Kimberley Roll is a member of Friends of the Limberlost and an excellent nature photographer who spends time hiking the trails of the Limberlost Territories. She shares her pictures and her finds with us. We thought you would enjoy her photographs of the birds that winter at Limberlost. Gene Stratton-Porter would be pleased that so many still enjoy the birds around Geneva Indiana, a place that she lived for twenty-five years. Short-eared owl flying over the Limberlost Swamp Wetland Preserve. In November 2017 they returned to spend their seventh winter here. Bald eagles have become year round residents in Geneva. They have nested here the past several years. They are commonly seen at Limberlost Swamp Wetland Preserve, Loblolly Marsh, Red Gold Wetlands, Rainbow Bottom and the old gravel pit. Northern harrier hovering and looking for prey. They have been a winter resident since several were first seen in November 2011. The old gravel pit in early January where there were Greater white-fronted geese, Canada geese, and mallards. A number of horned larks are wintering at Limberlost. Flocks of horned larks can be seen in fields and along roads in the area. The Kestrel is another year round resident. Their numbers around Limberlost appear to be on the rise.
Sanctuary in the Limberlost
By Shari Wagner Indiana Poet Laureate 2016-2017 For my artist residency at Limberlost State Historic Site, I led three poetry workshops with writing activities designed to help participants explore the beauty, history, and ecological importance of the Limberlost, as well as its connection to Gene Stratton-Porter. Now that this Arts in the parks and Historic Sites project has come to completion, I would like to express my heartfelt gratitude to the site staff and Friends of the Limberlost who have been so much a part of its success. I am also deeply appreciative of the people who attended the workshops. They came from all over the state, as far away as New Harmony. If you scroll down this blog site, you will find some of their individual and collaborative poems. Not only did I enjoy my Limberlost events, I had a great time preparing for them. This involved becoming acquainted with the Loblolly trails and Limberlost Cabin, reading all of Gene Stratton-Porter's poetry, and thinking about what prompts, models and activities might best inspire workshop participants. One particularly nice surprise was discovering that Gene was greatly influenced by one of my own favorite poets -Walt Whitman. Throughout my activities, I kept recalling the first book I read by Gene---her novel, Freckles. I was about ten years old, and what struck me most in the book was Freckle's "cathedral," a particular place in the Limberlost that became his special sanctuary. After reading that book, I went in search of my own Wells County cathedral and found it in the remotest section of my family's ten-acre woods. A fallen tree trunk served as my pew. Oak and honey locust formed the columns. When I was lonely, this room in nature offered solace and communion. Not long after I found my cathedral, I began exploring the creek near my home--Griffin Ditch, a waterway that flows between fields and empties into the Wabash. I discovered many intriguing places along the creek's wooded route, including a tiny oxbow pond with an island (a fragile spot that disappeared in dry spells), an old apple orchard with fairy circles in the grass, and even a heap of discarded furniture almost hidden in thistle and raspberry vines. My psalm to Griffin Ditch titled "Creek-Song" appears in The Harmonist at Nightfall (Bottom Dog Press, 2013), a book that grew from my desire to find sacred places throughout Indiana---special touchstones for the spirit. For this poetry project, I revisited several places from my childhood, but mostly I made pilgrimages to new places, especially to state parks, nature preserves and historic sites. My impetus for this project came from many sources, but surely one was Freckle's cathedral. This past September, on the morning of my last workshop at the Limberlost, I left the motel feeling disheartened by the news of mounting tensions between North Korea and the United States. But when I arrived at the Loblolly Preserve, I was immediately consoled by a scene of enchantment--immersed in a prairie fresh with fog and dew, where it felt like the first dawn on earth, with every good thing possible. It was a magnificent sanctuary that I tried my best to memorize and to write about in the poem that follows. I think we all need these places that we return to, either physically or through memory, places that connect us to a reality larger than human concerns. Morning Forecast At the Clock Tower Motel I'm eating cereal with CNN on the screen: breaking news of tremors in North Korea--a small earthquake or the testing of a nuclear bomb. Twitter accounts escalate. * Thirty minutes later, pulsing cricket and cicada song engulfs me. I'm on foot in the Limberlost, where forest was hacked, wetland drained, prairie tilled for crops. Now acre by tender acre, the uprooted are returning. Fog and dew cling to seven-foot bluestem grass. Above my head, eastern sun illumines each beaded filament of a web, one of the true wonders of the world, this world, handing me her huge bouquet of partridge pea and tickseed, rattlesnake master and wild purple asters. Dawn will succumb to the forecast: late September's ninety-plus heat. But I keep in a locket this memento of Eden where roots reach deeper than the height of a man and clutch earth, for better, for worse, through drought and fire. Photographs by Shari Wagner taken at the Loblolly Marsh. Gene Stratton-Porter wrote "Music of the Wild" about a place she loved which was about one mile south of the cabin. Today, some of the area that Gene walked is a nature preserve called Music of the Wild. We will let Gene introduce you to this area. We hope you enjoy your walk with her.
