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Pining for the bygone

Richard Louv writes, in Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children from Nature-Deficit Disorder, that children’s understanding & experience of nature has changed over time and that these changes have not been for the betterment of relationships with nature. Louv, in the book, writes about many practices in environmental education that are both effective and affective. Take his stance on unstructured time outdoors: I too have written that children’s free play at is integral the development of a pro-environmental ethic. Kids need more freedom to just be.

Yet, while reading Louv and now appearing elsewhere, a reflection that the “way it was”—recreating experiences of our youth for today’s youth—emerged and seems to be promoted as one answer to our culture’s disconnect to the more-than-human. Take, for example, this video blog from Mark Morey, founder of the Institute for Natural Learning, to Ontario environmental educators. Here’s the whole 4:24:

Morey has been invited by the P.I.N.E Project to come and share his experience “connecting people of all ages to nature“. And not to say that this isn’t intriguing or a noble cause I believe in. I was interested enough about Morey’s experience to want to join the talk at OISE on March 6th.

But I was interested in what Morey said at 3:11:

So I’m looking forward to coming up there and sharing more stories about how we can have a powerful life together. Happy families, healthy families. Look back to what it was that we had when we were younger and how we can renew those things again so we can be strong, resilient and joyful.

The walk, the White-throat and the chance encounter in birding

While out with the dogs and Heather this morning, I heard a bird song that was different than the “regular” bird noises I hear while I’m out and about. I had a similar experience of hearing an unusual call last month. Upon hearing that call, off I went traipsing across a park with a dog in tow, scanning bare limbs for movement. I found the bird at the top of a tree and, not surprisingly, it wasn’t some vagrant or rarity, rather it was a European Starling (Sturnus vulgaris) obviously trying out a song from its repertoire.

The same kind of experience happened again this morning: out with the dogs, chatting with Heather, paying attention to what Griff was doing at the end of his leash and out of the periphery of my consciousness, my mind flips into action: there is something out of the ordinary calling “out there”. Now, having had the Starling experience in the last month, and having people and dogs to draw my attention, I made a mental note of its auditory presence but then moved on.

Off our mixed Canid and Hominid foraging flock moved to get a cup shade-grown of coffee and a teabiscuit (I say foraging flock because Ollie and Griff managed to convince us that we should offer them some crumbs). We returned home following our same path and in the same spot on our out-bound leg, the song snapped into consciousness. And it was something out of the ordinary. Just like my gut told at the time that the bird I heard last month was a Starling, my gut told me that this wasn’t.

The City’s wrong to ban tapping Norway Maples for sap

Norway Maple
Creative Commons License photo credit: jnthnhys

The Toronto Star is reporting that a local plan to tap Norway Maples (Acer platanoides) this spring, collect sap and boil it down into maple syrup has hit a snag (no pun intended) with the proposal to tap the Norway Maples found in city parks: Toronto’s urban forestry department believes that tapping is “detrimental” to the trees.

When I first read the story, I was concerned that there had been a misquote and the plan was to tap Sugar Maples (Acer saccharum) rather than Norway Maples. I checked in with Laura Reinsborough, fellow graduate from the Faculty of Environmental Studies and project coordinator for Not Far From the Tree (the organization behind this idea) if NFFTT’s plans were to tap Sugar vs. Norway Maples. Not so! NFFTT has a post up that explains the whole program in detail.

For the production of syrup, it looks like they only real difference is the lower percentage of sugar in a Norway Maple’s sap. Typically speaking, it takes 40 litres of Sugar Maple sap to make 1 litre of syrup. Based on their research NFFTT is suggesting they will need to collect 60 litres of Norway Maple sap to get that same 1 litre of syrup. Beyond that, the Norway Maple syrup is supposed to be comparable to Sugar Maple syrup.

