Category Archives: Wildlife & Plants

What I Noticed About a Pipe Beneath a Burger King

Wildlife & Plants

This morning I read an article in The Altamont Enterprise about a lawsuit involving a Burger King in Guilderland, New York.

At first glance, it seemed like just another legal dispute—something about flooding, a sinkhole, and arguments over who is responsible for repairs.

But that’s not what caught my attention.

What I noticed…was a pipe.

More specifically, I noticed that what is now a pipe used to be a stream.

At some point in the past, a decision was made to bury that stream in order to build on the property. The water didn’t go away—it was simply redirected, contained, and hidden underground.

Now the pipe has failed.

The land is collapsing. Water is doing what water has always done—finding its way.

And now:
– The business is losing money
– The town is involved
– Lawyers are involved
– Everyone is trying to figure out who is responsible

What struck me was not the lawsuit.

What struck me was that no one seemed to clearly own responsibility for the system that made the place possible in the first place.

This is the kind of thing I notice now.

And when I do, it usually leads me to ask a deeper question:

What system are we really looking at—and who is responsible for it over time?

👉 For further thoughts on this, see: Hidden Systems

What I Noticed at Hollyhock Hollow

Wildlife & Plants, , ,

A couple of weeks ago, Theresa and I took a walk along Rarick Road through Hollyhock Hollow. Nothing unusual was planned—just a walk down Rarick Road, because the trails were still to soft and muddy. But as usual, I noticed a few things.

Winter still had a grip on the landscape. Snow lingered along the sides of the road, tucked into the shaded edges, not quite ready to give way. It was a reminder that the season doesn’t just switch—it loosens, slowly.

But right alongside that lingering cold, something else was happening.

Clusters of snowdrops were blooming—small, white, and easy to overlook if you weren’t paying attention. But there they were, pushing up through the cold ground, quietly signaling that spring is about to bust through.

There weren’t many birds. A few here and there, but nothing like the chorus that will come. Still, the plants are beginning to green up, and that shift is noticeable if you take the time to look.

And the Onesquethaw Creek was moving steadily along, rolling its way toward the Hudson River. It didn’t seem concerned about winter holding on or spring pushing in. It was just doing what it does—moving forward.

As I looked back through the photos later, it struck me that what I was really noticing wasn’t just what I was seeing—but how I was seeing it. The overlap. The transition. The quiet movement from one season to the next.

That led me to experiment with something new—a short video set to a song I created called The Stewardship Way.

Maybe the Stewardship Way isn’t something you arrive at all at once.

Maybe it begins by noticing…
that even when winter still lingers, something new is already on its way.

What I Noticed About a 21-Mile-Wide Problem

Wildlife & Plants, , , ,

This morning I found myself thinking about the Strait of Hormuz and the rising cost of fuel.

The narrative being repeated over and over is pretty simple:
Iran closed the Strait, oil prices went up, and now consumers are paying the price.

In that narrative, Iran becomes the villain—holding the world hostage.

But something about that didn’t sit quite right with me.

So I paused and asked a different question:

Who is actually benefiting from higher oil prices?

Because whenever prices go up across an entire global system, somebody is making more money.

And when I started thinking about it that way, the picture began to shift.

Oil producers are selling the same product at higher prices.
Energy companies are reporting higher revenues.
Traders are making money on volatility.

Meanwhile, consumers are paying more at the pump.

So now I’m left wondering:

Is this really a story about one country holding the world hostage…
or is it a story about a global system that has made itself vulnerable to a single narrow passage of water?

It made me think of something I’ve come to believe over time:

The real problem is often not the disruption…
but the system that makes the disruption so powerful.

After thinking about this more and doing some basic research, I wrote an article on my Conservation Lifestyles publication on Substack. If you are interested in reading it:

CLICK HERE.

A Cane in the Woods

Wildlife & Plants

This afternoon, Theresa and I took a walk along Rarick Road at Hollyhock Hollow.

With all the recent rain, the woods were wet and quiet. At one point, I noticed something about ten feet off the road—a curved object sticking up from the forest floor. It looked like a piece of metal pipe.

