The Useless Creatures

A Scene From 1934

2012-01-24T21:43:00.000-05:00

I've been a photographer for quite some time, but I've been an appreciator of vintage photography for over a decade, as well. It's partially a result of my past hobby of collecting old cameras, but this passion really came to fruition several summers ago, when I worked a job in the graphic division at the University of Michigan Clements Library. There, I handled thousands of photographs, their dates spanning from the 1850s through the 1970s. Most of the photography collection at the Clements Library is vernacular photography – that is, photographs taken by everyday people of everyday places. I find vernacular photography to be some of the most interesting photography out there.

Despite its current popularity, dead animal photography is nothing new. Taxidermy was a popular photographic subject, especially that of exotic, unusual animals on display in museums. Sometimes, though, more bizarre photographs will surface, and they really can't be explained:

I recently purchased this photograph. It combines several of my favorite things: vernacular photography, Michigan, taxidermy, and deer. It was developed (and likely shot) in Detroit, Michigan; the back of the photograph is stamped March 14, 1934 by the processor ("Eastman Kodak Stores, Detroit"). It's hard to see in the scan, but the sign propped up against the larger deer reads "KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF."

For the time when this photograph was taken, and even by today's standards, the deer were mounted extraordinarily well. It's interesting to note that the buck on the right seems to have piebald coloration on his legs – perhaps that was why he was mounted in full, as his antlers are a bit short of impressive.

Of course, there is no other information attached to this photograph, which leaves the viewer with more questions than answers. Why were the deer outside, in a neighborhood yard? Who was the photographer, and did these deer belong to him or her? Why was the photograph taken? What state is this neighborhood in now? What happened to the deer?

What I love about this photograph is that it's something that could have been taken yesterday. It's so absurd, so surreal, and yet it's somehow very contemporary in nature.

Tales of Coyote Trickery

2012-01-16T08:58:00.000-05:00

Note: This entry has some photographs and imagery that is a touch more gruesome than Useless Creatures' regular fare.

The manufactured snarl of a coyote, University of Michigan

Museum of Natural History. June 22, 2011.

In doing this project, I have found myself in many places, from busy roadsides to deep within the forest; from quiet museum storerooms to the bloodied floor of a wild game butcher shop. What started simply as documentation of the dead and their eventual decay has branched into a many-headed beast, and I find it incredible where I am now, as opposed to over two years ago, when I first started this body of work. One road that I have found and followed is that of skinning and tanning, and it's proven to be a very interesting and rewarding path. It has educated me on the inner workings of animals – what lies beneath the fur and skin – as well as helped me to understand some more traditional skills.

Deer legs aside, I haven't skinned very many animals. They have all been traffic casualties, roadkill retrieved in the nick of time, before decay could set in. The first was a chipmunk, and then a fox squirrel, in Ann Arbor, and the third was a skunk – not exactly the best animal to skin, as a novice, but somehow everything went better than expected. I slowly worked up to a young raccoon, and then came the true challenge: a coyote.

There are many legends and folklore surrounding Coyote: he is a prankster, a god, a nymphomaniac, a shape-shifter, a hero, a wild spirit. Coyotes are tricksters, both in life and, as I have discovered, in death.

My odyssey with Coyote began sometime in October. It was morning and I was driving north on US 41, headed into town for work, when I saw something large and dead in the center lane. My first thought was gray fox, and a large one at that – or perhaps, a small coyote. My instinct said to turn around, work be damned, and check it out, but I second-guessed myself, and called Steph instead. She encouraged me to go back, and so I did. I parked on a side street, and began the conspicuous, grueling walk along the highway, cars whipping by, people staring. I reached the animal, and it became clear that it wasn't a large fox, or a small coyote – it was a very large, very healthy-looking coyote. It was perfect: no visible roadburn, no entrails, just an arc of blood on the pavement. I lifted the body in my arms, surprised by its immense weight, then watched in horror as its head fell back, spraying my jeans with blood.

I tried walking down the side of the highway, coyote in my arms, cringing with every step. Somehow, despite all the blood that was leaking on me, the body became heavier. I couldn't take it any more; I left the coyote and returned to my car, heading home for a new pair of pants. But Steph convinced me to return, and so I did, this time, more prepared. I parked again, and instead of picking up the body, I simply dragged it by its tail, through the grass. Ignoring the stares from passing traffic, I reached my car at last, hefted the coyote up to the waiting garbage bag – and blood, again, on a fresh pair of pants.

With a coyote in my car and blood on my pants, I arrived at work, then discreetly made my exit when Steph came by to pick up the coyote – as well as hand me yet another clean pair of jeans.

Skinning wouldn't happen for another few weeks, so the coyote stayed in our chest freezer. We quickly found out it was a female coyote, and she weighed in at more than 35 pounds. Prior to skinning the body, I let it thaw... and thaw... and thaw. By the time I made the first cut, her limbs were still frozen, and it made the skinning process awkward and tedious. I don't know how long I was outside, skinning that coyote, but it was dark when I finished, and I had to use a head lamp for the very last bit. Her pelt went in the kitchen freezer, and her carcass returned to the chest freezer.

I've found that I don't take very many photographs of the animals I skin. There have been a few exceptions, but this coyote wasn't one of them. I have no photos of her, prior to the skinning process; I have some pictures of me skinning her, and I have some after-skinning shots of her face, but that's it. By the time I got around to skinning her, a lot of blood had leaked from her ears and mouth, and had congealed around her head. She wasn't very photogenic, but I do regret not photographing her.

In the days after I skinned the coyote, her scent lingered on my coat and shoes. Some dogs flocked to me, much to their owners' displeasure and embarrassment; other dogs cowered, unsure of the coyote odor and what it meant.

At some point in early November, I removed the skinned carcass from the chest freezer. I decided that it was time to let nature take its course, so Steph and I took the body into our backyard, set it behind the brush pile, and tied it to the base of a tree – dead bodies do travel, and we didn't want it to end up in a neighbor's yard! A few days passed, and then one evening, while I was cleaning the dishes and Steph was baking cookies, there was a knock on our door. It was a police officer.

He was very polite, but he explained, gravely, that there had been a report filed by our surveyor (who, we had thought, had long-since finished surveying the property). According to the cop, he had spotted what he described as a "dog, skinned alive, tortured and tied to a tree, left to die" in our backyard. Steph laughed and handed the situation over to me, which I explained, producing both my small game license* and collector's permit**. I showed the police officer the coyote's skin – still frozen – and then the carcass in our backyard. Steph had decided to cover it with brush that afternoon, but not soon enough, as the surveyor had seen it only hours beforehand.

Despite my actions being completely legal, the whole situation shook me up considerably! Thankfully, the police officer was very understanding, and complimented us on the taxidermy and skulls displayed in the living room. He understood the appeal of collecting roadkill, and knew how common it was. He relayed a story about a county commissioner from the western part of the U.P., who stirred things up in her town because she collected the skulls from roadkill animals. He bid us goodnight, but not before apologizing for interrupting our evening!

Finally, in late December, work on the coyote skin resumed. I finished fleshing it, then I salted it. The house smelled of coyote – which is a touch more tolerable than the odor of a wet dog, but not by much. At last, it was time to begin the tanning process. All of the liquid baths – the pickle, neutralizer, and tan – took place in a large Rubbermaid tub, which occupied around a fourth of our bathroom floor. The first rinse – after the three-day pickle – was a monumental one. The water ran brown from the coyote's fur; she had been filthy with blood and road grit.

After the 15-hour tanning bath finished, I rinsed the pelt one last time, and draped it over the shower curtain rod to drip-dry. The next day, the stretching process began, and now, nearly a week later, it is finally coming to a close.

Her pelt is large, measuring 51 inches from nose to tail. Her fur is thick; not quite winter fur, but close. Her back is dark, and the tip of her tail is black.

Only part of our coyote odyssey has ended, however: her other half, the carcass, is still in our backyard, currently buried beneath brush and several inches of snow. We have had coyote visitors, and they avoid the body; so has every other scavenger. Come spring, the body will smell, but hopefully, thanks to insects and bacteria, decomposition will go by fast. I will be sure to document the process with my camera.

What has Coyote taught me? She has taught me patience, first and foremost, as well as the importance of following your gut instinct. She has also instilled in me the yearning to see live coyotes, in the wild – something that I have not yet experienced. (I have had the fortune to hear them howling at dawn and dusk, though.) Lastly, Coyote, with all of her surprises and trickery, has strengthened my love and appreciation for the natural world, and the animals we share it with.

* In Michigan, a small game hunting license covers a wide variety of animals, from squirrels to coyotes. Holding this license makes retrieving roadkill legal – provided the animal is in season. Coyote season is the longest hunting season in the state, running from July through April.
** Getting a collector's permit is a complicated process; if you're looking to retrieve roadkill, I recommend going for the small game license, instead. If you've never held a hunting license before, don't forget to go through the DNR's hunter safety course!

Hello, 2012!

2012-01-01T14:24:00.000-05:00

Another year has ended, and what a year it was! Not only do I feel my photography improved vastly over the past twelve months, I also am proud of trying new things – artistically, with the camera and otherwise. I am quite pleased with the amount of decomposition-documentation I achieved in 2011, both with March Buck and Needham Opossum, and I'd like to continue that this year. I'm also very happy with how much I've learned in the past half-year concerning skinning, tanning, and taxidermy, and one of these days, I'll make a post specifically about what I've accomplished in that field.

Anyway, as I did last year, I'd like to document my favorite photographs of 2011, beginning with January and ending with December.

January 2011: I didn't photograph any dead creatures "in the wild." However, I did document the process of creating a study mount, and I found that to be incredibly interesting (and a bit inspiring).

February 2011: February is a tough month to find photographic subjects (and I don't just mean dead animals – February in Michigan is generally quite gray, cold, and gloomy). I did find this robin, though, and it provided a splash of color in an otherwise dreary month.

March 2011: This was by far the most productive month of the year, and I found lots of animals, both freshly-dead and as dry skeletons. March Buck was a very important find for me, as a photographic subject, and also as a project. I documented his decomposition in my parents' backyard, then cleaned his skull. It now rests atop our record player.

April 2011: I took several trips to the Mammal Division at the University of Michigan Museum of Zoology, and one of the most interesting visits concerned the wet-preserved specimens. Though I am very happy to be back in Marquette, I do miss the museums of Ann Arbor, as they provided many photographic opportunities.

May 2011: Needham Opossum was so much fun to photograph. After initially picking him up off the road in March, I hadn't had much interest in keeping any of his bones. But as he decomposed over the weeks, I began to realize there was something special about him. His gnarly skull, pitted with holes and strange growths, is now one of my favorite skulls in my collection.

June 2011: This young robin was a powerful subject for me; I saw it die when it was struck by a car, and I felt its warmth in my hands.

July 2011: The last month living in Ann Arbor, we spent many hours traveling – to Marquette and back, to New York and back, and finally, a one-way trip to Marquette. I photographed only one dead animal, and to date, it's the only domestic animal I've photographed for this project.

August 2011: Photographing a skunk is a delicate process; skinning a skunk is even more delicate. After photographing this young female skunk, I case-skinned her. I'll make a post about it in the coming days.

September 2011: The claws of a small snapping turtle that had just been hit on the road in front of our house. The muscles in the tail were still firing, despite the turtle being very dead. This was a very sad subject for me to photograph.

October 2011: This snow bunting, a road casualty, was a new subject for me. It was a bit of a challenge to photograph.

November 2011: I have grown to love juncos. They have such subtle coloration, and it's not until you see them up-close that you can truly appreciate it. This is one of my favorite bird portraits of the year.

December 2011: More of an abstraction than a portrait of a dead animal. The dead goldeneye was frozen solid in an awkward position; in any other situation, I might have had very little with which to work. However, the goldeneye was covered in a layer of ice crystals, which made for some very interesting compositions.

So, here we are, at the start of a new year. I hope it's a good one!

Icy Goldeneye

2011-12-23T19:33:00.002-05:00

What makes a good duck hunter? Aim, for one, but also the ability to quickly and accurately identify ducks: in flight, at rest, on the water. In Michigan, there are certain species of duck that may be taken; others are protected and cannot be hunted. So what's a duck hunter to do when he or she shoots the wrong duck?

Hide the evidence, as a friend found out. A couple of months back, she found a paper bag stuffed with a few ducks, dumped in the woods. She buried them, but as we know, dead animals don't stay hidden. The other day, I was told that one of the ducks had resurfaced, and would make a great photographic subject, so I went out to take a look.

At the time, I was perplexed; when I heard "ducks" I assumed they were mallards, so why ever would someone dump them in the woods? When I arrived, though, it became obvious that the duck wasn't a mallard -- in fact, it was something I really hadn't seen before. Beneath the frost and snow that obscured much of the body, I could see a dark head and mostly-white body. Steph identified it as a male Common Goldeneye. The feathers were incrusted with ice crystals; the underside was stained red with old blood.

I could not find a bag limit for the goldeneye on Michigan's DNR website, so I assume they're not game for hunting. That said, I have found old forum posts where Michigan sportsmen have displayed their bagged goldeneye, so I am a bit confused on the matter, and welcome any explanations out there. Are they legal to shoot, and perhaps someone went over their bag limit? Or are goldeneyes off-limits entirely, in the state of Michigan?

Meanwhile, I'm finally seeing live goldeneyes, for the first time! They've been hanging out on the Chocolay River, and Steph and I have observed them feeding in the cold water. Unlike mallards, which are dabbling ducks, goldeneyes are diving ducks, and they will dive for their meals. Just the other day, Steph saw a male goldeneye dive underwater, and resurface with a sizable fish in his bill.

Deer Portraits and Stories

2011-12-20T22:41:00.002-05:00

I'm still working away on those deer legs (as well as lining a winter hat with the fur of a roadkill badger, but that's another story). Meanwhile, here are a few deer portraits that were taken last month, as well as their accompanying stories. I often think this blog is a little deer-heavy, but deer are probably the most conspicuous, easy-to-find dead creatures, and Michigan is absolutely rife with them.

On November 16, the day after the start of rifle season, a doe was hit on US 41, pretty close to where I live. At the time, I was sorely tempted to call it in and take the deer home, but I decided not to -- I didn't have the space nor the knowledge of the art of field dressing. I took some pictures, and hoped that the fur and meat wouldn't go to waste.

The next morning, she was gone.

The following week, I got a tip from a friend: there was a deer head at an entrance to the Fit Strip, and "the brain was oozing out." It sounded like a classic instance of poaching, but, upon finding the head on Thanksgiving day, I realized that might not have been the case. The brain wasn't oozing out, and in fact, there were no antlers to speak of -- the deer had been a very young doe. The head and neck were severed from the rest of the body (which was nowhere to be found), and scavengers had gnawed away at the neck meat. Left behind was a gruesome sight: the head of the deer, in perfect condition (save for its sunken eyes), its spine protruding from beneath the neck skin. It was a puzzling discovery; the cuts along the hide and neck vertebrae indicated that a person had severed it from the rest of the body, and had likely dumped it in the woods. But where had the deer come from? Surely, no one would poach such a small doe?

It very well could have been poached, but it's my belief that the deer was probably hit by a car, and someone brought it home for the meat. The head was chucked into the woods, and there it stayed, until someone's dog retrieved it (probably much to the owner's horror). Anyway, I took the head home and photographed it. Because of its strange, severed nature, it presented some challenges. I didn't try to put it in a natural setting, and instead decided it looked best (and bizarre) resting on a tree stump. I omitted the spine in my photographs.

I think it's worth mentioning that I found three ticks on this deer head; one of them was quite engorged with blood. All three were still alive.

26 Deer Legs

2011-12-13T12:39:00.000-05:00

The main attraction of Michigan's deer season has come and gone, but not without leaving me some deer pieces of my own. Around Thanksgiving, I got in contact with Marquette Deer and Game Cutters and asked if they could set aside some unwanted deer parts for me -- namely, legs and hides. I waited in anticipation, and last week, I got the call that everything was ready for pickup. The trunk of my Jeep was soon packed with four hides and two dozen deer legs, and it became pretty apparent that freezer space would be a problem! (Thankfully, a few months ago, Steph and I picked up a chest freezer at a yard sale, and that easily held the four hides.)

But what to do with the two dozen deer legs? It was a bitterly cold day, and our covered porch was hardly any warmer. I laid out the legs I'd received, and counted twenty-six in all, as well as four stubby, white goat legs that had also made it into the mix.

It was pretty neat to see the variation in size, color, and shape amongst the legs. Rarely do we get the opportunity to see so many deer feet at once, but when they are all lined up, the differences and genetic variations become quite obvious.

Because it was so cold outside, the porch became a suitable walk-in freezer for the legs. I skinned several of them immediately, and over the past week, I've whittled down the remaining number to fifteen. On a particularly warm day, I somehow found room in the chest freezer for the rest of the unskinned legs.

So, why deer legs? If there ever was a "useless" part of a creature, it would be the leg. This is especially true for deer, whose legs literally lack meat. They aren't good for eating, so all too often, they are thrown away (or turned into hideous lamps and gun racks). But uselessness is a subjective term, and whereas one thing is useless to one person, that same item can have a variety of uses for another. Deer legs are a wonderful example of this: though they lack meat, they have tendons, bones, hooves, and of course, the skin and fur. No, these materials aren't good for eating, but they have many, many other uses -- one just has to be patient, willing to try new skills, and be prepared for failure (or success).

Skinning a deer leg is an easy process, and since I am in possession of so many, I've got the ability to try different styles. Sometimes, I keep the dewclaws attached; other times, I cut around them. I skinned one leg in such a way that I kept all four hooves attached -- we'll see what I end up doing with that particular skin.