While NFFTT has to be polite when dealing with the city, I can be a bit more blunt: I call bullshit on the city’s position. Here’s why. Norway Maples are a non-native species of tree that a preferred for urban planting because they often can deal with the stresses of urban settings better than other species of maples. While urban planting practices are changing, they were often planted as a monoculture: street after street of Norway Maple as the street tree. The problem with the Norway Maple is that individuals are now becoming naturalized (meaning that they are growing from the seeds of planted trees rather than just growing in places where they’ve been planted) in greenspaces throughout Toronto. In turn, they are out-competing native species of trees and quickly replacing a mixed Sugar Maple-American Beech forest that would be the undisturbed normal here in the city of Toronto. Additionally, in comparison with that mixed Maple-Beech forest, Norway Maples shade-out most of the herb layer growing under its canopy. This loss, especially when Norway Maples grow in the ravine system of Toronto, leads to increased erosion. In short, while I dislike dichotomized concepts like native/non-native and invasive/non-invasive, these trees pose a serious ecological problem.

The City of Toronto, to their credit, have recognized the invasive nature of the Norway Maple and publish material describing it as an invasive species [pdf alert] including information on how to control it:

Norway Maple seedlings may be dug out of the ground.  Cut small saplings at the base using hand pruners or loppers. Small to medium sized trunks can be girdled.

But do we get the irony yet? The same department that publishes the brochure suggesting that Norway Maples are invasive and should be dug out of the ground, pruned or girdled is the same department now saying the Norway Maples found on city property cannot be tapped for sap.

The benefits of tapping Norway Maples outweigh the concerns. If tapping occurs using time-tested procedures ensuring that over-tapping does not occur ((Simply, the proper number of taps is based on of the diameter of the tree, never to go beyond four per tree)) then there is little, if anything at risk for the health of the tree. There is, as NFFTT outlines, another benefit from this plan: the possibility of citizens’ engagement, understanding of and experience of our “urban forest”. Given that the City is already working to remove Norway Maples, why shouldn’t we find some benefit instead?

Birding Rondeau Provincial Park, April 28-May 7, 2008

While in the field conducting interviews at Rondeau Provincial Park over two weeks in spring 2008, I collected ten consecutive days worth of travels on my trusty GPS. The data consisted of two things: a track (a continuous line where I had travelled) and ‘exact’ points, recorded every 30 seconds, of my location. Now, I’m no GIS master, but I am using this data in my analysis for my dissertation. Here’s one map that I generated today:

Rondeau Tracks—April 28-May 7, 2008

(Update 09/13/10: Download and explore the Google Earth .kmz file I created from this data)

Reflections on my first use of Twitter in the classroom

@torontonature

Update (5-17-11): This post has turned into a book chapter, which, in turn became a presentation. Feel free to visit both.

Inspired by others’ use of Twitter in higher ed, I decided to try and integrate Twitter into the course that I’ve developed and instructed while a PhD student in the Faculty of Environmental Studies at York University.

Never to be replaced?

I’m not sure if this will end as a lament or an attempt at sharing my all-digital solution for work and research. I’m in the process of purging my technology drawer (less a drawer and more a graveyard, really) and came across the objects essential for my paperless and highly mobile system of ought-four:

My mobile setup, circa 2004

That’s a Palm Tungsten T2, a Palm Wireless Keyboard and a C Pen C600 hand held scanner. The technologies that connect them to my computer are all obsolete, yet I miss the functionality this suite provided and don’t have a comparable system in use today.

Here’s how I used them: When I was reading, I had the C Pen at hand and rather than highlighting with a fluorescent maker, I would simply scan the line or lines of text into the scanner. I would also scan the page number that the text appeared. Once I was done reading the article or book, I could attach the C600 to the computer. I would upload these text notes, open them in Word, edit them where typos occurred and then save the document. With that saved, the scanned text became searchable using Copernic Desktop Search—and it was a great system, in part, because all you needed to remember was an idea or concept. Enter that into Copernic and up would pop all the papers and books that they appeared in. Choose a suitable quote, copy and paste it into a document and you were done. In a sense, I could almost forget the specifics of what I had read; just needing to remember that idea and then searching for that. No hunting and pecking through a book. Super time-saver.

I would also be keeping types notes of reflections on the T2—using the keyboard and Documents to Go, I would create a new file for each document and enter thoughts or ideas as I read them. Sync the document to the computer and I had a digital version that was available for searching. I also used the T2 for taking notes in class and at conferences. Again, all digital documents.

