment has real consequences beyond forming unsightly litter, and these effects are felt most acutely by marine animals — sea turtles, cetaceans (whales and dolphins), and a wide variety of seabirds. Websites, both governmental ones such as the National Ocean and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) and conservation organizations like Ocean Conservancy, contain countless photos of dead sea turtles and stranded whales and dolphins, all having perished from ingestingballoons, mistaking them for food.
This deceit is especially telling for leatherback sea turtles for which jellyfish comprise a significant part of their diet. Compare photos of a deflated balloon floating on the ocean’s surface with a jellyfish and it’s easy to see why a sea turtle might easily mistake a balloon for an easy-to-capture meal. Well, mistake them they all too often do, with fatal results, when the balloon lodges in their digestive tract. The same results often occur with larger mammals.
With marine birds entanglement, not ingestion, is the main cause of death. Tassels of longstring which ties balloons together are often made of nylon or other material which isslow to degrade, easily wrapping around a seabird’s wings, neck, feet, or bill as it floats on the water.
Photo by John Turner
There are two basic types of lighter-than-air balloons — latex and mylar. Both pose risks to wildlife: in the case of latex, a threat for many years, and for mylar many decades. Not surprisingly, balloon manufacturers have long claimed that balloon releases pose no risk to wildlife and the environment, and that latex balloons, especially, are biodegradable. This is a fact not borne out both by objective experiments and numerous observations. In fact, the biodegradable claims are largely an example of greenwashing (when a company presents a more environmentally favorable view of its activities than is warranted).
A 1989 balloon industry study contended that most balloons pose no risk since they rise in the atmosphere to the point they burst due to low air pressure, creating “harmless” pieces of rubber, and those that don’t burst are so few as to be dispersed in a density of about one balloon per every 15 square miles (about a four mile square). From my anecdotal experience hiking and traveling around Long Island, the density of balloon landings is significantly greater than that, more like several balloons per square mile, an observational density borne out by coastal clean-ups.
For example, according to a press account in a local paper, “the Eastern LongIsland Chapter of the Surfrider Organization collected 774 balloons on 38 beaches from June 2017 to December 2018.” Further, a New York Sea Grant newsletter indicated that in 2016 coastal clean-ups in the mid-Atlantic states produced 8,400 balloons and balloon fragments.
Photo by John Turner
According to NOAA’s website: “In 2014, 236 volunteers found over 900 balloons in the Chincoteague National Wildlife Refuge in Virginia in a three-hour period. Recent surveys of remote islands on Virginia’s Eastern Shore documented up to 40 balloons per mile of beach.” Closer to home, a 2018 clean-up involving 33 volunteers at Jones Beach alone picked up 308 balloons or pieces of balloons.
A colleague, Pete Osswald, to whom I was recently chatting with about the problem balloons pose to wildlife, sent me a comment which is especially illustrative of the problem: “I have been navigating the waters around Long Island both inshore and offshore for over 50 years as a fisherman and Seatown boat captain. I have seen many things both wondrous and appalling. One of the intolerable sights that bothers me the most is the abundance of balloons I see floating in the water on a daily basis. I had hopes for the problem being remedied a few decades back when there was an apparent push for educating the public about the dangers to marine life from releasing balloons. Unfortunately the defiling has become worse There are slick calm days out on the ocean where I see scores of downed launched balloons floating like foreboding headstones of the unwitting turtles and marine mammals that consume them.”
All these observations and findings suggest a density a bit greater than one balloon every four square miles, don’t you think?
Lawmakers have responded to the issue. Many municipalities throughout the country have enacted bans on the intentional release of balloons as have several Long Island municipalities. To its credit, the Suffolk County Legislature in September 2019 passed a law sponsored by then Legislator Sarah Anker banning the release of lighter-than-air balloons and requiring businesses which sell these items to post a statement indicating that intentional release of balloons is prohibited in the County; the County Executive soon signed it into law and it became a revised Chapter 310 of the Suffolk County Code.
Several states have enacted release bans with Florida poised to become the next. Legislation has been introduced in New York State over the past several sessions but, to date, there’s been no action on the bills.
Another problem with lighter-than-air balloons, especially mylar balloons which have a metallic coating, is contact with high voltage power lines. Contact can cause an explosion often shorting out electrical power. If you type in “Balloons Exploding on Powerlines” in the search box of the YouTube website you can see videos of such events.
Some organizations think “release bans” don’t go far enough as it is impossible to monitor such behavior; rather supporting a prohibition on the sale of lighter-than-air balloons, understandably believing a ban on purchase is a much more effective strategy than banning their release.
