I glanced out my second-floor window and then did a double-take. On the grass below was a doe. The sight of deer in my yard usually just makes me fear for my garden, but as the doe shifted slightly, her tiny, spotted fawn came into view beneath her belly. The cuteness of baby animals is irresistible, even if they do grow into broccoli thieves.

The boat engine rumbled and machinery whirred as a gillnet rose from the depths of Lake Superior. Captain Ross Lind managed the throttle so that the 55-foot-long gillnet-tug-turned-research-vessel named Hack Noyes moved toward the net at the same speed the net lifter reeled it in. 

A group of interested adults on this Museum-sponsored field trip gathered around the equipment. We were mesmerized by the clicking of the metal teeth on the spinning drum as they gripped and then released the line, and by the lengths of delicate nylon net attached to the line. Capable hands guided the net down a long, stainless-steel worktable and into the storage tub.

A roll of duct tape bounced along in my backpack, and a permanent marker poked out of my pants pocket as I strode down the trail. A group of 20 Wisconsin Master Naturalist Volunteers-in-Training ambled behind me. We’d had a challenging morning of botany and geology at Morgan Falls in the Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest. Lunch had revived us, and now it was time for the afternoon activity. Anticipation bubbled.

“During this activity,” I explained, “you will each become a Professor of something in these woods.”

Slap. Bam. Swish. Thud. That was the soundtrack to my bedtime a couple of weeks ago as I killed mosquitoes in my bedroom. I caught them between two hands, smushed them against the wall, and swiped at the ones on my high ceiling with an extendo-handled feather duster. 

Finally having killed all visible mosquitoes, I checked to see that the towel I’d stuffed under my bedroom door was in place, crawled under the covers, and turned out the light. 

Buzz…

Thirty second graders tumble off their big yellow bus and onto the sidewalk in front of the Museum. Hot sunshine makes it feel like summer, and after tomorrow, (their last day of school) it will be. “Welcome to the Cable Natural History Museum,” I shout over the noise of traffic and excitement. “Check out that big banner. What’s the biggest word up there?” I ask pointing to the front of the Museum.

“ROCKS!” They answer as a group.

Raise your hand if you like rocks…awesome! You’re invited, too!

Through the gray dawn, I heard the grouse clucking and their feathers rustling as they returned to the lek and began to display. I could see their sharp tails spiked vertically as they spread their wings stiffly and stamped their feet. Wings flapped aggressively when two rivals came together. 

In the end, the most impressive thing about my visit to the lek wasn’t the dancing birds, but the knowledge that land managers are coming together to prioritize the habitat of a fascinating but declining bird. And it’s working. The sharp-tails I helped to count are part of a population that has almost doubled since last year. With any luck, I’ll say that again next spring. 

In Wisconsin, Populus balsamifera aren’t as common as their cousins the quaking and big-tooth aspens. Their numbers increase as you head north.

The more scientists dig into the chemistry of balsam poplar, the more impressive it gets. In the poplar’s pharmacopeia, scientists have identified vasodilators that are important for heart health, and oxytocins that reduce blood pressure. These trees of the far north manufacture the molecular building blocks of the brown fat that humans use to shiver and stay warm. 

Foxes can interrupt the Lyme bacteria’s cycle by reducing the numbers of mice and chipmunks available for the ticks to feed on. The ticks may find a different host—one who doesn’t carry Lyme—or they may just starve to death. The effect is so powerful that one area of western New York with unusually high numbers of foxes had no reports of Lyme. This research is so interesting, that we're repeating an episode from 2019, with a few small changes. 

Each spring as the northward migration takes flight, I use the CD to re-train my ears to identify the songs of the birds who have been away all winter. The robins, bless their loud hearts, are pretty helpful with this, too. There are several birds whose songs are described in comparison to the robin’s.

And, I just learned, the birds themselves tune up their ears in the spring.

 It’s not really breaking news anymore that relaxing in nature makes us happier, but it is worth repeating. Nature relieves mild depression, reduces stress, and increases happiness for both adults and children. And, without the icy winds of January or the mosquito hordes of July, this is the perfect season to walk slowly through nature. Go find a puddle, a leaf, a breeze, and some birdsong, and you will also find an increase in well-being.