Here’s the lament. It’s not the objects that are broken in the system: I can still pop in fresh batteries and these three still work. It’s the software and interface hardware that left me behind. The C Pen connected to my computer via serial port. The serial port has long been replaced by USB (I even purchased a serial to USB adaptor to lengthen the life of the scanner. After a fresh install of XP, the adaptor stopped working because I misplaced the CD-ROM with the drivers). On the software side of things is the fact that from Vista forward, the software that C Pen needed to sync was not compatible. Similar story with the Palm T2. Now, perhaps I could jury-rig a solution involving dual-booting OSes and sussing out proper drivers. But I’m not that interested. And I feel like I shouldn’t have to.

So, in the end, I’m going to send these three off to be recycled. And where am I left now? I can still edit documents using Docs to Go on my iPhone. Sadly, with no external keyboard I’m limited to quick edits. I could start to photograph pages and then have the text recognized by OCR software, but it’s not nearly as fine-grain a solution as line by line scanning.

Long-ish story short, I now have spiral bound notebooks with hand-written reflections & quotes. Not so digital, but they don’t get left behind.

The start of the Skunk Cabbage

The start of the Skunk Cabbage, originally uploaded by Gavatron.

A sure sign of spring is the emergence of Eastern Skunk Cabbage (Symplocarpus foetidus). While walking the dogs in the Nordheimer Ravine today, I noticed some cabbage is beginning its 2010 growing season. This is the earliest that I’ve noticed the Cabbage in this location, but it’s also the earliest that I’ve gone looking for it.

Eastern Skunk CabbageThis photograph (right), taken in the same spot in 2008, show what the flower will look like in early March.

Birding: sport or conservation?

This post is one part of a two-parter that I’m writing in response to a paper on the sport of birding that was published in the Journal of Sport and Social Issues.

Feb. 15, 2010
Creative Commons License photo credit: auburnxc

Instead of protest, culture jamming, confrontation, and direct action the environmental sporting practices of traveling the state by automobile and competitively searching for vast numbers of birds is what the World Series of Birding constructs as environmentalist. Driving in search of birds in polluted New Jersey is, in this formulation, a great way to protect birds. (p.214)

This is how author Spencer Schaffner, writing in the Journal of Sport and Social Issues, condemns the World Series of Birding as more sport than a form of environmental conservation. In this paper, Schaffner links birding to toxic waste writing that “birders often seek out polluted environmental niches” (p. 212) and rather than confronting the tension of our culture’s creation of the waste, the sport acts to hide or ignore it. Given my research, I don’t agree outright that birders actively seek out polluted areas and this is where I’m less impressed with the paper.

Birding and bird conservation

Returning, however, to this idea that birding is not the same as bird conservation, Schaffner writes:

The brand of environmentalism promoted by mainstream environmental organizations is made in ways palatable, conservative, and legitimate through a relationship with the accepted sport practice of birding. Unlike the growing environmental movement to end global warming, for instance, which threatens to radically change entrenched aspects of industrial capitalism, protecting wild birds has only involved relatively undisruptive changes such as the establishment of trade and hunting laws, small-scale nature preserves, and pesticide regulation. (p. 212)

And this is what I want to discuss in this post: I have yet to see a cogent reply from the birding community to address this critique. In fact, its an argument that could be made from my own work: when asking birders what kind of rules they follow when out watching birds, I was amazed at the human-centred (avoid trespassing on private property, follow the rules of the road when birding in a car) or instrumental (don’t drop trash) nature of the responses. True, there were thoughtful multicentric-centred responses, but when birds were mentioned in most birder’s ethical approach to birding, it is often along the lines of this participant’s response:

I don’t want to try and get too close, but I will approach one quietly and sort of let the bird – their instinct for self-preservation, you know, rule that. If you make too much noise, it’s just going to fly away.  But I don’t want to disturb the bird.  I want to get a good look at it but beyond that some move away.

Getting that good look is still at the heart of the activity with little self-regulation or questioning about what might be in the best interest for the bird. In this case, the birder is leaving it to the bird to make the decision that he’s too close—by flying away. While this may not be the practice of everyone, I have seen enough similar behaviour to this (which I call “birders behaving badly”) that I know its not an isolated practice.

