406 - Mulling over Mullein

As snow continues to blanket the ground, and the plummeting temperatures cause the air to bite at exposed skin, I can't help but reminisce on warm summer day adventures. One adventure in particular had me exploring local wetlands, those special places where water and land blend together to create exquisite, diverse ecosystems. One wetland gifted me with a memory I won't soon forget, and reminded me just how beautiful even the simplest experiences in nature are.

This is the season for lists highlighting our most-listened-to or best-of-whatevers at the end of the year, so I decided to dig into the stats on my Natural Connections blog. To my surprise, the most-read article in 2025 was one I wrote in February of 2016 about a plant called mullein. In August 2025 it spiked in popularity, far above my normal readership. I have no idea why. I recently told someone the story of finding the chickadee-cached seed in the mullein stalk, but I'd forgotten about the rest of the article. It's fun! And appropriate to this season. So, I hope you enjoy it as much as the 1.24K other readers did, too! Happy New Year! –Emily

Bohemian waxwings are known for their ability to find a tree full of berries in the middle of nowhere, descend on it en masse, strip every edible fruit from the twigs, and then disappear to their next meal. That's exactly what they did as I watched.

Heading north on Highway 63, the beautiful scenery never fails to keep me entertained as I drive through the picturesque nature of the Northwoods. While my thoughts wandered, a large dark spot high in a distant tree caught my eye. At first, I thought it might be a squirrel drey–a large nest of twigs and leaves built high in a tree. But as I got closer, I realized that it was a porcupine! Once my excitement calmed down, curiosity began to take its place. I began to wonder why exactly this porcupine was high up in the tree on this late fall morning. The answer may lie within the feeding strategies of the North American porcupine.

As winter's first snowflakes drifted through the dark, some landed on top of dead plants, fallen leaves, twigs, and other detritus of the forest floor. In many places, snow never fully reached the ground. That was surely true for the protected hideaway of my thermometer. By dawn, it was buried under six inches and counting.  Despite falling temperatures, the relative warmth of the cold rain and the residual heat of summer were still radiating from the soil. At sunrise, when I checked the weather station, the air temp had dropped to 24 degrees Fahrenheit, but the sensor cozied up to the earth under a fresh blanket of snow read 33 degrees. After two winters of thin snow, the Subnivean Zone has returned! Read all about it in this week's Natural Connections or listen to the podcast. Find links to both at https://www.cablemuseum.org/connect/ or in our profile. Check out Emily's third book, hot off the press! Natural Connections 3: A Web Endlessly Woven, is available  at several local bookstores, at the Cable Natural History Museum, or at cablemuseum.org/connect! 

The arching stems, decorative berries, and warmly hued, persistent fall foliage of barberry, plus the complete lack of deer browse on their twigs, are why they were brought to the U.S. as an ornamental plant in 1875. That was fine, until in the 1980s they started to spread out and displace native plants. Now Japanese barberry is considered invasive in 17 states, including Wisconsin, Minnesota, and Iowa.  A barberry thicket also provides a safe, fox-resistant haven for mice, and a shady, humid home for ticks. Deer ticks feed on mice, who are reservoirs for Lyme disease. 

The shallow water in Northwoods marshes and bays began to crackle with a skim of ice recently, gently reminding everyone that winter is on the way. Ice-up is a firm deadline for many beings who migrate to travel at least a little bit farther south. I got caught up in the flurry of activity and soon found myself in the Mississippi River Flyway swooping around the hills and corners of the Great River Road with other Northerners heading south.    Check out Emily's third book, hot off the press! Natural Connections 3: A Web Endlessly Woven, is available  at several local bookstores, at the Cable Natural History Museum, or at cablemuseum.org/connect! 

Beside the trail stood a spreading shrub with a few rays of sunlight illuminating tiny yellow flowers that looked just like sunbursts themselves. Witch-hazel! The flower-dappled shrub twinkled like a reminder of spring. While they do bloom near Halloween, witch-hazel's name is probably a misspelling of old English words wicke or wych that meant "lively" and "to bend." They refer to the use of a forked branch of witch-hazel as a dowsing rod, which purportedly would bend downward to point out a good location to dig a well. In a bit of reverse-dowsing, rain showers helped me see the leaf, and sun rays helped me see the witch-hazel. On that fall day, I found a deep well of beauty. 

"Turn here, they're heading north!" I directed my fiancé as we navigated the gravel roads of Crex Meadows Wildlife Area near Grantsburg, WI. We'd spotted a line of sandhill cranes flying through the sunset sky, and were following them toward what we hoped would be a spectacular evening of birdwatching. 

The air shimmered as I walked through the forest, the heavy mists encompassing me in a damp blanket. As my shoes trod on soggy leaves, I took in the quiet serenity of the forest. Many of the trees had begun their annual changing of the colors, painting the canopy in shades of yellow, orange, red and green. Their discarded leaves were already beginning to dot the forest floor in late September. But fallen leaves weren't the only contributors of color on the ground–the fall mushrooms were popping in the Northwoods.