By Katherine Hale -- Fourth grade in North Carolina means studying everything there is to know about the state, or at least as many facts as your average nine-year-old will retain in a semester. That was the year all three verses of the official state song were forever cemented into my memory—hurrah, hurrah, the Old… Continue reading Bog in a Box
by Meredith Naughton He started this year off like he has every other—frozen solid. While people may dress in layers of wool and down to deter the chill, the wood frog simply lets the cold in. Sitting on the ground or tucked under the leaves, the wood frog spends each winter motionless, his body frozen… Continue reading Iced In, a Story of the Wood Frog
by Eric Hagen, Field Naturalist Cohort AJ Historic Aerial Imagery Mapping Tool It’s easy for us to see nature change with the seasons, but it’s much harder to imagine the changes that take decades or centuries to develop. I wanted to see how Richmond’s new town forest has changed in the past century, so I… Continue reading Sliding Back in Time
by Grace Glynn Field Naturalist Cohort AJ (2019) The bear is ambling toward me, snout low to the ground, not yet picking up my scent. I’m crouched low and still in the ravine. He’s rummaging in the leaf litter, moving haltingly like a person scouring the ground for a lost set of keys. Nothing in… Continue reading Beechdrops, Bears, and the Tree In Between
by Katherine Hale The persimmons are ripe and the last harvest of the season here in central North Carolina is on. A brilliant shade of jack-o-lantern orange, the fruits dangle at the ends of the branches for observant passers-by to snag for a snack. As Halloween approaches, those glowing lanterns are suddenly everywhere—and the game… Continue reading Persimmon Pursuits
by Katherine Hale I stood in a patch of forest that was, from an environmental standpoint, totally and completely unexceptional. It was just another tract of Piedmont forest on its fourth round of regrowth since the eighteenth century, fragmented and heavily influenced by the human development that surrounded it on every side. White oaks and… Continue reading Homecoming
By Katherine Hale I was never allowed to go barefoot as a child. If I did, my mother claimed, tiny parasitic "hookworms," invisible to the naked eye, would wriggle through the skin between my toes. Once inside, the worms would meander through my blood vessels to my lungs, then up into my trachea, causing me… Continue reading Hooked
