How Critters Survive Minnesota Winters
I knew it had been a while since my last blog post. But I was surprised to see that it has been more than two months. I imagine that’s at least partly due to my aversion to spending any more time than necessary at my computer where I might be tempted to check the headlines—AGAIN and AGAIN, as if somehow some good news will suddenly appear. We will make it through these incomprehensibly stupid and dark times but, for now, it’s better for me to do stuff that’s totally unrelated to current events.
One thing I have been up to lately is marveling at how critters somehow manage to stay alive in our cruel climate. After doing a bit of research, I still don’t really get how, in the absence of witchcraft or magic, the majority of living creatures out there don’t just DIE during our long, inhospitable winters. But they usually don’t, and here’s how.
Birds—Sure, a lot of birds head south for the winter. But here in Minnesota, many birds stay put, including house sparrow, woodpeckers, blue jays, American goldfinches, Northern cardinals and black-capped chickadees, to name a few. How do they survive? Well, not all of them do. When we go through long periods of terribly harsh cold, only the strongest birds make it. And they do it, by doing some of the same things we might, like shiver, especially through the night when it’s really cold so they can maintain their body heat. Some birds also squat down to cover their legs and feet as best they can. (Oh, those tiny little bare legs.)
Black-Capped Chickadee—iStock
Because all that shivering burns off fat, birds are really hungry in the morning. So if you’d like to help out with a meal, fill a tray or platform feeder with a nice mix of black oiler sunflower seed, peanut pieces, safflower seeds and cracked corn. To offer a little something for everyone, consider having a tube-style feeder with a similar mixture in it for birds who prefer to eat that way. While you’re at it, maybe throw in a suet feeder or two and a finch feeder packed with tiny bits of thistle and sunflower pieces (they love sunflower pieces). Want to provide some water too? Plug in a heated dog dish or birdbath. Birds bathe all year long to keep their feathers clean, which helps them hold in warmth.
Ground Squirrels and Chipmunks—While chipmunks hibernate in the winter, sleeping in their burrows where they wake up every now and then to have a snack and poop and pee, Eastern Gray squirrels must survive the cold on food they’ve either hoarded or can forage somehow. They often stay in their nests for several days when it’s bitterly cold, but otherwise they’re out and about hunting for all of those nuts they carefully buried. How successful are they at finding all of those? According to the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources, “a gray squirrel can hide 25 nuts in a half an hour and can later find roughly 80 percent of the those it buried.” I’m impressed.
Squirrels believe all feeders are for them. End. Of. Story.
Frogs—Hibernation means different things for different creatures. In the case of frogs, many aquatic frogs hibernate in the water. But rather than burrowing deep into the mud like turtles, they hang around near the bottom of a pond or stream where they breathe oxygen from the water through their skin. (Fun fact: extremely cold water holds more oxygen than warm water.) Other frogs, like tree frogs and wood frogs, endure a more sci-fi experience in that they pretty much freeze solid for the winter months. Hibernating under logs or in leaf litter, they wait out the winter as little frog popsicles that reanimate once the weather warms up.
Wild Turkeys—It’s hard to take a nature walk in the city these days without running into at least a few wild turkeys. Huge and strangely prehistoric looking, those turkeys are as tough as they look and can usually survive our brutally cold weather as long as they can find food, particularly fruit-bearing shrubs and trees as well as grasses and seeds. The biggest hardship they face is deep powdery snow that can make it too difficult for them to forage. If those conditions persist for more than a couple of weeks, many turkeys can starve to death, which totally makes me want to set up a Little Free Wild Turkey Emergency Feeding Station in my front yard. I know. You’re super glad you’re not my neighbor.
Cicada or Locust?
If you’re like me, and probably a zillion other people, what you think you know about cicadas and locusts is all mixed up. So how about we spend a few minutes sorting this mess out.
I grew up in Phoenix where there are a lot more cicadas than we have here in Minnesota. Their buzzing, which I love, was pretty much the soundtrack to my entire childhood. But what I enjoyed even more was playing with the alien-like exoskeletons that cicadas shed and leave stuck to just about every surface in sight. Pinching those delicate shells between our fingers, my friends and I would march them around, like we did our Barbies, acting out whatever we were playing that day.
