Tag Archives: Field Notes

A Walk Through Van Dyke Spinney Preserve

Wildlife & Plants, , ,

Yesterday evening, Theresa and I decided to take a short walk through the Van Dyke Spinney Preserve, located less than a mile from our home in the Town of Bethlehem, New York.

This 33-acre preserve was accepted by the Mohawk Hudson Land Conservancy in 2012 as part of the permitting process for a nearby residential development. What might appear to be a small tract of land on a map provides an impressive diversity of habitats, including forests, wetlands, floodplain communities, and stream corridors.

The preserve features a gently rolling one-mile loop trail that winds through mature woodlands and alongside portions of the Phillipinkill, a tributary of the Vlomans Kill, which eventually flows into the Hudson River. Along the trail, visitors encounter small bridges, seasonal wetlands, towering trees, native wildflowers, and quiet views of the stream as it meanders through the floodplain.

One of the things I appreciate most about Van Dyke Spinney Preserve is how accessible it is. Located at 246 Van Dyke Road in Delmar, New York, the preserve includes a convenient parking area and offers an easy opportunity to spend an hour immersed in nature without traveling far from home.

During our walk, the forest was alive with the soft light of early evening filtering through the canopy. Forget-me-nots bloomed along the trail edges, the Phillipinkill reflected the surrounding greenery like a mirror, and the cool, shaded woods provided a welcome escape from the day’s heat. It was a reminder that meaningful encounters with nature do not require a trip to a national park or a remote wilderness area. Sometimes they can be found just down the road.

Places like Van Dyke Spinney Preserve demonstrate the value of local land conservation. They protect water quality, provide wildlife habitat, preserve natural beauty, and offer nearby residents a chance to reconnect with the natural world. For those of us interested in conservation and stewardship, they also serve as living classrooms where we can observe, learn, and simply enjoy the wonders of nature.

As I often remind readers of The Nature of Things, stewardship begins by noticing things. A short walk on a local trail can lead to discoveries, appreciation, and ultimately a deeper connection with the places we call home.

An Email From Alaska

Wildlife & Plants, , ,

Yesterday morning, I opened my email and found a message warning that the federal government was preparing to offer portions of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge for oil and gas leasing.

The message came from a conservation organization and, like many advocacy messages, it was written to encourage immediate action. My first reaction was not to sign a petition or hit the delete button. Instead, I found myself transported back several decades to a time when I was fortunate enough to play a small role in efforts to protect some of Alaska’s remarkable public lands.

For many Americans, Alaska exists only as a distant place on a map. Yet it contains some of the last great expanses of relatively intact wilderness on Earth. Vast mountain ranges, sprawling wetlands, tundra, rivers, forests, and coastlines support wildlife populations that most of us can only imagine. More importantly, many of these lands belong to all Americans.

The Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, often called ANWR, is one of those places.

What makes the refuge so important is not simply its size. It is the wildlife. The refuge provides habitat for polar bears, caribou, wolves, musk oxen, and hundreds of species of birds. Many of those birds do not stay in Alaska. They migrate thousands of miles each year, connecting the Arctic to places like New York, Indiana, Florida, and communities all across North America.

A shorebird that nests in the Arctic may stop along the Atlantic Coast. A waterfowl species that breeds in Alaska may spend part of the winter in wetlands near your hometown. In nature, everything is connected.

As I read the email, I decided to look beyond the headline. The message claimed that nearly 700,000 acres could be offered for oil and gas leasing. As it turns out, that statement is generally accurate. However, leasing land is not the same thing as drilling on it. Many additional approvals, studies, and decisions would still be required before any development could occur.

That distinction is important.

But so is the larger question.

How should lands like the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge be managed? Should they remain primarily places for wildlife and wilderness? Should portions be available for energy development? Can both goals coexist? These are not simple questions, and reasonable people can disagree on the answers.

What struck me most this morning was not the politics of the moment. It was the realization that the same fundamental debate has continued for decades. The names of the politicians change. The administrations change. The headlines change. Yet the underlying question remains remarkably constant.

What responsibilities do we have as stewards of the natural resources entrusted to us?

Throughout my life and career, I have believed that conservation is not about choosing between people and nature. It is about finding ways to improve the quality of life and the environment at the same time. Good stewardship requires information, thoughtful discussion, and a willingness to look beyond slogans and headlines.

The email I received this morning reminded me of something else as well.

The conservation decisions we make today will not only affect wildlife in Alaska. They will influence what future generations inherit, whether they live in Anchorage, Albany, Indianapolis, Tampa Bay, or a small rural community somewhere in between.