Birding as sport or birding as conservation

Which returns us to the larger question that Schaffner raises: is birding an act of leisure (sport) or is it an act of conservation? And if it is more than leisure, how does the birding community address critiques that birding is an activity that does little more than promoting the status quo—appearances as an activity that appears to be doing little to address larger environmental concerns or, as I suggest, the personal well-being of birds watched?

I know that birders feel when they participate in citizen science programs (such as the Christmas Bird Count) that they are participating in the monitoring and conservation of bird populations. I know that birders feel that when they join a group (such as Field Naturalists) that purchases and protects habitat for birds that they are participating in habitat conservation. What is enough?

It is clear that people don’t like to hear that what they are currently doing isn’t enough—we all like to feel like we’re competent and illuminated. It is also clear that bird populations are continuing to decrease. We know this, ironically, through bird population monitoring. What I think articles like Schaffner’s raise is that uncomfortable feeling, an inner psychological state of angst, that what we do in the name of birds, on the whole, isn’t enough. There are at least two responses: dismiss these claims outright (as I heard from birders as the paper was published) or reflect on the larger claims of the paper and make an effort to do a bit more.

And in my research, I’ve heard from birders who are starting to make connections between their larger lives and the act of birding. Take this conversation, for example:

Gavan: Would you say that, or do you have any examples of times where you have made – whether you have made behavioural changes or even purchasing changes based on the lives of birds?

Male: Absolutely.

Gavan: Can you explain to me maybe some of those things?

Male: I read Bridget Stuchbury’s book [Silence Of The Songbirds].

Female: It’s a book at our Nature Club.

Male: Also, we are much more conscious of where a product comes from now. For example, we’re a little more sensitive about buying products in the winter that comes from South Americas. We worry about the practices.

I have even thought – I mean I haven’t acted on this, but I have thought of going up to the produce manager of the local supermarket and say “I’m not going to buy these asparagus from Peru because I don’t know what’s on it, for one, and I don’t know if there’s something on it, what impact that has had on something that I care about, birds.” So I have not done that, but it has crossed my mind, I should. I probably don’t do it because I’m generally not a confrontational and I just figure he’s going to look at me and say “what’s this jerk talking about anyway”.

It’s not a question of knowledge, it’s a question of action. And the risk of looking like a jerk.

Birding and the sewage lagoon

This post is one part of a two-parter that I’m writing in response to a paper on the sport of birding that was published in the Journal of Sport and Social Issues.

a swim anyone?
Creative Commons License photo credit: iBjorn

Earlier this year, Spencer Schaffner ((Hi Spencer! I know you have a Google Alert set up and I want you to know, independent of my critique here that I appreciate your scholarship in the birding sphere. I would love to chat sometime.)), writing in the Journal of Sport and Social Issues, published a paper titled “Environmental Sporting: Birding at Superfund Sites, Landfills, and Sewage Ponds”. On the whole, its an interesting read with points that I and my own research certainly agree with.

Schaffner’s overall argument in the paper focuses on the link between birding in polluted spaces and birding’s complicity with masking these toxic spaces. I find this argument challenging to agree wholeheartedly with.

My reasoning: birders look for birds in significant concentrations. Sewage lagoons (which, of the three polluted areas described in the paper, I have experience with) act to concentrate birds, hence their appearance as a place for birding. They’re sought out in spite of their shitty origins because they offer an opportunity to see many birds in one place. Are birder’s ignoring the risk to birds by visiting such sites?

These lagoons, with their increased nutrients from the effluent are a source of food for invertebrates, attract avian predators. What is worth questioning is if there are compounds that birds, attracted to the lagoons, could ingest and impact their ability to thrive. Research on this question conducted in sites around Ontario suggests that the answer is that it depends: yes, these places are sources of pollution but the birds appear not to ingest enough compounds to impact their overall health.