"......the [Limberlost Creek] flows through the upper corner of the old Limberlost Swamp, hurries across the road once more and so comes singing into Schaffer's meadow." "Here [Limberlost] creek reaches deep-shaded channel once more and bursts into song crossing Armantrout's pasture; for it is partly shaded, many large trees on the banks are felled. A happy song is sung on the Rayn farm, where it is sheltered by trees and a big hill. In full force it crosses the road [US 27] again, slides below the railroad bridge, rounds the hill, chanting a requiem to the little city of the dead [Burris Cemetery] on its banks......" "When the Limberlost leaves the thicket and comes into the open again it does not spread, as it did on the bed of ooze; for in the firm clay soil of fields and meadow only a narrow channel is cut, and so with forces renewed by concentration it comes slipping across Bone's woods pasture." "There is little variation, and the birds are the strongest accompanists. Later, when it falls into the regular channel, it sings its characteristic song and appears so much happier and more content." We hope you enjoyed your walk with Gene. Her words came from Part II of Music of the Wild. It is not too often that you can walk into a book that is over one-hundred years old. All of the Limberlost Territories are left in a natural state for all to enjoy.
Kimberley Roll is an excellent nature photographer who often visits Limberlost. She has hiked the trails at the Loblolly Marsh and the Deacon's Trail and Miller's Woods at the Limberlost Swamp Wetland Preserve. Kimberley's photographs capture something about Limberlost that mere words do not. We hope you enjoy Nature in November at Limberlost. Eastern Comma at Limberlost Swamp Wetland Preserve. Trumpeter Swan at Limberlost Swamp Wetland Preserve. Turkey Tail Fungus at Miller's Woods. Pawpaws at Miller's Woods. Limberlost Swamp Wetland Preserve on a late November day. One of our native sparrows, the Swamp Sparrow, at Miller's Woods. Late blooming Bellflower at Miller's Woods. Cut-leave grape fern at Miller's Woods. Galls Great blue heron Kestrel
In the late 19th century and early 20th century, Indiana was second only to New York State in the number of bestselling authors the state produced. It is the Golden Age of Literature in Indiana. In 1926 the State of Indiana published a list of thirteen noted Hoosiers for their achievements in literature.
The state survey observed that it "seemed to fall into two groups: those whose ability as storytellers found scope in tales of romantic days gone by, and those who saw beauty in everyday life, and charmingly recorded it." There were two women and eleven men on this list. The women were Sarah T. Bolton and Gene Stratton-Porter. The men were James Whitcomb Riley, Gen. Lew Wallace, John Finley, Albert J. Beveridge, Charles Major, Meredith Nicholson, Booth Tarkington, George Ade, Kin Hubbard, Maurice Thompson and Edward Eggleston. It was noted that they were all important figures who "gained for Hoosierdom fame in literature." Letter to Gene Stratton-Porter
I knew where you lived my whole life Your name as familiar as my relative's But this tomboy didn't want to read About any Limberlost girl and her Laddie When the coonskin cap boys were showing off On the frontier playground. Who knew you could outshoot the boys With your lens and maybe even your pistol? You didn't need the vote to explore Your own frontier any more than you needed Schooling to be a scientist or a shapely Smile to lure a rich husband who'd fund Your appetite for adventure. Snakes couldn't Scare you away from the lovely swamp things Whispers that would've wounded me a century later Flowed past you like the wind ruffling Your unapologetic air but never taming your nature. Why didn't I get to know you sooner? If you could be here now would you gripe On this hike about all that was lost? Or would you embrace those who returned With just a bit of encouragement Diminished yet still recognizable To the swampland reunion? By Tanya Isch Caylor Nature's cafeteria Walking through Loblolly Marsh I thought I saw a spider's web But the tiny caterpillars inside weren't victims - This was their tent, Keeping predators off their juicy leaf. Those Eastern Tent Worms looked like kids in a school cafeteria clustered together, crazily gobbling Climbing all over each other Not sitting still for nothing. Overhead a drop of water hung Like a chandelier Reflecting sunlight From the ceiling. Such a big tent for such a tiny worm But it's a huge crowd Feeding, growing, dreaming Of the day they take flight as moths. By Cassie Caylor Limberlost Poems