Sometimes an email is just an email.

And sometimes it serves as a reminder that stewardship is never finished. Each generation must decide what it values, what it is willing to protect, and what kind of legacy it hopes to leave behind.

That may be the most important lesson Alaska has to teach us.

A Second Life for a Birding Book

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Second-Hand Conservation

Every once in a while, I’ll feature an item from my eBay or Etsy stores under the banner of Second-Hand Conservation.

Why?

Because conservation isn’t just about protecting forests, wetlands, wildlife, and natural resources. It is also about how we use the resources we already have. Every item that is reused, repurposed, repaired, gifted, or sold second-hand is one less item headed to a landfill and one less demand for something new to be manufactured.

Today’s featured item is a copy of Of a Feather: A Brief History of American Birding by Scott Weidensaul.

Birdwatching is now one of America’s most popular outdoor activities, enjoyed by millions of people each year. Yet birding wasn’t always the widespread pastime it is today. This book explores how birdwatching evolved from a pursuit practiced by a relatively small group of naturalists into a major recreational activity that has influenced conservation, environmental education, and our understanding of the natural world.

As someone who has spent much of his life working in conservation and environmental education, I find books like this particularly interesting because they help tell the story of how people developed a deeper appreciation for birds and nature. That appreciation has often translated into conservation action.

This particular copy comes from my personal library. Like many of the books I own, it has served its purpose for me and is now ready to continue its journey with someone else.

That’s really what Second-Hand Conservation is all about.

A book is written once, printed once, and then has the potential to educate and inspire many readers over its lifetime. Passing books along rather than allowing them to sit unused on shelves is a simple form of stewardship.

If you’re interested in learning more about the history of birding in America, this book may be worth a look.

View the listing here:
https://www.ebay.com/itm/236845179899

“Doing Good and Doing Well” sometimes starts with something as simple as giving a good book a second life.
— Ron Dodson, The Conservation Company

When Kids Helped Green Up Henderson

Communities, , , , ,

This morning I was going through old boxes of photographs that I have taken over the years. As I sorted through them, I found myself traveling back through time — remembering projects, people, ideas, and moments that once seemed ordinary but now feel pretty special.

One group of photographs stopped me in my tracks.

They showed kids outdoors with dirty hands, shovels, buckets, trees, flowers, and smiles. The pictures were from a project I launched years ago in Henderson, Kentucky called Operation Greenup.

At the time, Operation Community Pride had spent nearly a year focused heavily on litter reduction and community cleanup efforts. We had made progress, but I began to realize something important: cleaning up a community is only the first step. If you really want people to care about a place, you also have to help make it beautiful, alive, and worth caring about.

So we shifted gears.

Instead of only picking things up, we started planting things.

Trees. Shrubs. Flowers. Wildlife-friendly vegetation. Anything that could brighten a neighborhood, improve public spaces, and help reconnect people with nature.

And I decided early on that kids needed to be at the center of it.

That turned out to be one of the best decisions we ever made.

The response was incredible. Sometimes we had more children volunteering than we had plants or tools to give them. But somehow we always made it work. Businesses donated supplies. Florists and tree sellers contributed plants. Schools participated. The Chamber of Commerce helped identify locations around the community that needed attention.

Before long, we had built a small army of enthusiastic young people armed with shovels and purpose.

And they put a real shine on Henderson, Kentucky.

Looking back now, I realize the project was never just about planting trees or flowers. It was about planting ownership, pride, stewardship, and possibility in young people. Many of those kids are grandparents themselves today. But I like to think that somewhere deep inside, they still remember that feeling of digging a hole, planting something living, and helping make their community better.

Sometimes the seeds we plant in people matter even more than the seeds we plant in the ground.

If you are interested in reading a full story about this project visit my free online Conservation Chronicles publication at Conservation Chronicles

Not Retired From Life

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I’m in my late seventies now, which by some definitions makes me an old guy. That part doesn’t bother me much.

What interests me more is whether a person is still alive in spirit, curious in mind, and engaged in life.

Many people retire from jobs. Some, often without realizing it, begin retiring from life itself. They stop exploring, stop noticing, stop learning, and slowly allow their world to grow smaller.

I chose a different path.

I still walk. I still travel. I still notice things. I still wonder why places work the way they do, why landscapes change, why communities struggle, and how life might be improved.