That seemed out of place.

So I stepped into the woods to take a closer look.

It wasn’t a pipe.

It was a wooden cane, hanging from the branch of a shrub.

That seemed even more out of place.

I carried it with me as we continued our walk. And somewhere along the way, it triggered a memory—one connected to the history of Hollyhock Hollow, Dr. Robert Rienow, and a moment from many years ago.

It’s interesting how something as simple as an object in the woods can bring the past back into focus.

Sometimes all it takes is noticing.

If you’re interested in the full story behind this moment, I wrote about it here:
👉 https://dodsonchronicles.substack.com/p/the-cane-in-the-woods

Just Another Crappy Thought

Wildlife & Plants, , ,

Yesterday morning, while doing what most of us do without much thought, I found myself wondering about something I had never really considered before—where did toilet paper come from?

Not the store. Not the brand.

I mean…where did the idea come from?

That question led me down one of those internet rabbit holes that start simple and end somewhere between history, human behavior, and things you probably didn’t really want to know.

Some say it was Joseph Gayetty, who first sold packaged sheets in the 1800s. Others point to Seth Wheeler, an Albany, New York inventor who patented the perforated roll—the version we all recognize today.

Seth Wheeler

So which one invented toilet paper?

Turns out…both did.

One introduced the product. The other made it practical.

And just like that, something as ordinary as a roll of toilet paper becomes a small story about innovation, convenience, and how ideas evolve over time.

But here’s what struck me more than anything.

Most of us never think about it.

We just expect it to be there.

Clean. Convenient. Ready to use.

Yet behind that simple roll is an entire system—trees, water, manufacturing, transportation, packaging, and waste. A quiet, invisible chain of decisions and resources that we rarely notice.

Until, of course…we do.

And maybe that’s the real point of this little thought.

Not toilet paper.

But how many parts of our daily lives are built on systems we don’t see, don’t question, and don’t fully understand?

The Stewardship Way, at least for me, often begins like this.

Not with big issues.

But with small moments of noticing.

Even the crappy ones.

And now when the weather is a bit better, I have to go visit Seth Wheeler’s grave site in the Albany Rural Cemetery. 

 

A Headline That Made Me Pause This Morning

Wildlife & Plants

This morning, while going through my daily Google News alerts, one headline stopped me.

It was about a worldwide study—38,000 people across 75 countries—looking at the connection between nature and human well-being.

That alone didn’t surprise me.

What caught my attention was this:

It’s not just about spending time outside.

It’s about feeling connected to nature.

According to the study, people who feel that connection tend to have a greater sense of purpose, more optimism, and a higher level of overall well-being.

I sat there for a moment and thought…

That sounds familiar.

Not because I read it in a study—but because I’ve been experiencing it and writing about it for years.

For me, nature has never just been something “out there.”
It has always been something I’m part of.

And maybe that’s the real issue.

Not that people don’t go outside enough…

But that somewhere along the way, many of us stopped seeing ourselves as connected to the natural world around us.

Just something I noticed this morning.

What a Dead Coyote Got Me Thinking About

Wildlife & Plants, , , ,

Several days ago, during one of those unseasonably nice days here in Albany County, New York, my wife Theresa and I went for a walk down the road where we live.

During our walk, Theresa noticed something lying on the ground, nearly out of sight over an embankment, and said, “I wonder what that is?”

We walked over to take a closer look and discovered a dead coyote that had apparently been hit by a car.

I took note of it.

But it also got me to thinking.

Not just about what we saw…
but about what it might mean.

If you’d like to know what that dead coyote got me thinking about, you can read more on The Nature of Things.

Want to follow along?

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https://natureandthings.substack.com

When Shipping Costs More Than the Thing You’re Trying to Save

Wildlife & Plants, , , ,

Today I’ll be making another “shipping run” to the post office.

That’s become a regular part of what I do through The Conservation Company—selling items on eBay, not so much as a business aimed at maximizing income, but as a way to keep useful items out of landfills and give them a second or third life.