Once the leg has been skinned, it's time to cut out the tendons. Beneath all that fur, a deer leg is almost nothing but bones and tendons; it's an elegant structure, but one does have to wonder how they don't get cold! When fresh, the tendons are a pearly white-pink color. As they dry, they turn a translucent pink-yellow.

The uses for the skin and fur are rather obvious: buckskin, pouches, strips of fur for lining and insulating clothes... the list goes on. But what are tendons used for? Once cleaned and dried, they are pounded until they separate into strands. These strands of sinew can then be turned into cordage (string), which can prove to be useful in a pinch.

The bones and hooves have many uses as well. I'm using this guide (PDF) as I render these twenty-six deer legs into things that will be useful to me. I think it's very important to have some knowledge of traditional skills; these ways were used by our ancestors, and they're still used today. These deer legs could be rotting in a landfill -- instead, they will help me better understand traditional outdoor ways -- skills that have largely been forgotten by my generation.

Opening Day

2011-11-15T19:14:00.001-05:00

Six years ago, I took some of my first photographs of dead animals. I didn't have any plan in mind for them, nor had I thought up any type of social statement, but they are certainly interesting to look back at. Today is opening day of rifle season for deer here in Michigan, so in recognition of that, here are a few photographs from November 2005 of the buck pole in Dexter.

Seeing full-grown deer strung up by their antlers is a rather sobering experience. They suddenly become massive; their bellies are open and steaming, their tongues loll out and their eyes are open. Depending on your background and upbringing, it can be a horrific sight, or a fascinating one, or a joyful one, or any combination thereof. Whatever the case is, it's certainly a good opportunity for photography.

Another Day, Another Raccoon

2011-11-14T07:43:00.000-05:00

Raccoons are probably the most common road casualty along Marquette's stretch of US 41. For a while, I was tallying them as they were hit, but I've long since lost count. There's a particular area where the bodies of raccoons really seem to pile up, and it's a small span of the highway, between the newly-built traffic circle and the Altamont Street bridge:

click for larger view

Why is this spot such a death trap for raccoons? For one, the four-lane highway cuts between a neighborhood and a wooded area, both of which are ideal locations for raccoons to live. In addition, there's a divider that runs the whole length of this stretch, separating opposing traffic. If a raccoon were to somehow make it halfway across the road, getting around this barrier would be a challenge, especially with cars whipping by at sixty miles an hour.

As a result, raccoons die in great numbers along this small stretch of highway. A few weeks ago, I got a call from Steph; she was talking to one of her classmates, and he'd spotted a freshly-hit raccoon in this area. I had been on the lookout for a sizable raccoon for taxidermy purposes, so after work, I retrieved it, then froze it for skinning at a later, more convenient time.

Before making any incisions, I briefly photographed the raccoon.

This individual, who weighed in at around ten pounds, was a juvenile male. His winter fur had grown in thick and full; he had a few burrs stuck in his curiously stubby tail. The skinning process revealed the layer of fat that he'd put on for the approaching winter, and it was a rather impressive sight to behold.

While they are hit incredibly often by cars, raccoons can also owe their success to people. These animals have come to coexist with humans, enjoying open garbage cans, dumps, and the refuse that people leave behind. Neighborhoods are generally free of predators, allowing raccoons to reproduce and thrive, with little fear of being eaten. With this explosion in raccoon numbers, there of course comes a negative impact to the environment. One of the problems I've heard is that the numbers of frogs, salamanders, and turtles have fallen, due in part to the sheer amount of raccoons consuming them. This is especially an issue in smaller ponds and streams located in or around residential areas.

Traffic, then, has become the chief enemy and population-controller for raccoons. It's an interesting relationship to consider; as humans we both build up the populations of these animals, as well as tear them down. Just the other day, yet another raccoon had been hit along that stretch of US 41, in bloody, violent fashion. When Steph drove by, a crow was helping itself to the carcass.

A Year Later

2011-11-03T20:05:00.000-04:00

Just over a year ago, I photographed a dark-eyed junco that had collided with a window in Ann Arbor. Almost 500 miles away, and 368 days later, another junco hit a window, here in Marquette, and again, I was alerted to its presence. Found by a friend, it rested at the foot of the NMU Art Building, another casualty of the structure's large windows.

Unlike the dark juncos that frequent our yard, this junco was a light brown-gray. Its eyes were open, its neck limp, its feathers barely ruffled out of place. I brought the junco home to photograph, resting its body on a bed of fallen pine needles.

Juncos are a sure sign of winter; they arrive as the air turns cooler and the days become shorter. They are regular visitors of our backyard bird feeder, and seem to coexist peacefully with the mourning doves while foraging on the ground for millet. As I photographed this junco, several were nearby, keeping a wary eye on me as they searched for food.

I do realize the last few posts here have been undeniably bird-centric – that will change, to the tune of raccoon, and I've got a few announcements to make, as well. Stop by again soon! Updates will be more frequent in the coming weeks.

A Calico-Colored Bird

2011-10-22T09:48:00.001-04:00

As autumn in the Upper Peninsula becomes colder, darker, and less vibrant, other changes are happening, too. The coats of deer turn heavy and gray for the winter; the fur of raccoons becomes full and bushy. Birds, so colorful in the summer months, trade their eye-catching plumage for more muted, earthy hues. Some animals brace themselves for the impending winter: the gray and red squirrels eat constantly, fattening themselves for the cold months ahead, caching acorns and nuts for use in the future. While some birds stay for the winter -- the hardier chickadees and nuthatches are a good example -- many are already well on their migratory routes south. Large flocks of Canada geese form Vs in the autumn sky; our musical thrushes have long since disappeared.

Still other birds are arriving for the winter, from even further north. One of these birds is the snow bunting. Its summers are spent in the Canadian tundra, nesting on the rocky terrain far north of Hudson Bay. While in the Arctic tundra, its breeding plumage is a striking contrast of black and white; by the time it arrives in the U.P. for the winter, the snow bunting has turned an equally-striking mottled calico.

It's a long way to fly, only to be hit by a car.

Snow buntings aren't a common sight. Steph found this one along County Road 550, while out on a field trip with her Boreal Flora class. She remarked how strange it was to hold a bird that she did not recognize. Her professor identified it, and he mentioned that he'd recently seen another dead snow bunting, also along a road.

Mister Mallard

2011-09-28T19:26:00.000-04:00

While gulls, crows, and songbirds are regular victims of passing traffic, ducks aren't a very common roadside sight. They don't fly low, as robins and blue jays tend to do, and unlike gulls and crows, ducks don't stray too close to traffic to feast on roadkill. Imagine my surprise when I saw a dead mallard along US 41 -- again, in that dangerous strip of highway separating the mainland from the shore of Lake Superior.

The mallard had just been hit; the neck was broken, and the eyes were moist. Thrown several feet from the road, the body rested on the short bridge that crosses the mouth of the Carp River -- an area, I've found, that is a popular spot for ducks.

Mallards are common birds: they're found almost everywhere, from neighborhood parks to the shores of Lake Superior. Often, small groups swim by on the Chocolay River, quacking loudly as they pass. And yet, in all their familiarity, I had never seen a mallard so closely until I saw this particular duck. Until very recently I thought it was a female, but the yellow bill says otherwise -- I believe it was a juvenile drake.

His plumage was beautiful, and I couldn't help but marvel at how soft and dense the feathers were on his head and neck -- they looked and felt like fur.

It was also neat to see the signature band of blue on the mallard's wings. Often, I'll see solitary blue feathers washed up on the beach, but to see them all together was quite the opportunity. Depending on the angle that the light was striking them, the feathers would appear blue, teal, green, or colorless.

Since I travel on US 41 into town for work, I see lots of different animals dead on the road. Most common are raccoons and squirrels, but this duck was certainly an unusual victim. Other recent casualties along this stretch of highway have been a mink, a whitetail deer fawn, and a coyote. It's a beautiful drive, between mountains and Lake Superior, but it comes at a price to local wildlife.

Too Late

2011-09-20T19:23:00.002-04:00

Usually, when I find a dead animal, chances are it has been lifeless for quite some time. Skeletons, partially-decomposed carcasses, and even most roadkill are almost always long-deceased by the time I find and photograph them. Last night, however, a needless death could have been prevented, had I been paying attention to the road.

No, I didn't hit and kill an animal -- but within two minutes of Steph and I arriving home, someone ran over a small snapping turtle, right in front of our house. Had I been watching the road as I got out of my car, perhaps I would have seen the turtle crossing the street; after all, I could see its smashed body plainly from our living room window.

Judging from the damage to the head, neck, and shell, the turtle died instantly. It was gruesome, gory, and sad, and I moved it off the road immediately. The legs were all limp, but the muscles of the tail were still firing and flexing, which made the scene all the more disturbing. Because the shell was so damaged, and the head and neck were flattened, there wasn't much for me to photograph. I focused on the snapping turtle's scaly, armored feet and its tiny, hooked claws.

Turtles are common victims to both rural roads and highways. Because they move so slowly and are generally dark in coloration, they can sometimes be hard to spot, especially at night (this snapping turtle was hit about an hour before sunset). I have also had the displeasure of seeing motorists hit turtles on purpose, which is a sickening, despicable behavior.

If you see a turtle trying to cross (or in the process of crossing) the road, and it's safe for you to assist it, by all means, do. I once saw a woman holding up traffic on a very busy street in Ann Arbor to let a painted turtle cross, and though it was dangerous, it was also very admirable. Last summer, Steph and I helped a medium-sized snapping turtle cross Highway 550 just outside of Marquette -- a much safer road, for sure. If you do transport a turtle across the road, always carry it in the direction that it was headed (if you just put it back where it came from, it will attempt to cross the road again). And of course, always use extreme caution when picking up snapping turtles!

After I finished photographing this little turtle, I buried it in our backyard with an offering of semaa. Semaa is a mixture of tobacco, sage, and red willow. Oftentimes, it is used by the Ojibwe to give thanks, and to honor deceased family members and ancestors. Turtles hold a very important place in Ojibwe culture; when I took Anishnaabe language classes at NMU, our instructor, Kenn, told us how he would give semaa offerings to the animals he found dead on the road -- especially turtles. They are, after all, our family -- beings we share this earth with.

Young Skunk

2011-08-16T08:20:00.004-04:00

One of the major routes in the Upper Peninsula is M-28. The highway runs from one end of the peninsula to the other and passes through national forests, the Seney National Wildlife Refuge, and land leading up to the shore of Lake Superior. It's a very scenic drive, especially between Munising and Marquette, but it's also a death trap for animals. In places where M-28 follows the shoreline, the road becomes a barrier between the forest and Lake Superior, a major source of food and water for wildlife.

I've seen many different animals dead along this stretch of highway: deer, raccoons, foxes, skunks, squirrels, porcupines, and even an opossum. With the volume of traffic along M-28 so low (as compared to that of downstate, for example), I sometimes wonder how cars manage to hit skunks and porcupines, as they are such slow and bumbling animals. One has to remember, however, that many of these animals are out at night, and this highway becomes very, very dark once the sun sets.

On a recent trip down M-28 toward Munising, we found a freshly-dead skunk. Her nose was still wet, her teeth were so white and sharp, and she was tiny: a kit from this year, she was about the size of a healthy Ann Arbor fox squirrel.

We brought the body home, double-bagging it for two reasons. For one, her scent glands hadn't been ruptured, but she still did smell like a skunk, and even more importantly, her face was covered in deer ticks. I'd never seen deer ticks before -- and I could have lived without ever seeing them -- but when we got home, we picked off nearly forty of them from the poor skunk's face alone. They're tinier than dog ticks, and are vectors for all sorts of nasty diseases, so extra care had to be taken.

I cleaned up the skunk, washing her with a mixture of water, peroxide, dishsoap, and baking soda, to both help eliminate the skunky scent, as well as to kill the lice, fleas, and remaining ticks. I promptly froze the body in our new chest freezer, and took pictures the next day after everything had thawed.

I've found that skunk feet are amazing. Their front claws are long and sharp -- for digging out tasty grubs -- and their back paws are fleshy and, oddly enough, very much like baby feet.

After I finished photographing the little skunk, I case skinned the body. It was my first time trying this method of skinning, and I found it to be far easier than ventral skinning, which I've done on a squirrel and a chipmunk. Special care had to be taken around the skunk's scent glands. They were located at the base of the tail, and I was shocked by how large they were, for a skunk of such small size.

The face was the last part of the body to be skinned, and when the fur was pulled away, sharp teeth and powerful jaw muscles were revealed. I buried the corpse in our backyard, near the raccoon; it's certainly a better place to decompose, rather than languishing in the center of the road.

Why skin an animal? For me, the reasons are twofold. Obviously, it's a learning experience. When the skin is stripped away, left behind is the body, sleek and muscular and bony, no longer obscured by fur. It's fascinating to see, and I'm constantly surprised at how delicate these animals are, their ribcages so frail beneath my fingers. Secondly, it's my goal to learn how to skin, tan, and eventually mount animals. Taxidermy has long been an interest of mine, and seeing all the creatures in the Mammal Division really made me revisit this interest.

This little skunk won't become a taxidermy mount; what she will become is a tanned pelt, as well as beetle food and, ultimately, food for the soil.

Return to Marquette

2011-08-08T22:54:00.000-04:00

It's been just over two weeks since our return to Marquette, and Steph and I are so happy to be back! We've made the house our own, and now that we're done unpacking, painting, and hanging art on the walls, we've had the opportunity to catch up with friends (of which there are many), scour the area for jobs (of which there are few), and return to our favorite haunts -- Presque Isle Park, the farmers market, and so on. Here at Riverhouse, the name we've given to our new abode, we've been keeping track of all the animals we've seen -- and the list is quite extensive! Not only have we seen and/or heard nearly thirty species of birds, we've seen plenty of mammals, including a gray fox and a raccoon, who helped himself to our birdfeeder.

This afternoon, as we were heading into town along US 41, I spotted a raccoon on the side of the road. There was no time to pull over and investigate more closely, but after some chores and an inspiring seminar about art and success, we returned to the scene. By then, the corpse had started to bloat and was covered in flies, but we took it home anyway. Closer inspection of the teeth revealed that the raccoon, though decently-sized, was relatively young. The fur was thin and scraggly, typical of a summer coat, though the tail was full and bushy.

The feet, of course, were fascinating.

The raccoon was struck on the head -- a quick death. Many teeth were broken as a result of the impact, and the snout was crushed.

I'm rather pleased with how well these photographs turned out -- I used my macro lens, and no tripod. The sun was low in the sky, making the light nice and cool without any harsh shadows. The raccoon, meanwhile, was emitting quite an odor, and flies were flocking to it in droves while I took pictures. After I finished, I dug a hole in our backyard and buried the corpse; the raccoon will feed the white pines and red pines and jack pines that tower over our house.

Ann Arbor Wrap-Up

2011-07-21T23:15:00.002-04:00

In just a few days, Steph and I will be moving back to Marquette! I'm excited for our relocation, but I'll also miss Ann Arbor in many ways. This city is my hometown, after all, and there are many memories tied to it. I will miss my parents very much, of course, as well as the exhibit museum and all of the photographic opportunities that it provides. I'll miss the plethora of Japanese food and the Trader Joe's that's right around the corner, and the Ann Arbor Area Crappy Camera Club, too.

Living in Ann Arbor for the past year has allowed me to take this project in several different directions. I've explored new techniques (such as using limited depth of field with a macro lens) and I've had the chance to watch the complete decay of three different animals (September Squirrel, March Buck, and Needham Opossum). This city, with its many roads and large population of squirrels, raccoons, opossums, and deer, has provided me with an almost constant supply of subject material, and has even allowed me to practice the skinning of animals and the tanning of their hides.

Before we move, there are a few photographs I'd like to share, from last month's foray down U.S. Route 12 to Saline and back. Steph and I went out for an early-morning drive, before the temperature got too warm, to look for recent roadkill. Route 12 (also known as Michigan Avenue, connecting Chicago to Detroit) can be a death trap for animals, especially deer and raccoons. We didn't see too many fresh corpses; the side of the road was mostly littered with flattened, unidentifiable pieces of fur.

One corpse we did stop for was that of a snapping turtle. The body was a dry husk, and light as a sheet of cardboard.

Turtles are rather special to me, and seeing them dead on the side of the road is always so heartbreaking. This snapping turtle was really quite beautiful, with the early morning sun hitting the scaly, dessicated skin.

Perhaps the most heartbreaking thing, though, was when I moved the shell -- and beneath the carapace, scattered amongst the bones, were unlaid, unhatched eggs.

On our way back, as we were nearing Saline's strip mall district, a robin swooped out in front of the vehicle ahead of us. It collided with the car, and for a moment, its plumage was illuminated in the sunlight, a fiery red-orange. It was dead before it even hit the ground. I parked the Jeep on the side of the road, and there lay the robin, a fledgling, its speckled plumage moving gently in the breeze. It was otherwise quite still. I scooped it up; the body was warm and limp, only moments dead.

I brought the robin back to our apartment, where I photographed it in the grass.

This was the first time I photographed an animal that I had watched die. It was a sad, surreal experience, and one that I'd rather not repeat. The body cooled slowly, gradually becoming stiffer as I took more photographs. By the time Stephanie painted a watercolor rendition of the fledgling, rigor mortis had set in. Later that day, I buried the robin in my parents' backyard.

The fledgling and the snapping turtle are the last two useless creatures that I photographed here in the Ann Arbor area. Many adventures await in Marquette and the Upper Peninsula, and a full update will arrive, post-move!

