Journal 1: Week 2 In The Field

Tuesday, April 16th 8:30 am. The hayfield, which was dry and brittle only a week before, now bore a plethora of lush, green grasses whose young blades flickered in the wind. It was wondrous how a few days of rain brought about such life and diversity. Standing at the entrance of the farm, I thought of the tiny seeds that had tucked beneath the soil all winter long and waited to be awakened by spring. As the saying goes, March winds and April showers bring forth May flowers. The chickens seemed quite happy with the development of fresh vegetation and happily romped about, pecking at the damp soil. I tried to look forward past the field to judge the amount of flooding along the bridge, but the harsh reflection upon the water’s surface made it impossible to see the water level. All along the riverside, the maples acquired deep red leaves. However, the most notable development was the willow which grew at the river’s entrance. The willow, which I had not noticed before, bore golden leaves which swayed in the morning wind. There was no other tree along the bank which reflected the golden hues of the spring much like the willow. As we walked to our location down at the river, it became apparent that we could not access our BioCube. A week before, we entangled our BioCube in the aquatic plants which grew along the water’s edge. In anticipation of increasing water levels, we secured our Biocube to a nearby tree. However, the flooding submerged our cube completely, making it impossible to get to it without getting waist-deep in water. Due to this unforeseen event, we decided to look around the river for small insects and newly budding plants. Looking for insect life, I dislodged stones from their places, causing clouds of glittering minerals to systematically rise and settle in the water. The fields of dry grass now looked like a tiny ocean. Underneath the water along the path grew several two-leaved sprouts about the size of a quarter. These sprouts were a bright green and had managed to twist their way around the rocks that made up the farm trail. After plucking one, I observed its translucent stem and dark, long root system. Its roots were almost the size of its stem which spanned about two inches. I found a second root; this one was thick and structured. It did not have multiple visible roots, but rather a single stem that extended deep into the ground. Similarly, instead of delicate petal-like leaves, it’s top still consisted of the individual, continuous stem which tightly curled. Several insects jumped about the water’s surface. They were too small to properly examine and too quick to sample, so I was never able to capture an image. However, I suspect that a portion of these organisms was a sort of mayfly, which is quite common in water ecosystems. Amongst the other organisms were also the Eastern Black Carpenter Ant, Ramshorn and Amber snails, and the Wolf Spider. Without looking closely, one might mistake the Ramshorn snail and Amber snail as the same species due to their similar golden hue. However, on closer inspection, the structural differences in the shells become apparent. The shell of the Amber snail coils to a fine point, forming the classic cone shape. The Ramshorn shell, on the other hand, is coiled into a disk. Looking at different morphologies, I thought about the biological mechanisms that isolate the gene pools of these two species and prevent interbreeding. Even with a mating attempt, postzygotic barriers would prevent fertilization. Taking 15 minutes to listen to the sounds of the farm, I noted the overpowering sound of the morning wind. This morning did not seem particularly windy, but it was as if the wind accumulated at the base field. Suprinsgly, I could not hear the water despite its overabundance. When we first arrived at the farm, a particular species of bird made deep croaking noises which sounded similar to an alarm. Its song evoked images of splitting leaves. The call was not random and followed a regular pattern: four or five chirps followed by a long, substantial call. By 10 am, the wind calmed down, and the birds no longer sounded their alarms. Only a few individuals occasionally exchanged dulcet chirps across the maples. The engine of a nearby train echoed across the field. I took notice of the rustling sound of dry leaves. I also noted the warmth of my hair due to the sun, which was now high up in the sky. At 10:30 am, the wind was almost entirely still, and it was if the whole farm was listening back.

Posted on April 21, 2019 03:35 AM by