At least, that’s the idea.

But over the past few years, something has been changing.

The shipping part of this process has become more expensive, more time-consuming, and increasingly unreliable.

Shipping costs now often rival—or exceed—the value of the item itself. And since those costs must be passed along to the buyer, something interesting happens:

Items that are perfectly useful…
Items that someone might genuinely want…
…suddenly become “too expensive” to justify purchasing.

Not because of the item itself—but because of the system required to move it.

And then there’s the reliability issue.

We live on a rural route, and it has become increasingly clear that delivery is inconsistent. Some days, it feels like our route is simply skipped. Other days, we receive mail that belongs to our neighbors, while our neighbors receive ours.

I spoke with the manager of our small local post office, and the explanation was straightforward: they can’t find enough people to fill open positions. So they bring in workers from other areas—people who don’t know the routes, the names, or the patterns of the community.

In other words, the system is still operating…
…but it’s no longer functioning the way it once did.

And then this morning, I read something that put all of this into a much bigger context.

According to a Reuters report, the new Postmaster General is considering major changes—ending six-day delivery, closing post offices, and raising stamp prices to $1 or more. At the same time, mail volume—the Postal Service’s most profitable segment—continues to decline.

The warning was blunt:

“The failure to do this could lead to the end of the Postal Service as we know it now.”

That’s a powerful statement.

And it made me stop and think.

Because what I’m experiencing locally isn’t just a local issue—it’s a reflection of a system under stress.

A system that many of us still depend on.

A system that, in many ways, has quietly supported everyday life—especially in rural communities like ours.

What Does This Mean?

From a Stewardship Way perspective, this raises an important question:

What happens when the systems we rely on to do the right thing…no longer support the right thing?

Right now, it is often easier—and sometimes cheaper—to throw something away than it is to give it a second life.

Think about that.

We talk a lot about recycling, reuse, and sustainability. But the underlying systems—shipping, logistics, labor—are not necessarily designed to support those goals.

They are designed for efficiency, scale, and volume.

And when those systems begin to strain, the first things to suffer are often the smaller, quieter activities—like one person trying to sell a used item to another person who could use it.

A Thought Moving Forward

I’m not sure what the solution is.

But I am beginning to wonder if part of the answer lies closer to home.

Maybe the future of reuse and conservation isn’t just about national platforms and long-distance shipping.

Maybe it’s about more local connections.
More community-based exchanges.
More “second lives” happening closer to where things already are.

That’s something I’ll be thinking about today…as I make another trip to the post office.

Want to follow along?

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https://natureandthings.substack.com

What I Recently Discovered About Myself, and What I Am Going to Do About It

Wildlife & Plants, ,

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been spending time doing something I didn’t expect would matter all that much.

I’ve been going through old files.

Bankers boxes. Old notes. Articles I wrote years ago. Photos. Folders I hadn’t opened in decades.

At first, it was just an exercise in organization.

Clean things up. Throw some things away. Keep what matters.

But somewhere along the way, something shifted.

I started noticing a pattern.

Not in the files themselves…

…but in me.

The Discovery

What I realized is this:

I don’t just write.

I don’t just observe.

I don’t just work on projects.

I create structure.

Over and over again, throughout my life, I’ve taken things that felt scattered or disconnected and tried to make sense of them.

Operation Community Pride wasn’t just about litter.

The work with Audubon wasn’t just about conservation programs.

The Conservation Company isn’t just a business.

Each one was an attempt to connect dots and create a way of doing things that made sense—at least to me.

The interesting part is…

I’ve never really followed anyone else’s structure.

I’ve always ended up creating my own.

Not because I set out to do that…

…but because I couldn’t find a “recipe” that fit what I was trying to do.

The Tension

Lately, I’ve been telling myself:

“Just be a writer.”

Keep it simple. Observe. Reflect. Share.

But even as I’ve been doing that, I’ve felt this pull…

to organize things.

To connect them.

To give them a framework.

At times, I’ve wondered if that’s something I should resist.