March Buck: the Conclusion

2011-06-29T18:59:00.004-04:00

It took more than three months, but the skull of March Buck is clean and whitened at last. It was a sometimes-soggy, often-buggy process, but in the end, I am most pleased with the results:

After the beetle activity died down, I removed the skull from my parents' backyard and placed it in a bucket full of water and dish soap. This process, known as degreasing, eliminates fats and other oils from the bone. Every few days, I changed the water and soap. It was fascinating to see the fat slowly drawn from the skull; it would exude from the bone, forming little piles that looked an awful lot like Crisco. This went on for a few weeks, and it was a stinky operation. Finally, enough of the fat had been eliminated and it was time for the whitening process. Since bleach ruins bone, I used a very diluted mixture of water and hydrogen peroxide. It only took a day or two, but it worked wonders, turning the skull a nice off-white color.

March Buck's skull, which had been submerged for about a month, could finally dry. I glued the incisors back into place, then glued the two halves of the jaw back together.

As far as skulls go, this one's relatively typical. The only abnormality is the left pedicle, which is a bit deformed. It also appears as if March Buck was getting ready to shed his antlers.

I also kept the black plastic ring that was found strangling one of the buck's front feet.

And now, an announcement -- Steph and I are moving back to Marquette! We're both extremely excited about this; while Ann Arbor treated us alright, we found we truly missed our friends as well as the Upper Peninsula's landscape. We'll be relocating in less than a month, moving into a small house with a riverfront view. I can't wait to find out what animals we'll see, and I'll certainly continue this project -- in the place where it started.

A Chipmunk

2011-06-25T20:15:00.003-04:00

A few days ago, my mother brought home a dead Eastern Chipmunk that she'd found at work. Surprisingly, up until then, I had yet to encounter a chipmunk for this project! I photographed it in my parents' backyard, as evening sunlight filtered through the trees. I'm rather pleased with the results –

I feel like I don't know very much about rodents, especially chipmunks. I see them all the time, and second to fox squirrels, they're the most visible rodent in town. They're constantly chirping and dashing through the courtyard; I often wonder why they scold and run, as I never see them until they move. In Marquette, they were always raiding our birdfeeder, stuffing their cheek pouches full of seeds and stashing the stolen goods elsewhere.

I got to know this chipmunk -- a female -- quite well. After photographing the body, I skinned it. I had never skinned an animal before, and working with such a tiny corpse was certainly a challenge. After an hour and a half of cutting and prodding, the skin was freed from the rest of the body, and surprisingly enough, I did a pretty good job. Whether or not the tiny pelt will be any good is a different story; the chipmunk may have sat outside too long, and the fur very well might slip, even after being salted. However, while skinning this animal, I feel like I learned a lot.

For example, female chipmunks have one pair of teats (how they manage to nurse several babies is a mystery to me). Their ribs are thin and weak, seemingly no stronger than dry blades of grass. Their front paws have four toes, with an additional tiny nub that is clawless. Overall, they are quite lean, save for fatty deposits near the neck. Their jaw muscles are well-developed, while the tail, once the skin is removed, is little more than bones.

I know I haven't been posting much as of late -- between work and other things, life's been pretty busy! I've got an exciting announcement to make which, along with an update on March Buck, will be detailed in my next entry.

An Old Opossum

2011-06-08T21:32:00.004-04:00

Needham Opossum was one old opossum. The end of his tail was missing, his ears were notched, his canine teeth had cavities, and his lower jaw was marred with a partially-healed wound.

His skull, as it turns out, is full of holes.

Seventy days after finding this opossum dead on the road, I pieced his skull back together. The braincase had separated from the rest of the skull, and the zygomatic arches had detached -- normal, it turns out, for opossum skulls, regardless of whether or not they're road casualties. What isn't normal, though, are the holes and pits that cover the right side of the opossum's snout.

Mr. Opossum likely had a nasty injury from which he never fully recovered. So infected were his wounds, even the root of his upper canine tooth -- visible in the picture above -- was severely deteriorated. The afflicted bone is thin, spongy, and delicate. I imagine life for this opossum had to be quite painful.

Opossums don't live for very long, in fact, they're quite lucky if they make it beyond a year. According to Animal Diversity Web, the oldest wild opossum was three years of age when last captured. And yet, I wonder -- how old did Needham Opossum live to be? Had he not been struck by a car, would he have lived much longer?

March Buck Check-Up

2011-05-20T18:36:00.005-04:00

It has been a cool, rainy spring in Ann Arbor. While decomposition on Needham Opossum zoomed right along, seemingly unhindered by the chilly temperatures, the process seemed a lot slower on the head of March Buck. Today's inspection, however, revealed that decay is indeed happening, and that there are more carrion beetles in this neighborhood than I ever could have imagined.

The first thing I noticed was that much of the deer's jaw was reduced to bone! (His incisors are starting to come loose, hence their kind of freaky appearance in this photograph. I'll probably be removing them soon and will let them dry out separately, as I'm afraid they'll become lost.) The carrion beetle larvae covered the nose...

... as well as pretty much everything else (the deer's eye socket is visible in the upper-right corner of the above photograph). Their activity was audible: I could hear them scurrying about, inside the buck's head as well as under the leaf litter. Rove beetles also darted about, their black-and-yellow coloration and quick movements more wasplike than anything else. Flies continued to land on the carcass, but there wasn't a single maggot to be seen.

Eventually, I decided to turn March Buck's head over, just to see what the other side looked like. The moment I jarred the head, the beetle larvae scattered. They poured out of unseen places, a waterfall of segmented coleoptera, their skitterings louder than ever. The other side of the deer head was a pleasant surprise:

The skull, visible at last! The beetles have really done an amazing job thus far. I decided to keep the still-fleshy side against the ground, in the hopes that it will encourage more beetle activity. As the temperatures continue to warm, I can only assume that decomposition will move along faster than ever.

Fish Heads

2011-05-10T11:13:00.002-04:00

Yesterday's trip to Magee Marsh proved to be wonderful for bird-watching, and the nearby shores of Lake Erie didn't disappoint in the dead fish department, either. Not only had there been a recent mass die-off of alewives (their dry carcasses and skeletons littered the beach, and were almost as numerous as the zebra mussels), there were also several dozen large fish that had washed up (or were in the process of washing up) onto the sand. Quite a number of different species were present, though I could only identify a few.

Despite the beautiful weather and perfect temperatures, the sunny conditions were simply not good for photography. I worked with what I had, but the shadows were dark and the bones and scales of the fish reflected the sunlight right back into my camera.

Many of the bodies were fresh, and others were soggy skeletons; some had been picked at by gulls, and still others were gradually being covered by sand, to become a part of Lake Erie once more.

Needham Opossum

2011-05-04T21:24:00.000-04:00

On March 26th, a large male opossum was hit and killed right down the road from my parents' house. That day was also Steph's birthday, and she was a wonderful sport.

After his death, this opossum became rather well-traveled. After retrieving the body from the road, we brought it to the Matthaei Botanical Gardens to do a brief photoshoot.

Once finished, we made the drive back to my parents' street, and placed the body in their backyard for further decay. For a few weeks, it seemed like no sort of decomposition was taking place; sure, the color in the opossum's nose had faded, and the fur was soggy from rain, but no other changes seemed obvious. On one particular evening after a day of heavy rainfall, the slanting sunlight hit the carcass at just the right angle, making the beads of water that clung to its fur sparkle -- I kicked myself for not having my camera with me at the time.

Finally, the hair started to fall from the skin, and on a warmer day, the flies and carrion beetles arrived.

Day 16

From that point on, decomposition happened fast. Crows and, most notably, turkey vultures visited my parents' backyard, picking at the carcass. It moved from place to place, decaying more and more every day.

On Day 29, the opossum's body smelled so bad that I could hardly stay still long enough to take any photographs. I've worked around plenty of fragrant carcasses, but on this particular day, the odor was at a level I'd not yet experienced.

Day 29

April was a very rainy month. We had several torrential downpours, which only made the opossum appear more grotesque. By Day 34, the carcass, which never truly bloated, had collapsed and begun to liquefy. Bones poked through the soggy skin, and the odor, thankfully, lessened.

Day 34

As the flesh began to peel away from the skull, it became obvious that this animal's head had been crushed when struck on the road. By Day 37, the skin had shriveled and turned black, giving the opossum's mouth a somewhat terrifying-looking sneer.

Day 37

When I visited the carcass this morning, it was little more than a skeleton half-covered in a thin layer of mummified skin. A few beetle larvae crawled across what was left; it's interesting to note that not once did I see any obvious sign of maggots in or around the body.

Day 40

I will continue to keep a close eye on this opossum. The body has proven to be a fascinating subject for observation and photography, not to mention a fragrant gardening companion.

Wet Preservation

2011-04-26T08:40:00.003-04:00

When I think of suitable ways to preserve mammals, wet preservation (detailed here) isn't the first method that comes to mind. While alcohol and formalin are the preservatives of choice for invertebrates, fish, and herptiles, wet preservation does have its place in the mammal division, as well. For one, it's extremely useful for pickling small animals, such as bats and mice. When I visited the mammal division's fluids range last week, I marveled at just how many bats or mice could be crammed into a single Ball jar.

Another forte of wet preservation is its ability to preserve animal fetuses, which tend to be extremely fragile.

Oddly enough, many of the wet-preserved animals seemed more peaceful than their taxidermy counterparts.

In a matter of weeks, all of these specimens will be moved off-site, for safety purposes. I feel lucky that I had the chance to see and photograph them.

Portraits

2011-04-24T09:38:00.003-04:00

Recently, I took another trip to the mammal division at the University of Michigan's Museum of Zoology. The last time I visited, all of the donated African animal trophy mounts were resting on the tables, gazing skyward -- a bit of a bizarre sight. They have since been hung on the walls, giving the classroom the appearance of a trophy hunter's den. When they're hanging, the mounts seem even more impressive; the giant eland looked positively, well, giant. Now oriented correctly, the animals were less awkward and more regal, which provided for some interesting portrait opportunities.

Of the donated mounts, one of my favorites is the mule deer, one of the few, if any animals from the bunch that wasn't shot in Africa. The taxidermist who prepared the mount did a masterful job. The deer has such a well-crafted expression of both curiosity and seriousness, and it seems more natural and alive than any of the other mounts displayed.

There were a few other animals on display, much older mounts that I hadn't seen the last time I visited. One of them was a Sun Bear, also known as a Malayan Bear or Honey Bear.

Nearby was a bobcat, forever immortalized with that signature manufactured snarl.

The next post will explore a different part of the mammal division, one I hadn't visited before: the fluids range!

Burt Lake

2011-04-17T20:55:00.004-04:00

Yesterday, surprising splashes of color were found along Burt Lake's stony shore...

I'm not sure of this crayfish's species -- perhaps a virile crayfish (Orconectes virilis)? In any case, the animal had only recently died, and I was absolutely entranced by the vibrant blue of its pincers. The soft parts beneath the exoskeleton will likely be a tasty snack for a raccoon or gull.

Steph then found the very-fresh head of what we think is a northern pike. Pikes and muskellunges look awfully similar, but the coloration of this fish seemed to match with that of a pike. The mottled pattern was quite beautiful -- perfect underwater camouflage -- and its eyes were very striking. Looking inside the mouth, we discovered lots of tiny, sharp teeth. The rest of this pike's body was long gone, and soon, the head will be scavenged, as well.

Deer Decay

2011-04-10T09:26:00.003-04:00

One month has passed since I found March Buck. When I first encountered the body, the front end, including the head, was rather intact, while the back half was in an advanced stage of decomposition. The hindquarters were stripped of meat, and the organs had been reduced to dirt; the rest of the body had a "fresh" appearance. Several scenarios can account for this condition, but the most plausible is as follows: shortly after death, the body was discovered by coyotes, who immediately ripped into the deer's hindquarters, as they tend to do. The corpse was subsequently buried by snow, and when it melted, decay continued. (I have since observed three different deer bodies on the Matthaei Botanical Gardens' property that have followed this same method of decomposition.)

My most recent visit to the remainder of March Buck, which was a week or so ago, revealed an articulated skeleton with a covering of skin. There really was no more meat left to speak of, and the only untouched parts of the body were the lower legs and feet.

The head of March Buck is, of course, undergoing a completely different process of decay. Though they have been observed in the area, coyotes can't get into my parents' backyard -- and something tells me they wouldn't be too interested, anyway. Crows have eyed the head, as has a turkey vulture; meanwhile, temperatures have been a little too chilly for the insects to really start picking away at the flesh. It has been rainy, though, and bacteria have been at work. Hair is falling from the skin, and the flesh, exposed, has transitioned through several colors: blood-red, purple, blue, gray.

At first glance, with its missing hair and blotchy, discolored flesh, the head is an ugly, putrid sight, but through a macro lens, beautiful details are revealed.

Staring today, the temperatures are set to get warmer -- which means bugs, and lots of them! Soon, the head of March Buck will be swimming in maggots and carrion beetles, but for now, it is quite still.

Links to Enjoy!

2011-04-08T20:19:00.004-04:00

Over the past several months, I've amassed a small number of bookmarks relating to dead creatures -- artwork, blogs, news, and so on. I thought it would be nice to share -- some of these links might be familiar, and others might be new... so enjoy!

Dead animals aren't the most common theme in art, but they've certainly become more popular in recent years, especially in the world of photography. The ever-amazing Chris Jordan, whose photography constantly leaves me in awe, made a series of photographs portraying the dead albatross chicks of the Midway Atoll. The photographs are both saddening and enraging, and are perhaps environmental activism art at its finest.

Birds seem to be the most frequent subject, as indicated by this series and this series, as well. I especially like the work of Thomas Brennan (second link): it's a very different look at museum study mounts and taxidermy, with the focus on form (or outline), instead of the flashy colors that birds tend to display.

Jake's Bones is a great blog run by a nine year-old boy in Scotland. He's got a knack for finding some pretty cool animal remains, and his thoughts and evaluations of each bone in his collection are educated, scientific, and fun to read.

Here is an interesting blog post about taxidermy, and it raises some interesting points as well as questions.

Lastly, here is an older article from the New York Times about counting and mapping roadkill.

I'm always on the lookout for new artists, interesting news articles, and blogs that are related to the world of dead animals and/or taxidermy. If you've got anything to share, please do!

Whiskers

2011-04-04T20:23:00.005-04:00

Several days ago, my mother found a dead mouse at her workplace; it had fallen into an empty bucket and, unable to escape, eventually perished. It's not a very pleasant way to die, and this sort of death seems to be a frequent fate for mice. I have tentatively identified the rodent as a deer mouse; deer mice and white-footed mice are very similar in appearance.

This is the first intact mouse I've photographed, as the other two were both partially-eaten, most likely by cats. These macro photographs highlight just how long and delicate this animal's numerous whiskers are -- something I'd never really noticed before.

See also -- Rainy, March 5 2011 and A Feline "Gift", November 9 2010.

Old Bones

2011-04-02T10:02:00.003-04:00

On a recent off-trail tromp through the Matthaei Botanical Gardens' property, Steph and I made a beautiful discovery: the bones of a long-dead deer, scattered and covered by healthy, green turf. Parts of the skeleton were peeking through the growth: here a rib, there a jaw, just barely visible beneath the living, thriving grass. New plants sprouted up around a fragment of the skull, tiny cotyledons catching the sun next to very-white teeth. I feel very fortunate to have seen these bones; by summer they will be covered by vegetation, overgrown and hidden, perhaps for good.

The years pass, and the dead are gradually recycled back into the landscape, their bones nurturing the earth.

Boardman River Nature Center

2011-03-29T15:32:00.006-04:00

Steph and I have been in Traverse City for the past few days, and we decided we'd take a look at the Boardman River Nature Center. It's a relatively new building, situated in the Grand Traverse Conservation District, and it's one of the nicest nature centers that I have had the pleasure of visiting. Neither Steph nor I had been there before, and we were pleasantly surprised by the wide variety of child-friendly hands-on activities and displays, some of which had an emphasis on art.

The nature center's taxidermy was all museum-quality, and was some of the nicest I've seen. What I found to be most interesting was that very few of the mounted animals were behind glass, and many were accessible -- pelts and skulls accompanied the mounts, and could be touched. Because the taxidermy was of such good quality, and because most mounts were supplemented with information about the animal, very few live animals were in captivity at the nature center -- another plus, in my book.

One of the central displays was a collection of freshwater fish mounts, showcasing the fish of the Great Lakes. Pictured here: a burbot and a crappie.

A wild turkey and a common loon -- one is hunted, the other is conserved. I think both birds are pretty neat in their own ways!

Mustelidae -- the minks, martens, otters, and ermines. I thought the river otter mount looked quite noble and dignified. Accompanying it was also a (very long) pelt, as well as a skull.

A worried-looking snowy owl, one of the few mounts that was behind glass.

Taxidermy is a wonderful teaching tool, as are other animal remains: antlers, bones, turtle shells, and fur scraps were available for handling and close examination. The children who were at the center seemed to be extremely excited to see the animal mounts (especially the bear); one child pointed to a fawn behind glass and said, "Look at the pretend deer!"

Related, I recently checked out a book, Are Those Animals Real?, at the library. It explains how museum taxidermy mounts are made, and their value to education and science. The book is a good, short read for children and adults alike, and I learned a few things!

