A Northwoods Almanac for April 2, 2021

 A Northwoods Almanac for April 2 – 15, 2021  

Sightings – FOYs (First-of-the-Year) 

3/16: Our first dark-eyed juncos appeared in Manitowish.

3/17: The Manitowish River opened below our house, an early opening. 

3/20: We saw a northern shrike near Powell Marsh.

3/21: Mary Jo Oyer sent me this note: “I looked out the window and noticed this ermine. Cute but quite the hunter. The other day we watched as it chased a red squirrel to the very top of a tree that had to be 50-60 ft. high. The squirrel got as far as the top branch, hung out, then jumped to the ground! The ermine went down the tree and chased it back up at least 3 more times. One of those times when the squirrel jumped out of the tree, it ricocheted off of a tree next to it before hitting the ground. It must have gotten stunned because it was MIA for 5 minutes. Then it woke up and ran up another tree just as tall. The ermine chased after it and got it by the tail midway up the tree. The squirrel broke free and again scurried up to the top, then jumped all the way to the ground. This time it tried to run away through the snow but the ermine got it and took it behind our woodpile. I read that ermines need to eat about every 3 hours and eat about 28 grams each time.”  

Ermine, photo by Mary Jo Oyer

3/23: Mary heard our first winter wren on 3/23, our first cowbird appeared in Manitowish, and a northern shrike struck terror in the songbirds at our feeders. It was a warm day so I, along with good friend Bob Kovar, paddled a stretch of the Manitowish River, our first paddle of the year. Birds were sparse, but we did kick-up mallards, hooded mergansers, and wood ducks along the way. More importantly, it was glorious to once again be on the river.

Wood ducks, photo by Bev Engstrom

3/24: Several tree sparrows arrived in Manitowish along with a larger flock of juncos, while a pair of chipmunks scoured up sunflower seeds under our feeders for the first time since late October.

3/25: A fox sparrow and an American woodcock appeared in Manitowish. 

3-25: Ed Marshall in Lad du Flambeau sent me this note: “About 10:30 this morning, about 25-30 common redpolls were feeding on the ground. Suddenly a songbird-type about the size of a robin appeared. Gray above, white below, dark eyeline, black on wings and tail, and with a mean looking little sharp beak! The redpolls burst into flight and headed for the deep woods with the northern shrike (I’m sure) in hot pursuit. It was the best look I’ve ever had of one. I also saw my first robin of the year.”

Northern shrike, photo by Bev Engstrom

3/28: A dozen common redpolls reappeared at our feeders after 6 weeks of absence – where had they gone? We also saw our first northern harrier hunting the Manitowish River edge that same day.

3/30: Though I had seen robins earlier, this was the first morning robins were singing in our yard, a song we should now hear every morning until late summer. Hooray!

What’s in a Name?

            I mentioned in a previous column that I am writing a book on the last wild lakes of northern Wisconsin, and that I was trying to find the origins of both their Native American and their European names. Why? Because names carry deep personal, cultural, familial, and historical connections. They give us a sense of who we were and are today, and the communities in which we belong. They give things meaning. 

            The Native American names for lakes (and all places) are important because history books often embrace European names as “our” history without acknowledging that there are other narratives, and other names, that came before. 

            In the foreword to the book, Gidakiiminaan (Our Earth): An Anishinaabe Atlas of the 1836 (Upper Michigan), 1837, and 1842 Treaty Ceded Territories, it says, “ . . . it could be correctly stated that the entire essence of their cultures (Anishinaabe) is based upon a notion of geographic place which embodies their human origin, historical identity, and the way they conceive their cultural reality in the modern world. As distinguished from traditional European thinking, the general Indian (Anishinaabe) orientation is more toward space than toward time. Commonality of place, as much as of past, defines an Indian (Anishinaabe) tribe. Thus the importance of a particular geographic spot can no more be moved to a different location than the importance in European history of a particular event can be moved to a different time.” (Charles Cleland: Professor and Curator of Anthropology, Michigan State University). 

            Names tell stories of places. And, of course, those stories aren’t limited to the Native Americans. Place names hold echoes of French culture, and Dutch, and German, and all those who settled here in the last 173 years since statehood. 

            “Names are magic,” wrote Walt Whitman. “One word can pour such a flood through the soul.”

            Ask yourself why the Vietnam Memorial so powerfully evokes emotions when it’s just a wall with names on it? 

            Consider also that as of 3/28,  the United States death toll from COVID-19 was 562,150. That’s 562,150 names.

