CREEK CLEANING--

A small creek that drains an 80 plus acre watershed into the lagoon on the east side of my pond has suffered heavy siltation over the 18 years since the pond was built. 

This in spite of the fact that stream flows entirely through wooded area with no tillable land between us and its origin.

This sediment build-up has plugged the unrestricted flow of the inlet stream and causes the water to spill over adjacent paths, blocking their maintenance and enjoyable use.

Downed trees, branches and extreme weed growth then exacerbate the problem.

The reedy-type weeds flanking lady-friend Sue Brooks (above) are easily 10 feet or more tall.  Each plant had to be cut by a pair of pruning shears. Their stalks then were accumulated into a hand-sized bundle which was dragged to a nearby compost pile.

Once the path along the old flow line was cleared we shovel-dug the old channel clear of incredibly rich soil and piled it along the little stream's banks to help contain future flow.  Both the cleaned ditch and spoil pile will be sown with grass to help reduce erosion.

About 100 feet of the creek upstream of the work area is unmolested by our cleaning effort and heavy weed growth there will help slow future infiltration.  We hope.

Nature always wins this type of battle, however.  This creek flows through a 30" road culvert so in periods of heavy rain we have a tiny version of the Mississippi River Delta roaring into the lagoon.

At my age I figure it will be someone else's problem the next time it needs cleaned.

Eventually, the lagoon will turn into a bog which itself will turn into tillable land and then new forest in spite of man's comparatively feeble efforts.

Eight of us, all current or past members of the Johnny Appleseed square dance club of Mansfield, enjoyed our continuing hiking odyssey--this time along the Little Miami River just south of Springfield, OH.  That's Rosa Hatfield in the orange coat; author of the quip in the first paragraph of the story.  The massive rock wall in the photo below was a common container for the river valley of our hike. 

At the headwaters of the Little Miami River
IN THE CLIFTON GORGE--

Rosa Hatfield had one of the best lines of the weekend when some young hikers passed our group on the trail at Clifton Gorge and noticed all eight of us were carrying hiking sticks.  Rosa quipped, "Folks our age not hiking are usually carrying canes."

The impertinent hikers didn't have a clue.

We launched ourselves from near the Clifton Mill and headed downstream along the Little Miami River where it has chewed itself deeply into the earth's rocky skin since geologic time began to take note of such things.

The river lurched and roared as it cascaded through its often narrow sluice.  It was engorged by recent heavy rains as it hustled down a drop of nearly 130 feet while racing into the developed end of the state park to the west near Yellow Springs.

The stunning geology of the ever-growing river's course and its confining valley of stone massifs often were obscured by the towering trees and lush vegetation.  The area was named a National Scenic River in 1973.

It was sobering to imagine what it was known as by Native Americans.

It's rapids boiled in white froth as the energetic river battled the rock formations for space--a visual clue of the tug of war between an irresistible force and an immovable object.

The upper section of our hiking trail was headed toward another known as the Pittsburgh-Cincinnati Stage Coach Trail.  I don't know where those coaches roamed but it certainly was not on the tortured path adjacent to sites we were passing known as The Narrows, Steamboat Rock or the Blue Hole.

A measured 1.3 miles from the trailhead the river makes a sharp bend and is crossed by a footbridge where we encountered an enthusiastic park naturalist who was pleased with our appreciation of what we had just seen.

As we were at our turning point for that day's hike she confirmed doing the stage coach trail upstream from lower in the park would connect this day's hike from the opposite end and treat us to the best the park had to offer wanderers like us.

Later on our hike the following day, another one measured at 1.3 miles to the turnaround, we confirmed her assessment.  This trek began from a parking area within the park proper and we were highly amused when our first trail marker was an undergarment hanging high on the branch of an old Sycamore tree.

There was considerable humorous speculation about the source of that landmark.

While this section of the hike treated us to some more challenging footwork the river was largely more placid as it continued its journey toward joining the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers on its course to freedom in the Gulf of Mexico.

The group:  Front, L to R; Sue Brooks, Rosa Hatfield, Nancy Meinzer.  Back:  Don Karger, Dick Hatfield, Roberta Karger and Mark Meinzer.  In the small photo, left above, Nancy is enjoying a view common along the upper level of the first day's hike where water boils through the narrow rock confines--often far below the trail level.

(Remember, clicking your mouse on the photos should treat you to a larger view.)

THE CLIFTON MILL--

The mill is one of the largest water-powered grist mill buildings still in existence.  A Revolutionary War soldier built the first mill at this site in 1802.  During the War of 1812 the mill processed grain to feed the troops.

That mill burned in 1821 and the present building was built on the old foundation.  During the 1800s 16 mills were located in the Clifton area.  This is the only one still in operation as a business.

Other mills of that time harnessed the Little Miami River's power to saw lumber.  Some produced woolen goods; others produced paper.  From 1908 to 1938 this mill provided electricity to local residents at the rate of $2 monthly for businesses and $1 monthly for private homes.

The river forms east of Clifton after several local streams combine their energy.  Their collective power is then amplified as it flows through the constricted gorge the river itself created over geologic time.

Clifton's industrial era ended when the then, new railroad was built through Yellow Springs instead of Clifton.  Cholera came to the village in 1849 killing half its residents and half the survivors were inspired to leave town for good yet, most of the town's original buildings remain.

Today's mill building operates mostly as a restaurant and gift shop.  Our hike along the gorge (which will be featured in Saturday's blog story) concluded in late afternoon so we hoped to celebrate that day's end with dinner there.

It was not the kind of dining experience that encourages return visits.
 


Our group found the dinner menu both quite limited in selections and pricey.  Several of us preferred just a salad and that was not an allowed choice.  One wanted just a grilled cheese sandwich.  That also was not available.