Taking Shelter in the Dead

2011-03-23T14:17:00.002-04:00

As the weather warms and the snow melts away, tiny creatures that hibernate during the long winter months crawl out from their hiding places. How do such small, fragile beings survive the cold temperatures and harsh conditions? Some invertebrates tuck themselves away beneath fallen leaves and tree bark, and others overwinter, metamorphosing inside woolen cocoons. Other arthropods are more inventive, as I found out on a Vernal Equinox walk through the Matthaei Botanical Gardens property.

I encountered the remains of several deer, including this doe skull. It was resting in the middle of a field, with no other bones nearby; the long exposure to the sun had bleached the skull a bright white, unmistakable in a sea of brown grass. I turned the skull over -- and what did I see?

A tiny millipede -- the first of several I saw that day, all using bones as their shelter. I made sure to turn the doe skull back to its original position; I have no doubt there were many other creatures living inside.

Nearby, I found the bones of another deer, this time a buck whose antlers had long-since been removed. While most of the skeleton was relatively intact and more or less articulated, the skull and a few of the leg bones had been scattered further away. I turned one of the leg bones to see what I could find; not only was there a strange cocoon wedged into a hollow of the bone, but also two velvet mites milling around on the surface of the cocoon.

Velvet mites are something I don't see very often, but when I do, I'm always happy to watch their behavior. They're quite large (for mites), so it's pretty easy to observe them. I'm not sure what the mites were up to, but judging by their different sizes, I'm guessing it was a male and female, the female being the larger of the two. They interacted for a while, touching legs and scurrying about.

The last find of the afternoon had far better camouflage than the bright-red velvet mites:

This daddy long-legs (order Opiliones, also known as harvestmen) was squeezed into a furrow of this woodchuck skull, looking a lot like the nearby dirt and other organic matter.

It has become obvious to me that bones, especially skulls, are very important to insects, arachnids, and other terrestrial arthropods. Not only are dead animals a source of food, but they provide shelter, as well. During the cold, snowy, and icy months of a Michigan winter, skeletons become instrumental in keeping our invertebrates safe and dry.

See also -- Bone Home, June 23 2010.

A Hawk in the Courtyard

2011-03-20T09:55:00.000-04:00

Hawks are a common sight in our neighborhood. Sometimes, they are seen being mobbed by crows, and other days, they are predators, swooping down on mourning doves and sparrows. The two species most often seen where Steph and I live are sharp-shinned hawks and Coopers hawks; sharp-shinned hawks are quite small -- no larger than a crow -- but won't hesitate to take down mourning doves and pigeons.

A few days ago, we actually witnessed a sharp-shinned hawk swoop at a flying mourning dove -- there was an audible whump -- and miss. As feathers floated away, the hawk sat on the branch of a pine tree, probably wondering where to hunt next. The courtyard, usually so loud with birdsong, was absolutely silent, and the hawk departed.

The day after, as Steph and I walked through the courtyard, finding feathers left over from the previous day's near-miss, I spotted something else: the body of a sharp-shinned hawk, resting beneath a tree. At first, I worried that it was the same hawk we had seen the day before, but we soon realized the corpse was far older. The bird's eyes were dry and had sunken into their sockets, meaning that the body had been lying there for quite some time.

We're not sure how the hawk died. The body wasn't near any windows, though it's quite possible the bird struck a window and was subsequently thrown beneath a tree, away from an apartment. Perhaps the hawk was mobbed and killed by crows; its feathers were quite rough in some places, though no blood was visible. Perhaps it was sick or old, and, roosting in a tree, it passed away.

This sharp-shinned hawk was a challenge to photograph; its proportions were small, but being a bird of prey, it was still quite majestic, a duality that was hard to portray.

Twins

2011-03-17T08:35:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, I got a call. A doe had been hit and killed by a car, and it was discovered that she had been pregnant. Not one, but two fetuses were found inside of her; both males, they were small, mostly hairless, and pink. Their ears were folded behind their heads, their hooves were rubbery and soft, and the only pigment to be seen was the black on their noses. I was struck by the fetuses' fragility and strange peacefulness, and their almost translucent nature. Knowing that this was something one does not usually have the chance to see, I took a series of photographs. I hope these views convey the same sense of both wonder and melancholy for you, the reader, as the fetuses did for me, in person.

Useless Creature Triple Feature

2011-03-15T09:12:00.000-04:00

I've got a trio of animals to discuss, the first of which is March Buck. The day after the body was found and the head was removed, I transferred it from my parents' garage to their backyard. An amazing amount of blood -- almost a cup's worth -- had dripped out from the neck overnight. I took a few photographs of the buck's head; a bit of blood had fallen near the still-intact eye, staining the fur, and looking for all the world like a teardrop.

The next step was to cover the antlers in aluminum foil, in an attempt to discourage squirrels and mice from chewing on them. A a result, the buck looks a lot like a macabre Christmas decoration. I tied the head to the fence, to keep any scavengers from taking off with it, and that was that. Over the next few days, I returned to check up on the head, but as of Sunday, there really wasn't too much to report.

Yesterday, I returned to visit the rest of the body. On the way, I encountered an old deer skull that had long ago had its back half (and likely antlers) sawed off; the mice have since used it as a source of calcium. When I finally reached the site of the dead buck, I was amazed to find that the (very heavy) body had been dragged between twenty to thirty feet from its original place! I have no doubt that this was done by coyotes; indeed, they had truly ripped into the carcass, taking advantage of where we had sawed off the buck's head. The skin on the neck stump had been peeled back, and the coyotes had stripped the muscle from the remaining neck vertebrae. Parts of the ribcage were also exposed, and the shoulder blade was no longer inside the skin. It's probably reasonable to assume that the next thing that will happen -- if it hasn't already occurred -- will be the scattering of the deer's limbs.

Here is the view from the cedar tree, where the dead buck was first found:

As I drove out, I noticed a dead opossum on the side of the road, near the gardens' entrance, but I decided I'd come back for it later. That afternoon, Steph and I did return, with the intention of simply moving the opossum from the ever-busy Dixboro Road to a more sheltered place. It was a bit more of a trickier operation than I'd bargained for, and it involved crossing a stream and getting whacked in the face by many a thorny branch. I finally reached the opossum, waited (quite a while) for traffic to pass, and grabbed the tail, disappearing back into the underbrush.

The opossum was a huge male, and very heavy. His skull was split, and a tire tread had ripped open his belly. He had a faint, musky smell, the tip of his tail had succumbed to frostbite, and his feet were absolutely fascinating.

It was so interesting to be able to view this opossum's feet up-close. The whorls on the paw pads looked a lot like human fingerprints, and the front foot even felt a bit like a human hand. Opossums have such specialized feet for climbing and gripping branches; the "thumb" on the back foot was a bit of a surprise!

Like many roadkill opossums I've encountered, this individual's mouth was wide open, exposing his very sharp and numerous teeth. One canine had been crushed when he'd been hit, but the rest were present. Opossums have a pretty bad reputation, and I'm guessing it has a lot to do with their naked, rat-like tails and their pointy, seemingly endless number of teeth. They're North America's only marsupial, and they've gradually moved north into Michigan. Opossums didn't originally live in such cold areas, and their naked toes and tails often suffer because of this northern migration.

We left the opossum's body near the bank of the stream; it will decompose in a more dignified place, and it will be scavenged in a far safer area.

As we studied the many animal tracks in the mud near the water -- we identified raccoon, muskrat, and mink prints -- a flash of white caught my eye. It was another raccoon skull poking up through the leaf litter, not far from where I'd found the raccoon skeleton on Thursday.

We found many bones, resting both atop the leaves and in the dirt. This was another young animal; the ribs were tiny and the vertebrae were not fully fused. As we drove home, Steph made a discovery that was at first alarming -- something was inside the braincase! I feared the worst, thinking it was a spider egg case, but whatever it was seemed far too woolly and hairy to belong to a spider. We decided it was probably a moth cocoon, and a quick internet search matched exactly with what is inside the skull. Right now, we're keeping the raccoon skull inside a bugbox, with the hope that the tussock moth will emerge.

I hope to follow up on this interesting re-purpose, and will definitely take some photographs. What a neat use for a skull!

The Buck Beneath the Cedar Tree

2011-03-10T20:44:00.000-05:00

It's been a very snowy winter -- one of the snowiest on record in Ann Arbor, in fact. Several times, the snow has melted, revealing the earth, and several times, it has snowed again, only to cover everything up once more. March is a month of flux; today, the snow was melting, and tonight, the snow will likely be falling. This morning, I headed outside to see if the newly-uncovered ground revealed any dead animals or shed antlers.

I followed several deer trails, through marsh and field, and poked around beneath coniferous trees. One of the first things I found was a spot where a rabbit had been consumed: soggy fur and entrails littered the slushy snow, and crow footprints led to and from the scene. On the muddy bank of a stream, I discovered some fantastic examples of raccoon footprints, and a few yards away, I found the skeleton of a raccoon:

Most of the bones were under the leaf litter. The skeleton belonged to a rather young individual, as the sutures on the skull had not yet fused, and some of the bones (mostly the vertebrae and leg bones) had not completely fused, either. This is the third raccoon skeleton I've found since moving to Ann Arbor, and the second I've found at the Matthaei Botanical Gardens.

The real find of the day, though, came about thirty minutes later. I was slogging through a field, my feet cold and wet, when I saw a turkey vulture take to the sky. It had been eating something, and I knew I had to investigate. As I drew closer, and the vulture circled overhead, I saw one antler, and then another -- it was a dead buck, resting beneath a lone cedar.

It took me a while to decide how old the body was. At first, I thought the death was rather recent, but the buck's hindquarters had decomposed quite a bit. At the same time, the front half of the deer -- especially the head -- was in remarkably fresh condition. One eye had been pecked out, likely by the vulture, but the other eye was intact. I finally came to the conclusion that the buck's body, at least most of it, had been buried beneath the snow for some time, and was only recently revealed in the latest melt.

The first thing I noted was that the buck had seven tines on his set of antlers, and one of them, the right eye guard, had been damaged at some point, either during the rut or while he was still in velvet. In addition, his antlers were much whiter than I'm used to seeing.

The second thing I noticed was far more mysterious and worrisome. On the buck's left foot, stuck between his hooves and dewclaws, was a thick, plastic band. It was hard to look at: the skin and bone had grown around it, resulting in a misshapen, malformed foot, and his hooves had grown long and deformed as a result of the injury.

It's obvious that this buck had been in a lot of pain. I have to wonder how much this injury hampered his movement, and if it got infected. Perhaps this led to his death; I can't imagine a limping deer would fare too well in deep snow. I can only assume that early on in this buck's life, he stepped into the tube, and it never came off.

The buck was certainly a challenge to photograph. Though it was in good condition, his face was not very dignified looking, and the rest of his body was in the process of being picked at by vultures. As a result, I focused on his antlers: they were stately, proud, and more or less permanent, unlike his fur and muscle.

After I finished photographing the deer, my mother joined me with a couple of saws and a lopper. It took an amazing amount of sawing -- and now I understand what the scavenging vultures and crows are up against! -- but my mother was finally able to break through the fur, skin, muscle, and bone. Like September Squirrel, I will observe the decomposition of this buck's head in my parents' backyard. It will be interesting to note the differences in both the scavengers and speed of decay in comparison to the rest of the body, which I will check up on periodically, as well.

We also cut the plastic band from the buck's foot; I will keep that, too, as a reminder of what happens when garbage is discarded so carelessly.

Rainy

2011-03-05T13:11:00.004-05:00

Today, I took a walk in the rain. I encountered two partially-eaten mice; both, I am sure, were killed by one of the many feral cats that live on the Matthaei Botanical Gardens' property. What's left will likely be dinner for a crow or other carrion-eater.

Gnawing Away

2011-03-02T16:47:00.001-05:00

It's a fact: rodents love to gnaw. One of the most notorious gnawing critters, at least in the north, is the porcupine; I have heard stories of them gnawing on just about anything, and that includes outhouses. Here in Ann Arbor, there sure aren't any porcupines, but there are fox squirrels, and a whole lot of them. The squirrels are especially prevalent in our neighborhood, and our birdfeeders suffer because of it. Still, I can't help but have a soft spot for these crafty, acrobatic rodents -- they're smart, they're cute, and they're fun to watch.

Last October, during one of our many forays onto the property of the Matthaei Botanical Gardens, we found the tibia of a deer. Before winter arrived, I left the leg bone out on the deck of our apartment, in the hope that the local fox squirrels would find it tasty and useful. They discovered it almost immediately, and soon were chewing away! It's amazing just how loud the sound of gnawing can be.

Today, I was finally able to photograph a squirrel in the act of gnawing. In just a few minutes, it had made quite a dent in the bone.

Here's a view of the tibia, after this most recent gnawing:

Squirrels gnaw on bones for a couple of reasons. Firstly, bones are full of calcium and other minerals, nutrients that rodents need to survive. Shed deer antlers are also a favorite of porcupines, mice, and squirrels.

Secondly, the incisors of rodents grow for as long as the animal is alive, and gnawing keeps them worn down to a manageable length. If a rodent's teeth aren't used on a regular basis, the animal will undoubtedly develop life-threatening dental problems. I have seen gruesome images of squirrels and other rodents with incisors that have curled and grown through their skull. Gnawing on bones, as well as nuts, antlers, and plant matter, keeps rodent incisors healthy.

Interestingly enough, bone-gnawing is as old as the dinosaurs, as this article reports.

Turdus migratorius

2011-02-17T15:21:00.004-05:00

It's mid-February, and in Ann Arbor we're having quite the warm snap. For the past week, it's been springlike, with daytime temperatures hovering in the mid-forties and even making their way past fifty degrees. All the snow that we got at the start of the month is now melting, making little rivers and big puddles in the roads. With the warmer temperatures, some animals have been more active -- most noticeably, the birds.

Though robins have traditionally been a sign of spring, they live year-round in Ann Arbor. In the winter, they're quite gregarious, moving in flocks and, more often than not, traveling place-to-place with starlings. In recent days, I've been seeing plenty of robins hanging out along the roadsides, especially in areas where the snow has melted. When they cross the road -- and it's quite often -- robins tend to fly quite low, making them easy targets for passing cars.

The robin I found today along Ann Arbor-Saline Road was likely a victim of such an accident. As I stooped to pick up the body, I saw several robins nearby, very much alive, pecking at the earth.

Note the blood on the beak: a telltale sign of a window or car collision. I've never before seen a robin so closely, and like the junco of a few months ago, I marveled at just how beautiful this bird's feathers were.

The robin's body feathers were this wonderfully warm, smoky shade of gray, contrasting nicely with the orangey-red breast feathers. The same red as that of the breast actually extends into the inside of the wing, making for an interesting meeting of hues.

Turning December Crow Into a Study Mount

2011-01-30T11:17:00.000-05:00

This past Friday, I had the opportunity to watch the making of a bird study mount. The demonstrator was Mary Margaret, who volunteers at the Creature Conservancy as well as the Bird Division at the University of Michigan Museum of Zoology; she has an amazing knack for working with avians, both alive and dead.

The bird that was turned into a study mount was December Crow -- after I had finished photographing the body, I turned it over to the bird division, so that it could be added to the collection (a few months prior, I had donated October Junco, as well). What transpired on Friday afternoon was fascinating; in three hours, the crow turned from looking like a crow to not looking at all like a crow -- and back again. While my photographic subjects usually decay and break down, returning to the environment, this one was preserved, and will live on in a different way.

Naturally, I brought my camera and documented a good portion of the process -- the skinning, bone-sawing, muscle-removing, stuffing, and pinning -- the whole lot. Some of the photographs that follow might be considered disturbing (though in my mind, they are no more graphic than walking down the meat aisle at the grocery store, or, for that matter, any more graphic than the photos I've posted of animals decaying in nature).

When I arrived, December Crow had already been thawed. The body sat breast-up on a long table, atop a few pages of newspaper. Nearby were scalpels and scissors, a pin cushion and thread, a roll of cotton, and a yogurt cup containing corn meal. Mary Margaret started by finding the crow's breastbone beneath all those black feathers, and separated the down on either side of the keel. I soon learned that birds aren't covered in feathers, rather, they grow along feather tracts, and there's a good deal of skin where the feathers don't actually attach.

Mary Margaret made an incision down the keel of the breastbone, all the way to the base of the tail. The crow's skin was paper-thin, and looked ever so delicate. As she pulled the skin away from the body, I marveled at how it didn't tear. At this point, the corn meal came into play: it is used to absorb any liquid or blood that might be present. When she reached the crow's legs, I was amazed at how large and red the muscles were. Since most of the legs stay with the skin, Mary Margaret cut through the thighs -- muscles, bones, and all. It wasn't a pleasant sound. She removed as much of the muscles and ligaments as she could; once the legs had been cut from the body, the crow's talons flopped on either side of the skin, looking quite unnatural and useless.

After plugging the crow's mouth with cotton, the next step was to sever the vertebrae at the base of the tail; it was another unpleasant sound. As the skin was pulled back further, the wing bones were the next to be cut. Soon, all that was left connected to the skin was the neck and head of the crow. Though the crow's pectoral muscles were quite impressive, its skinned, little body looked awfully pathetic.

Mary Margaret continued to pull the skin back along the crow's neck, until she reached the skull. Soon, we could see the eyelids -- that is, the other side of them. Set inside the large eye sockets of the skull, the crow's eyes were bulbous and blueish, and with a pair of forceps, Mary Margaret carefully removed them. It was probably the most revolting step of the process; surprisingly intact after removal, they looked like large, overripe blueberries. At some point, the tongue was cut from the mouth, and I was surprised to see that the tip was forked.

In order to maintain a sense of shape in the bird's head, most of the skull is left inside the study mount. With a pair of surgical scissors, Mary Margaret cut out the very back of the skull, carefully tugged on the body, and out came the brain. It was rather large, but seeing as how crows are intelligent creatures, I wasn't too surprised!