Cicadas are related to crickets. (Yeah, I can’t really see it either.)
I haven’t been able to find a source to prove it, but by the sound of it, I think we had more cicadas this year than usual. (Listen to some of the sounds different cicada species make here.) Others who have thought the same, have emailed to ask if I think this is one of those 17-year cycles where a huge swarm of them comes out of the ground to mate and wreak havoc on crops, or whatever it is they do when there’s a whole bunch of them. Now, I’ve of course heard of the 17-year cycle of locusts, which I thought were the same thing as cicadas. But lacking any kind of useful answer for folks, I looked stuff up. And boy did I learn a lot.
First off—cicadas and locusts are completely different insects. What! I know, but it’s true, and the reason we get all confused about this is probably because both insects do behave in similar ways. Locusts, however, are a type of grasshopper while cicadas are related to crickets—the latter connection is far less obvious when you look at photos. Locusts are the critters that swarm, sometimes to the point of causing actual natural disasters and earning them a bad rap in the Bible, books and a fair number of sci-fi films and TV shows. Watch them swarm and devour everything in sight in this BBC Earth clip.)
Locusts are a type of grasshopper.
There are two types of cicadas, annual and periodical. True to their name, annual cicadas show up every year, though their life cycle is usually several years longer. They just spend the rest of that time underground, so we don’t see them. Periodical cicadas, though, have a 13- to 17-year life cycle. And that’s where we get our misguided ideas about the 17-year locust plague. Like annual cicadas, periodical species also spend a good deal of their lives underground. They just emerge far less often, and when they do, their numbers can be quite large, causing people to think they are a swarm or, yes, a plague of locusts. This BBC Earth segment on 17-year periodical cicadas is an amazing, yet kind of horrifying, MUST SEE.
Minnesota doesn’t even have periodical cicadas. So, even if we are hearing more of them this year, it’s not like we’re being overtaken by the critters or anything. Unlike locusts, cicadas don’t destroy crops. But they do feed on and lay their eggs on trees, though the damage isn’t usually a big issue. Generally present from early July to sometime in September, cicadas are harmless, so even though they look scary, don’t squish the poor things if you see them.
Once the nymphs finally come up out of the ground and leave their skins behind to become adults, they only get a few brief weeks to hum and buzz to attract mates and have a bit of fun before they die. So, the next time you hear that strange noise they make with their abdomens, know that what you’re hearing is really the sound of love.
Keeping Plants Alive in Hot, Dry Weather
- On September 13, 2018
- By Meleah
- In Uncategorized
1
This is the second draft of my column on watering. I tossed out the first one a few days after writing it. I could tell the minute it was finished that something was wrong, so I didn’t turn it in right away. I’m glad I did that because after lugging the hose around for another spell of hot, dry days, I realized what the problem was—my advice was a bunch of bull! Why? I think my attempt to offer up normal-world suggestions about watering during the summer of 2018 which, to me, has felt like a non-stop onslaught of diseases, bugs, rain, heat, wind, heat, humidity, heat, dryness, heat, dryness and more dryness, is about as helpful as my applying a Band-Aid to a torn-off arm stump.
As a trained Master Gardener and longtime horticulture writer, I am used to answering questions and offering suggestions based on time-tested research. I’m usually fine with that, except when the research seems questionable because it feels like someone who has never gardened in their life came up with the results. Or, the study was funded by Bayer/Monsanto or some other entity with a vested interest in saying something crappy is actually great and totally safe.
Perennials like golden rod help sustain pollinators later in the season.
But now there’s something new to chew on: We are living in uncharted, extraordinary times. As our planet warms, and we try to garden in increasingly unusual and erratic conditions, it seems only logical that the research we rely on needs to evolve to. In some ways, I’d say we’re just winging it out there. So, while it’s a good idea for gardeners to be aware of the commonly advised watering know-how, I think we also need to rely on our common sense and do what we can for our gardens, the earth and our spirits. (Please don’t email to say natives will solve all of these problems. They won’t.)
