Monthly Archives: July 2025

Not Really a Rat: A Closer Look at the Muskrat

biodiversity, ecosystems, Parks & Sanctuaries

Yesterday’s walk at the Five Rivers Environmental Education Center offered one of those quiet but rewarding moments that nature often delivers—if we’re paying attention. Near one of the ponds, I spotted a muskrat, soaked and tangled with grass, busily at work. At first glance, someone might mistake this critter for an oversized rat, but looks can be deceiving. The muskrat may carry “rat” in its name, but it’s a very different animal altogether.

So, Is a Muskrat a Rat?

Nope. Not in the scientific sense.
While muskrats (Ondatra zibethicus) are rodents—just like true rats—they aren’t part of the Rattus genus, which includes familiar species like the Norway rat or black rat. Instead, muskrats belong to a different branch of the rodent family tree entirely. They’re more closely related to voles and lemmings than to the urban rats we associate with subways and city streets.

Here’s a quick breakdown:

Trait Muskrat (Ondatra zibethicus) True Rat (Rattus species)
Tail Flattened vertically for swimming Round and scaly
Habitat Wetlands, ponds, slow-moving streams Urban environments, sewers
Diet Aquatic plants, cattails, roots Omnivorous (grains, meat, trash)
Behavior Solitary, burrowing Social, nesting in groups

Muskrats are built for a semi-aquatic life. Their dense, water-repellent fur and paddle-like tails help them move efficiently through ponds and marshes. They even have partially webbed feet. In short, they’re natural swimmers and engineers of the wetland world.

Ecosystem Role: Builders, Eaters, and the Occasional Nuisance

Like beavers (though not nearly as industrious), muskrats influence their habitat in noticeable ways. By feeding heavily on cattails and other aquatic vegetation, they can help keep marshes from becoming overgrown. Their feeding patterns can create open-water channels that benefit waterfowl and other aquatic species.

Their burrows, dug into pond banks, offer safe havens not just for themselves but occasionally for other creatures, too. Of course, these same burrows can become a nuisance if they cause erosion or compromise man-made pond structures—a reminder that even helpful animals can cause problems when their behavior intersects with human land use.

Muskrats are also part of the food web, serving as prey for mink, foxes, hawks, eagles, and large owls. So when you see a muskrat in the wild, you’re seeing a key player in the balance of pond life.

A Moment to Pause

Watching this muskrat at Five Rivers, I was reminded of how much life exists in even the most ordinary patches of land and water. It wasn’t doing anything extraordinary—just gathering a mouthful of greens and scurrying back to wherever it had come from—but in its own quiet way, it was reminding me that nature is always busy, always adapting, and always worth learning about.

So next time you see a “rat-like” figure cruising through the cattails, take a closer look. You might just be meeting one of our wetland neighbors doing its part to keep things humming along.

Why Is That Leaf Red in July?

Wildlife & Plants, ,

A Nature of Things Reflection Inspired by a Simple Walk and a Thoughtful Question

It was still hot and sticky well into the evening as Theresa and I took our usual walk down the road near our home. Most of the plants lining the ditches and field edges looked about how you’d expect them to look in mid-July—lush, green, and thriving. But every so often, we noticed something odd.

One leaf here. Another there.

Bright red. Not faded or diseased. Just red—like it had skipped ahead a few months and landed straight in autumn.

Theresa pointed to one of them and asked, “Why would just one leaf turn red this early?”

It was a fair question, and I had to admit I didn’t really know. I guessed it might be heat stress, but it seemed strange that only one leaf on the whole plant would be affected.

So, I did what any curious naturalist does when nature throws out a question mid-walk—I made a mental note, snapped a few pictures, and looked it up when we got home.

The Answer Is… Complicated, But Interesting

Turns out, red leaves in summer—especially when it’s just one or two on an otherwise green plant—are often signs of localized stress. That could mean drought stress, root injury, insect damage, or even a fungal infection affecting a small part of the plant.

But why red?

That’s due to anthocyanins—the same pigments responsible for the reds and purples of fall. When a leaf starts to shut down due to stress or damage, it may produce these pigments as a sort of protection, shielding the leaf from intense sunlight or helping manage internal chemical stress.

In other words, that red leaf might be waving a little flag that says, “Something’s not quite right here, but I’m trying to cope.”

A Bigger Lesson in a Small Leaf

As we finished our walk, I thought about how many times I’ve either not asked a question like that or let one float away unanswered. And it reminded me of something I’ve come to believe: you don’t have to have all the answers in the moment to learn from nature.

Sometimes it’s enough to notice, take a picture, wonder a little, and look it up later. That curiosity—sparked by something as small as a red leaf—is how you begin to understand a landscape more deeply.

So, next time you see something unusual—an odd color, a strange sound, a curious behavior—don’t worry if you can’t name it right away.

Let it sit with you. Bring it home. Ask someone. Search it out. And maybe even write about it.

That’s the nature of things.

🐦 Have you ever noticed one red leaf on a green plant in summer? I’d love to hear your thoughts—or see your photos—in the comments. And if you enjoy these kinds of simple observations with deeper meaning, consider subscribing my Nature of Things newsletter on Substack.

https://natureandthings.substack.com

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At the Edge of the Pavement: A Gray Catbird’s Warning

biodiversity, birds, , ,

Earlier this evening, as Theresa and I took a slow stroll along the road near our home, we came upon the quiet form of a Gray Catbird lying still between a patch of roadside greenery and the unforgiving asphalt. It wasn’t the first bird we’ve found this way—and sadly, it won’t be the last.

