Anna's Post-Post week 5--Write as thorough a description as you can of the ecosystem in some urban or suburban place that you are familiar with.
This is a whopper of an assignment, and I’ve been stretched trying to write it. Because I’m frustrated by my limited acquaintance with biology, I’ve decided to come at it sideways—connecting what I know of the story with parts of the definition given in our book, The Ecology Pocket Guide. Ecosystem—a vast, interconnected web of species exchanging nutrients and recycling wastes. Ecosystems provide habitats to innumerable beings whom we can observe, as well as many microscopic subsurface ones.
Written about the pasture on Hallam Road in Lakeland, Florida (…where the sidewalk ends—literally.)
The old pasture in my neighborhood that I love, but know so little about, was once a working farm—Huntwood--or something like that, said 75 year old Janet Payne, who lived across the street from the pasture in the early 60s. Janet said the Hunt family provided natural food to folks in the community who wanted that kind of thing. This was about the same time a man named George Jenkins was giving our larger community the newest in grocery store conveniences: Publix, where shopping is a pleasure. At Huntwood people visited for simple reasons—saving money, purchasing freshness, and maybe because they found pleasure and value in connecting to something genuine. At any rate, Janet said lots of locally grown vegetables and meat were sold there. And she vividly remembers an old silo on the property. When it became evident more folks wanted to purchase prepackaged goods, instead of pick through beans or pluck plump hens, the silo was creatively marketed as a place for stargazing. Imagine, starlight that oversaw the sleeping farm fed the curiosity of several of Janet's sons and a lot of it still journeys through space to keep me silent company on my morning walks. I asked if she had a picture of the silo or farm--she didn't. But once she had painted two sturdy oak trees that shaded what she described as a wider road in 1960. My present subdivision, she said, was a wooded play land for her kids, but just around the corner were orange groves galore.
That’s the background story for context, and here is my connection to a bit more of the biology part—that vast, interconnected web of species exchanging nutrients and recycling wastes. I know farmers use fertilizer to grow food. I wonder if the fertilizer came from one of the local phosphate pits or were the Hunts able to mostly use what their animals produced naturally? Or was it some combination of both? At any rate, whatever they used did run off to some degree into the pond. Even though the farm is gone, the fertilizer run off continues if for no other reason than because the pasture is surrounded by beautiful green well fertilized lawns. In fact, this is reinforced by the little sticks with bent papers warning pets to keep off the “treated lawn.” (This would be an okay idea—if pets could read!)
Because it was a farm, I know the land had to be mostly clear of trees, but if my subdivision is any indication then once it was probably full of oaks and palmettos. Decaying matter from these trees and shrubs is probably filling the pond, consequently lowering the depth of the water, which would then make it easier for the water to evaporate in the Florida heat. Colorful lantana borders the fence in several places, and I think it's a pretty safe bet some of its ancestors grew nearby. We have tiny flocks of cattle egrets visit our backyard occasionally, and I imagine the pasture had its fair share of them over the years. What may have once been common for my neighborhood but has sadly disappeared is an eagle. Our family was delighted to watch our own local eagle soar over our quiet streets. My two youngest girls discovered its nearby nest, and when part of the pasture was sold about 10 years ago, the developer that mowed it down had to give a public account of his action. He insisted it was an unintentional error, which we didn't really believe, but it was no surprise that he was forgiven and now there are new homes in place of the eagle's.
Fascinating--farm animals lived in the pasture fifty years ago--particularly chickens but probably a few cows and some pigs. Of course there were lots of fresh veggies--green beans for sure and of course tomatoes, maybe squash and some gorgeous purple eggplants. Another older friend told me she thought the Hunts kept bees, too. If that was true, I bet they buzzed over to visit some of the neighboring orange groves. I wonder if the nectar was marketed as orange blossom honey, which, if you haven't tasted it, you should--amazing!
Not long ago on a morning walk I watched an armadillo wander from the pasture into a neighbor's backyard. The bold fellow scurried down the fence line toward me. What the armed beast didn't see was a rather large gray cat approaching across the front of the same house. When they met up, they both stopped still. The cat was curious but wary. The armadillo seemed mostly surprised, although I may have imagined it because his face remained expressionless. They paused briefly, but then the cat calmly padded a good distance toward me before heading on his way. The armadillo continued to briskly walk across another suburban yard before cutting back down between houses on his return trip to the pasture. I know some of the holes in my yard are probably made by the same armadillo, and I wonder if his distant relatives caused aggravation to the Hunts.
With farms come mice, so I bet another animal that we were shocked to see on our porch was a familiar resident on the farm; the small brown owl. This unexpected creature just showed up on our front porch one day. Wild animals, of course, don't just show up on porches, so I knew immediately something was wrong. But my little girls were charmed by its miniature presence and wanted to pet it. I stationed them a safe distance was the beautiful bird and called the wildlife phone number. I was told the bird was probably sick and would die soon. And yes, no petting allowed! The kind voice on the other end of the phone explained these petite birds feed on mole crickets, and when suburban lawns become infested with the damaging bugs, folks put out mole cricket poison. The poison kills the crickets, but unfortunately it often kills the owls that eat the then lethal crickets. After Rickey came home, we had a sad burial for the tiny little bird. Now, although the damage mole crickets are doing to our lawn disturbs me, I can't bring myself to buy any more mole cricket bait.
It’s funny, I think about the owl dying and I’m sad. But if I think about the cows dying I’m considerably less sad. They probably are raised to be dinner food, as were their distant cousins on the farm, but I don’t dwell on it. I’m not a romantic; I understand and value the cycles of life. Mostly I’m grateful for the gift of their presence. The way they lumber when they walk. The way they stare at me with their huge dark eyes. They seem to watch me with such patience and, it seems, such kindness. They are rarely in any hurry, and I appreciate their slowness—long looks and peaceful pace. Even their tails seem to swat without any hurry. I’m smiling as I write. Yep, they are a gift.
The pasture I love, and now know a little more about, is a valuable ecosystem providing habitats to innumerable beings—some of whom I have observed. Of course, it also contains many microscopic subsurface ones I know next to nothing about but still consider crucial. And, you know, I’m still learning.
