26 Jun, 2012 Author: Glorianna Davenport
I am a landscape person – always have been. The flow of shapes, large and small, color and texture entice me to move into, through and over, from one vista to the next. Plants speak to me of wisdom and of lives well lived. Many years ago, when I was a practicing sculptor, a grouping of red-coats and pixie coat lichens caught my eye. I quickly dropped down until my eye matched their level, In angled sunlight, each upright cast its own shadow. Rising again I quickly sketched, “Audience waiting for the start of a symphony”. The symphony surrounded me; it emanated from the air, earth and trees of the forest. Alas I was not able to bind a musical representation to the drawing; as a result, the audience I represented on paper, had to wait patiently, silently, as if for the symphony to begin.
In the years that followed, I traded in the tools of the sculptor for the tools of the movie maker. Movies speak of time, temporality conveyed through the sequencing of images and sound. Movies are best at capturing action, why people do what they do. In the observational synch-sound documentary, human conversation often dominates the sound track, carrying meaning that we, the audience, can easily parse.
With the restoration project at Tidmarsh, I have returned to my preoccupation with landscape. How may we capture phenomena of changing natural ecologies as they unfold slowly over time? The challenge is multi-faceted and demanding, for even as we are immersed in a design process, the landscape is changing. What do we need to know, what data do we need to collect to make these changes discernable over the near and longer term?
Already we are using a range of methods, techniques and tools to capture a baseline that reflects the state of the landscape today. Some of these methods are commonly used in stream restoration and conservation projects; others are more novel in their design and application. Survey data, water flow, chemical and biological analysis of sediment and water, a plant species inventory, designation of habitat types, bird, insect and invertebrate counts – individually, these will be helpful to those writing reports in the future; however, on their own they cannot convey much about the landscape that is now in transition. Short movies of scientists at work, long time-lapse sequences from a given point of view will add interest, and soundtracks capturing moments of the symphony I spoke of earlier can help convey an experience of the place. But to tell the deeper story, we need to record many synchronized data tracks across the landscape over a long period of time. This phase of our study requires the participation of many committed individuals and is just beginning.
As my sensitivity to the need for restoration actions and the continuing naturalization of a newly protected wetland grows, my attention is increasingly drawn to the cacophony of place, or in the words of the superb naturalist Bernie Krause, the “biophony” of biodiversity at work. This idea became more real to me this spring. In April, American Robins arrived in great numbers: I could not decide whether they were migrating or whether they wanted to be here. On April 30, Robert Buchsbaum, a naturalist at Mass Audubon, and a small group of volunteers began to lay out a few 50 meter circles in specific habitats with the goal of recording a first Tidmarsh count of nesting birds.
In May, observation of migrating and breeding bird species gained energy, and a few weeks later, the frogs began to announce their presence and availability. As May progressed, our volunteer group gained some neighbors who bird regularly and photograph on the property. I am especially grateful to Kathy Doyon who sent me regular updates and some of her best photographs about her discoveries on the property; Linda and Paul Williams who contributed photographs and have been regulars in our first breeding bird count; and Stew Sanders, Mark Faherty and Robert Buchsbaum all of who contributed their expertise to this first count of breeding birds at Tidmarsh. Stay tuned for our identity on iBird.
Throughout the spring, all this talk of birds, encouraged me to listen more critically in order to parse the symphony. I purchased IBird-pro have tried to learn some unique calls. In this Stew passed along valuable mnemonics: "witchity, witchity, witchity" sings the yellow throat; "teacher, teacher, teacher" sings the oven bird. The yellow warbler sings "sweet, sweet, very very sweet". Mark Faherty added the mnemonics of the english gentleman birder with "teakettle, teakettle, teakettle" of the Carolina Wren and "Madge, madge, madge, pleeese put the teakettle on" of the song sparrow. Alas, distinguishing one call from another and pinning it to the right bird is proving harder than I could have imagined. There is an enormous difference between listening to the biophony – the total sound –and separating that biophony into songs and calls of individual species. The latter is like learning a new language; youth has its advantages. However, I still enjoy the total sound and am recording long tracts of synchronized audio in many of our habitats.
Now we have passed the summer solstice, the biophony is changing: birds are quieter; while frogs and toads continue to fill the night air, insects and especially butterflies and dragon flies are becoming more more present and urgent . On monday we completed the last nesting bird count of the season. On Saturday June 30 we host a butterfly walk.