Many environmentally benign alternatives exist to replace balloons during special events. The “Balloon Blows” website lists the following options: streamers, kites, pinwheels, garden spinners, flags, ribbon dancers, bubble blowers, and inflatable, weighed-down characters.
There is an old Greek adage, paraphrased here: “Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity.” While there are no shortage of malevolent acts intended to kill wildlife — the sickening, still legal use of leghold traps for trapping foxes, muskrats, skunks, and weasels on Long Island, comes to mind — the “stupidity” involved, to soften it a bit, is more often the purview of ignorance or thoughtlessness.
The logical inference of this is if people knew the consequence of their thoughtless acts would be to cause animal suffering and death, they would not have acted this way in the first place.This perspective gives great credence to the phrase as it relates to lighter-than-air balloons —“Say no to letting it go.” Better yet, in recognition of the countless wildlife species that make up the living fabric of our oceans, let’s commit on this Earth Day, to not buying lighter-than-air balloons.
A resident of Setauket, author John L. Turner is conservation chair of the Four Harbors Audubon Society, author of “Exploring the Other Island: A Seasonal Nature Guide to Long Island” and president of Alula Birding & Natural History Tours.
A Column Promoting a More Earth-Friendly Lifestyle
By John L. Turner
John Turner
Buying in bulk can not only save you money but often generates less waste. For example, a 64-ounce container of detergent contains less plastic than two 32-ounce containers and much less than four 16-ounce containers. Plus, these smaller containers are sometimes bundled in plastic wrap while the largest container never is.
The same is true for dishwashing fluid and general house cleaners. Similarly, items that are wrapped like paper towels use much more wrapping for three individual rolls than one 3-pack; the same is true for toilet paper.
The same principle of “more is less” holds true with many food items too. If you start paying attention to bulk purchases you’ll quickly realize that such a strategy is good for both the planet and your wallet. Indeed, when it comes to bulk purchases “more is less.”
A resident of Setauket, author John L. Turner is conservation chair of the Four Harbors Audubon Society, author of “Exploring the Other Island: A Seasonal Nature Guide to Long Island” and president of Alula Birding & Natural History Tours.
It’s late morning on a deeply overcast day in early February and a uniform sky of pewter grey threatens rain but, so far, it’s held out. So, wanting to get away from yet another day of news as gloomy as the weather, I decide to do something that always works to pull me out of melancholy — a hike in nature’s realm — knowing that at some point I’ll connect with something seeing or feeling, something that ushers in elation.
Given the season, I won’t gain this expected happiness from seeing colorful things — nature’s color palette this time of year is too subdued, basically a mosaic of brown, black, and grey. Instead, my mind latches on to the concepts of textures and patterns and I’m quickly rewarded by focusing on the skin of trees, many of which possess bark patterns distinctive enough to identify to species. From decades of hiking the Island’s forests they are like familiar friends.
The heavily wooded preserve doesn’t disappoint as I immediately pass several black or sweet birch trees of varying age. Black birch is widespread in the richer soils of Long Island’s north shore. When young, black birch has generally smooth reddish-grey bark with distinctive horizontally parallel rows that are slightly elevated. These rows are known as lenticels and are thought to help the tree “breathe” by allowing gas exchange through the bark. In older specimens the bark becomes more three dimensional with cracks and fissures that look as if a black bear (or mythical dragon) ran its sharp claws down the trunk.
A few of the larger trees are afflicted with the Nectria fungus, or black birch canker, a disfiguring condition that can damage the tree and kill it in severe cases.When growing on the main trunk and larger branches it can cause hollows — while hiking the Tiffany Creek Preserve in northern Nassau County several decades ago, I spied a screech owl sitting in just such a canker-created hollow. The tree’s loss was the bird’s gain.
Another well-known aspect of black birch is that it was once a critical source for a tasty flavoring — oil of wintergreen. Indigenous people used the oil to treat muscle aches and to “purge the body,” while its oil was used in a wider variety of foods and medicines. If you come across a black birch and break off a twig and begin to chew on it, you’ll immediately taste the refreshing flavor of wintergreen.
Moving further along the trail I pass by four of the ten or so oak species native to Long Island— white, black, scarlet, and red oaks. White oak, as its name suggests, has pleasant light-colored bark consisting of thin vertical plates. As the tree ages the bark gets a bit thicker (true for almost all trees) and more “sloughier” with the top and bottom of the bark plates curling a bit.
The other three are a tougher group to identify to species absent their leaves, especially distinguishing the bark of black oak from scarlet oak. Red oak can be distinguished from the other two by its longitudinal “ridges and valleys”; as one botanist has insightfully noted, the surface of red oak bark is reminiscent of what a ski course looks like from the air, the valleys serving as the ski courses while the ridges are the forests left intact in between.
