NOAA and USDA have issued an early drought warning that includes all of our state. I prefer exceptionally wet conditions to drought. Even in times of flooding I can usually catch moments between downpours and walk barefoot across cool, soft grass and feel soft earth and have a sense that plants and bugs and birds have had more than enough water but will be just fine. In drought there is widespread anguish, the parched grass is like walking on sea urchins. If plants had teeth they'd be gnashing them.
“We’ve had droughts before,” he said, “don’t make it more than it is.”
It’s a long term forecast, speculation based in science but with a significant probability of error. It might get dry, it might not. And if it does, it's happened before, countless times, and here we are, and here are the birds and plants and insects, living proof of our perseverance and adaptability. We endure.
My wife is an ardent feeder and observer of birds, keen to recognize when things are amiss. She commented yesterday that she has seen only two chimney swifts over the pond this year where they are usually frequent, searching the sky for insects. On her trips to town she likewise notes an absence of swifts, that like to nest in chimneys, and nighthawks, that like to nest on flat rooftops. “Populations do have ups and downs,” I say, and she responds with a litany of species that seem fewer this year: goldfinches, yellow warblers, vireos, buntings, tree swallows, and I have to agree. In our speck of universe it seems so. And given that most songbird species are in steep decline, seeing fewer birds sooner or later is, sadly, a realistic expectation.
“They’ll be back,” the old timer said. “I remember a year we hardly had house wrens, and look at them now!”
We have a gig doing bat surveys for the DNR. We fit the car with a microphone and GPS-linked computer and drive predetermined routes through the countryside at 18 mph, commencing about an hour after sunset. Apparently, bat numbers are declining everywhere. In Indiana, of the 13 known species, five are endangered, six are of special concern. This survey is part of a federal program to monitor populations across the country.
“Bats carry rabies,” she said, “and they’ll get in your hair and give you lice!”
“They make a mess in the barn”, he added, “Filthy animals. They’re responsible for the coronavirus, aren’t they?”
The surveys present a great time to be out in the hinterlands, poking along at a time when nocturnal life is on the move. We see deer and raccoons and opossums, occasionally foxes, owls, skunks, coyotes. We see fireflies, sometimes few, sometimes many. We record a few bats. But what we find blatantly obvious is the lack of insects in the headlights. I wasn't counting, but last night, over a 20+ mile distance, the number of moths flitting across the road certainly totaled less than ten. I specifically remember three.
“Maybe someday we won't have to call the exterminator,” she said. “I’ll keep the bug zapper plugged in,” he said. “Say, when’s the yard guy coming? Pretty sure we have grubs.”
Remember the days when a drive through the country at night left your windshield, bumper, grill and headlights splattered with insects? Remember when bats were a given in a twilight sky?
Fishing is a popular pastime enjoyed by millions across the globe. In Florida, charter boats load up with hopeful anglers and head to offshore reefs in pursuit of grouper and snapper and amberjack. They are often successful, and the catch is hung against a board advertising the charter service and happy participants gather around for a photo. The biggest fish gets special recognition. But what is not recognized is that the biggest fish is dwarfed by the biggest fish in a similar photo taken decades prior, and the overall catch is pitifully small, comparatively, in both size and total caught.
“What a great day on the water!”, they smiled and said, “What a tremendous resource!”
What we accept as normal, whether it be weather events, bird sightings, insect numbers, fish caught or a thousand other observations, is changing. The old farmer can accurately recall all the drought years but enlightened farmers now expect them more often, as they expect episodes of frequently wetter, hotter, and cooler weather. Normal is no longer.
“The weather’s gone topsy turvy,” they say.
Insect numbers worldwide are crashing from chemical poisoning, climate change, and habitat loss. Up to 40 percent of all species are in decline and a third are endangered, according to a global scientific review. Fewer insects necessarily leads to decreased pollination, fewer bats and birds, and ultimately, fewer people. It takes 6000-9000 caterpillars to rear a single brood of chickadees. A bat needs to eat about the same number of insects each night.
“It's a hoax,” they said.
“It's a conspiracy,” some countered.
“Only God can control the climate.”
“I’ll be happy when things are back to normal.”
“It’s all overblown.”
“It's out of our hands.”
“What's for dinner?”
It disturbs me as much as it disturbs you, Joe. We have a huge fan in our house that my folks installed for cooling purposes. Every year we have had to rescue bats trapped in the fan space where they can get in but not out. Last year there were only a few. This year there are none (so far). Out by the neighbors yard light watching fireflies a few years ago you could hear the chitter chitter of bats. Our colony seems to have succumbed to environmental pressures despite our attempts to nurture them. We know a few ways to help slow the devastation, but as individuals we feel totally powerless. When it's so difficult to persuade even a fairly like minded friend to stop mowing three acres or using pesticides and herbicides to maintain a picture perfect lawn, it might be easier to ask "What's for dinner?"
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