At this point, several things were done, and I can't quite remember the order in which they were completed. The cotton was removed from the crow's mouth, meat was trimmed from the wings, and fat was scraped away from the inside of the skin. After packing cotton into the empty eye sockets, Mary Margaret slowly pulled the skin back over the skull. Finally, December Crow was starting to look like a crow again.

To keep the wings in place, a thread was looped through the radii. Cotton was then wrapped around a wooden dowel and was shaped to mimic the body cavity of the crow; it was inserted into the skin, the sharpened point connecting with the skull.

Soon, the crow was sewn back together. Despite all that muscle-cutting and turning inside-out, the incision in the skin really wasn't that big. After it had been stitched shut and the feathers smoothed back into place, I couldn't tell that the crow had ever been cut open. The study mount was pinned into a perfect position for drying: belly-up, wings tucked against the body, tail feathers slightly spread. The beak was tied shut, as when birds dry, their beaks tend to open.

Pinned to dry, December Crow looked decidedly different than it had when I'd photographed it on Christmas day. The crow seemed far more dead: a shell of what it had been, positioned neatly against a cork board, held down with pins.

I learned several things that afternoon, as I'd hoped. For one, December Crow was male. He was young, too, as the inside of his mouth was pale instead of black, as it is with adult crows. He was also quite healthy when he died: there was no sign of trauma anywhere on the body, and he was at a very healthy weight. Had he died in the summer, it would likely have been due to the West Nile virus, but his wintertime death is a little more mysterious.

The process of making a study mount also had its surprises: there was almost no blood to be seen, and, most surprising of all, there were no chemicals used to preserve the skin. Because almost all the flesh was removed, and because bird skins are so thin, they dry quickly and chemicals are simply not necessary.

In all, the experience (which took nearly three hours) was both interesting and educational. Though I would rather see animals decay in nature and be used entirely by the environment, I can understand and appreciate the worth behind preserving specimens for science.

A Year of Useless Creatures

2011-01-10T18:47:00.001-05:00

Well, it's 2011! I've been updating this blog for almost a year now, and it's pretty incredible to look back and see just how much I've photographed over the past twelve months alone. I feel that my photography has improved, and I've certainly strengthened my artistic statement and outlook for the series. To make things even better, this blog was featured on AnnArbor.com, as one of five notable Ann Arbor-area blogs!

In this entry, I'll take a moment to revisit my favorite photographs of 2010 -- starting with January and ending with December.

January Pigeon, 1/17/2010

First January Deer, 2/27/2010

November Skunk, March, 3/11/2010

April Gull, 4/10/2010

Japanese Cormorant, 5/18/2010

Vertebra Slug, 6/5/2010

July Carp, 7/31/2010

August Coyote, 8/7/2010

September Swainson's Thrush, 9/11/2010

Poached Deer, 10/24/2010

October Junco, 11/1/2010

December Crow, 12/25/2010

I'm determined to set some goals for the new year. In 2010, not only did I photograph extensively for Useless Creatures, but I also started a few taxidermy-photography offshoots. These smaller, separate projects are something I'd like to further develop this year. Another topic I want to revisit is the poaching of wildlife -- so when the snow melts for good, I plan on returning to the Brighton Recreation Area and taking more portraits of the poached deer. A third goal is to shoot more film, and not just for Useless Creatures. Lastly, I aim to start doing more research, to discover what the "other side" thinks of these animals, as well as research regarding the decomposition process, scavenging animals, et cetera. Ideally, I'd love to have this project turned into a book -- it's an ambitious goal, and a whole lot of thought, planning, and especially research must be conducted first!

Here's to 2011 -- may it be filled with photography and adventure!

Nature

2010-12-27T20:50:00.001-05:00

It's that time again -- another taxidermy post. I'm finding that I really love to photograph taxidermy in its "natural" surroundings -- that is, mounted animals taken far away from their habitats, transplanted into a strange indoor setting.

To me, there are several distinct categories of taxidermy. There's exhibit museum taxidermy, which is often quite old but usually of good quality, and which usually displays the animals in their entirety. The mounts are accompanied by information of some sort, and are (generally) meant for the public to see. Another category is trophy taxidermy; these animals are "game" animals, hunted for meat and/or sport, and are mounted for personal enjoyment rather than scientific value. More often than not, herbivores (deer, pronghorns, antelopes, etc.) are displayed as shoulder mounts, carnivores (wolves, coyotes, foxes, bobcats, etc.) as well as bears are displayed as full-body mounts or rugs, and birds and fish are mounted in their entirety.

Then, there's nature center taxidermy, an odd assortment of mounts that I think deserves its own category. Usually, these mounts are old and faded. They are often donated, and the skill with which they were constructed leaves much to be desired. I've come to find that nature center taxidermy is a strange mixture of hunting trophies, mounted roadkill, and unwanted museum specimens.

Today, we visited Kensington Metropark. After feeding the chickadees, titmice, and nuthatches, we went to the nearby nature center to warm up. It's a decently-sized building, with several interactive displays, a few live animals (reptiles, fish, and a beehive), and lots of taxidermy.

This crow was one of the better mounts on display. I found that most of the bird mounts were far more lifelike than their mammalian counterparts; taxidermists seem to have a tendency to mount mammals (especially carnivores) in artificially ferocious poses.

An albino opossum with a strangely humorous and inquisitive expression. It's standing high atop a display cabinet that features a mounted passenger pigeon.

A great-horned (?) owl stretches its wings for eternity; the pose seems ironic, somehow, when matched against hardwood boards and a ceiling fan.

This pair of American martens (with their red squirrel prey) were incorrectly identified as pine martens -- their European counterpart. In addition, the glass eyes of the marten on the left are certainly not mustelid eyes. They're quite out of place at Kensington Metropark, seeing as how martens are extinct in Michigan's lower peninsula (they're found in select regions of the Upper Peninsula, and even then, they are rather uncommon).

A group of dramatic-looking woodchucks. The individual on the right is especially rough in appearance. One has to wonder if these woodchucks, depicted as a family, were actually related in nature (chances are, they probably weren't).

Lastly, an American badger, sporting a manufactured snarl, rests high atop a display cabinet. These animals, in nature, spend much of their time digging burrows underground.

A large portion of the taxidermy displayed in nature centers represents animals that the average visitor will never encounter in the wild in his or her lifetime. Though old and faded, these mounted animals provide a window into the natural world, for children and adults alike. Perhaps they will inspire a child to love and respect nature -- I know long ago, that was the case for me.

Christmas Crow

2010-12-25T18:01:00.002-05:00

Crows are amazing animals: they're intelligent, vocal, and able to adapt to a wide variety of habitats. Indeed, they're found all across the country, living in forests, farmland, and urban areas. Crows are one of my favorite birds, and they are extremely prevalent in Ann Arbor. At dusk, they will congregate, flocking to roost for the night in certain areas of the city, the most infamous being Forest Hill Cemetery. A few months ago, Steph and I drove to the cemetery and arrived right at sunset, as crows were streaming in from all different directions. They landed on the bare branches of the oaks and hickories, looking like large, moving leaves. Most notable was the noise they made. The sound of a couple thousand crows is an interesting one: certain individuals are louder and croakier than others, and when disturbed, the noise is not unlike a dull roar.

On Thursday, my father found a dead crow resting at the base of a spruce tree; today, I photographed it. Photographing a jet-black bird against white snow proved to be a challenge, but luckily, the sky was overcast. It began to snow, and the result was a sprinkling of bright-white snowflakes against soft, black feathers. The effect was rather attractive.

Crows, to me, seem fearless: they are brash, cocky, and inquisitive. They eat whatever they can, and will torment hawks and other birds of prey. That is why this next photograph is so interesting to me: instead of appearing indestructible and fearless, this crow looks vulnerable and delicate.

For further reading on crows, I highly, highly recommend Lyanda Lynn Haupt's Crow Planet: Essential Wisdom from the Urban Wilderness.

Avian Botulism on Lake Michigan's North Shore

2010-12-14T13:33:00.003-05:00

In October, my parents visited Wilderness State Park and were both surprised and distressed to find dozens of waterfowl corpses littered along the beach. They identified both grebes and loons, most of the bodies quite fresh, wet feathers and webbed feet glistening in the sun. Shortly thereafter, they learned that it was avian botulism that had killed all of these birds.

Earlier this month, Absolute Michigan ran a story about this outbreak of avian botulism, and how it is related to zebra and quagga mussels, as well as the round goby -- all invasive species to the Great Lakes.

Also published were 15 superb photographs of these dead birds, as well as a short movie of a dying long-tailed duck, by filmmaker George Desort. The photographs are beautiful and emotive, and also sad and angering, especially since invasive species -- introduced by humans -- are the root cause for the deaths of these animals.

The movie is sad and disturbing, but somehow beautiful:

Long tailed duck from george desort on Vimeo.

I have had nightmares about finding dying, suffering animals. If I had been the one to happen upon this struggling duck, would I have been brave enough to put it out of its misery? Or does one let nature take its course, even if that course has already been altered by humans and invasive species?

Today, the corpses of these birds are buried beneath not only sand, but snow, as well. In the spring, they will be long-gone.

First Snow Skunk

2010-12-01T17:09:00.003-05:00

Today, the Ann Arbor area received its first snow of the season -- not a lot of snow, mind you, but enough to stick to the blades of grass and rooftops. It seemed fitting for the beginning of December.

On her way to work, Stephanie spotted a dead skunk on the side of Ann Arbor-Saline Road, so she called to tell me about it. This scenario has happened a number of times, though this was the first of its kind in Ann Arbor. It was also the first time I've photographed roadkill alone in this city -- which is a rather nerve-wracking ordeal, certainly more so than in Marquette.

This particular stretch of Ann Arbor-Saline Road cuts through farmland, and it's an absolute death trap for animals. I've seen a deer body linger in the ditch (not far from where this skunk was found, actually) for over a month, and raccoon corpses pile up on the side of the road.

At first glance, the skunk seemed to be in good condition. Its winter fur was thick and soft, with the classic skunk markings, and there was no blood -- or stink, for that matter.

I moved the skunk a few feet further from the pavement, and it was then that I realized the body was frozen solid. What I had thought were drops of water on its face was actually ice. I didn't have much to work with, and the steady stream of traffic passing by made me nervous, so I focused on photographing the skunk's face. Its mouth was frozen in a grimace, eyes were shut, nostrils as pink as those on a live animal. Snowflakes fell and stuck to its dense, black fur.

I didn't take too many photographs; the wind was chilling me to the bone, and the cars (all slowing down as they went by) stressed me out. I returned home, and after studying my photographs, I noticed that the skunk's lower jaw was distorted and gruesome -- it was likely struck in the head.

In the past few months, I've gotten to know a live skunk, named Stinky Pete, while volunteering at the Creature Conservancy. He is lively and playful, and behaves very much like an overgrown ferret. He's a delightful animal to interact with, and is a reminder that each of these animals -- including the ones killed on the road -- have a distinct personality.

Raccoon Bones

2010-11-18T16:39:00.003-05:00

I see a lot of dead raccoons in my travels and explorations -- in fact, after deer, they're the second-most common animal I encounter. In Ann Arbor they are especially prevalent, and not a day goes by where I don't see a raccoon or two dead on the road. They are large enough that, when they die in nature, their bodies are relatively easy to locate -- unlike squirrels and other smaller animals.

On Monday afternoon, I was exploring more of the Matthaei Botanical Gardens' property, over near Mouse Marsh. I was on the lookout for deer, and I saw a few -- but only their white tails, as they were fleeing from me. At one point, a buck started to snort, but I never caught sight of him. Toward the end of my walk, I approached a sheltered area, surrounded by short trees, and I saw a raccoon skull resting atop the leaf litter. Nearby, peeking through the fallen leaves, were the two halves of its pelvis. The natural whiteness of the skull was beautiful against the earthy brown tones, making for a wonderful scene:

I sifted through the leaves and soil, and found the jaws of the animal, along with some of the front leg bones (a humerus as well as a pair of tibiae and fibulae), a scapula, a couple dozen phalanges, a few ribs, some vertebrae, and a baculum - meaning the raccoon was a male.

It's interesting to note that most of the ribs I found were damaged (broken), as was the very back of the skull, where the cranium connects to the atlas vertebra. Whether this damage was the cause of the raccoon's death (predation) or whether it was inflicted after the fact (scavenging) will probably never be known. As I mentioned earlier, the skeleton was found in a rather sheltered spot, making it both a more comfortable place for the raccoon to hide before dying, or a protected area for a predator to eat in peace. However, that is all speculation!

How long had the skeleton been there? The bones were all very clean, with not a scrap of ligament remaining, and were all relatively bleached, even the ones found beneath the leaves. However, there were no rodent gnaw-marks to be seen, which is interesting. Perhaps the raccoon died in the spring, and the hot summer months allowed for fast decomposition.

I'm finding I enjoy photographing skeletons just as much, if not more, than photographing recently-dead animals. Though bones are harder to relate to and perhaps not as "beautiful", they are far more intricate and provide for very interesting compositions. I also love to photograph these skulls and skeletons exactly as I find them: their immediate surroundings show just how much nature grows around these dead animals, and is nourished by them.

A Feline "Gift"

2010-11-09T07:59:00.005-05:00

Here's something I had not yet encountered until now: a cat gift. There are plenty of cats in our apartment complex, and while most of them, when let outside, are supervised by their owners, some are not. Just a few weeks ago, we saw a cat catch and kill a chipmunk, carry it to the concrete step, and begin to eat it -- only to see the owner come running outside, scold his cat, and bury the chipmunk's body. Of course, it wasn't the cat's fault -- cats are carnivores, and they're hard-wired to catch and kill prey.

That said, outdoor cats are a huge strain on wildlife, especially birds. I can't stress enough how it is the fault of the owners -- not the cats -- that bird populations are being impacted. Thankfully, I have yet to find any birds brought down by cats, but last week, I did find a mouse. It was missing its head and front legs, but there was no blood or gore to be seen. It was a very tiny body, so I used the macro lens to photograph it.

This was one animal, I'll admit, that I didn't spend very much time photographing. I was very hesitant to touch the body, as I've heard that mice can carry all sorts of nasty diseases. However, I was pleased with this particular photograph. It's larger than life-size, and it shows the softness of the fur and delicate nature of the mouse's feet.

I'm not sure of the species, so if anyone's got an idea, it'd be appreciated.

The Colors of a Junco

2010-11-01T16:35:00.003-04:00

Last night, my mother presented me with a junco she had found at her workplace; it had died after colliding with a window. She recounted how, after she had found the junco, she showed it to a family with a child, and they seemed to be very interested in seeing such a beautiful bird so close-up. By the time I received the junco, it was nearly dark outside, so I stowed it in my fridge to photograph today. It was much larger than I expected it to be -- it was about the size of a house sparrow, and certainly bigger than a chickadee. It felt strangely heavy.

Though its eyes were dry when it was found, the bird couldn't have been dead for long; I discovered tiny bird lice on its feathers this morning, leaving their host since it was deceased. Here is a view of a louse on the junco's breast feathers -- greatly enlarged, of course.

I'm always fascinated by bird feet. Not only do birds have very specialized feet depending on how and where they live, their scaly toes and sharp claws are such an interesting contrast to their soft, downy feathers.

I don't know much about juncos. They usually arrive in Ann Arbor around late-fall and stay for the winter. When I see them feeding at a birdfeeder, they're usually on the ground, eating fallen millet seeds. And as far as birds go, juncos are rather nondescript, with gray and white plumage. At least, that's what I thought...

... until I took a closer look. In reality, all kinds of hues are mixed in with the junco's gray-and-white plumage: tawny browns and slate-blues, blacks and reds. It was amazing to have the chance to see such a beautiful palette of colors, and this has certainly increased my appreciation of juncos.

Two Tales of Deer, Part II

2010-10-27T21:40:00.001-04:00

One thing -- as I mentioned at the close of my previous post -- that I've tried to avoid in this series is photographing animals that were killed purposely by humans. I don't hang out at slaughterhouses and haven't been to the buck pole in years, so hunted and slaughtered animals just aren't something I ever encounter. In addition, as I think I might have explained in the early days of this blog, society -- myself included -- has a completely different perception of livestock and game animals that are killed for food.

Hunting is a sensitive subject for me; I both understand it and dislike it. As speciesist as it may be, I am much more open to the hunting of herbivores (such as deer) than that of carnivores (such as coyotes). And, having lived in the state of Michigan my entire life, I certainly understand the hype and celebration surrounding deer season. All that said, all opinions aside, hunting is completely within the law -- that is, if you're doing it legally.

This story isn't about natural deaths, nor is it about deer season -- it's about poaching, and a blatant disregard and disrespect for life and the law.

On Sunday morning, my dad and I drove out toward Pinckney to visit friend and fellow photographer Marc Akemann. About a week earlier, when I had been lamenting the lack of subject matter in Ann Arbor, Marc had suggested I visit, as his property borders the Brighton Recreation Area. He told me that he was finding dead animals all the time out there -- primarily, poached deer.