Continuing the amble, I come to another medium sized tree standing alone although surrounded by oaks a little distance removed. I can tell from its somewhat smooth and attractive light grey bark with shallow fissures that I’ve not come across another oak but rather a pignut hickory, one of several hickories found on Long Island.The ridges diverge and blend in a random way creating an intriguing pattern that is fun to look at. This is the group of trees of barbeque fame, their wood imparting a distinctive smokiness to backyard barbeque fare.
While I don’t see any on my walk through this Setauket forest, a cousin to the pignut hickory has among the most distinctive bark of any you’ll see on Long Island — that of the shagbark hickory. If you see the tree you’ll immediately know why it got its name with large patches of shaggy bark curling away from the trunk. It is uncommon on Long Island. A more common hickory which I didn’t see on the hike is mockernut hickory, so named because the very small nut “mocks” the person making the effort to harvest it.
A bit further on and from some light tan leaves fluttering lightly in the understory I knew I had yet another tree species — an American Beech. The bark of beech is light grey and is smooth, making it often an unfortunate target of etched initialed inscriptions. It’s hard to look at the bark and trunk of a large beech and not think of an elephant leg, especially if the wood beneath the bark has a little wrinkle as it often does. The elephant leg analogy is even stronger at the base where the roots flare, looking like elephant toes. Over the past few years many beech trees have been afflicted with beech leaf disease which can be fatal; fortunately this tree shows no signs of the affliction.
One of the main purposes of bark is, of course, to protect the living tissues just underneath from pathogens such as numerous fungal species. But it can also help to protect it from another force — wildfire. And nowhere can you see a better example of this than the bark of pitch pine, the dominant pine of the Long Island Pine Barrens. Pitch pine has very thick bark which provides an insulating layer to protect the living cambium tissue.
Near the end of the loop walk I hit a bunch of medium sizedtrees of another oak species — chestnut oak, including one multi-trunked specimen sending five, foot-thick trunks skyward. It’s the largest tree in the preserve. Chestnut oak, common in rocky soils found on the Ronkonkoma Moraine, gets its name from the similarity of the leaves to those of the American chestnut, except in the oak the marginal lobes are rounded rather than having little bristles. Its bark is dark grey and deeply furrowed.
At the end of this grouping is another smaller chestnut oak, or so I thought at first. Deeply furrowed bark with inch high ridges, it looks like chestnut oak but I realize the identification is wrong when I look up into the finer branches in the canopy and notice a few of them have smooth green bark (yet another function of bark is, in some trees, to photosynthesize). Suddenly it dawns on me I’m not looking at an oak but rather a mature Sassafras tree, a common species throughout Long Island.I realized I had been barking up the wrong tree …
A resident of Setauket, author John L. Turner is conservation chair of the Four Harbors Audubon Society, author of “Exploring the Other Island: A Seasonal Nature Guide to Long Island” and president of Alula Birding & Natural History Tours.
A Column Promoting a More Earth-Friendly Lifestyle
By John L. Turner
John Turner
While progress is being made in reducing the amount of food that’s wasted in the United States, for example in 2022 New York State passed important legislation — the NYS Food Donation and Food Scraps Recycling Law, we have a long way to go.
Two informative websites where you can learn more about how to reduce wasted food are: “Save the Food” and “Love Food, Hate Waste.” These sites offer tips on better ways to store food to prevent spoilage and how to better plan the exact amount of food that’s needed for your family and for hosting guests at dinner parties, picnics, and other gatherings. They also offer many tasty recipes on using leftovers or food that you might typically throw out, like the stale ends of a bread loaf, tops of beets, extra ripe bananas, or bruised pears. Anyone for some killer banana bread or how about some “Bruised Pear Pandowdy”?
The sky’s the limit on ways to use all the food in your pantry and refrigerator.
A resident of Setauket, author John L. Turner is conservation chair of the Four Harbors Audubon Society, author of “Exploring the Other Island: A Seasonal Nature Guide to Long Island” and president of Alula Birding & Natural History Tours.
The banning of DDT in the United States in 1972 helped the bald eagle population rebound.
Photo by John Dielman
By John L. Turner
John Turner
If ecologists have revealed anything from the thousands of studies of nature and its countless components, relationships, and interactions, it is the extent to which life is interconnected, with the fate of so many living things interwoven with the fate of others. Many of these studies have shown how species are tied together in many unforeseen ways, built on complex webs and relationships.