Here is some of the main oft-heard, research-based watering advice:
- Water in the early morning or evening when temperatures are cooler to reduce evaporation.
- In general, lawns and established perennials, trees and shrubs need about 1 – 2 inches of water per week, including rainfall.
- Don’t use sprinklers because overhead watering can lead to diseases that favor wet leaves.
- Don’t spritz things with the hose because those little sips of water don’t encourage plants to establish strong root systems they can depend on.
- Water established lawns, trees, shrubs and perennials only about once per week to give soil time to dry out in between waterings. This will motivate plants to develop stronger, deeper root system that the plants can rely on in dry times.
- Water newly planted things frequently for the first two or three years as they establish root systems.
Basil, Basil, Basil!
- On August 27, 2018
- By Meleah
- In Uncategorized
- 0
I sometimes think that when I’m older, I’ll live in a condo or apartment so I can do other things besides tend a huge garden, like finally go kayaking or maybe relearn all that Spanish I once knew, but have long ago forgotten. I would miss gardening, but I think I would be all right as long as I could grow Sweet Genovese basil somewhere. I grow a lot of herbs, but none give me the same life-is-good feeling I get when I go out and snip a few basil leaves for an omelette or pizza. Lots of other people feel the same way, I know, because when something goes wrong with basil, they really freak out. And who can blame them? Minnesota summers are short, so if the basil you’ve been lovingly tending goes south, that’s it for the year. So here comes the good and bad news—bad news first so you won’t go away droopy.
Genovese basil used to thrive until fall before basil downy mildew came along.
Lately, I’ve been hearing a lot of this question: “My basil was doing so great, and then it turned all yellow and got brown spots all over it. What happened?” If this is happening at your house too, the problem is probably basil downy mildew. Caused by a water mold that thrives in warm, humid conditions, this basil-ruining mildew was first found in Minnesota in 2012 and has been making homemade pesto nearly impossible ever since.
Other issues can resemble basil downy mildew, but if you see plant leaves turn yellow, get brown and/or black spots and maybe even start falling off, you can pretty much bet that’s what you’re dealing with. Once a plant is infected, pluck off any leaves that still look decent and chuck the rest in your yard waste can or bag. Because the pathogen that causes this disease can’t survive our Minnesota winters, it is safe to throw it in your compost bin if you have one. Just be sure to bury it a bit because spores can blow to nearby plants.
Before the brown spots appear, plants just look a bit yellow, which can be mistaken for nutrient deficiency.
One of the best ways to avoid this disease next year is to buy basil seedlings and/or seeds from someone you trust to manage their plants well. Too often, plants and seeds are already infected with basil downy mildew when we buy them: it just hasn’t started to show yet. I like to buy my basil seedlings, and other vegetable and herb plants, from Dehn’s Garden. The family-owned farm has been a regular at the Minneapolis Farmers Market for more than 30 years and I have never had a problem with basil I’ve bought from them. (This isn’t to say that it couldn’t happen, though, because spores can still blow around and infect plants.)
While we can’t do much about what the wind drags in, there are some things gardeners can do to try to keep basil downy mildew at bay. Rather than using an overhead sprinkler or sprayer, water the soil beneath basil plants by hand to help keep leaves dry. Also, make sure plants have good airflow around them by thinning out overcrowded beds and containers and keeping weeds pulled. Better still, do as I do and plant way more basil than you’ll ever need. That way, if some plants get infected, you’ll still have plenty more. If all of them do well and stay healthy, you can make pesto for everybody and they will love you!
Tasty Pesto Recipe
Well, it’s definitely good news that you don’t need a lot of basil to make a delicious batch of pesto. So feel free to adjust this recipe according to the amount of leaves you’ve gathered up.
- 2 cups fresh basil leaves (I like Sweet Genovese.)
- 3 cloves fresh garlic
- ¼ cup pine nuts or walnuts (optional)
- ¾ cup organic, extra-virgin olive oil
- ½ tsp salt and ¼ to ½ tsp pepper
- ½ cup grated parmesan cheese
Combine basil, garlic, nuts, salt and pepper and HALF of the olive oil in a food processor or blender. Blend on a low speed as you add the rest of the oil. Scoop the mixture out into a large bowl and stir in the grated cheese. And, voilà! Pesto is best eaten the same day it’s made, and it will turn brown if left exposed to air very long. If you decide to freeze some, I find it works best to leave out the cheese, which you can add when you thaw out your pesto for a meal. Enjoy.