Poems by Rosemary Freedman Limberlost She's stood I am sure in the spot you're now standing. Close your eyes for one minute and imagine her handing a specimen of moth, a geode, a feather. She's made a cord, not a tether, that draws us all here to a place we like most. Can you feel her around us? Like an earth hearty ghost? The moths even keep their eyes on her and on us. She's the trees only shadow. The wind's forceful gust. She was solemn, but funny. She filled each day with lovely. She has colored each one of us in like moth photos, the ghost of her making us real. Gene Stratton Porter, Girl of the Limberlost, your birds and your moths are watching you still. Ave Flora For Gene Stratton-Porter If birds became her mother then one could not be enough. They're here by the fireplace in the trees with a puff. In the morning fog their symblos and screeches. They speak to her softly, perhaps chide at her breeches. But wat can they do with a language that languishes? They caw at her loudly when she's frightened or anguishes. And how does she know really what they were saying? And did they look in on her when at night she lay laying? And though she seemed happy ever chasing the wild did we know of her grief as a motherless child? Like a girl with a lantern she carried her ladder. In search of the earth and the things she thought mattered. Oh, she had fancy things, like a necklace and flowers, but her brother Laddie's drowning could restrain her for hours. She pursued the earth daily like a hearty addiction to fill up the gape, the lost mother affliction. So, when birds' black eyes turned or the orange eye of the owl to look in upon her with smile or with scowl I think she accepted, but how could I know. They were surrogate replacements during heat, rain and snow. They flew in the house. They stared through the casements. Though I've never met her somehow, feel she's a sister and when I arrive at the Limberlost there's a sense I've just missed her. Loblolly Marsh Wait, there's a memory coming. I recall I was there. I worked as a hired woman, Combing your hair. And you got mad for an instant Cause I pulled on a tangle. I can see you all differently now from this angle. You spent up your energy Through climates cold, sweet and harsh Getting lost on the think of things At the Loblolly Marsh. Poems by Ethan Pieples (Age 6) Daddy Long legs and a baby Spider. They have skinny legs, like the skinny arms of people. At night they read about other daddy long legs who live in China, Their cousins they will have to travel to meet. They have bugs for dinner. I love them. The Twirling Leaf The twirling leaf twirls by a web yellow and gold. I am a Buckeye I look blackish-purple. People pick me up. I can tell they are Lucky when they find me. I am so lucky. People put me in their pockets. I travel with them the rest of their life. They feel my reassuring smoothness. Poems by Cameron Pieples (age 4) I'm Swimming to get a Starfish. I grabbed it. I flew into the sky, and I got it. I love it, it looks so pink. It feels like a bumpy road. I am a Red Caterpillar I ask why are those people playing with playdough. I walk on the brick wall. I'm fast. People think I'm fast. I am red like Ethan's shirt. John Brenner's cane leans,
resting at table edge, leaning like John leaned into it's tree limb strength, to check stock of fireplace wood, water garden, water horses. John Brenner's cane rests, but waits, like John waited, for invitation, supplication, to make pilgrimage for Poplar branch, moth's dinner, procuring a fitting host plant for winged inspiration of hostess. John Brenner's cane, a resting limb, branch of tree for holding him, third leg, hewn limb of twin limb, still holding fast to tree, that even at rest can cradle birdhouse that cradles nest. ...birdhouse, lovingly crafted by John, devoted architect, builder, of houses for Gene's feathered kin, and her feathered dreams. The Little Bird Woman sees her plans cradled, and tended, as she leans, on him, as he leans. Both cradled in the love of the Limber-lost, where so much is found. John Brenner's cane rests, While frog chorus reverberates, bird song elucidates, cicadas pulse, deer seek running streams, raccoons scamper and sway and chatter. All this a welcome song that soothes the nerves worn raw, raw made of the same sound bites, alphabet letters, as war, marching forward, or backward. Battle cried and guns fired, in another unCivil War. John had enlisted, August 15, 1862, side by side with Joseph Aspey, musician, who might have tried to imitate nature's songs for Company D, who might already intuit, seek the soothing, of the Eden nurtured by Gene. Gene, who forever mourned the loss of one butterfly, with crushed wing, inadvertently maimed in reflexive grasp of falling, became nature's pacifist, leaving gaps in walls, where all may pass through. Where Light is always welcome. Where John Brenner's cane rests. Friends of the Limberlost and Friends of Ouabache State Park were pleased to host the Indiana Master Naturalist 2017 Gathering on October 6-7. We thank all that attended. We hope you will come back to the Land of Limberlost.