Upon arriving, the first spot we inspected was a parking area next to a small lake. As soon as I climbed out of the car, the stench of death hit me -- it was a very familiar odor, one that I'd not encountered in many years. It was the smell of recently-slaughtered, rotting deer. The bodies didn't take long to locate. The first two deer that we found had to have been killed within the past couple weeks -- one was extremely fresh: the fat and muscle on his exposed ribcage was glistening, and flies were flocking to his legs and face. The second was only slightly older; the fur had seemingly exploded from his head, creating a most bizarre scene:

A third deer was found in the most disturbing of places: beneath a heap of garbage. The corpse had been hidden, but not very well, as a simple nudge of the trash uncovered the skull's ghastly smile:

This deer, too, had not been there for more than a month or so. Skin and fur still clung to the skull, and the mountain of waste atop the body was trapping in the smell, and perhaps slowing decomposition. The deer's teeth, and that perceived grimace, was incredibly powerful to me. Combined with the trash and ditched mustard packet, the scene spoke volumes. Waste... disrespect... uselessness.

These deer were poached for meat and antlers. After those things were taken, the bodies were thrown into roadside ditches, hidden beneath piles of brush and garbage, and, in some cases, left behind in plain sight without a care in respect to life or the law. I did find the remains of two or three does (both yearling and adult), but the majority of the corpses belonged to bucks. Their antlers were cut from their heads, leaving behind grisly, gaping holes in the skulls.

This skull, bleached white and starting to grow green moss or algae, had been there for quite some time -- a few years, at the least -- and one must wonder just how many layers of poached deer line the parking lots and roadsides of this area.

Because there were so many bodies, lone skulls, and partial skeletons, it was hard for me to keep track of how many deer we encountered. At the lakeside parking area, I counted at least five deer, but it was probably closer to six or seven, all in various stages of decomposition. Marc showed us some other areas, and led us along a few trails through the (very beautiful) forest. We didn't encounter any ditched deer corpses in the woods, however -- we only found them along the roadsides. One such body, left in plain sight, had been decapitated. The tissue on its ribcage had turned dark, and falling leaves were starting to cover the corpse.

Though we probably saw more, I can specifically remember seeing the corpses, skulls, and skeletons of eleven separate deer. One of the last bodies we visited was one that Marc had found a year or two prior. It, like the others, had been dumped along the roadside. All that remained were the bones; the spinal column, though disarticulated, still rested in a row.

Nature, of course, treats these bodies like any other. They decay and fall apart; maggots squirm in the meager flesh left behind, and crows pick away at the skin and connective tissues. But at what cost?

I plan on returning to this area once rifle season has come and gone, as I'd like to do more extensive photography of the bodies, and try some different compositional techniques. I'd also like to shoot with film, in black and white. For this set, I attempted to follow my standard Useless Creatures rule of bringing out the beauty in the dead; however, it's terribly hard to bring beauty into something so evil and wasteful.

Two Tales of Deer, Part I

2010-10-24T21:05:00.002-04:00

In the past week, I've had two very different experiences with deer remains. The first, which I'll chronicle in this post, took place at the Matthaei Botanical Gardens (MBG). There's a good deal of land on the MBG property that isn't explored by the public, as there are no trails. Steph and I have only begun our exploration of the area, and there's still plenty for us to discover. Earlier this week, we blundered through the woods, eager to see what we could find.

The first discovery we made was a deer skull -- at least, most of one. Largely chewed away, it had been sitting in the forest for quite some time. Its size was smaller, indicating it was likely from a younger doe. Interestingly enough, there were no other bones nearby. Here is how we found it, upside-down and unmistakable in the leaf litter:

We continued on our way, and soon we found a second deer skull, also from a doe:

This skull, like the first, was very clean and white, and had probably been sitting in the woods for at least a year or two. However, unlike the first, this skull was accompanied by a good deal of the skeleton. Steph and I searched through the fallen leaves for quite some time, and found about half of the vertebrae and ribs, a leg bone, and one of the jaw bones. The bone pile that we made:

Over half the skeleton was missing, which can probably be attributed to the coyotes in the area. In fact, the skull even had some peculiar punctures, one beneath the eye socket, which I think was the result of coyote teeth.

Many of the bones we found were heavily chewed, perhaps by animals scavenging in the winter. Rodent gnaw marks, though, were quite minimal. One animal that was using the skull was this incredibly large slug, who had been snuggled up inside the brain case:

Steph and I returned to a nearby area at the MBG a few days later. We found a third doe skull, and like the first skull we found, this one was by itself.

In all likelihood, these three deer probably died natural deaths. They might have succumbed to the winter, or they might have been brought down by coyotes. Dixboro Road is a bit of a distance from where these bones were found, but the deer could have been injured in traffic, only to disappear into the forest to die. At this point, it's really hard to tell, though the tooth mark(s) in the second skull definitely point to coyote activity.

Though it was a bit overwhelming to find the remains of three separate deer in one (relatively) small area, it wasn't to be unexpected: deer are very prevalent in this region, especially in areas where hunting is not allowed. Their population is somewhat controlled by traffic and coyotes, but there still are plenty, and, being the large animals that they are, their remains are quite easy to locate.

Part II, which I will post in the coming days, is a completely different story, because the deaths involve the direct hand of Man -- something I have not yet explored in this project.

Dixboro Doe

2010-10-21T12:55:00.005-04:00

A doe was hit on Dixboro Road in Ann Arbor Sunday morning; on Monday afternoon, my mother and I pulled over so that I could photograph the body. The doe's corpse lay in the ditch, mere yards from a 'deer crossing' sign; much of her face was obscured by dry, fallen leaves, but her visible eye stared out, dead, yet so emotive.

This is the time of year when deer are more prone to jump into traffic, especially when the sun is low in the sky. If one deer begins to cross the road, always assume that more will follow. By driving cautiously at daybreak and sunset, especially in areas that have a large deer population, you might save a life.

This doe, meanwhile, will become food for roadside scavengers. Hopefully none of the scavengers will meet the same fate.

Squirrel Check-Up

2010-10-17T20:21:00.001-04:00

I apologize for the lack of updates. Simply put, I have not been able to find any dead animals suitable for photography -- and not for lack of trying! Steph and I have been outdoors every other day or so, visiting parks and trails both inside and outside Ann Arbor's city limits. So far? Nothing. Leaves are falling from the trees, however, and that can easily camouflage bodies and bones.

What about roadkill, my fallback for when I can't find anything dead in nature? Around here, you don't need to drive far before you start spotting critters in the road, but all the dead animals I've seen in the street have either been a) completely destroyed, b) in a busy and/or dangerous area, or c) both. So -- I've been having a hard time. Not only is this project enjoyable for me, it's something to keep me busy while unemployed. I have been photographing subjects besides dead animals, but it's not as engaging for me.

I knew from the start, though, that this series would be very unpredictable, and the photographs I produce -- and when I can produce them -- depends entirely on the will of nature as well as luck.

All that said, for over a month, I have been keeping track of the fox squirrel killed on our street. For the first two weeks or so, I visited the squirrel quite regularly, and wrote down my observations in a notebook. Here are some of the more memorable snippets:

September 9: "Yellowjacket in squirrel's mouth, many ants in squirrel's eye."

September 13: "Mouth has decayed the most. Mouth/nose area has become a hole, flies laying eggs there."

September 18: "Maggots of all sizes covering the belly/groin of the squirrel, which seems to have burst. There are so many maggots, they have fallen through the carcass and trap, and squirm on the ground. [...] The head of the squirrel is almost unidentifiable, almost could not locate it. The skin (incl. ear) seems to have been pulled through the bars of the trap, but the skull (or what's left of it) has been wedged into a corner of the trap."

September 21: "There was so much movement from the maggots that the squirrel's arm (which had sunk into the body), began to move."

About a week later, as the days got colder and drier, decomposition had slowed, and the body began to mummify. It is interesting to note that early on, the cage was moved on several occasions by an animal; we decided that the culprit was a skunk, looking for maggots to eat! Not only were there flies, ants, and yellowjackets on the carcass, but there were also burying beetles, carrion beetles, and staphylinid beetles.

This afternoon, as the sun sunk lower in the sky, I headed on over to finally photograph the squirrel. Though I had watered it the day before, the body was quite dry, and pulling it out of the trap was relatively easy. I took a series of photographs using the macro lens, and with my close proximity to the subject, I definitely caught a nose-full of dead animal smell.

This front paw, as well as a back paw, appear to be relatively unchanged. I couldn't locate the other two feet; I do know that the other front foot sunk into the body at some point.

The first thing to decompose was the squirrel's head. The skull was shattered when the animal was hit by a car, but the lower jaws appear to be intact. They (and the skull fragments) are quite clean and detached from the body; the only other visible bones are the scapulae, protruding through the fur and skin.

This final photograph reminds me a lot of this scene, colors included.

As a whole, what remains of September Fox Squirrel isn't very impressive; a good deal of the body isn't recognizable, and, upon first glance, seems quite foul. However, using the macro lens to get closer helps me to find those beautiful, if not interesting details.

The Noble Beasts of the Mammal Division

2010-09-30T23:58:00.000-04:00

This morning, Steph and I had the chance to visit the University of Michigan's Mammal Division, at the Museum of Zoology. Collection manager Steve Hinshaw was kind enough to let us have free reign of the area, so we spent two hours taking many pictures of the various mounts and skeletons -- both the ones on display, and the specimens stored in special collections cabinets.

In June, an individual donated his collection of big game trophy mounts -- that is, the heads and horns of a couple dozen African animals, including many antelopes and even a rhinoceros -- to the Mammal Division. They were all quite impressive to see firsthand, and though the horns were magnificent and all, what really struck me were the faces of these animals. Even though they were all long dead, they looked so alive and calm, and in their state of stillness, were incredibly emotive.

Another interesting thing about taxidermy is how incredibly awkward it has the potential to be. If the mount is not positioned correctly -- say, instead of hanging on a wall, an animal's head is against a horizontal surface -- the whole effect is thrown off, and it makes for a very surreal scene.

(The antelopes and hartebeest hanging on the wall behind the giant eland have been at the museum for some time.)

Of course, we photographed other specimens, too. There are a handful of older taxidermy mounts on display, and although some of them aren't in very good condition, they are important because they are the Mammal Division's only examples of those particular animals.

Stored in the cabinets are the skeletons, furs, and study mounts of almost every species of mammal imaginable. We perused several drawers' worth of coyote skulls and bones; a different cabinet was full of raccoons and mustelids.

Though these animals aren't what most would consider "useless creatures", I do feel they relate to my project. Big game trophies and museum mounts are respected and accepted more readily than the decomposing raccoon in the woods; they are useful in that they have scientific value; they are majestic because, in the case of the African trophies, they were hunted and killed by a human. Because people have a hand in their fate -- and because their deaths and subsequent preservation are useful to us -- these animals are perceived quite differently than their ecosystem-feeding kin.

I find taxidermy to be of equal value to the decaying animals in the wild. While museum taxidermy helps us learn and study the natural world around us, the dead animals in the forest and along the beach help feed the world that we study.

September Chickadee

2010-09-20T19:20:00.000-04:00

This afternoon, Stephanie and I found a dead chickadee near our apartment building, next to the sidewalk. It had been there for at least a day; the body was limp and the eyes were gone, and ants were crawling in and out of the eye sockets. In the past month we've found three dead birds in the immediate area; I don't know if they are natural deaths, window collisions, or what, but it is something to take note of. Though this chickadee was quite a distance away from any windows, it is possible that a scavenger might have dragged it to where it was discovered today.

I was pressed on time for photography, but nonetheless I attached my dad's 60mm 2.8 macro lens to my camera* and reconfigured my tripod for the situation. Having photographed a chickadee earlier this year and not being completely pleased with the results, I knew that macro photography would probably produce better images, especially with such a tiny subject.

After photographing the chickadee's head and feet, I took a different approach and made some compositions that were more abstract; I wanted to use minimal depth of field to illustrate both the softness and complexity of bird feathers.

This is a bit of a different direction for me, in terms of composition and feel, and I'm curious to know what the general reaction to it is. I'm not, in any way, committed to doing only macro photography now; at this point in time, it's pretty much all I can do, as I've only been finding small animals to photograph. Any feedback is definitely welcome (and I'm always looking for feedback and constructive critique).

*the Nikon D70 body that I'm using is actually my father's; the Nikon D50 that I normally use has a sensor in dire need of professional cleaning or replacing.

Moving Closer

2010-09-11T20:43:00.004-04:00

Today, a Swainson's Thrush collided with a window and died. Because this bird was such a small subject (six inches from beak-tip to tail-tip), and because it was so beautiful, I decided to photograph it right this time around. I borrowed an amazing macro lens from my father (Nikon 60mm f/2.8) and had my tripod set up so that my camera would be only inches from the ground.

It was a very gloomy, wet, and chilly September day, and when the rain finally let up, I placed the thrush outside, on our apartment's wooden deck. The surface was dark and wet from the rain, and it provided a nice backdrop for the bird. I spent probably 45 minutes photographing the thrush, and I am very pleased by the results -- I wish I could spend that much time with all of my subjects.

In the end, after taking close to 200 photographs, I came away with five that truly spoke to me. I encourage you to click the following photographs to view them larger on Flickr -- the larger these pictures are, the more powerful they become.

For me, seeing this thrush so close was very moving. This was the first time in several months that I felt truly sad about the animal I was photographing, and seeing the images closer in Photoshop proved to be emotional. Everything about this bird was elegant and fragile: its speckled breast, whiskers, and blue eyelid; the way its feathers were so tiny yet so lace-like in appearance.

Because many birds are starting to migrate south for the winter, the likelihood of tired birds hitting windows is much higher. Therefore, it is very important to put decals on your windows to keep birds from thinking that reflections are trees for roosting. Decals don't have to be unsightly; some are so translucent that they are hardly noticeable. It is also important to place the decals outside, as when they are inside, they will not break up the reflections.

As much as I like to photograph birds -- they are challenging as well as beautiful -- I'd prefer to never have any window casualties to photograph.

Fox Squirrels Everywhere

2010-09-09T17:16:00.000-04:00

In my previous post, I mentioned fox squirrels and how they are extremely prevalent in Ann Arbor -- yet somehow seem to avoid being hit by traffic. Sadly, because it is getting to be autumn, and the squirrels are much more active than usual, I have counted several of them dead, on the road, in just this past week. I've seen three roadkill fox squirrels on the not-too-busy residential road that Steph and I live on; the first two were very messy deaths that I simply could not photograph. The third squirrel, which I found this morning, however, was in better shape than the previous two.

I retrieved the squirrel from the road and took it to my parents' backyard, where I would photograph it. I soon found that it was a female, and she seemed to have been in pretty good health before she died. I was surprised by how much she weighed -- I'd estimate at least two pounds, probably more. Even though she'd been hit very recently, she was becoming stiff and smelled of death.

The squirrel's whiskers were very long and pretty. Up-close, I feel that the faces of fox squirrels are strikingly different than those of Marquette's gray squirrels.

Also fascinating to examine are the paws of squirrels. Their feet are very complex, with many paw pads, and the claws are long and sharp, adapted for both digging and climbing. Unlike the feet of a cat or dog -- and very much like the feet of a raccoon -- the paws of a squirrel have no fur on the underside.

After photographing the squirrel with both my Nikon D70 and Nikon F2, I moved her body into a small live trap -- the same trap that we kept April Deer's skull in to finish its decay. For the next couple of months, I plan to observe the body's process of decomposition. Already, flies were inspecting the corpse as I photographed it.

It's interesting to note that as I was writing down my initial observations, a live fox squirrel approached the trap. It was very cautious, and as soon as it sniffed the body, it became very alarmed, flagging its tail and giving the area a very wide berth.

Something else that I'd like to note is a comparison -- and just how much lighting can change the mood, colors, and perceived composition of a photograph (click the image below to enlarge).

These two photographs were taken only seconds apart, but the first photograph was taken when the sun was covered -- if only slightly -- by clouds. The second photograph was taken in full sunlight. Despite the composition being essentially the same -- the squirrel's position has not changed -- the quality of light has dramatically altered the scene. The first image has a softer, cooler characteristic; the shadows are there, but remain subtle. The second image, on the other hand, is sharper; the colors are more saturated and warm, and the shadows are starker and blacker. I prefer the first image.

This afternoon, Steph alerted me that she passed yet another roadkill fox squirrel on our street, only feet away from where I removed this squirrel.

Ann Arbor

2010-08-30T14:56:00.004-04:00

If there's one thing I'd forgotten about Ann Arbor while I was living in Marquette, it's that it gets incredibly warm here. It gets so warm that the cicadas stop singing, and the fox squirrels splay themselves out on branches in an attempt to cool their bodies. It gets so warm that I'm fairly certain I don't want to photograph any recently-dead (and especially not bloated) animals until fall sets in, for fear that their smells might never leave my nostrils.

I haven't seen too much in the way of wildlife -- dead or alive -- besides birds. Steph and I installed a few birdfeeders on our porch, and they have been frequented by a wide variety of species. Then there are, of course, the fox squirrels, which are numerous in the neighborhoods; they are everywhere and possess an uncanny ability to not be hit by cars.

To date, I have photographed only one dead animal since our move, and it was a juvenile house sparrow. I discovered it in the parking lot of our apartment complex; it hadn't been there for long, but it was resting in such a way that it looked like the body had, at one point, been run over by a bicycle or car.

I moved it off the pavement and placed it at the base of a tree; checking back on it a day later, we discovered not only ants and flies had taken to the body, but a yellowjacket, as well. The next day, the sparrow was gone.

On a later day, while walking outside our apartment complex, Steph found a dead cicada on the sidewalk. Can insects be "useless creatures" too? Of course they can -- and this dead cicada, as it turns out, was full of ants.

Though I find dead insects fascinating, I'm not so sure I want to include them in this project. They are certainly photogenic, and are no doubt despised by many; however, I think that they would make a good, but separate, photographic series.