Maybe it complicates things.

Maybe it turns writing into something heavier than it needs to be.

What I Realized

But going through those old files made something clear.

This isn’t something I need to fix.

It’s something I need to understand—and use.

Creating structure is not a distraction from my writing.

It is part of how I think.

It’s how I’ve always made sense of the world.

What I’m Going to Do About It

So instead of fighting that instinct…

I’m going to give it a place to live.

I’m calling it:

The Stewardship Way

Not as a program.

Not as something to launch.

But as a way to describe what I’ve been doing all along.

A way of connecting:

how we think,

what we value,

and how we act,

in the places where we live and work.

Moving Forward

Going forward, I’m going to let things happen a bit more naturally.

Field Notes will stay what they are—observations, reflections, things that catch my attention.

Some of those ideas will grow into something more structured.

And when they do, I’ll explore them more deeply through what I’m calling The Stewardship Way.

I’m not trying to build another program.

I’m trying to better understand—and share—the method behind what I’ve already been doing.

Final Thought

It’s interesting how sometimes you have to look backward…

to understand what you’ve been doing all along.

I guess that’s part of the process.

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The Second Life of an Idea

Wildlife & Plants

Yesterday, I sold a signed, (by me) first edition copy of a book I wrote years ago.

That, in itself, isn’t all that remarkable. I sell things all the time now as part of what I’m doing through The Conservation Company. Old items, forgotten items, things that still have value if someone is willing to see it.

But this one made me pause. Because it wasn’t just something I found in a box.

It was something I created.

The book was Sustainable Golf Courses: A Guide to Environmental Stewardship.

At the time, it represented a very specific effort—to help people see golf courses differently. Not just as places to play, but as landscapes that could support wildlife, conserve water, and demonstrate what stewardship could look like in a very practical way.

I spent a lot of time working on those ideas.

Explaining them.

Defending them.

Trying to get people to see something beyond what was right in front of them.

Like most things we do, once it was done, it moved on.

Programs evolved. Organizations changed. People came and went. And the book—like a lot of things—ended up on a shelf.

Or in a box.

The book was published in 2005.

Which, to me, still feels like “just the other day.”

But it wasn’t.

It was over two decades ago.

Long enough for things to be forgotten.

Or…rediscovered.

And then this morning…there it was again.

In my hands.

Only this time, I wasn’t writing it.

I wasn’t promoting it.

I wasn’t even really thinking about it.

I was shipping it.

Sending it off to someone I don’t know…who, for whatever reason, decided that this book still had value.

That got me thinking.

We tend to believe that the things we create have a defined life cycle.

We work on them.

We finish them.

We move on.

But that’s not really how it works.

Some things—ideas, books, projects—don’t end.

They just…circulate.

They sit for a while.

They wait.

And then, sometimes years later, they find their way back into motion again.

There’s also something else going on here.

In a small way, this is exactly what I’ve been talking about when I use the phrase:

Doing Well, While Doing Good.

I used items.  To keep things out of landfills.

Today I sent something of value to someone else that is over 2 decades old, but still new and unread, just sitting on a bookshelf.

But in this case, it goes a step further.

Because what’s being passed along isn’t just a physical object.

It’s an idea.

A way of thinking.

A perspective on stewardship that, apparently, still matters enough for someone to buy it.

It also made me realize something a little more personal.

Over the past several weeks, I’ve been going through old files, photos, and folders—what I’ve been calling my “Bankers Box” phase.

Rediscovering pieces of my past.

Projects I worked on.

People I worked with.

Ideas I cared deeply about.

And now, in the middle of all that, one of those ideas quite literally passed back through my hands…on its way to someone else.

Maybe that’s the lesson.

We don’t just create things and leave them behind.

We release them.

And if they’re grounded in something real—something that connects—they have a way of continuing on, with or without us.

This morning, I didn’t just sell a book.

I watched an idea I once carried…keep going.

It also got me thinking about something else I’ve been discovering as I go through old files and past work. More on that tomorrow.

—Ron

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