Restore the College Spring!

The College Spring has suffered from neglect for many years, but recent events have endangered its existence. If you care about the spring, let the folks in Montgomery Hall know why it is important to you.
In the years before the founding of New Concord, when the area was nothing more than a small gathering of farms known as the Findlay settlement, the natural spring served as a source of fresh water for residents. It continued to be used that way for much of the 19th century.
The Muskingum College Class of 1914 paid for the construction of the plaza and walls, including a high-spraying fountain at the center of the plaza. In the many years before the development of the quad, the College Spring was an important meeting place for the campus community. Poetry and dramatic readings were regularly scheduled there.

In the early 1920s, when the College recent a visit from President Warren G. Harding, the College Spring was the site of the ceremony in which the college bestowed upon him an honorary doctorate.

After the development of the Quad, the Spring was no longer a focal point for the College, but remained a place where faculty could teach a class on a nice day, and in the evening a quiet place to which young couples might go to escape the campus hub-bub.
In recent decades, the Spring has been neglected and forgotten. Some geologic forces shifting in the hillside have slowed stream of water. The old walls of the plaza began to press inward and crack under the weight of the slowly shifting hill. The fountain was dismantled and filled in with muck and mud years ago. The concrete floor of the plaza is cracked and uneven, and the overflow trickle from the spring pond runs across the concrete. It has been dying a slow, creeping death.

The Spring remains, however, one of the best places in town to catch frogs and tadpoles.

In recent years, many students have been unaware of the College Spring's existence. But those who have discovered it appreciate its space, and want to restore it. In the last five or six years, students groups have gone down to the spring periodically to clean it up and to plant flowers.
Recent events--which I confess I don't completely understand--have put the Spring in jeopardy. Some kind of underground obstruction has blocked the flow of water, creating a sinkhole on the hill above, and causing te ground to shift even more, pressing down on the already compromised brick walls.

The College Physical plant has taken some emergency actions to stop the collapse. They have torn up the hedges that lined the wall, and filled in the sinkholes (and the original fountain pool) with large rocks. But the Spring, as you can see, looks absolutely horrible. And it is unclear as to whether these stopgap measures will succeed in keeping the hillside from collapsing into the Spring.

What appears to be needed is a plan for stabilizing the hillside, and then a complete reconstruction of the plaza and walls. Hopefully, the "Class of 1914" keystone can be saved and placed in the new walls.

The challenge of course, is how to find money to do this when the College has many other important and expensive building projects going on. If you care about the Spring, and have some consructive ideas about how to save it, let me know. It would be ashame to see this quiet retreat--and important part of the College's history--disappear.

Mushrooms

It's August, and Mushrooms are popping out all over!

May Apples

It is late July at the Reservoir, and with it comes a cycle of hot humid days, occassionally punctuated with thunderstorms. The rain has come frequently enough to green the grass which had browned during two months of drought. The dryness had done nothing to slow the growth of grasses, berry canes, multiflora rose, which were beginning to reclaim the trail, so in lieu of a band of enthusiastic volunteers, I loaded the mower into the back of the Subaru, and pushed it one lap around the pond. The mowing was not without excitement. I managed to disturb a nest of yellow jackets who swarmed about me and chased me for fifty yards down the path. I somehow managed to escape with only two stings, so after giving the bees some time to calm down, I reclaimed the mower and continue around the pond.

Later that day I returned with my dogs and my pruners, to walk another lap around, cutting back any stray cane and rose that had invaded the path. The dogs were excited to run and explore, and did their best to make sure they collected as many burrs as possible. Just as we got to the north bridge, the sky began to rumble and the rain came down--fast and fierce. I picked up our pace to a jog, then a run, with all three dogs right underfoot, seeming to think that if they kept right up against me they might get some shelter from the rain. The lightning flashes and thunderbolts made the trip back quite un-nerving, and with each clap I was reminded that people DO in fact get struck by lightning--as my father did just two weeks ago. By the time we got back to the car, we were all soaked to the bone, and the smell of wet dog still permeates the car days later.