            In the book The Crucible, John Proctor wrestles over whether to sign his name to a confession of witchcraft and save himself from the gallows. He replies: “I have given you my soul, leave me my name . . . Because it is my name. Because I cannot have another in my life.”

            So, names matter, whether for people or places. 

            In my search for lake names, I’ve found quite a number of lakes whose European names have been taken directly from the definition of the Ojibwe names:

            Clear Lake in Manitowish Waters is Gaa-waaseyaagamig-zaaga’igan – “water so clear you can see through it.”

            Fence Lake in Lac du Flambeau is Mashkanaakobijigani-zaaga’igan. The root word, mashkanaakobijigan, means “a kind of brush or wooden fence constructed to enclose deer driven into it.” Fence Lake was “named for the fences that Indian hunters built out of brush to corral deer as they migrated south for the winter” (Gilbert J. Champan, in Memories of Lac du Flambeau Elders). 

            Thunder Lake near Three Lakes is Animikiiwi-zaaga’igan – “thunderbird lake.”

            Pine Lake north of Mercer is Zhingwaako- zaaga’igan – “place of the pines lake.”

            Lac Vieux Desert is French for “the old clearing,” or Doty gave it as “Old Plantation.”

 In Ojibwe, it’s Gete-gitigaaning-zaaga’igan – “lake of the ancient garden.”

            Trout Lake is Namegosikaa-zaaga’igan –  meaning  just that, “trout lake.”

            Other lake names were changed. Ike Walton Lake near Lac du Flambeau is Mashkiigwaagamaa-zaaga’igan – “swamp marsh water lake.” The Ojibwe name clearly refers to how shallow most of the lake is (mean depth 10’), whereas Ike Walton was a famed outdoorsman, author, and the namesake for the Izaak Walton League, a major conservation organization.

            Lake Owen near Drummond is Gaa-ginoogamaag-zaaga’igan – “long water lake.” Owen was an early geologist exploring the Northwoods in the 1800s.

            Still other lakes have simply been Anglicized: 

            Wabasso Lake is Waaboozo-zaaga’igan - “rabbit lake.”

            Wabigon Lake near Drummond is Waabigwan-zaaga’igan – “white flowers lake.”

            Shishebogama Lake is Zhiishibaagamaa – “lake with arms extending in all directions.”

            Lake Minocqua is Minwaakwaa-zaaga’igan – “heavenly place with a good stand of trees.” 

            Manitowish Lake is Manidoowiish-zaaga’igan – “little spirit [small animals] lake.”

            Given that the Ojibwe (the Anishinaabe people) migrated into the Upper Midwest sometime in the late 1500s to 1600s from northeastern North America, there had to have been names given to these lakes prior to the Ojibwe names, but these are likely lost. Perhaps they were similar, but the native people then may have seen or felt something different and given them another descriptor. Who knows? One way or another, we’re called to know the origins of place names, and to honor them by speaking them.

 

Sandhill Crane Count on 4/17

            Sandhill cranes have begun returning to our area - Mark Westphal observed one on Powell Marsh nearly two weeks ago – which means the annual Midwest crane count is soon. Mary and I have participated in the count for well over three decades, and we’re looking forward, as always, to this year’s. We paddle a section of the Manitowish River every year, and we always have a good story or two to tell after the count.

            The annual Midwest survey of sandhill and whooping cranes now spans over 90 counties in seven states. The count began in 1976, but didn’t expand into most of Wisconsin until 1985. Currently, more than 2,500 volunteer counters participate each year. 

            You needn’t be an expert on cranes to participate in the count. Mostly you just have to be adventuresome enough to get up very early and then sit at a given site before dawn no matter the weather!

            If you have an interest in participating in the 4/17 count in Iron County, call Annie at the North Lakeland Discovery Center – 715-543-2085. For Vilas County, call Sarah at 215-850-6007. For Oneida County, call Bob and Jan at 715-401-3214. If you live in other counties, see www.savingcranes.com for a full listing of other county coordinators.

                        

Celestial Events

            For planet-viewing in April, look after dusk for Mars in the west. Toward the end of the month, look for Venus low in the WNW. 

            Before dawn, look for Jupiter and Saturn both in the SE.

            On 4/4, we hit 13 hours of daylight.

            On 4/6, look before dawn for Saturn about 4° north of the waning crescent moon. The following morning, 4/7, look for Jupiter in the same place, about 4° north of the moon.

            The new moon occurs on 4/11.

 

Thought for the Week

            “There is a way that nature speaks, that land speaks. Most of the time we are simply not patient enough, quiet enough, to pay attention to the story.” ~ Linda Hogan