There are many places I want to explore, but because the vegetation (not to mention poison ivy) is so lush, I'll have to wait until the plants die back in a few months. Until then, I'll photograph what I can find, but subjects may be few and far-between.

Identity Crisis

2010-08-21T13:44:00.007-04:00

Hello! It's been a while. Steph and I are just about completely moved in to our new apartment in Ann Arbor. We've spent the past week making the place home, and in doing so, have obtained a DETOLF from IKEA (thanks Mom!) to display some of the skulls and bones we've found. I was moving the second skull featured in this post when I realized, upon comparing it with a raccoon skull, that it looked nothing like a raccoon skull. That's what I get for assuming! To be fair, this skull is in pretty rough shape and has only two teeth:

I compared the skull with this fox skull I own, and what do you know? November Raccoon is actually November Fox! This is significant, because it proves the presence of foxes on Presque Isle. I've only ever seen fox footprints in the area, and those were found in the bog -- which is easily accessible from the mainland. This skull, on the other hand, was found on the interior of the isle (assuming it wasn't moved by an animal). This discovery is also important because there are few predators to be found in Presque Isle Park. We have seen evidence of coyotes (tracks and scat, and Steph spotted one for a fleeting instant) as well as mustelids, but most of the animals living on the isle seem to be herbivores.

The next question is, was this a gray fox or a red fox? The skull is so chewed and worn that it's hard to tell. However, it's a very close match to my gray fox skull (click image for a larger version):

And, for comparison, here is the skull next to a raccoon skull (click image for a larger version):

Lesson learned from this? Always look closer! I never would have guessed, when I found that skull, that it belonged to a fox. Because the underside of the skull is so interesting, I have chosen to display it upside-down.

Soon I will be posting about what I've seen so far in the Ann Arbor area.

The Coyote

2010-08-08T09:35:00.003-04:00

Yesterday, on the way back to Marquette from Ishpeming's Ren Faire, I spotted a dead coyote in the grass on the side of the road. Steph and I were traveling on US41, though, so we couldn't come screeching to a stop; after taking a Michigan Left or two, we finally parked alongside the highway. I approached the coyote's body carefully; in our quick pass-by I had seen the unmistakable orange-brown fur and a set of very white, very sharp teeth pulled back in a death grimace.

As soon as I was standing next to the body, I immediately felt quite uncomfortable. It was no longer the judgmental stares of passing cars that bothered me, but the subject I was about to photograph. The body was smaller than I expected it to be (though Steph tells me that what I saw was the normal size for a full-grown coyote), and the skin was bunched in strange places, though the body was not bloated. Flies swarmed over the corpse, and for the two minutes I was photographing it, they seemed to drown out the passing traffic.

What I saw first, though, was its eye. The coyote had been there for at least a couple of days -- perhaps its bloating had come and gone -- but the lens of the visible eye was crusty and popped from the eyelid. It didn't gross me out, or make me feel physically ill; it was disconcerting, and, when matched with those sharp, white teeth, almost scary. The photographs that I chose to use, for the most part, hide the eye, though it can be seen somewhat in this view:

I refused to get too close to the coyote's body. It didn't have a bad smell (the cooler weather we've had for the past few days probably helped), and though the flies were kind of gross in their abundance (one landed on me at one point), they didn't drive me away, either. It could have been the teeth of the coyote that made me keep my distance.

I think, though, in the end, what kept me from taking my time photographing this animal, and what distressed me so much about it, was that it was a coyote. It was a coyote, so domestic dog-like in appearance and yet, so wild, that was mangled on the side of the road. It was a coyote, so hated by farmers and unjustly feared by hikers, which, in actuality, was so small and defeated and undignified along US41. It was a coyote, an animal I've never seen alive outside of captivity, and have only heard howling on occasion, that was feet away from me, dead.

In this entry I mentioned, briefly, what I imagined my feelings would be like if I were to photograph a coyote that had been hit by a car. It was a sad experience, but it was also disturbing, owing both to the appearance of the animal and the fact that the coyote is so familiar, but, all the same, so wild.

Of Gulls and Carp

2010-08-03T10:58:00.004-04:00

On Sunday, I decided to check up on the carp and herring gull. The herring gull was still there, and mostly unchanged, but the carp...

There was a pair of juvenile herring gulls picking away at it! Upon closer inspection, it was really quite amazing to see how much they'd eaten:

As a side note, I returned again, yesterday, and the carp was simply a skeleton. To me, it is especially profound that the gulls who reduced this carp to bones were the same species of gull as the one that washed up, dead, only twenty or so feet away. Everything in the ecosystem is interconnected; the insects currently squirming inside the herring gull might be eaten by a fish, and that fish might wash ashore, dead, and be consumed by herring gulls. It's amazing how the lives and deaths of organisms are intertwined and how they become a part of one another.

Also found on the beach was the rather complete skeleton of a ring-billed gull. Compared to the herring gull, it was very small. Sometimes, it's tough to distinguish between herring and ring-billed gulls, especially when they're moving about, but when comparing their skulls, it becomes quite clear which gull is which.

This gull had washed ashore Saturday night. It's amazing just how many dead gulls can be found on the beaches in Marquette -- especially at Presque Isle Park and Picnic Rocks. Many of the individuals I've found have been juveniles, which makes me wonder what their mortality rate is. Of course, as Steph reminds me, gulls are far easier to spot than smaller birds, so their deaths are obviously much more visible.

Along the Shores of Lake Superior

2010-08-01T08:49:00.003-04:00

Yesterday afternoon, at sunset, Steph and I found ourselves near Presque Isle's breakwall, which juts out into the bay. The beach in this area is dangerous and rocky, and since it's more than a little hard to walk on, I don't visit it regularly. The sandstone rocks are round and wobbly and not kind to the feet, so I have a feeling that this small stretch of Lake Superior shoreline isn't frequented too often by much of anyone.

Almost immediately, we found the remains of two different gulls. Not much was left of either bird, except for the wings, and on one of the gulls, the wishbone. Judging by the few feathers that were present, they were both juveniles, and probably ring-billed gulls.

The sun was setting fast, so Steph and I continued to work our way along the rocky beach. Quite suddenly, we encountered a foul stench, and I soon found the source: the rather-fresh body of a carp. Unlike the carp skeleton found in June, this carp still had its skin and scales; its eyes, however, were missing, and a large chunk had been taken out of the body. I'm not very well-read on the natural predators of carp -- are there any? I'm sure they're prey for eagles. Anyway, I assume that the damage to the body was done postmortem, either by scavengers or by the repeated washing up against the rocks.

The setting sun was casting a wonderful, rosy light, but the carp was mostly-submerged in the water. I wanted to photograph its tail reflecting that beautiful sunset, so I pulled the (surprisingly heavy) carp out of the water and laid it over the dark rocks. Never again! Touching this carp pretty much felt like touching any other kind of (live) fish, but in its state of decay, it left my hands smelling awful.

Steph made the next discovery, while I was still photographing the carp. It was the body of yet another juvenile gull, but this corpse was amazingly complete. It was also rather large, which makes me wonder if it was a herring gull. The body was draped over the rocks, in a state of advanced decomposition; the head, which was very much skeletonized, was wedged between two chunks of stone.

Unlike the carp, this gull didn't have a horrible smell. Curious about what the other side of the head looked like, I lifted it, and was unsurprised to find tiny maggots squirming about. I think I might return today to take more photographs, but bodies along the beach are very impermanent, and this gull -- and very likely, the carp -- might not still be there this afternoon.

As we headed back, I took a parting shot of the carp, the sun setting over the body. In the background, the freighter Great Lakes Trader can be seen at the ore dock, being filled with taconite pellets.

Relocation

2010-07-31T18:53:00.003-04:00

On August 13, Steph and I will be moving from Marquette to Ann Arbor. It will be a tough move to handle, as Marquette has been such a wonderful home for me. With easily-accessible nature, the beautiful Lake Superior, good friends, great music, nice art galleries, and a wonderful view of the mountains from our apartment, I will be very sad to leave. Though Useless Creatures was started here, in Marquette, it will proceed in Ann Arbor.

Ann Arbor is, after all, my home city. My original fascination with animals -- alive and dead -- began there, and it will continue there, as well. The region is home to a whole different host of wildlife, and that will be reflected in my photographs, stories, and commentary.

I worry that I'll encounter only roadkilled animals in the Ann Arbor area, and I worry that trails for hiking will be harder to locate with ease. I will, however, do the very best I can to keep Useless Creatures going in the same direction as it was started. Though roadkill is easy to find, it's not my favorite subject, and I will try not to turn this into a roadkill-only series. Since I will be living (quite literally) down the street from my parents, I hope to use their wooded backyard for some decomposition studies, which I have been wanting to do ever since I started this project.

Marquette has been wonderful to me, and I love this city dearly. I hope to visit on a semi-regular basis in the future, to hike Presque Isle Park and keep the inspiration alive.

The Deer Skeletons of Presque Isle

2010-07-23T11:17:00.005-04:00

I'd like to cover a couple topics in this post, so it will be a longer one.

A few days ago, I decided to check up on First January Deer to see how the decomposition process was coming along. Remember, Steph and I had moved the skeleton in March to a more sheltered area. This was the first time in several months that I had looked for the skeleton, and with the grass, thistle, and tansy so thick, it was a bit of a challenge to find it. To be able to locate First January Deer, one would have to know exactly what they were looking for, and where.

I was pleased to discover that the bones were all still there, and every one of them was disarticulated. The ribs, which were all once connected to the vertebral column, were lying together in a heap, and the vertebrae themselves had all scattered. The skeleton was very clean -- not a scrap of muscle or tendon remained -- and it was stained a warm, honey color. Slugs casually slimed over the bones.

It's interesting to compare the skull of this deer with the jawbone of the same deer; I had taken the jaw home with me on the day that I'd first found the skeleton, as it was mostly clean. The color of the jaw is a cold, white hue -- it seems raw and unfinished, and it reminds me of the winter. In contrast, the skull has a "completed" feel to it; it went through those final stages of spring- and summertime decay. When photographed together, the skull and mandible are mismatched:

Earlier this month I also checked up on Second January Deer. Interestingly enough, most of her bones were still articulated! All her vertebrae and ribs were still attached. Oddly, her skull was a few feet away from the rest of the skeleton, but besides that, the bones really hadn't scattered. Despite their proximity, First January Deer and Second January Deer are in two very different habitats. Perhaps their surroundings have something to do with the speed at which they decay.

Something that I've found to be consistent with wintertime deer kills (April Deer, as well as the January Does) is that the nasal bones are missing -- deer noses are bitten off by very hungry scavengers. Last April, I found a doe skeleton far back in the bog; most of the bones were stained a deep bog-brown and though disarticulated, the skeleton was almost entirely in one heap. It had been there for a couple years, but the skull was intact -- including the nasal bones.

Between that observation and the fact that a) the skeleton was not scattered everywhere (as First January Deer was before being moved) and b) no bones were broken (the ribs and leg bones of the January Does were broken, perhaps by scavengers seeking marrow), this leads me to believe that that doe ('Bog Deer', as I call her) had died in the summer, when food is more plenty and scavenging isn't as desperate.

Here is a side-by-side comparison of the skulls of April Deer (top), Bog Deer (middle), and First January Deer (bottom). All three were found in the Presque Isle bog area; perhaps all three does were related in some way.

On Raccoons

2010-07-17T22:18:00.003-04:00

Raccoons seem to be one of the most common dead animals I find. Usually, I see their bodies on the side of the road. There have been times when I've driven down the highway and seen raccoon after raccoon after raccoon, and I wonder -- if so many raccoons are hit by cars, how on earth does the species continue to thrive?

Raccoons have larger litters in areas where mortality rates are high. Unsurprisingly, the leading cause of death for raccoons is traffic. These animals are not fast by any means, and when shuffling across the freeway, they cannot dodge oncoming traffic (that's not to say cars cannot brake for raccoons -- I see almost no excuse for hitting a raccoon on a 25-mph residential street, for instance). In addition, raccoons are omnivorous and will scavenge the dead bodies of other animals along the roadside, making them even more prone to being hit by cars.

Today, I spotted a young raccoon along M-28. It had only recently died. I initially photographed it around 1 PM, when the sun was high in the sky and glaring down -- creating some pretty harsh shadows, something that just isn't conducive to the type of photography I want to achieve.

I took a few photographs, including the one above, then returned at around 6:30 PM, as the sun was lower in the sky and traffic was much more sparse.

I will forever be uncomfortable photographing roadkill along the highway, as I can only imagine what people in their cars must be thinking. I often wait until there are no cars coming in either direction before I crouch down and point my lens at the subject. Luckily, the traffic on U.P. highways is often non-existent, especially in the morning or evening.

By 6:30 PM, the raccoon, having sat in the sun all day, was starting to smell like death. Flies were swarming around its nose and mouth, though they vacated the premises while I photographed. It's interesting to note how brown this individual's teeth are.

Raccoon feet fascinate me, so I made sure to photograph this individual's hind paws. The claws were surprisingly sharp, and the vibrissae are very visible. According to Wikipedia, these specialized hairs are used to aid in identifying objects before they are even touched.

I have photographed three roadkilled raccoons for this project, and each one of them has been a different experience. They are beautiful animals in both life and death; often the closest we get to see them is when they are dead, on the roadside.

The Last Animal of June

2010-07-04T11:24:00.003-04:00

Up until now, one of the most obvious omissions from Useless Creatures has been the body of a rabbit. Eastern cottontails are common here and seem to be quite comfortable in urban settings, and we see them often enough, hopping around our apartment complex at dusk and early morning. In the evening, the color of their fur camouflages perfectly with the ground or sidewalk, and when stock-still, they are almost impossible to see.

A few weeks ago, while driving, we spotted the body of a large rabbit near the intersection of Presque Isle Avenue and Wright Street. It's a pretty busy stretch of road, and before Wright Street hits Lakeshore Boulevard, it runs right through a wide expanse of lawn -- the perfect grazing site for cottontails. There was no way I could photograph the animal, as it was in the middle of the road and the traffic in the area is just way too constant. A day later, the body was gone.

This past week, Steph spotted a rabbit that had been hit, on US 41 just outside of Marquette. We didn't pull over at the time, as we were on our way back from the veterinarian, it was rush hour, and the afternoon sun was glaring down. We decided we'd return later in the day, when that particular stretch of road is in the shadow.

Now, I've photographed several roadkill animals, but none along so busy of a road. The highways in the Upper Peninsula aren't 75-mph freeways, but they can be busy, and few people obey the 55-mph speed limit. Luckily, there was a turn-off nearby where I could park, and when I returned around 7:30 PM, traffic had died down considerably.

The rabbit was quite small, and looked like it had died relatively recently. With the exception of its missing eyes, it was very intact. The body laid on the side of the road, away from cars' tires, and was surprisingly peaceful. Accumulating around it was the debris and detritus that collects on roadsides: pieces of plastic, gravel and grit, plant bits, and chips of paint. The fur looked very soft, but I didn't think to touch it.

As far as I know, I hadn't viewed a wild rabbit so closely before, and I marveled at its very long and fluffy hind feet. Rabbits, as cute as they tend to be, are rather mysterious to me; they're bizarre animals, and there's a misconception that they're rodents (they're lagomorphs).

We drove along this stretch of road a day or two later, but by then, the rabbit's body had disappeared completely. I'm hopeful that a scavenger took off with it, and not a highway clean-up crew.

Bone Home

2010-06-23T09:52:00.003-04:00

Yesterday evening, while walking along the path of the Presque Isle bog, Steph found a medium-sized bone that was partially embedded in the ground. She uncovered it; the top of the bone was bleached white by the sun, and the other side was stained brown by the dirt. It was about six inches long, and the jury's still out as to what animal it belonged. There were tiny ants crawling all over it...

... and it took us both a moment to realize that there was an ant colony inside this bone. The ants, having sensed their home had been disturbed, were evacuating, taking care to retrieve their eggs and young.

From what I could see, the set-up inside was amazing. The eggs and pupae were tucked into the calcium cavities of the bone, and the entry/exit to the colony was a large hole (as seen in the photograph above). After we had observed the ants for some time, Steph returned the bone to where she had found it, taking care to put it back in the same position.

How interesting is it that an entire colony of ants calls a rather small bone its home? I've seen spiders build their webs inside the brain cavities of skulls -- and I've heard the same for wasp nests (hopefully I'll never see something like this in-person) -- but I've never seen such a thing with ants. It's pretty incredible that this insect (which is almost always associated with creating complex tunnels in the soil) has used a bone for this purpose: not for food, but for a home.

What other creatures use the remains of animals as a place not to get nourishment, but to live?

Carp + Raven

2010-06-15T13:15:00.003-04:00

The weather has been pretty dreary as of late, with plenty of rain, clouds, and even thunderstorms. I'm hoping that it will clear up soon -- or at the very least, warm up and dry off -- so that picture-taking is a little more appealing. Last week, on a couple of the nicer days, I found two different dead animals: the skeleton of a carp and the remains of a raven.

Thanks to some of the crazier weather we've been having, a lot of bones and other debris have been washing up on the beach near the functioning ore dock.

This carp skeleton was relatively large -- about a foot and a half in length -- and quite complete, too. The first time I photographed it, the sun had just emerged from the clouds and as a result, my photographs were very blown-out. A few days later, I visited the skeleton again, at sunset. By then, the blowing sand had already started to cover up the spine!

Carp skulls are strange looking, and kind of remind me of the skulls of prehistoric fishes. This skull, in particular, even more so, as it was missing much of its sucker-like mouth.