Yesterday before venturing out I checked the radar, and took just one companion, our Cairn Terrier Chris. As we circled the reservoir we could hear the regular slap of the beaver's tail. He is getting bolder and does not seem to be making much of an effort to hide his presence these days. Chris was in a particularly adventurous mood, and decided to take a walk out on a narrow tree where turtles frequently perch. He managed to execute this balancing act with great dexterity, having no trouble turning around at the far end. Proud of himself, he set out for a second trip, and over-confidence got the better of him. He slipped off the log and disappeared completely underwater briefly. When his head reappeared, dog-paddling frantically, he looked a bit like a wet rat. With some coaxing and encouragement, he managed to make it back to dry land.

On the eastern side of the Reservoir we came across a field of may apples. The two umbrella-like leaves of each plant, which float about a foot above the forest floor, were withered and yellowing, but below them the single may apples were growing and ripening. The may apple is a plant frequently commented upon by early European explorers, who were obsessed with identifying the fruits of the new lands they explored. The English word "fruitful" has multiple meanings: abundant, plentiful, productive, and healthy being just a few. For Europeans, the presence of fruit implied the promise of easy and Eden-like living. The absence of fruit produced doubts about the land's potential to create wealth and sustain populations. So as the explorers moved into lands unknown to them, in their journals they constantly commented on the exploitable natural resources of the land, but were especially interested in the presence of fruit. Grains, vegetables and meat might be the foundations of sustainable life, at its meanest level; fruit represented life a step above mere survival. Fruit brought sweetness and joy to living. Fruit that was abundant and could be plucked straight from the plant and consumed--with almost no labor involved--was a decadent luxury. So the discovery of wild fruits in the new land was embraced as a sign of its promise. Beyond berries, however, the New World suffered a deficit, in comparison to the Old, in the realm of luxuriant, natural sweets. The American crab apple was a poor cousin to the endless varieties of cultivated old world apples; pears and peaches were old world fruit; the new world had a few varieties of small wild plums.

The May apple was abundant, so European explorers often commented on it. About the size of a lime, the fruit is greenish yellow. Some explorers called it a citron or a wild lemon. One rather optimistic English explorer declared that it tasted "like apricocks." In fact all parts of the plant except the fruit are poisonous, and even the fruit has been known to cause diarrhea. Although some whites called it the "indian apple" it doesn't appear that Indians found it too desirable. Another common name is "hog apple," and botanist Asa Gray described it as "slightly acid, mawkish, eaten by pigs and boys." Indeed, there is not too much of the may apple worth eating. Inside its glossy rind is mostly air, some stringy pulp, and some seeds.

I was nonetheless surprised after searching Thoreau's writings that I could not find a single passage on the May Apple. Certainly Thoreau would have encounted this plant, and could not have passed it by without close inspection. And for Thoreau, a botanical study was never complete until you had not simply viewed, touched and smelled the item, but tasted it too. I suspect that somewhere in his writings he does comment on the May Apple, perhaps using an alternative name for the fruit.

If you'd like to follow in the footsteps of the early European explorers, and see if the may apple does indeed taste "like apricocks," now is your chance. Head to your local forest, and seek out the may apple. They will generally be found in large colonies, rather than as solitary plants, so they should not be hard to spot.

Catching up

As many folks have reminded me, there was much silence on the blog for the last month. That is not the result of lack of interest or lack of time spent at the Reservoir, but just plain old busy-ness. Add to that a broken digital camera, and several weeks spent away from New Concord, and what you get is a missing month. I did managed to get a few pictures from the late May nature walk hosted by Biologists Dr. Danny Ingold and Robin Densmore. Above is a picture of a water snake we found sunning itself on the old east bridge. Below is a more remarkable sight--an Eastern Painted Turtle discovered in the middle of egg-laying. The turtes come ten yards or so up from the water , dig a hole, and lay their eggs. If you see disturbed mounds of earth not far from the water in mid- to late spring, be careful not to tromp on them. Many of these eggs are uncovered by raccoon and other varmints before they ever hatch. But given the explosion in the population of Eastern Painted Turtles in the Reservoir in the last few years, many are managing to hatch and make it safely back to the water.

Have the Beaver Returned?