The Catbird, a common but beloved songster known for its raspy “mew” call and playful mimicking of other birds, seemed out of place here—frozen mid-transition between nature and the human-built world. A few feet one way and it would’ve been safe in the low, tangled shrubs it calls home. A few feet the other, and—well, this is the story we often overlook.

We don’t know exactly what happened. It could have been a car, a window, the heat, or perhaps some other stress. But it did remind us of something important: nature doesn’t end at the edge of the sidewalk. It flows and flutters through the margins—into our yards, parking lots, utility corridors, and yes, even along country roads.

And that’s where danger lives too. The intersection between nature and human infrastructure is not always a peaceful one.

Birds like this Catbird are especially vulnerable in edge habitats. Roads create heat, host invasive species, emit toxins, and cause direct mortality through collisions. As our built world expands, these danger zones multiply. Yet, these same edges also offer opportunities—places where, if we’re mindful, we can soften the borders and offer refuge instead of risk.

A patch of native shrubs. A slower speed limit. A thoughtful landscape buffer. A moment of awareness.

If the air hadn’t been so thick with July heat and humidity, perhaps we might have taken the opportunity to film a quick video—a teachable moment about how each of us can do something to reduce harm. Maybe next time.

But for now, let this Catbird be a quiet messenger. One more reminder that the boundaries we build don’t always hold. Nature keeps coming—and we should meet it not with indifference, but with care.

A Hot and Buggy Hike at Van Dyke Preserve

biodiversity, birds, Communities, ecosystems, nature conservation, , ,


By Ron Dodson
The Nature of Things | July 9, 2025

Theresa and I decided to take advantage of a sunny day and stretch our legs on the loop trail at the Van Dyke Preserve. Even though the thermometer was pushing 90 degrees, we figured the shade of the forest would offer at least some relief from the heat. In hindsight, we should have added “humidity” and “insects” to our considerations!

The 33-acre Van Dyke Preserve, managed by the Mohawk Hudson Land Conservancy, is a lovely pocket of woodlands, wetlands, and meadows tucked into the Town of Bethlehem. The preserve winds along the Phillipin Kill, offering visitors a glimpse of native wildflowers, lush greenery, and, on most days, an impressive variety of birds.

Despite the intense heat, we were greeted by birdsong from several species, which I logged on eBird to contribute to citizen science efforts. The trail itself isn’t particularly long—we walked the loop twice—but the combination of high humidity and relentless insects made it feel much longer. The deer flies, gnats, and mosquitoes were some of the thickest I’ve ever experienced. I ended the hike with a shirt drenched in sweat, looking like I had taken a dip in the creek rather than just walked alongside it!

We spotted a few beautiful wildflowers along the way, including blooming Joe-Pye weed, delicate Forget-me-nots, and a lone Trillium still holding on with a late-season blossom. The creek was running quietly, reflecting the deep green of the surrounding forest. It was peaceful, despite the buzzing clouds of insects determined to keep us moving.

As we made our way back to the car, hot, sticky, and thoroughly bug-bitten, I told Theresa to remind me next time: Van Dyke Preserve is best saved for cooler, less buggy days. Still, it’s a lovely spot and worth returning to when the air is crisp and the bugs have called it quits for the season.

If you’re planning a visit, I recommend early spring or fall—and don’t forget to bring insect repellent no matter what time of year!

Heath Dairy Farm: A Living Legacy with New Potential

Communities, ecosystems, Farming, soil health, Wildlife & Plants, , , ,

By Ron Dodson
The Nature of Things

Several weeks ago, I had the pleasure of meeting with Lauren Axford, the Open Space Coordinator for the Town of Bethlehem, New York. The purpose of our meeting was to discuss a project that I believe has enormous potential—not only for our town but as a model that other communities could replicate. That project is the Heath Dairy Farm initiative, a town-led effort to preserve and reimagine one of Bethlehem’s most iconic agricultural properties.

You can learn more about the project here: https://www.historicheathfarm.com

What drew me to the Heath Dairy Project wasn’t just the scenic beauty or the historical significance of the property—although both are impressive. It was the idea that this land could serve as a foundation for a new kind of agricultural planning, one that blends conservation landscape management with local food production. It struck me that this was exactly the kind of opportunity we need more of—an intersection of environmental stewardship, local economic development, and community sustainability.

Our conversation was not only productive, it was personal. When my family and I first moved to Bethlehem, the very first home we rented was on land that had once been part of the Heath Dairy Farm. The home was owned by the daughter of the farm’s longtime owner. So, in many ways, I’ve had a direct connection to this land since the day I arrived. That connection gives added meaning to my interest in helping guide its next chapter.

During our meeting, I shared a bit about my background and my long-standing work in environmental and agricultural planning. I also gave Lauren a copy of a book I wrote several years ago about the American legacy of family farming. Our shared values made it clear to me that there is real potential for meaningful collaboration on this project.

After the meeting, Lauren followed up with a kind message and introduced me to another person who is actively involved in shaping the next steps for the Heath Dairy Project. I look forward to meeting them soon and learning more about the town’s vision.

As part of this dialogue, I also plan to introduce an initiative I’ve been developing called F.A.R.M.S., which stands for Food and Resource Management Sustainability. This framework emphasizes the importance of keeping local food systems economically viable while embedding conservation into the fabric of working landscapes. It’s a concept that I believe could align perfectly with the goals of the Heath Dairy Project.

I’m excited about what’s ahead and look forward to offering any volunteer support I can to help make this project a true example of what conservation-minded community development can look like. Projects like this remind us that the best way to honor the past is to build a future that holds true to the values that came before—land, food, family, and community.