The Limberlost pre-trip on Friday was a visit to an Amish School and an Amish midwife's home and her birthing rooms. It is an honor to be invited into the Amish community. The "scholars" and their teacher Benjamin were welcoming. Questions were asked and answered, songs were sung, making it an enjoyable visit. We learned that one of our IMN volunteers at the Oliver Mansion and that Benjamin uses an Oliver plow. Besides teaching, Benjamin is a farmer and bird watcher. Friday evening, Friends of the Ouabache hosted a dinner and bison hike. Jody Heaston gave a great talk on the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC) at Ouabache State Park. The park has one of the CCC "Iron Mike" statues. The fire tower was saved and is slated to be restored over the winter. These two projects have been achieved due to the hard work of the Friends of the Ouabache. The evening finished with Adrienne Provenzano "Songstress of the Limberlost" performing. Saturday morning started with chimney swifts flying over the Limberlost Visitor Center while the early hikers were gathering. Naturalist Curt Burnette led an early hike at the Music of the Wild preserve. Gene Stratton-Porter wrote part of her book Music of the Wild about this area. Ken Brunswick, retired East Central Ecologist, wrote a book called "The Limberlost Born Again." Ken had a special book signing and enjoyed meeting IMN from around the state. The day included a program on Gene Stratton-Porter by Site Manager Nicky Ball, a tour of the Limberlost Cabin by Randy Lehman, a program on Moths by Willy DeSmet. Hikes at the Loblolly Marsh were led by East Central Ecologist Ben W. Hess and Naturalist Curt Burnette. A highlight of the day was lunch on the beautifully restored 1860 Ceylon Covered Bridge. It was a perfect day for lunch on the bridge and a walk at Rainbow Bottom. Melissa Fey arranged a nice ending to the day with a program by Floyd Leichty at the Clock Tower and a tour of the Mennonite Church in Berne. Gifts from the Four Directions Loblolly Marsh Look-out In the East, yellow leaves and the super hot sun reminds me of a peach. Hope in a new day. In the South, leaves of red--red cedar wood tree. when I look at the South, I look at the Beautiful-Life. In the West, spiky Mystery that flies ---monarch butterfly wing spots---and the dark of the buckeye, reddish black. In the North, Wisdom's white rocks and white doors. It's a little purple in the middle--- the white morning-glory. Collaborative poem by Claire (East), Tyler (South), Ethan (West), and Cameron (North) Participants in "Among Sights, Sounds and Silences: A Poetry Workshop at the Limberlost" Bones in a Forest
It's death exposed in leaves, nuts and dirt--- on display like a museum brought to us today. Maybe it's a dinosaur like my dinosaur and his name is Baby Dinosaur. Or it could be a coyote with a long jawbone for a better bite. It could be a dog that fell down panting because he was tired. The white teeth look like saws of old farmers staring at this land only dreaming. Collaborative poems by Cameron, Claire, Than, Peggy, Rosemary and Tyler Participants in "Among Sights, Sounds, and Silences: A Poetry Workshop at the Limberlost" Thank you to Rosemary Freedman for the photos and to Jack Freedman for the group photo. Thank you to Indiana Poet Laureate Shari Wagner for creating and teaching these poetry workshops at Limberlost this year. |
AuthorThe volunteers and staff of Limberlost Categories |