The Great Ice Battle
The region around St. Louis suffered the maximum effects of the Great December storm of the early 1920s. Trains were forced to stop running because there were no signals to guide them and the tracks were littered with ice-covered debris. More than 5,000 passengers were stranded in the St. Louis Union Station for forty-eight hours. The telephone companies had an especially serious problem on their hands in this case, because the storm-stricken belt lay straight across the transcontinental system of communications, which was, momentarily, severed during the disaster.
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The March of Time
Pussy willows, the fluffy, silver-coated flower buds of that graceful shrub, now ornament the low grounds and stream borders. In our northern U.S. states the month of March is the time when we hear the earliest of our frogs, the wood frog, the spring peeper, and the chorus-lover. Farther south these amphibians may have come out earlier. In sheltered places, the catkins of the alders and the birches are dangling, waved gently by the wind.
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The Weight of Ice
An ice storm made history in New England in February, 1898, when the formation of ice was so astonishing that a plaster cast was taken of one of the ice-encased wires of the New England Telephone and Telegraph Company, and is now exhibited in the Bell Historical Museum, in New York. The wire, with its’ coating of ice, weighed 3.2 pounds to the linear foot. In its general effects this storm was, however, eclipsed by the one of November 27-29, 1921.
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The Opossum & Her Babies
It was early fall. The days were chilly, and the rains cold. For Mother ‘Possum who had come from the warm, sunny South, it must have seemed as cold as the North Pole would to us. We tucked a lot of cotton wool into her box, thinking she would use it for a blanket, but Mother ‘Possum had never heard of such a thing. She kicked it as far as she could. The babies were cold and Mother ‘Possum was shaking with it. Two hotwater bags, filled with piping hot water were fastened on the outside of the cigar box home.
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The Opossum & Her Babies
It was early fall. The days were chilly, and the rains cold. For Mother ‘Possum who had come from the warm, sunny South, it must have seemed as cold as the North Pole would to us. We tucked a lot of cotton wool into her box, thinking she would use it for a blanket, but Mother ‘Possum had never heard of such a thing. She kicked it as far as she could. The babies were cold and Mother ‘Possum was shaking with it. Two hotwater bags, filled with piping hot water were fastened on the outside of the cigar box home.
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In Honor of John Clayton
The planting of wild flower gardens is becoming very popular in the United States. When this is done from seed or from roots, and not at the expense of exterminating rare species from some other locality, it is to be encouraged. Few nurserymen supplying wild plants, however, are propagating any material in their nurseries or using care to leave sufficient plants to maintain a normal supply.
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Spencer Fullerton Baird – Naturalist
In 1845 Spencer Fullerton Baird was chosen to become Professor of Natural History at Dickinson College and began the strenuous life of research that characterized his whole later career. He corresponded with naturalists and amateurs in this country and Europe, amassed enormous collections, and in vacation times made expeditions in various directions from the Great Lakes to Virginia and Ohio.
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The Annual Goal of Alewives
An old willow, leafless still, stood beside the rapids a little way beyond the bridge. How many springs had its bare branches reached over the migrant alewife parents as they went up towards the ponds, and how many summers had its leaves shaded the migrant alewife young as they came down towards the sea? The tree looked so large and lasting.
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The Fuzzy Grey Eaglets
The screams of Sky-King warned me again as I came to pay my second call to their nest even before I recognized the landmarks about the place. This time the bald eagle’s mate was not brooding. She stood beside the nest, as though she had dropped some task at my approach. I studied Sky-King this time through my glasses, before he decided to leave his lookout on the dead spruce. At each angry scream, the golden scimitar of his beak parted.
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Courage of the Alewives
The water in the bay of Patten’s Pond Stream was calm and shining under the morning sun. The birches on the near shore still showed that grace of line, and across the bay, pine and cedar and fir dotted the slope with dark shades that accentuated the delicacy of spring tints. From shore to shore stretched a white line of waiting gulls.
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