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Three Steps Forward, South Bay, Virginia (#110)

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After three hours of harvesting, I discover the best approach to collecting eelgrass seeds is to simply let go, allowing the current to take me. I’m in a wetsuit for the first time in my life off the coast of Virginia in South Bay.  In the bed of the bay is a vast underwater meadow of eelgrass – a once nearly extinct species making a world-renowned comeback with the help of The Nature Conservancy (TNC) and volunteers like me today eager to hunt for seeds.  About one in twenty shoots of eelgrass hold seeds, and those shoots are the prizes us volunteers are searching for.   Most of the eelgrass blades are long and flat, like linguini.  The seeded shoots, though, are rounded, like spaghetti.  Our task is to find the spaghetti among the linguini, then pluck and place them in a mesh bag strapped over our shoulders.  Those shoots will be brought ashore and placed in holding tanks in Oyster, Virginia. There are different techniques for harvesting the seeded s...

In Flux in Oyster, Virginia (#109)

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Tidewater, Virginia is now just a speck in my rearview.  Its shipbuilding cranes and tall clustered buildings fade as I continue eastward across a 23-mile bridge at the mouth of Chesapeake Bay.  This bridge comes ashore at the very tip of Delmarva – a six-thousand square mile peninsula between the Atlantic Ocean and the Chesapeake.   On the southern tip of Delmarva, life is different.   It has none of the congestion of Tidewater.   Life is more natural.   There’s room to breathe, beautiful views, and quiet peacefulness around every bend.     A few miles up from the tip is the tiny village of Oyster.   Yup, as you’d expect, this town is all about oysters.   A century ago, many of its structures were in different locations – out on the barrier islands fronting Virginia’s coast.   But as those islands shifted and became more vulnerable to storms and rising seas, their buildings were moved to the mainland at Oyster.   Now t...

Planting a Forest - Revisiting an Old Friend (#50)

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  I jab an iron blade into the soil.   It’s a deep piercing, free of roots and rocks.   My partner places a cultivated Longleaf pine seedling into the cut.   It’s a perfect fit.   We tamp it down with our boots, step off twelve feet to the west, raise the blade, and the planting process starts again.   Then again.   And again.   Over the next two hours, we’ll plant 50 Longleaf pine seedlings.   My partner and I are one of six groups working here at Piney Grove in Waverly, Virginia.   In total, today’s efforts will plant 300 seedlings - essentially, we’re planting a forest.   Counting instruction and driving time, I’ll accumulate five hours of dual-purpose volunteer hours on this beautiful Saturday afternoon.   The Nature Conservancy (TNC) made a call for volunteers, and the Virginia Master Naturalist program allows TNC stewardship to count toward the required hours needed for maintaining certification.   It’s an aftern...

Picnic Island Park, Tampa, FL (#108)

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Poking south from downtown Tampa is the Interbay Peninsula – a 3x7-mile spit of land.   It’s kinda the uvula of Tampa Bay – that hangy ball at the back of mouths.     Toward the tip, the peninsula becomes quite industrial.   On one side is a port where all the fuel for Tampa International Airport arrives.   On the other is MacDill Air Force base.   Between ‘em is a little haven of a municipal park idyllically named Picnic Island - a rose between thorns.   Marketed as a hidden gem in South Tampa, this spacious park is the perfect place to bring the family to relax or have a picnic .     But parks at the end of peninsulas in hurricane prone areas have a short shelf life unless fortified.    And fortification can be done in a variety of ways.   The Nature Conservancy, working with the City of Tampa, and the University of Miami partnered on a demonstration project at Picnic Island to showcase nature-based solutions to minim...

Cedar Key Scrub, Florida (#107)

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Last night, I was the final customer at The Tipsy Cow.   They’d already flipped chairs atop the inside tables, but last-minute diners could sit outside and enjoy expansive views over the newly renamed Gulf of America.   Sand-rimmed tiny islands of mangrove and pine framed the south-facing view.   Cormorants, terns, and ibis flitted about; their reflections glistening on the gulf tainted slightly with the remnants of sunset.   It was a beautiful place to enjoy my well-earned, late dinner.   When I turned around though, the view was a stark contrast.     The Tipsy Cow and the entire town of Cedar Key, Florida are trying to recover from Hurricane Helene eight months ago.   It’s a mix of rebuilt properties and others in varying states of repair or abandonment… and a lot of for sale signs.   After three hurricanes in thirteen months, residents are tapping out.   But I didn’t come here to check Cedar Key’s recovery (although as a caree...

Virginia Aquatic Resources Trust Fund (#104, 105, & 106)

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Humans are good at dirtying water.   We rarely think about our pollution; we simply flush it down the drain.    But pollution occurs in many other ways.   Industrially, factories release chemicals into rivers, lakes, and oceans.   Agriculturally, fertilizers and pesticides seep into our wells.   Accidentally, oil spills leak into our water.   And when it rains, especially in cities, storm water runoff flushes our scattered litter into streams.       In 1972, the federal Clean Water Act (CWA) established a structure for regulating just how much dirtying humans were allowed in the United States.   CWA guidelines put a fence around acceptable polluting practices.   For the building industry, the CWA, of course, brought challenges. While they recognize its importance, many in the building industry expressed concerns about the burdens imposed by the act citing compliance with requirements such as Section 404 (regulating discharg...

Phantom Canyon, Colorado (#102 & 103)

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L I V E R M O R E,  C O Two hours north of Denver, through a non-descript gate off Highway 287, a fifteen-minute ride atop a rutted dirt road leads to the edge of a canyon.   The drive across the plateau conceals the beauty I’m about to drop down into.   It’s a very special place – one of the last roadless canyons in the foothills of the Rockies in Colorado.   Special too, because it’s where the Great Plains meet the mountains – an overlapping ecosystem of spectacular beauty.     Access to the canyon is restricted to research and special tours.   The gate off Highway 287 is usually locked, but today it’s open for me and a group of nine other very lucky volunteers about to embark upon a special tour.   We’ve come to The Nature Conservancy’s (TNC) Phantom Canyon to do maintenance work on the seven miles of trails which lead to and follow the North Fork of the Cache la Poudre River.   It’s a popular assignment for volunteers but only a luck...