In many ways, I’m still doing some of the same things I was doing in the early 1970s—paying attention, caring about nature, thinking about stewardship, and hoping to encourage others to become more engaged in life.

The job titles may have changed. The seasons of life may have changed. But curiosity, purpose, and the desire to contribute do not need to retire.

These days I continue that journey through my writing, where I share observations, lessons from the past, and practical ideas for living with more purpose, joy, and stewardship.

If that interests you, I invite you to visit my Publications page:

https://www.rgdodson.com/publications

You may find something there that speaks to where you are in life right now.

I may be retired from certain jobs.

But I’m not retired from life.

Before We Cover Farmland With Solar Panels…

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I found myself wondering:

Before New York converts more farmland into large solar fields, what if we first made sure every outdated light bulb in the state was replaced with LEDs?

The numbers suggest that doing so could reduce electricity demand by billions of kilowatt-hours each year—potentially offsetting the need for tens of thousands of acres of solar development.

Sometimes the cleanest energy is not what we generate.

It is what we no longer need.

That may not be as visible as rows of solar panels across open land, but it may be one of the smartest forms of climate action available.

Maybe stewardship begins by wasting less first.

— Ron Dodson
rgdodson.com

If you would like to read further about this topic CLICK HERE

The Systems Behind What We See

Wildlife & Plants, ,

Yesterday I wrote about noticing places and things that catch my attention.

An old hotel site now sitting empty.

A higher water bill.

A bird I used to see often, but no longer do.

What I have come to understand is that very little happens “just because.”

Most things we notice are the visible results of systems working well, breaking down, changing direction, or reacting to decisions made long ago.

That empty lot may reflect changes in travel patterns, economics, land values, or community priorities.

That water bill may reflect infrastructure costs, treatment requirements, regulations, energy prices, and long-delayed maintenance.

That missing bird may reflect habitat loss, pesticide use, climate shifts, or changes in food sources.

What we see is often only the surface.

Beneath it are connected systems—natural systems, economic systems, social systems, and human decisions.

This way of looking at life has changed how I move through the world.

Now when something catches my attention, I often ask:

What systems are behind this?

That simple question opens doors.

It turns curiosity into understanding.

It turns complaints into insight.

It turns everyday life into a learning experience.

You do not need to be an expert to begin.

Just notice something.

Then ask what may be going on beneath the surface.

That is often where wisdom begins.

Want to read more about these systems? CLICK HERE

Ron Dodson
rgdodson.com

Where I Hang My Hat

Wildlife & Plants, , ,

This morning I found myself thinking about how often I refer to the same few places when I write.

New York. Indiana. Florida.

At first, I thought that was just habit.

But the more I paid attention, the more I realized something else was going on.

These are the places where I have spent enough time to notice things.

Not just what is there—but what used to be there.

Not just what something looks like—but how it got that way.

A road that has been rerouted.

A hotel that disappeared.

A stream that doesn’t flow the way it once did.

The more I notice, the more I see that every place has a story.

And most of those stories are shaped by systems—natural systems, economic systems, and human decisions layered over time.

It made me wonder:

Maybe the place where you “hang your hat” is more important than you think.

Not because of where it is.

But because of what it allows you to see.

And maybe the first step in understanding anything…

is simply staying in one place long enough to notice what has changed.

If you want to read more about this CLICK HERE

What I Noticed Watching an Octopus

Wildlife & Plants, , ,

I watched a documentary the other night called My Octopus Teacher.

My son Eric suggested I watch it. I’m glad he did.

I didn’t expect much more than an interesting look at life underwater.

I certainly didn’t expect to feel anything.

But somewhere along the way, I found myself watching—not just an octopus—but a life. A living being making decisions, solving problems, adapting, hiding, exploring… surviving.

And at one point, I realized I had become emotionally invested.

In an octopus.

That caught me off guard.

What I Noticed

I noticed that the more time the filmmaker spent observing the octopus, the more the octopus seemed to become… someone, not something.

It wasn’t just reacting.

It was choosing.

It was learning.

It was living.

And the more I watched, the harder it became to see it as just another creature in the sea.

What It Made Me Wonder

How many lives do I pass by every day without ever really seeing them?

Not just in the ocean—but in my own backyard, along the roadside, in the woods, even in the air above me.

How often do I notice something briefly… and then move on?

And what would happen if I stayed a little longer?

A Thought to Ponder

Maybe the difference between indifference and care is simply this:

Time spent paying attention.

I’m glad Eric suggested it.

It reminded me how much there still is to notice.

Want to read more? CLICK HERE

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.