Pam’s Perspective
From the…
Pam Otto is the Manager of Natural Programs and Interpretive Services for the St. Charles Park District
July 20, 2012
I don’t want to overstate the obvious but, jeepers, it’s hot out! Dry too. As if it weren’t enough to feel the blazing heat as soon as we walk outside, we’ve also been subject to constant reminders from our local newscasters and meteorologists that conditions right now are, indeed, severe. (“Intense Heat! Extreme Humidity!” Sheesh, Tom Skilling uses more exclamation points than I do!)
I’m sure you’ve modified your outdoor activities over the past weeks to compensate for the heat. I know I have. Instead of sitting out on the deck for breakfast and dinner, I’m choosing to eat indoors where it’s at least a little cooler, and less humid. Although I’m still watering the garden, I’m using a soaker-type hose, so the water goes only where it’s supposed to and doesn’t run off (a good practice, no matter what our weather situation is). And the lawn? Ha! Those formerly green plants (only a few of which were actual grasses) are in a state of dormancy, and that’s fine with me. I’ve actually grown to admire their gold and russet hues.
(Fun fact: Dormancy is a perfectly normal state for turfgrass lawns, a statement backed by The Lawn Institute in East Dundee. That’s right, brown may not be the color you’d like your lawn to have, but it’s not a sign your grass is dead. According to experts at the Institute, “Most turfgrass plants can stay in a dormant state for at least 3-4 weeks without the grass dying. If drought goes beyond the 4 week mark it is suggested that water be applied to re-hydrate the grass slightly and keep it alive. Water enough to wet the soil down to 5 inches. This little drink will not green up the grass in many cases but will keep it alive.”)
Water conservation at times like these is important, not only for us humans, but for the sake of our wildlife neighbors. Even though we get our water from faucets and they get theirs from streams and ponds, the truth is we’re all drawing from the same general resources—aquifers and, in parts of Elgin and Aurora, the Fox River. Precipitation is what recharges these sources, and precipitation is exactly what we’re lacking right now.
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Just how tough things have gotten was underscored by a phone call I received the other morning from Chuck Peterson from Kane County Audubon. Chuck had been out on KCA’s Tuesday morning ramble and was just leaving Prairie Green Wetland. “You’ve gotta see this,” he said. “There are hundreds, maybe thousands of frogs at Prairie Green, all clustered together in what’s left of the pond there.”
I headed out as soon as I could and, sure enough, there they were. Hundreds of bullfrogs and green frogs, bobbing about in the muddy puddle, surrounded by hundreds more carcasses of those that were less fortunate.
I know these sorts of things happen—it’s just one of several ways nature keeps us from being overrun with frogs. It’s also a bonanza for anything that eats frogs; the tracks of raccoons, herons et al were in abundance, for sure. Still, watching that many little amphibians—some still with the remnants of their tadpole tails dragging behind—in a patch of water about the size of our lobby, was fascinating indeed.
They were sitting very still, probably to save energy (there wasn’t an insect in sight) but also to not call attention to themselves. In fact, the only time they moved was when I got too close. Who knows how long they’ll stay in that holding pattern? Will they disperse during the next thunderstorm? Get plucked by a passing predator? Only time will tell.
There are other signs, too, that water is scarce in our suburban wilds. The other evening as I was leaving Hickory Knolls, I saw a flash of blue in a tree by our bone-dry “rain” garden. It was too deep, too electric of a blue to be one of our bluebird neighbors, so I watched and waited for a better glimpse. Sure enough, it was a male indigo bunting, a bird we normally see farther west, where the fields meet the woods in our park. But with water in such short supply, he had no choice but to leave his preferred habitat and go searching for some liquid refreshment. The bird made his way over to our recirculating water feature, where he took a drink and splashed just a bit before heading back home again.
As I headed toward my truck for the ride home, I took a peek at the once-bubbling spring that skirts the south side of our parking lot. The deeply cracked earth of the stream bed, dappled with bits of dried algae, told me what I needed to know. But it got me to thinking about our human neighbors to the west. When the springs go, can sand in their showerheads be far behind?
Although forecast models call for continued drought conditions, there’s always hope that the scattered thunderstorms we’ve been having will be enough to get us through til some sort of regular precipitation returns. In the meantime, let’s try to take a lesson from our wild neighbors: Modify our behavior, conserve where we can, and remember that we’re all in this together.
Pam Otto is the manager of nature programs and interpretive services for the St. Charles Park District. She can be reached 630-513-4346 or potto@stcparks.org.