Still the leading entry in the 2010 Fertility Tournament, Duck Division, even though she’s lost another duckling since the last update, the ducklings in her care are not let out of her sight. She’s a diligent mother as you can tell by the way she parades the troop (above).

Maybe during the winter, she can transmit her maternal procedures to the HussyHen (below) who still doesn’t have a clue when it comes to raising little ones. While she was photographed near her only remaining tyke last night, it’s not always her style. Often, she’s with her buddies while he’s halfway down the pond peeping his heart out trying to locate her. He’s definitely got pluck. Hope he makes it.

Maybe it happens every year, but I’ve never noticed a second blooming of magnolias before. These pictures were taken on August 1st on two different trees in downtown Brighton, Michigan. Normally, these trees are show-stoppers in early spring when the blooms open before the leaves unfurl.

The trees weren’t covered with flowers during this second (or maybe very late first) blooming but each had a scattering of opening buds. I couldn’t find any definitive references online, but apparently some of the 210 Magnolia varieties do bloom in (or into) mid-summer. Interesting.

The best way to spot the largest turtles is to visit the pond at night and wait. And wait. I was actually trying to locate an extremely large carp I spotted a few yards away when this snapping turtle with an 18″ (front to back) shell lumbered into the scene. He moved in slow motion scavenging for midnight snacks. Then he buried himself in the weeds and I waited for him to surface for a breath. And waited. He didn’t come up for almost 15 minutes but he moved far from my camera’s flash range so I couldn’t get another picture of him. The light-colored area on its neck appears to be a scar. It will help me identify him again. None of the other snappers I’ve photographed have that marking.

Some plants are highly adaptable. Common Chicory is one of them. Normally, the plants are 10-40 inches tall, but if a chicory seed lands in a mowed lawn, it will survive and adapt. This one blooms even though its only two inches tall. Dandelions are like that, too, if they are growing where they are perpetually mowed. You also see chicory growing on the shoulders of highways. Those plants are taller because the shoulders are only mowed a few times a summer. Few plants have flowers as brilliantly blue as these. The roots of common chicory can be made into a coffee substitute, but cultivated varieties are grown for their slightly bitter leaves, radicchio and Belgian endive are two of them.

Last spring’s goslings have grown strong. They fly with ease and scour the surrounding area for tasty patches of grass or vegetation with their parents. As evening approaches, families of Canada geese fly in to roost with their brethren at the millpond. Well meaning humans toss them treats even though the city asks them not do it. Humans seem to have a need to connect with wildlife. At this time of year as the goose population peaks and they are preparing for their late fall migration, the geese are happy to oblige them.

Some of the geese become so acclimated to human handouts that, if you stop near them, they come up to you with that hang-dog, hungry look they’ve discovered triggers human sentiments. This one (below) tried that with me. It didn’t work. But I wished I had some bread in my pockets. Hey, I’m human.

As morning light entered the millpond, this 24″ carp came to the surface to float in its warmth. As a verb, “to carp” means “to find fault in a disagreeable way; complain fretfully.” Not this guy. He couldn’t be more content. He has few enemies and plenty of food on this cloudless summer day at the millpond as a patch of sunlight comes through the trees and paints him with gold.

On the same unidentified wildflower visited by bumblebees (posted two days ago), honeybees drink nectar for long periods of time. They don’t just stop for a second, take a sip, and then leave. They linger like late night patrons at a neighborhood tavern.

Honeybees are having a tough time in Michigan. Since 1988, we’ve lost almost one-third of our hives due to Colony Collapse Disorder, a not-well-understood condition found throughout the nation. The cause is probably the culmination of many factors including viruses, mites, pesticides and other bee stressors. But the two bees shown in this picture seem to be deliriously happy and healthy.

A toddling princess dropped her pink flip-flop into the millpond earlier this summer. It might take years for this incongruous addition to be reclaimed by the elements. I fully expect to find it again after next year’s spring thaw. If she’s a native Brightonian, maybe the princess will see it year after year as she grows up. It will slowly be bleached by UV rays and acquire pond-dwelling mosses, but it might float for decades. :-)

While I’ll run from a yellow jacket, bumblebees are so unaggressive that I don’t feel the least bit uncomfortable hanging around them. Several were spending time on this unidentified wildflower which looks like a sweet pea of some sort on the banks of the Brighton millpond. I’ll post more pictures of the flower on another day.

Note there is no pollen sacs on these fellows. I think they come to this particular flower for the nectar but it must not produce much pollen. What I found most interesting is the way its large eyes look in the upper photo. At first, I thought the pattern in them were just reflections, but then I realized the coloration is coming from within them. Bees have compound eyes. I guess the color is from reflective surfaces within the eyes themselves.

In the lower image, I like the way the blue sky and buildings behind me are reflected in the shiny black chitin (the material of its exoskeleton) of the bee’s rear section (the abdomen). I think my reflection is there, too, but I can discern it. Click either image to download the larger version. Both have lots of detail.