Last night Liam and I took the kayaks to the Reservoir for an evening paddle. We arrived about 8 PM and it was still quite light. A father and a little boy floated lazily in an inflatabe boat, fishing line extended into the water. Two skinny shirtless pre-teens were casting lines from the dock. It is rare these days that I arrive at the reservoir and find it empty of people. We launched our boats and paddled toward the quieter north end. Small bass and bluegill were visible in the shallows along the shoreline. It hasn't rained in quite awhile, so the visibility was high. I scooped up a few old beer bottles resting in the mud in the shallows. We heard a fairly loud splash, and I thought it must be one of the large grass carp who idle around the north end. Still, it seemed a sound too energetic for these slothful ones, who generally only demonstrate any energy when startled by a floating kayak overhead. A young couple arrived, holding hands and laughing, and headed out around the trail. Just as they appeared on the west bridge, another loud splash sound occurred. The startled young woman asked her boyfriend "What was that!" "Someone threw a rock." Was his reply. "No, I think it was a grass carp," I replied from the water, "there are some big ones out here." But I was having my doubts. Liam was across the lake, nearer to the splash. "That wasn't a beaver tail slap, was it?" I asked him. "Yeah Dad, I think it was. I was following his head across the water, and then he splashed and disappeared.

Could the beaver really be back? And was this a good thing or a bad thing? Seven years ago, a family of very industrious beavers appeared at the reservoir and in short order began down taking down some sizeable hardwoods. The village finally decided to hire someone to trap them. The signs of their presence are still visible. The gnaw marks around girdled dead trees. The numerous deadfalls extending from shore into the water, the distinctive beaver-chewed stumps that appear along the trailside, and a large pile of smaller sticks and branches that guarded the mouth of their lodge. Their presence was not entirely destructive. The trees they felled into the water have provided protection of fish and easily accessible sunning spots for the turtle population, which has exploded in recent years.

Liam and I paddled past the old beaver lodge, which had dwindled away over the years. But it appeared to be more substantial again, and amidst the many branches were the beavers' marks had long since blackened, there appeared to be several freshly cut or gnawed branches. Were these simply discards cut and torn with my rusty old loppers and tossed toward the water by someone on the trail clearing team, or were they the work of a beaver? We paddled to the north end, turned our boats around, and floated silently, watching the surface of the water, as twilight approached. A three-quarters-full moon kept it light well past 9 oclock. As we watched and waited the chorus of birds and frogs grew louder, and the distant sounds of the interstate were drowned out. It was such a great experience waiting, listening and watching, that I wasn't really sure I WANTED to spot a beaver. I liked the idea of the possibility of a beaver--the unconfirmed rumor of a beaver--more than the certainty of one. Just as surely as the POSSIBILITY of an Ivory-Billed Woodpecker in the swamps of eastern Arkansas has more allure than irrefutable photographic evidence of one would ever have, the idea that MAYBE the beaver had returned to the Reservoir had great appeal. Plus, there was the problem. If I KNEW there was a beaver, would I have to tell Village manager John Huey, so that they might hire someone to trap this one? There have been so many other signs of increasing wildlife diversity at the reservoir in the last seven years--the arrival of Kingfishers and Green Heron, the explosion in the number and variety of turtle species--it was nice to see the return of the beaver, perhaps the only creature besides man who consciously works to alter its environment to suit its needs.

Forty five minutes of watching, waiting and listening produced no new sightings, and no more loud splashes. Liam paddled south toward the docks, and I lingered a little longer, thinking his movement might startle a beaver we just couldn't see. Half way back to the dock, I spotted him. I followed silently until the alarmed beaver let go with the tell-tale slap of the tale before diving under water. From the size of his head and tail, it appears to be a very young one. Perhaps a male who recently arrived cross-country from a too-crowded beaver pond nearby, ready to start a new home and family. Liam had indeed spotted the first returning beaver in seven years! We paddled back to the dock and loaded up the boats. The skinny boys playing on the dock were eager to show us the tiny snapping turtle they caught on their line.

I returned for an early morning paddle to see if I could spot him again, and did. I brought the digital camera, but it is acting up, and I need to get a new one. I think I'll keep the beaver's presence quiet for awhile. The turtles could use a few more perching logs.