John Muir, the founder of the Sierra Club, knew this truism when he wrote about the “intricate tapestry of the natural world” and perhaps best reflected by his famous comment “When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the rest of the world.”
Aldo Leopold, perhaps the most impactful conservationist this country has produced, understood this too, expressing it in a slightly different way: “To keep every cog and wheel is the first precaution of intelligent tinkering.” Leopold recognized that adversely affecting one species in a natural community can trigger a set of undesirable ecological actions thatripples throughout the community.
There are many straightforward examples illustrating the ecological “ties that bind.”
One basic concept involves food chains, constructs that help us to understand the connection of one species with another in “eat and be eaten” relationships and the pesticide DDT, banned long-ago, illustrates how species along a food chain can be connected.DDT was once widely used throughout the United States (and still is used in other parts of the world) and commonly applied on Long Island in the 1950’s and 60’s in an effort to control mosquitoes, especially salt marsh species.
The DDT in water was assimilated into algae and other phytoplankton, that were fed upon by zooplankton, and many species of zooplankton were, in turn, eaten by small fish who were consumed by larger fish. The larger fish were consumed by fish-eating birds like ospreys, bald eagles, pelicans, and cormorants.
DDT is fat soluble and not easily excreted so it increased in concentration in the animals higher on the food chain, to the point that in birds it interfered with their ability to lay viable eggs. A loss of viable eggs meant declines in the abundance of these species.DDT served as an unfortunate illustration of how food chains and webs worked, connecting phytoplankton and zooplankton (species lower on a food chain) to fish and ultimately to birds (higher on the food chain).
In reality, the world is a much more complicated place and an ecosystem can have numerous food chains that interconnect in a larger and more comprehensive food web, resulting in “cause and effect” relationships that might not be apparent at first.
As an example, let’s take Yellowstone National Park. For much of the twentieth century the National Park Service had a wrongheaded and myopicpolicy of eradicating timber wolves within park boundaries, resulting in burgeoning populations of elk and deer that, in turn, increased browsing and grazing of the Park’s small trees, shrubs and grasses.
The reintroduction of wolves in Yellowstone Park restored the park’s ecosystem. Photo from Pixabay
Wolves were reintroduced into the Park in 1995 and almost immediately created a cascade of effects that rippled throughout Yellowstone. Wolves disrupted elk herds, their primary prey, allowing for their preferred habitat — riverbanks of willows and aspens — to recover. This new growth provided breeding habitat for a variety of songbirds and the shade the trees created helped fish populations. Beaver increased (there was but one beaver colony when the wolves were brought back; now there are nine) responding to the new, fresh tree growth. Their constructed dams created impoundments for aquatic invertebrates and fish and freshwater marshes where moose and mink occurred.
Coyotes declined due to wolf predation which allowed for foxes to increase and wolf introduction also benefited grizzly bears who had more berries to eat due to lessened browsing by elk. Prey carcasses also sustained a number of other species like lynx, wolverines, eagles, raven and magpies, grizzly bears just emerging from hibernation, and even beetle species. Ecologists have documented changes down to the diversity of microbes in the soil as a result of wolves reestablishment!
Closer to home we have the case of the diamondback terrapin. A beautiful reptile with strongholds in the bays and harbors of Long Island’s north shore, it plays an important role in maintaining the health of salt marsh environments in which it lives. With very strong jaws, hard food objects are fair game and terrapins routinely eat several snail species, helping to keep them in check. A good thing because some of the snails feed on marsh grass (Spartina) and if their populations were not controlled it could result in the loss of marshes and the numerous attendant benefits salt marshes provide in the form of food production, attenuating coastal flooding, softening the impacts of coastal storms, and providing habitat for so many plant and animal species.
A last example underscores how a species can help knit together two distant places with ramifications on human health — in this case India and East Africa. There’s a dragonfly known as the wandering glider and remarkably millions migrate across the Indian Ocean each year, leaving the rice patties and other wetlands where they were born and overwintering in East Africa. Here, they are voracious predators of mosquitoes, many of which carry malaria, an affliction which can be fatal if untreated. Scientists noted an increase in malaria cases in East Africa and tied it back to a reduction in dragonflies caused by pesticide use in Indian wetland pools.
As these examples illustrate the natural world is an exceptionally complex interwoven tapestry of life with many unforeseen connections. You can understand why Frank Edwin Egler, an American botanist, observed “Nature is not more complicated than you think, it is more complicated than you CAN think.”
A resident of Setauket, author John Turner is conservation chair of the Four Harbors Audubon Society, author of “Exploring the Other Island: A Seasonal Nature Guide to Long Island” and president of Alula Birding & Natural History Tours.
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