A Happy Ending for Baby Snapping Turtles
Nature is wondrous, but it can also be very cruel. Spend 10 minutes watching a David Attenborough show and some poor, hapless creature is bound to become engaged in a life-or-death struggle and end up maimed or eaten. My husband, Mike, has stopped watching nature shows because his tender heart can’t take it. I agree, with the exception of programs by Attenborough. That charming British naturalist may be 92, but his curious, inquisitive, downright gleeful approach to nature never fails to enchant me. (Here he is narrating the intro to “the lesser-spotted” Adele’s Hello as only he can.)
Snapping turtle laying eggs on Lake Harriet’s North Beach.
Knowing that backstory, you’ll understand how the first words out of Mike’s mouth were, “Oh no. Don’t look,” when we ran into a large crowd staring out at the water on the north end of Lake Harriet the other day. I looked. And there on the sandy beach were three medium-sized brown snapping turtles, side by side in a line. Necks arched upward, feet splayed out, the turtles were nearly motionless, each in a shallow hole not much bigger than they were. “They’re laying eggs,” a woman next to us whispered. Everyone was whispering, like people used to do in libraries and museums.
I know most turtles in Minnesota lay their eggs in June, but I’ve never had the pleasure of seeing them actually doing it. How amazing nature is, all those mama turtles coming up on the beach to lay their precious eggs. Out in the lake, the heads of more egg-heavy turtles were visible as they bobbed up and down in the water, probably thinking, “Well, what the hell. Those rude humans haven’t the sense to avert their eyes during this intimate moment in our lives, but this is as good a place as any to have these babies, so let’s get to it.”
A cute baby snapping turtle.
But they were wrong. As heartwarming as that whole live nature show was, anyone there could see that burying eggs in the sand in the middle of a busy swimming beach was not a good plan. I watched for several minutes before realizing Mike was off talking with the lifeguards, who were taking the whole scene in from their nearby perch. My kindhearted husband wanted to know what happens next, and this is where our nature program took a grim turn. Snapping turtles lay eggs on this beach every year, a young lifeguard explained. And every year, once those mama turtles slide back into the water, the eggs they so carefully laid are quickly gobbled up by dogs, raccoons, foxes and other critters. Those that somehow manage to go uneaten are often crushed or otherwise destroyed by people who have no idea that baby turtle eggs are just beneath the sand.
They don’t always pick the best spot to lay eggs. —iStock
Surely something can be done to keep this horrible situation from happening every summer? Mike pressed. The lifeguard shrugged his thin shoulders: Calls had been made in the past, he said, but with few exceptions, it seemed like nothing was being done to relocate or otherwise protect the eggs from harm. We walked home wondering how this could be so. It seems like efforts are made to protect all sorts of things all the time. Where are the experts? Where are the naturalists? Snapping turtles are not an endangered species. Is that enough to make rescue efforts a no-go? One thing is for certain; those mama turtles will not be helping out. Reading up on Minnesota turtles, I learned that female turtles are done with the whole mom thing once they lay their eggs. They never come back and check on them. They don’t reunite with their offspring out in the lake one day. They lay their eggs and they are Out. Of. There.
That means, if this nature program is going to have a happier ending next year, it is up to us humans to make that happen. But what do we do? So far, I’ve learned that snapping turtles usually lay 25 to 80 eggs at one time and, depending on the weather, it can take two to three months, or even longer, for some eggs to hatch. I have no idea how many turtles laid their eggs on that beach, but you’ve got to figure that hundreds were buried there. Could they be moved to a safer spot? Would it be better to have a bunch of folks take some eggs home and put them in a homemade incubator or something? Is it crazy to think that next summer, when those mama turtles come out of the lake to lay their eggs, some of us could be there, ready to help keep their babies safe? That’s the kind of nature program I’d like to see.