May at the Reservoir

I've been so busy lately that I have had only a few occassions to go out to the Reservoir, and even fewer to write about it. An alternating pattern of sunny and rainy days has created an explosion of greenery. Unfortunately, this has made me a slave to my yard--mowing, weeding, mulching, planting and pruning, not driven by hopes of having a prie-winning yard, but rather by fear of offending my neighbors by having the most unkempt one. Yard work is tyranny, and I get little satisfaction out of three or four hours spent doing it. Any sense of accomplishment is overwhelmed by the realization of how many big, impossible yard projects are not yet begun. My neighbors, mostly retirees, are fastidious yard keepers. They approach the task with religious discipline, devoting the nicest part of every day to the tasks at hand. I, on the other hand, would rather be out on a run, a bike ride, or woods walk, or a paddle around the reservoir. I can find endless enjoyment in a half day spent trail benching or cutting back multiflora rose, but walking in straight lines behind a mower drives me batty, and pulling the tap root of a dandelion just reminds me how many more of these devils are in my yard than in my neighbors. I suppose it is the social expectations of yard work that make it so unenjoyable. Clearing trail is USEFUL and anonymous work. Strangers will appreciate your efforts without knowing who you are, and will not judge you for missing a raspberry cane or failing to clear a deadfall. They will simply duck under or step over it. No one is keeping score.

The Reservoir these days is busy and beautiful. The trees are leafing out and wildflowers are in abundance. White and pink trillium adorn the landscape in some areas. A dozen other wildflowers I cannot name, in yellows, whites, lavenders, blues, and reds, are making their appearance. Painted turtles adorn every log along the shoreline. Snakes sunning along the trail or on the bridges quickly slither away as they hear you approach. The trees and sky are filled with birds: red-wing blackbirds, kingfishers, green heron, woodpeckers, and high up above red-tailed hawks and turkey vultures.

People are abundant, too. In my ten years in New Concord, I have never seen so many people using the reservoir. Today when Liam and I took the dogs out for a walk, a family was fishing along the south end. Two college students--a young couple--arrived with fishing poles and took up a position along the grassy east bank. Bluegill were abundant and visible in the shallows. Further up the east side, a mother and a toddler walked along the trail at the water's edge. On the north end, we came across another couple wading in ankle deep water. They were looking for turtles. I didn't know them, but they had the "look" of seasoned naturalists, so I stopped briefly to ask them what they were finding. They had found a few spiny softshell turtles--a species I regularly see while kayaking local rivers, but did not know was present in the Reservoir. I asked them if there were any snappers in the pond, and they replied yes, there was indeed a fairly large one who lived at the north end. A few days ago while I was out at the reservoir, I saw a very large turtle disappear beneath the surface and wondered if it were a snapper. After describing the turtle and the place I saw it, the young naturalist told me it was almost certainly a snapper.

When we returned to the car, there were six cars in the lot. A mother and a toddler were lying on their bellies, heads hanging over the edge of the dock, peering into the water. A younger toddler sat nearby in a baby stroller, holding a long stick, pretending to fish with it. It was great to see so many people enjoy this place. Tomorrow morning I leave with twelve students and another professor on a twelve day Civil War tour of Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Virginia. By the time I get back, I expect the trail will need some tending to, as greenery rises up and tries to reclaim it. I'll gather a few people for a quick trail clearing session, to get ready for a scheduled nature walk being led by a College biology professor on my birthday.

Afternoon on the Water

After work today I loaded the kayak on the car and headed out to the reservoir to get some time on the water. I had not had a chance to paddle the boat since I installed a new seat and some knee braces. I was eager to see how these additions affected the boat's handling, but also just to get out on the water on only the second nice day in a few weeks. After a quick sprint to the north end, I doubled back at a more leisurely pace, keeping an eye out for wildlife along the shoreline. The first thing I spied was a Canada goose sitting on her nest in the grass along the shore. She was not happy to see me, and kept her head low to the ground, but her eyes firmly on me, and I floated by and snapped a few pictures.

At the north end dozens of turtles were soaking in the sun from log perches. Typically the turtles scatter quickly as my boat approaches, but this brave soul decided that the sun felt too good and his perch was just too nice to be abandoned by the approach of me. Even after the bow of my boat bumped his log, he held his ground. After soaking in the scenery for awhile, I headed back to the car. As I pulled my boat ashore, a few members of the track team headed out on the trail, and gave a thumbs up review of the new bridges when they completed their lap.