Significantly elevated concentrations of eight contaminants were determined in domestically raised mallards released at Hamilton Harbour CDF, Winona  SL, and  Big Creek Marsh. However, most of these concentrations, with the exception of PCBs and DDE, were  lower than concentrations found in other studies. All concentrations were below levels believed to have harmful effects on birds. (p.241)

Significant, however, in this paper was the finding the Big Creek Marsh was a source of contaminants as the study area would typically not be seen as a waste facility: it is part of a National Wildlife Area surrounded by a large cattail marsh complex. The results indicate that it is not just classically constructed “waste spaces” that pose health risks to avian populations. Culturally, and this is damning, we have impacted the whole environment in such a way that we can’t judge the health or toxicity of a location by its ecological role or appearance as natural—marshes and sewage lagoons can both be sinks of organic contaminants.

So, to critique the act of birding at sewage lagoons as ignorance to pollution which renders toxicity invisible is an argument made more difficult given the diffuse nature of pollution. I’m not sure that birders would identify a sewage lagoon as inherently “healthy” now that they visit and find birds there. The argument could be made that any outdoor activity that does not actively interrogate the source and persistence of environmental pollution is complicit with creation—and perhaps that is true. To single out birding, though, because in its practice birders visit sources, such as sewage lagoons, seems like a bit of a low blow.

I’m left wondering where the argument will get us (us being those that are interested in birds, the people that watch them, impacts of Western culture and the larger more-than-human world). I do agree that birders have a unique opportunity to engage with the conservation of bird species, populations and individuals and that, for the most part, these kinds of interventions are left for others to do on birders’ behalf. But that’s the subject of the second post.

Mapping the locations mentioned by Ontario birders

This post includes ruminations and ideas emerging as I analyze the data collected for my PhD dissertation focusing on the act of birding. It doesn’t represent a final thought or particular endpoint: these are ideas in progress. I would be interested in hearing your opinion of my ideas, too.

During my analysis, I kept track of all the places mentioned by birders during interviews. With the exception of ‘sewage lagoons’ ((Because I collected them as a generic category and don’t have location information)) I’ve mapped the locations and the results are interesting ((Oh and the yellow thumbtacks indicate where I conducted the majority of interviews)). Immediately apparent: with two exceptions (The highlighted locations of Fisherville and the Carden Alvar) all these places are on or within short distance of a Great Lake.

So what does this tell us of the practice of birding in Ontario? Well, it tells us that birds are found where there is habitat as most of these locations are marshes, woodlots or other (relatively) undisturbed or protected natural areas and birders go to look for them in these places. That’s to be expected, isn’t it? It falls within conventional wisdom, certainly.


View Locations mentioned by Ontario birders in a larger map

There are, however, protected habitats that birds could be found throughout the province. So why such a focus on these near-lake habitats? Clearly, the Great Lakes are playing a role in the kind of birding that takes place in Ontario: they act as a concentrator. In the spring, migratory songbirds “fallout” in these remnant habitats (Point Pelee as a spring hotspot for songbirds, Beamer Point for raptor migration) and the lakes act as a barrier against which birds fly during fall migration (Cranberry Marsh, High Park, Hawk Cliff).

Interestingly, it really emphasizes that conventional birding practice focuses on migratory birds. And more specifically for Ontario, migratory birds as they move to and from the shore of a Great Lake, in part, because these places are most reliable for finding birds.

Two notable outliers: First, Fisherville. This region has hosted a winter population of Long-eared Owls. And people love Owls. Second, Carden Alvar. A unique habitat, with many rare or unusual bird species that cannot be found elsewhere in Ontario found here (the Loggerhead Shrike, for example). So this points out two allied practices: birders travel to find unusual birds (hence, the Carden Alvar’s emergence as a location) and birding practice changes in the winter (thus appears Fisherville).

Some thoughts about that. In winter, time is more diffuse and the birds are less predictable–irruptions occur in a (sort-of) pattern over years rather than in a regular seasonal pattern like spring and fall migration. Birds that appear in the winter are here primarily looking for food rather than being on the move to nesting / wintering grounds. In my experience, you know that Snowy Owls will be, say, near Arthur, but they’re diffuse enough that they can be hard to find.

So, the places that concentrate these winter birds (Fisherville, Amhurst Island) emerge as birding locations.