The Outside Story: The tale of a lake tsunami

The sharpest contrast between rivers and lakes is in water movement. While rivers flow inexorably downhill, lake water movement is more subtle.

Frogs have hopped about Earth since before the time of the dinosaurs, and it shows. Celebrated for their amphibious lifestyle and cacophonous choruses, the long arc of frog evolution has yielded other awesome and efficient adaptations in organs from their … (read more)

In the cosmic dance of heavenly bodies, no phenomenon possesses the drama of a solar eclipse, when the moon passes directly between the sun and earth.

Boiling maple sap into syrup is a time-honored tradition in the Northeast, to the olfactory delight of anyone who has spent time in a steamy sugarhouse while inhaling the sweet maple scent of the season.

My yard is full of eastern white pine trees, and every three years or so, it is full of pine cones. This is one of those years. Pine cones have fallen all over the yard, the sidewalk, the driveway.

It’s deep in winter, and a nor’easter is dumping snow outside. In between the howling winds you hear a boom!

One winter day, while teaching a winter ecology class, I pulled on waders and rubber gloves, grabbed a catch net, and led my “Minibeasts of the Stream” program, discovering a rich variety of insects in the frigid waters of Kedron Brook in South Woodstock, … (read more)

Of all life’s synergies, I appreciate most the one between my propensity for domestic procrastination and my love of moving through the outdoors — countless adventures are born of it.

In winter, river otters head upstream into the uplands, seeking areas of fast-moving water that remain open — at least open enough for an otter to slip into a stream in pursuit of fish.

I’ve always loved the idea of watching the sky for shooting stars. But I’m much more likely to be up to watch the sunrise than I am to stay awake past midnight, when most meteor showers happen.

Mycologists have speculated for centuries about the reasons fungi produce light. Here’s the story of some that do.

Spittlebugs are the color of a new spring leaf, their bodies both tiny and so fat that you hardly notice their six miniature legs underneath.

It happens on a warm June evening: in the darkening field near my house, I notice a brief flicker of light. Then another. And another.

Humans often ascribe traits that we admire to other animals. I’d like to add another candidate to this list of animal virtues: a pigeon’s ardor. 

A winter walk in the forest reveals a flurry of wildlife activity that often goes unnoticed during other times of the year.