The Wetlands Awake

The past winter seemed to many to be the longest and most severe in recent memory. Not only was there an abundance of snow, but the Arctic wind brought frigid temperatures that not only left a stillness throughout the zoo but turned our 13 acre freshwater marsh into a seemingly barren waterway, clad in ice.

While wandering through the area on one very cold day, the sounds of chirping birds, honks of nesting Canada geese, the fragrance of wild flowers, including the purple loosestrife, that plant I love to hate, and painted turtles climbing on the logs and branches were gone. The marsh appeared dead. But this freshwater fenland, that occupies close to a third of the zoo area, had not stopped performing its duties to man and animal alike.

We are all aware that a freshwater marsh differs from swamps and mangroves in that the water of a marsh is generally very shallow, being only 1-6 feet deep, and virtually surrounded by grasses, including cattails and saw grasses. With trees everywhere, swamps and mangroves offer very little in the way of open water. But why are marshes important to man? They must not be of much value; after all many of our parents spent a lot of time ridding our neighborhoods of these mosquito-infested areas that posed a danger to their children.

It’s now spring, and the thaw that followed the extreme cold and snow of the past winter is welcomed by us until the rains that accompany the thaw start the sound of our basement sump pumps. Our eyes glance quickly over the rivers of water cascading past our home to the catch basin at the end of the street, flooding our front lawn and creating a small pond on our neighbor’s. We must have the town fix this situation! In our haste, we’ve forgotten, nature has provided the marsh as a means of collecting the run-off water from heavy rains and melting snow to help control flooding.

As winter loosens its grip and the marsh struggles to clothe itself in its spring finery, buds appear on trees, green grasses and ferns push their heads above the still hard soil, beckoning the male red-winged blackbird to come and stake out his territory, and prepare it for the female that will follow in a month. Wild Canada geese arrive, looking for suitable nesting spots. One goose couple grabs what must be one of the most desirable locations, the spot in the shadows of Alice’s Restaurant. Green-headed mallards swim by the grassy waters’ edge vying for a mate. For some reason, mallards have failed to nest in our wetland area the past few years; maybe they will this year. Looking out over the waters, I think I see the first wood duck. They have nested here successfully for many years! Some grackles and swallows did not leave the area this cold winter, so despite the seemingly barrenness of the marsh, there must have enough food for them. As I survey the marsh I see the many bushes with berries that provided food over the long winter.

The ice has melted, the waters are warming and the first of the small painted turtles makes its way to branches and logs, heating itself in the spring’s early warm sun. After several days with temperatures above 65 degrees, the large, and I mean large, one being over 50 lbs, snapping turtles emerge from their winter slumber. If you’re lucky, you’ll be able watch them announce their presence in the open waters across from the purple loosestrife sign.

Above the slow moving waters of the marsh, a red tail hawk circles, its keen eyes searching for fish that emerge from the mud of this wet environment and immediately engage in spawning, which the hawk will cut short. Along the banks, common egrets and great blue herons stand tall and still, waiting for their meal to swim by. Last spring , it was reported that 3 great blue herons were stalking the waters. Stalking the waters in an urban environment! There have also be sighting of osprey over the marsh, and still other sightings of green heron, in the rushes.
At one time zoo officials feared that the spread of the purple loosestrife plant, an invasive plant from Europe, would doom our natural wildlife sanctuary. However, with the collaboration of URI’s School of Environmental Sciences, a leaf-eating beetle that likes only loosestrife has been introduced and the zoo appears to be holding its own in controlling its spread. This control is evidenced by the reemergence of native cattails — which is reflected in the numbers of red-winged blackbirds nesting in our wetlands.

As late spring makes its run toward the heat of the summer months, other critters begin to show themselves, including the unwelcome mosquitoes. Apple snails mate and their young fill the waters on both sides of the second bridge. Beneath the waters, dragon and damsel flies prepare to rise above their watery adolescent surroundings to court and mate. How many different species of dragon and damsel flies have you counted?

The zoo closes, the sun sets across Elmwood Ave. Only a skeleton crew is on grounds to watch over the registered zoo animals. Elephants, giraffes, the cheetah and all the other zoo animals, save the polar bear, have been put away in their night quarters. But the zoo is not still! Listen, listen carefully, one hears a splash in the water, a shuffling of leaves, twigs break. What is it? Could it be a muskrat, searching for a mate? Maybe a raccoon, looking for food? An opossum? The fox? We’ll never know, for the wetlands are alive more at night than during the light of day.

Mr. Ed (Hooks)
Docent

Buckthorn in the Wetlands