Patches of Moss & Serpentine Bravery

Erin King

Master's in Applied Geography Student - University of North Texas

Location and Description:
The location I have chosen is on a steep bank of an unnamed tributary of White Rock Creek that runs through North Dallas, just south of Addison. The tributary runs between two condo complexes that have been built up steeply along the banks of the drainage. The creek is lined with oak trees that produce a thick cover of shade. I have selected a spot along this creek, approximately 20 feet up the bank behind my condo apartment's pool area. The spot is about 10 feet outside of where the landscapers prune and manicure our park. The lawn in front of my condo apartment abruptly stops beneath the reaches of the tree canopy. The ground is mostly bare beneath the trees, and it is noticeably damper than the sun-beaten and landscaped lawn. The ground is compact sandy clay, mottled with many stones and has evidence of disturbance from previous development. Although landscaping is not maintained this far away from the main lawn, a single exposed sprinkler head sticks out like a sore thumb across the bare surface of the ground.

 

Observations:
On my first visit I looked around and saw a few patches of moss growing on the otherwise bare earth. The soft feathery moss patches were the only swatches of green across the ground, with the exception of the occasional scrawny weed that managed to push through the compact dirt. Looking below me toward the bank, a litter of oak leaves and acorns have begun to accumulate from the season change. The creek is at its usual slow, quiet pace and the water appears clear. The quiet trickle of the creek is occasionally interrupted by the sound of road noise along the nearby residential street crossing over the river farther south. I was pleasantly surprised to find a ladybug crawling on some fresh leaf litter a few feet below me. I leaned in for a closer look of the bug's body shape and color. My husband will tell you that I get unusually excited when I see ladybugs. I am from Southern Ontario, Canada, and during my adolescence there was a catastrophic change in our native ladybug population. An invasive species of ladybug from Asia has almost completely replaced the native ladybug. These invaders are orange, oval instead of round, have little-to-no spots, they bite, they stink, and they can infest houses while trying to keep warm over the winter. These invasive pests effectively ruined my adolescent memories of ladybugs. However, since moving to Texas, I've noticed that ladybugs here appear to still be dominantly native populations. The ladybug crawling through my designated mandala greenspace was bright red with many spots and shaped like a perfect half-sphere. This was the ladybug of my childhood! I curiously watched it crawl around for a while. Their color is so much more vibrant than their invasive Asian counterparts. I watched it wander across the leaves before it spread out its wings, took flight, and buzzed off.

 

I stopped by one evening while walking my dog Whiskey, an Australian shepherd. A cold front had come in the day before, so it was a damp cool night. The mosquitoes were starting to come out – I was glad to be wearing a hoodie. I expected the creek to be running a little higher from the recent rain, but it was still trickling at its usual slow and steady pace. I noticed a few fresh disturbances in the leaf litter; animal footprints perhaps? Unfortunately it was too dark to identify them, and I did not bring a flashlight. The area sounded unusually still. I can usually hear ambient bird chirps and rustling leaves from light breezes. This time it was past dusk and rather quiet. Although my vision was impaired by the dark, my dog's senses were on high alert. I noticed him looking attentively across the creek bank. We were both seated quietly in the greenspace when his stare began to develop into a low growl. His thick collar of hair began to stand straight on end, giving the illusion that he's much larger than he really is. I looked across the creek to try to identify what he saw. Whiskey lets out a few defensive barks, and all of a sudden I can see a gray cat slowly slinking backwards up the creek bank towards the condos on the other side. At first I regretted bringing my dog along for a visit to my greenspace. I felt that his disruption of the peaceful quiet was a mistake. However, given how dark it was outside, I likely would have been unaware of the cat's existence if Whiskey had not come along. Even within the man-made urban jungle, my canine companion's natural senses still had the advantage over mine. I also got to witness what is probably a pretty typical altercation between domesticated animals in an urban environment – a lot of noise and not a lot of actual contact or violence between the subjects.