She noted an egg and cheese item on the breakfast menu which was available all day and asked for one of those without the egg.  The waitress was not enthused with her sense of humor.

Consequently, we were left with the breakfast offerings for our evening meal choices.  My French toast was delightful and another companion's pan cakes could have been cut in half and there would still have been plenty to take home for another meal or two.

Regardless, it is not likely we will be back there for an evening meal anytime soon.

But, beyond launching a delightful hike nearby in the Clifton Gorge, the mill also is a visual treat at Christmas time when the buildings and surrounding trees are illuminated by a bazillion lights.  Maybe more.

That alone could be worth a trip to this tiny town just a few miles south of Springfield.
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The power of the river's flowing water was harnessed when it spun a water wheel like the one in the small photo upper left.  That wheel is partially visible outside the window in the lower photo--far above the river's surface.  It is quite likely this wheel was installed just for demonstration or landscape purposes.

THE TOWPATH BIKE TRAIL--

In the Cuyahoga Valley National Park

A whitetail deer munching on the bank of the Cuyahoga River caused a burp in our ride through this Autumn-dappled park on one of Fall's recent streak of dazzling weather days.

Nancy and Mark Meinzer and Sue Brooks are on the towpath (above) flanked by the Cuyahoga River on the left and residual traces of the Ohio-Erie Canal on the right.

From this natural solitude it is hard to imagine the chaos of Cleveland just 15 miles or so downstream.

Later we stopped to watch four young muskrats enjoying the still waters of the historic canal while painted turtles celebrated the season's waning warmth on log perches in the still waters--everywhere.

That's Mark in the Breksville Station (small photo) pondering the cut-away view of a canal boat representing those that drove the state's commerce in the nearby waterways of the 1800s.

Cuyahoga means "crooked river" in the language of the Iroquois and defines this watercourse that flows 22 miles through 33,000 acres of national park between Akron and Cleveland.

A few restored locks--but most of the crumbling variety--dot the old canal course along with evidence of an aqueduct here an there that once transfused the system with navigable water.

That's a close-up peek of the Cuyahoga (right) where water trickles through rapids which dump at right angles into the main foreground channel.  A slow shutter speed smooths the roaring stream into visual satin.

My riding companions (below) rumble across several hundred yards of boardwalk spanning a marshy area north of Peninsula while Ohio Turnpike traffic sizzles silently across the towering bridge top right.

Brooding over the Blitzkrieg of super-highway traffic between us and home it was easy to dream of cycling this southbound course and meandering another 75 miles or so through Ohio's tranquil woodlands to the solitude of my tiny piece of rural, Richland County. 

BOUQUET ON A BRANCH--

A female mantis is significantly larger than her male counterpart  as shown above in this year's mating season.  Note their presence in a field of goldenrod, their favorite habitat.  (All photos courtesy of Mark Meinzer)

PRAYING MANTISES--

These remarkable critters got their common name because of the manner in which they hold the upper part of their bodies with their large front legs as if in a prayerful attitude.  They have a truly striking appearance when seen fluttering through the air, or simply loitering around the weeds, often a goldenrod, waiting patiently for their usually insect prey to come within reach.

With stunning speed they will grab their next meal in those forearms equipped with spiny-like appendages to securely grasp their meal while they dispatch it by biting off its head.

The females also are well known to deliver similar treatment to their mates during the reproductive act which usually occurs in September and October.

This story was launched when my square dancing friend and retired engineer from the phone company, Mark Meinzer, told me about his abundant population of these critters.  That led to a census of my acreage which turned up, well, nothing.

Turns out Mark has had a life-long fascination with these critters and several years ago met a vendor at a Kingwood Center flower sale that had a jug full of praying mantis "nests"  for sale.  He bought several and seeded a 1/2 acre of his "Alpine" setting which he and wife Nancy manage for wildlife habitat.

By fall of that year he began seeing the mantises on his property and has seen them every year since.  Three years ago they had their best census ever.  He and his grandchildren counted 67 of the critters on one pass through the field.

That same year in November he removed over 60 of the "nests" from his field and stored them over winter in a refrigerator, to protect them from predation, then distributed them around the property the following Spring.

In autumn females lay their annual generation of eggs in a frothy, gummy cluster about an inch long which drys and glues itself to tree twigs, plant stems etc.  There, the eggs will overwinter and tiny nymphs will emerge from the egg mass in the Spring or early summer.

During mating season, Mark notes, the females will attract multiple males; all of which will be found on her back at the same time.  The most males Mark has observed at one time is five.

They are not an endangered species nor protected by federal or state law; both common misconceptions.

By helping control other insects they are highly beneficial and they do not bite humans.  If you handle one, however, you could receive a sharp pinch from their powerful forearms.
 
Wise folks will enjoy observing them in the wild while practicing the often good advice, "Look but don't touch"!

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At least three male mantises are mating with this female (top left) while the female in the lower right photo appears to be pondering her next meal, starting with the head of the male on her back.  Regardless, both will die naturally with the approach of the following winter.

For an OSU Extension Fact Sheet, click here!

MOTHS AND MANTISES--

Square dancing friend Nancy Meinzer did these photos of a hummingbird moth several years ago feeding on garden phlox wildflowers growing at their wildlife habitat-abundant, southern Richland County home.

Saturday, Fogeyisms will take a peek at another interesting critter that lives at the Meinzer place; praying mantises which are there bountifully because of husband Mark's critter husbandry.  Nancy is a computer programmer and Mark is a retired engineer from the phone company as well as an award-winning cultivator of dahlias and an enthusiastic amateur photographer.

Nancy's photos were done with a Canon Power Shot, point and shoot digital camera while Mark did his work with a Canon Rebel T2i, digital single lens reflex camera.  Mark's photos will be featured Saturday.