Michigan Forest Life - May 24, 2025

Greetings from Winterfield Pines Nature Sanctuary,

I have been in the forest for nearly one week. I've spent much of that time thinking about the

river, the West Branch of the Clam River, that flows into the mainstream of the Clam, which

flows into the Muskegon River, which flows into Lake Michigan.

I think about the small creeks and drains that flow though Winterfield Pines and empty into the West Branch of the Clam. Water feeding the creeks accumulates in wetlands, tag alder swamps, and cedar swamps that are themselves fed by artesian springs and runoff from higher ground. They are in low, nearly-imperceptible depressions in the landscape, left by glacial movement 10,000 years ago.

The West Branch of the Clam River is really made by the confluence of two small creeks that

come together just south of Meyering Road. The Middle Branch Creek of the West Branch of the Clam River begins in wetlands a bit north of the community of Park Lake. The North Branch Creek of the West Branch of the Clam originates in a large tag alder swamp south of McBain. These fledgling streams are also fed by runoff from the agricultural land they meander through.

The West Branch of the Clam River is unusual as far as Muskegon River tributaries go. Though a human might not see it, the temperature varies more widely than it does in other tributaries, and wildlife - fish and other living things - must tolerate the bigger temperature swings. I wonder if the river was always this way.

A river evolves. Naturally, and from human impact. Soil washes from one bank and is deposited on another. Holes fill in. Other holes develop. Peninsulas disappear. Natural flooding changes vegetation that holds banks in place.

During the logging era (1870-1910) logs floating down stream bumped the river’s banks, making the river wider, each bump taking a scoop of soil from the side. The increased width made the river more shallow. The wider river had more surface area for the sun to warm and less depth to hold cool temperatures. The average temperature of the river went up.

What was the river like before the logging era? When it ran through only mature forest and not wide open agricultural land? Even then it was an everchanging thing. It is the way nature works.

I am always intrigued that a raindrop falling into the tag alder swamp in Winterfield Pines travels a long journey down the Muskegon River and is eventually handed off to a large gathering of raindrops in Lake Michigan. If a raindrop could talk, imagine the adventures it would tell about its amazing journey.

What would you ask the raindrop?

I might ask, "What other raindrops did you meet? Were they all like you? Were some more

cloudy? Did the sun warm you when you were cold? What living things did you see along the

way? How many different fish did you swim around, Raindrop?"

"Was the ride fast in places, and excruciatingly slow in others? Did you bump into rocks every

day? Did you duck under a canoe and then get splashed into the air by a paddle? Did the sky

drop other raindrops to keep you company? How long did it take you, Raindrop, to get back into

the current when a human bucket scooped you away from the others?"

What a journey to imagine. If only a raindrop could talk.

Yesterday, I spent a full day on the river, the mainstream of the Clam, trying to become one of the raindrops. Paddling through the water in a canoe. Looking up at a bald eagle perched in a dead tree - a snag. Feeling other raindrops brush against my hand as I dipped a paddle into the current. Looking at trout in the stream as I moved past. I felt Mother Nature giving me the company of more raindrops from the sky. They accumulated on the floor of the canoe, washing my boots, and cooling the clothes that covered my skin. I felt wind blowing raindrops against my face, beckoning me to swim with them to drift together in the current to Lake Michigan.

And I answered, "I can only join you for a while. Perhaps on another day...."

I wish you a day as a raindrop, and the adventure it entices.

Until next time,

Dan