 

As I approached my greenspace one morning, about 30 feet from my destination just before the grass begins to fade away, I came across a small snake. I was in flip flops, so my instant reaction was to take a few steps back until I could identify it. Since moving south, I've had to learn to be much more careful about where I step. Snakes were never a scary animal to me, in fact I've kept snakes as pets before. However, regardless of my personal serpentine bravery, I must still respect that Texas has a lot of venomous creatures underfoot that I have never had to worry about before. Snakes, spiders, and fire ants are a few examples. After closer inspection I was able to identify the serpent as a small racer. I remembered to take my camera with me today, so I took a quick snapshot and left him on his way. However, encountering the snake on the mowed lawn was a quick reminder that even in what appear to be controlled, manicured environments, nature is still lurking and you need to keep your eye out. When I arrived at my spot, I noticed an unusual amount of chatter in the trees. A couple of brown squirrels had decided that they did not like my presence and wanted to have a big conversation about it. They were chattering loudly at each other, staring at me, flicking their tail, and hopping from one branch to the other, clearly agitated. I sat still and quiet for a few minutes watching them. Eventually, they decided I wasn't interesting enough and went on their way. They are very active right now because of the acorns all over the ground, and I suppose when they realized I wasn't a threat to their food gathering they went back to their own business. Apart from mosquitoes in the dusk, this area does not appear to host a lot of insects during the day. There is the occasional dragonfly that buzzes by, but they seem to prefer being out in the sun closer to the lawn. I also do not see any ants, perhaps because the disturbed clay ground is too compact to be a preferable hill site.

 

On my last visit, I noticed that there had been some disturbances in the area. About 15 feet down towards the creek was a small area that had been deliberately cleared of leaves and acorns down to the dirt. The spot looked too big to have been disturbed by an urban animal, so I assume it was cleared by people. I also noticed there was some litter trapped in the creek below the same spot. Did the visitors leave it there? It had rained two days before, so it was possible that the creek washed the debris in from somewhere else. There was no garbage around the clearing itself, so it was difficult to discern if the increased litter and the recent disturbances were related.

 

My greenspace had another visitor that day. A familiar squawk from a nearby bluejay caught my attention, and I managed to catch a few glimpses of him as he made his way down the creek. Sadly he was too quick to get a picture of. Blue jays are a very familiar sight to me. They are quite common in southern parts of Canada and widespread across the US. My husband from deep east Texas simply calls them “blue birds”, and similarly calls cardinals “red birds”. It always felt funny to see a familiar bird that I can identify, and still hear it called by a name I've never used before. To me, it will always be a blue jay. I sat quietly for a while hoping that the blue jay, or perhaps other birds might fly by my greenspace. I decided to call it quits when a low flying airplane disturbed the quiet day as the vessel made its way towards the nearby airport. It is a strange illusion in this location. Visually, it is easy to forget that I am in a tightly enclosed greenspace within downtown urban Dallas. However, in terms of sound, it is very hard to forget the city. Brief nature sounds are regularly interrupted by fast moving cars, horns, sirens, planes, and neighbors yelling at their pets.

 

Ecological Understanding:

Turner and Berkes (2006) describe ecological understanding as the knowledge obtained by observing, interacting with, and communicating about the environment and its many dynamics. This matrix of natural knowledge is something that every individual is constantly building upon, and can help shape how individuals make future decisions about resource management. As my own personal example from this exercise, I learned that the invasive Asian ladybug that has obliterated native species in southern Ontario has not impacted the Texas populations the same way (at least not yet). Similarly, the small scale observations described by Haskell (2013) help paint a broader picture as to how closely intertwined ecological processes can be. These types of observations are often lost on individuals in our modern age because our survival does not immediately and directly depend on them. However, no matter how superficially removed we have come from nature, it is impossible to deny that we are still dependent on the natural environment, and will likely always be. Paying close attention to the environment you rely on is crucial to knowing your own place within it, and how your role can help sustain equilibrium with all participants.

 

References:
Haskell, David George. 2013. A Forest Unseen: A Year's Watch in Nature. Penguin Books.

Turner, Nancy J. and Fikret Berkes. 2006. Coming to Understanding: Developing Conservation through Incremental Learning in the Pacific Northwest. In Human Ecology, 34(4):495-513.