Muskrats don’t restrict their diets to pond weeds. I’ve seen them climb up the pond’s embankment, collect huge mouthfuls of crabgrass and cart them home. This past week, I saw this one at the north end of the pond select a delicious looking plant almost twice its size, rip it out of the ground and haul it to the water’s edge (somewhat obscured in underbrush, above). Muskrats weigh up to 4 pounds. I’m glad we don’t have beavers in town. I’ve heard tales they roam the Huron River, the destination of the millpond’s water. They can weigh more than 50 pounds and tear down tall trees and construct dams that truly reshape the land.

The trip home is about 100 yards and this farmer shows no sign of fatigue. Once in the water, it’s nonstop to the burrow at a good clip.

The muskrats are tireless. If they aren’t eating, they’re bringing home the bacon. This one has a huge mouthful of pond weeds that are twice as long as he is. He’s effortlessly dragging it to his burrow. Since he and his partner do this day in and day out, it makes me wonder how large their burrow is. They can’t be consuming it as quickly as they’re amassing it considering the additional hours they spend munching the fresh produce. The winters are long here so they need to store their food supply yet I can’t imagine where they hide it all.

Still prevailing champion of the 2010 Fertility Tournament, Duck Division, the hen of the above tribe lets her brood wander a few feet from her now that they’ve grown a bit. Even though she’s lost one of her eleven within the past week, she a very protective mom. None of the other ducks on the pond have more youngsters to watch or does a better job of it.

The news on the HussyHen, however, isn’t as good. She lost one of her two remaining chicks. The sole survivor seems to be a fighter and looks healthy, but he’s going to have to raise himself. She pays little attention to him and leaves him in harm’s way much of the time. At night, she often hangs with her buddies and leaves him in the pond alone. Predators and hypothermia are major killers of young ducks. If she doesn’t snuggle up to him during the forecoming cool nights, he may not be able to keep himself warm.

Gardeners are an adventurous bunch. They’ll see a bulb in a store or catalog and buy it just to see what will happen when (and if) it pops out of the ground. I suspect this plant might be one of those purchases.

I’ve never seen anything like this plant. It’s about 18″ tall and the blooms are packed tight on its stalk (right).  Leaves surround the base (not shown) as well as provide a disheveled umbrella above the blooms. See the larger version to admire the structure of each bloom, not to mention the color or ants drinking the nectar. It was a surprise found in the Brighton Area Chamber of Commerce garden maintained by those hardy souls in the Brighton Garden Club.

Even though this discarded rubber railroad plate is essentially monochromatic, there is enough going on on its surface to make it visually interesting and an assymetrically balanced composition. The darker scrapes through the grime informally tie it all together.

On walks with my dad when I was a kid, I’d ask him, “What kind of bird is that?” and, if he didn’t know what it was, he’d tell me it was a Mugwump. He told me that it’s a bird that sits on a fence with its mug on one side and its wump on the other. At the time, I didn’t know the political history of Mugwumps, the fact it was an Algonquian word for “important person” nor do I remember seeing the 1950s postcard (right) with the humorous definition. I just thought my dad was silly, and I’d giggle.

But why limit Mugwumps to birds? Even though I know this mammal well, I’d say he’s also a Mugwump. His charming mug is on one side of the branch and his ring-tailed wump is on the other. He didn’t seem disturbed by my camera’s flash although he was ready to skedaddle from his very old cottonwood tree perch at any moment.

Put yourself into the head of this ant on a hibiscus bloom in downtown Brighton. After the rainstorm, it had to walk around the raindrops to get to the flower’s nectar. Imagine if humans had to do that. It would sure stymie our day-to-day schedules. See the larger version for the whole flower.

Tucked under another perennial, this plant has the genetic code it needs to survive. Once it sprouts, it heads straight to the sky leaving the other plant behind. Although I don’t know its name, it’s surely in the chive family. The flower clusters at the tips are just getting ready to open and stretch out.

The pastel yellow-green buds on this 18″ mound are just beginning to change color and roar into bloom. It’s a sedum but I don’t know the variety. This close up looks like a close up of an oriental rug with it’s tight placement and muted tones. Click the image or this link to see a larger image which includes the entire 8″ flower cluster.

The Brighton Millpond might appear an idyllic place to grow up but it’s a actually an aquatic jungle filled with danger for tiny ducklings. This is especially true for those receiving inadequate care from their mother, the white hen with the sorted past. I’m not sure if she’s too young to know how to protect the tykes or simply lacks motherly instincts. The fuzzy quartet has lost two of its cute members during the first week of their lives. The two survivors paddle around the pond alone (above) while the hen hangs out with her friends. Their future looks bleak. Below is the last portrait I took of their most recently departed sibling just two nights ago. Click both images to see larger ones for more detail.

Think of how many times in your life, you’ve found something forgotten in a coat or pants pocket that’s been hanging in your closet for a season or two. I feel the same way about forgotten patches in this small city. I find things in them that are either interesting or beautiful but essentially forgotten or ignored. The small unmowed nook shown above has this exurberant Queen Anne’s Lace plant blooming its heart out in the summer heat.