Last week, Steph and I took a drive to the Garlyn Zoo, outside of Naubinway. We saw very few roadkill mammals along the way (and most were so deteriorated that they were unrecognizable), but we did see several roadkill ravens and crows. I photographed one of the ravens.

I couldn't believe how large this raven was. There wasn't much remaining, except its feathers, bones, and feet. The talons of this bird were huge, about the same size as those of the hawk that I photographed earlier this year.

I was surprised at how intact the feathers were. Quite a few were scattered alongside the road: black, glossy, and perfect, despite the traffic roaring by. The feathers' close proximity to the carcass makes me think that this raven wasn't killed so long ago.

The body was picked quite clean, but I wonder, by what animals? I have read that corvids are wary of the dead bodies of other corvids. Would a raven scavenge from the body of another raven, or was it a different species of bird, or perhaps mammals that cleaned the bones so well?

Kawbawgam Trail Bones

2010-06-06T17:13:00.003-04:00

Yesterday was cool and cloudy, and Steph and I drove out to the Kawbawgam cross-country ski trail in Chocolay Township. The jack pine forest smelled and sounded beautiful: it reminded me of camping as a child, and of the stays at the Huron Mountain Club's Stone House on Ives Lake. It was very peaceful, and the ground was covered in mosses, lichens, and blueberry bushes. Because the forest floor was so open, it was easy to see the deer bones that were scattered throughout the woods. No two bones were close to one another, and, based on their varied states of decay, it's reasonable to assume that they all came from several different deer. Some bones were quite fresh and still had bits of ligaments attached; others were somewhat bleached; a few bones were so bleached that they were chalky and cracked. Most of the bones we saw were fractured and had been gnawed by rodents.

This deer vertebra, resting on a bed of reindeer lichen, was old and chewed, but was also the home of a large slug. A second vertebra -- found far away from this one -- also had a slug living inside, where the spinal cord was once housed.

It was rather surreal, being able to see the bones so easily from the hardly-used trail. Even more bizarre was the fact that they were all so far apart from one another. Spotting the bones as we walked along was almost like a treasure hunt.

How were the bones scattered so randomly over such a wide area? How many years have they been lying on the lichens, slowly returning to nature? How many different deer did we see?

Useless Creatures: The Japan Edition

2010-06-02T18:06:00.004-04:00

Steph and I returned from our three-week trip to Japan Monday evening, and we had an amazing, inspirational time. Being back in Marquette is kind of strange, and already we are drawing so many comparisons between the United States and Japan. Our blog about it is still being updated, since internet access was very limited during the homestay week.

Amazingly enough, while at the Japan Center for Michigan Universities (JCMU) in Hikone, we did come across some useless creatures.

The first dead animal I photographed was this dead bird chick, found on the sidewalk. I have no idea what species it was -- identifying baby birds is hard enough, and Steph and I were lost as to what adult birds we were seeing in the first place. Finding dead baby birds is always a bit sad for me, because they are such fragile and helpless beings.

The shore of Lake Biwa, on which Hikone is situated, was littered with all kinds of things, from beach glass to animal bones. Here are a few smaller finds:

Lying in the sand, also on the beach of Lake Biwa, was the body of a Japanese Cormorant. I had seen it wash ashore the first week we were at JCMU, but it had been waterlogged and a crow had been picking at it. However, when we returned to the beach several days later, the body was dry and much easier to photograph.

The other animal body I found was that of a fish. Amazingly enough, I had yet to photograph a dead fish, and this one was quite large. Again, I don't know what species it was, but it was rather impressive.

So, there you have it, the useless creatures of Japan -- and of Hikone, to be more precise. An interesting observation is that I did not see a single roadkill animal, but an explanation for this could be that there are very few mammals within city limits (they all seem to live in the forests on the mountains).

May Renewal

2010-05-08T14:23:00.002-04:00

Before we leave for Japan, here is a parting shot of Second January Deer's jawbone, surrounded by the greenest of grass.

Perhaps I'll encounter something in Japan that relates somehow to this project. Until then, さよなら!

Closing Reception, Graduation, and now: Japan

2010-05-03T12:45:00.006-04:00

Well, the closing reception to the NMU School of Art and Design's Winter 2010 Senior Show went splendidly. There was an amazing number of folks in attendance -- I can't even begin to estimate how many people were there. The gallery was packed, so packed it was hard to move!

I received some excellent compliments on the Useless Creatures series, which meant a lot to me. My mom and dad drove up to Marquette to see the show, but sadly they had to leave the next day before noon. Still, it was great that they were able to see Steph and me, and come to the closing reception.

At nine o'clock, as the crowds started to thin, I took down my six photographs and artist's statement -- it's amazing how quickly the work can be de-installed, as compared to the tedious installation!

Saturday was graduation day, but neither Steph nor I walked. We both were of the opinion that having the closing reception was a good substitute for sitting and listening to a tiring speaker for two hours and wearing a silly green robe (something I already did when I graduated from Huron High School). So, I'm done with college. I've graduated with a Bachelor of Fine Arts with a major in Photography.

What next?

I'm excited to announce, for those who don't know already, that on May 9, Stephanie and I will be leaving for Japan! We'll be in Hikone and Higashiome for three weeks in an NMU study abroad program, taking a course entitled Japanese Visual Culture. The class is instructed by Professor Mits Oba, who teaches art history at NMU. We're both extremely excited to embark on this adventure.

For those three weeks, this blog will be on a short hiatus, but will start right back up again as soon as we're back in Marquette. Until then, Steph and I will be keeping a blog about the Japan Trip, which can be found by following this link.

Wings

2010-04-26T11:56:00.003-04:00

Earlier this month, Steph and I took a stroll along the strip of sand on the north shore of the neck of Presque Isle Park. First, we found what was left of a ring-billed gull, complete with a couple of sets of crow tracks meandering toward it:

All that remained were the surprisingly spotless wings, connected to a picked-clean breastbone. The sun was low in the sky but extremely bright, which made picture-taking rather tough, especially when my shadow kept creeping into the frame. The sun did, however, provide for some brilliant backlighting on the bones:

The second find of the evening was the wing of a northern flicker. The feathers were very beautiful but the yellows were impossible to photograph accurately! They were more of a pure yellow than the orangey-yellow that shows in the photo. In this case, I wish I could have photographed it on a cloudy day.

Often, the wings are the only bird remains that we find. Predators know that there is little meat to be had on the wings, so they leave them behind; mammalian and bird scavengers know this, as well. It is up to the smaller scavengers -- the insects and microbes -- to complete the process of decay.

A Week of Birds

2010-04-19T18:30:00.003-04:00

As I detailed in my earlier entry, last Wednesday, Steph found a Brown Creeper that had collided with the windows of the NMU art building. Tiny and weightless, it was incredibly hard to photograph. The pictures I took, despite trying to portray the bird from a neutral point of view, still feel very sad; perhaps it is because I know exactly how the creeper died -- and how needless and avoidable the death could have been.

A couple days later, while walking along a path in Marquette's Fit Strip, Steph and I happened upon something quite unexpected -- a dead Ring-Billed Gull, right on the trail. The bodies of gulls are a rather common find along the beach, but not in the forest. The gull we found had died quite recently; its feathers were strewn for several yards alongside the trail. I flipped the body over, and there was a large patch of feathers missing. It's quite possible that the gull was attacked by another bird, perhaps a crow or a raven. Nothing was eaten.

Indeed, the gull had died so recently that its eyes were intact. It was quite jarring when, upon a closer view of the body, I saw its yellow eye, staring right back at me.

Yesterday evening was the find that truly saddened and angered me: a Black-Capped Chickadee, dead, resting on the ground by the back entrance of the art building. It, too, had collided with the windows.

The chickadee's tiny body was still warm.

Windowed Stairwells

2010-04-15T11:17:00.003-04:00

Yesterday morning, Steph called to tell me that she'd found a dead Brown Creeper laying on the pavement behind the NMU art building. The bird was in almost the same spot that we'd found a white-breasted nuthatch a year or so earlier, and there was no doubt as to what had killed it: the tall, windowed stairwells of the art building. (The stairwell at the front of the building can be seen here; the stairwell at the back of the building faces Lake Superior and Presque Isle.)

Nothing could have prepared me for how tiny, weightless, and delicate this bird was. I'd seen Brown Creepers before, but never so close; its beak and claws were surprisingly long and sharp, perfectly adapted to how this species of bird lives, clinging to vertical tree trunks and extracting insects from the nooks and crannies of the bark. Despite the apparent delicateness and fragility of this being, I was astonished to learn that they inhabit Marquette year-round, even through the most bitter of winters.

I took a photograph of the creeper right away, the morning sunlight giving it a bizarre and almost foreboding shadow. The glass stairwells have obviously claimed more than just the lives of the nuthatch and the creeper, and the fact that there are no vinyl clings to deter birds is sad. How many more lives will be lost just because the glass looks good? How much would it cost to put up the most basic of bird-deterring static clings?

Later that day, I hung up two 16"x12" posters inside the art building:

This is the first occasion I've done public protest art in any form. A few times, I've considered taking this project in that direction, but I don't think that will happen.

On the way in to class today, we found this in the same area, near the glass stairwell:

I'm not sure what type of bird this wing fragment belonged to, but I'd say it was in the house sparrow- to robin-sized range. Over the years, I've found multiple wing fragments littered around the back of the art building, all near that windowed stairwell.

Installation a Success!

2010-04-13T15:30:00.005-04:00

Installation for the NMU School of Art's Winter 2010 Senior Exhibition, 'Untitled', started yesterday morning and ends this afternoon. Luckily, I managed to get almost everything installed rather quickly yesterday -- Steph doing all the hard work, of course. We had a few mishaps with the L-hooks being too close together, and putting a few more holes in the wall than was necessary -- but in the end, installation was relatively easy.

The photographs are flush against the wall, thanks to the L-hooks. There are no backboards -- just the print and the glass, held in place with the hardware. Overall I am quite pleased with the layout and the photos I selected for the show. Ideally, I'd love to have more on display, with more photographs of animals in a more decayed state, but due to time and space constraints, not to mention the fact that I need more photos of decayed animals in the first place, that wasn't going to happen.

Anyway, in the coming days I'll post a few more pictures of the senior exhibition, because it's just so darn awesome, semester after semester. There are a lot of truly talented artists at this school.

Related, I did enter November Skunk (April) into a concurrent show at the Students' Art Gallery (the exhibition hilariously entitled 'Untitled II'), and that piece was accepted, so... photos to come of that, as well! (As a sidenote, there are a few other Useless Creatures hanging up around town. March Gull and January Pigeon are on display at the Kaye House, and January Pigeon can also be found at Donckers.)

The Northern Michigan University School of Art and Design's Winter 2010 Senior Exhibition, 'Untitled', opens Wednesday, April 14 and has its closing reception Friday, April 30.

Final Statement, Installation, and More

2010-04-11T09:13:00.006-04:00

Installation for the senior show has begun! I'll be hanging my photographs tomorrow. There's a lot of math involved, which is a little intimidating for me, seeing as how I'm pretty horrible at doing basic tasks like figuring out window-mat measurements. Anyway, also involved are the little bugs that come up along the way -- in my case, a problem with the clip frames I am using.

I've always been the type of person to carefully mat my photographs, but for the Useless Creatures series, I wanted to display my work differently. To me, mats and frames -- elaborate or otherwise -- distance the viewer from the photograph; a barrier is created, and the people, places and things depicted seem far away and perhaps less than real. The whole point of this series is to compel the viewer actually see the dead animals for what they are, and to me, a clip frame does just that. There are no mats or physical frames interfering with the photograph, and it is almost as if a window has opened in the gallery wall, depicting the subject as realistically and physically as possible, short of actually bringing in a decomposing animal and placing it on a pedestal (a thought that I did briefly entertain, by the way).

Anyway, the photographs look great behind glass, but the problem with the clip frames is the hardware that holds the glass to the particleboard backing. The clips just won't stay put, and will snap off, sometimes with only the slightest budge. In addition, the clips double as the hangers, so yeah, that won't work. After asking Melissa Matuscak (spirited teacher, runner-of-the-DeVos-Art-Museum, and amazing, overworked person extraordinaire) what to do, we've decided on L-hooks. Basically, the backboard, photograph, and glass will be held against the wall itself. This is something I've never actually done, but I've seen this method of display in galleries before, and it's quite attractive.

Also included with my photographs will be my artist's statement and a portrait of myself. I've finalized my statment -- at last! -- and this is what will be hanging next to the Useless Creatures:

In our society there is a tendency to shun the corpses of non-human, non-domesticated animals. Their bodies are often viewed as disgusting, offensive, and useless things. In nature, however, dead animals are vital to the ecosystems of which they are a part, and countless animals depend upon the deaths of other animals to survive.

When I encounter a dead creature, it gives me pause. I consider the animal, its life, and how it might have died, but I also wonder how many other animals have depended upon its body, and how many more will in the coming days and months. I regard each dead creature I find as an individual, and I treat it as such. I choose to photograph them respectfully, portraying these animals as the dignified beings they are, in life. In every stage of their decay, they are beautiful if not interesting, and I try to portray that through my photography. Dead animals are not offensive, nor are they repulsive, and they are not useless creatures.

And, of course, the portrait! A few days ago, Steph and I went out to the Presque Isle Bog to photograph one another. For some reason I thought it'd be a great idea to pose with First January Deer -- which, with the warmer weather (nevermind the freak snowstorm we got on Tuesday), was definitely a rather stinky task.

The Northern Michigan University School of Art and Design's Winter 2010 Senior Exhibition, 'Untitled', opens Wednesday, April 14 and has its closing reception Friday, April 30.

The Hawk

2010-04-07T09:59:00.004-04:00

In January, a juvenile hawk was hit by a car in Traverse City. Its body was then frozen; we later accepted it rather reluctantly, but at the time, Steph and I had the hope that it could be of use to the local nature center, as a taxidermy mount (the nature center, after all, had the necessary permits to possess birds of prey). We presented the idea, but after a month or so of waiting, it fell through, as no interest was shown. We then turned to the ornithology department at NMU. Our contact expressed interest at first, but when emailed for a date and time to meet, dialogue stopped altogether.

In the United States, it is illegal to possess the feathers and remains of almost any species of bird (save for non-native and game species), especially those of a bird of prey, without certain permits. We did the legal and respectful thing: return the hawk's body to nature, where it belonged, from the start.

It took us a while to identify what species of hawk this individual was, but Steph and I finally decided that it was a juvenile rough-legged hawk.

We returned a few weeks later and were somewhat surprised to find the body was still relatively unchanged. The hawk's yellow feet and legs had turned a grayish color, and its eyes were gone, but other than that and a few feathers that had been ripped out and deposited nearby, it looked the same as it had when we'd left it there.

In this state of early decay, it appeared more peaceful to me. I'd been unhappy with the photographs I'd taken earlier of the hawk's head. Now, however, there was something far more beautiful and dignified about it.

I look forward to watching the hawk slowly return to the earth over the course of the next few months. Hopefully, it will remain undiscovered by humans. Its feathers will be woven into nests, keeping eggs warm, and its flesh will be eaten by the very insects that are preyed upon by birds. Perhaps the mice that gnaw on its bones will end up in the belly of a hawk.

Traces

2010-04-04T14:30:00.003-04:00

Sometimes, all I find are small bits of what's left behind.

I often find many feathers, as was the case with the blue jay and pheasant pictured above (the down and blood belonged to a hairy woodpecker, which was being consumed by a merlin nearby). Just a week or so ago, I found several crow feathers in one spot; some were split and broken.

Single bones are also a common discovery. Often, they're stashed away, at the base of a tree, chewed by rodents. The bones I find are almost always deer bones. A less-common sight is fur and hair. The fur, pictured above, belonged to a rabbit. It was the meal of some carnivore, likely a fox or coyote, at the bog on Presque Isle. All that remained were several puffs of fur, one of which still had some skin attached.

Finding traces is always interesting; it provides a mystery and a story. Where is the rest of the animal? What ate it? What will eat it? Where are its bones scattered?

Returning to February Deer

2010-04-03T09:31:00.003-04:00

Yesterday evening, Steph and I swung by the Forestville Basin area to check up on February Deer. I was half-expecting the body to be gone, but it wasn't -- still, there hadn't been much there to begin with. I'd hoped that after the snow melted, more of the body or skeleton would turn up, but there was no such luck. The flayed hide, with its three legs attached, was still where we'd last seen it in early February, and save for the flies and other insects that were crawling all over the fur, nothing had changed. In addition, it was especially obvious that a trail grooming machine had, in fact, obliterated the ribcage of the skeleton. Shards of bone were scattered many yards down the path; it was actually rather depressing to look at. Between the flies and the destroyed skeleton, I took a few quick photos documenting the scene.

There were a few dirty, broken bones laying beside the carcass -- a leg bone and a couple of ribs. I find it especially odd that there were no vertebrae present; there was no pelvis, and no skull. I suppose it's very likely that coyotes dragged off the head of the deer, or its torso, but the fact that there were broken ribs on the road and no broken vertebrae is still a mystery. Part of me also wonders if the deer was poached for its antlers, or if it was hit by a car and its head then severed for a trophy. This is one of those cases where we'll likely never know what happened.

It's now very much spring in Marquette (it was 80° F yesterday, and the peepers were singing in the evening); the snow is almost completely absent from the landscape and dead animals are resurfacing for the first time in months. As much as I'd like to get out there and photograph everything I can find, it's also the last month of my college career, and it's time to really get working on last-minute assignments and papers. Senior show is being installed in less than two weeks, and I'll be sure to provide some updates about that.

Goodbye, November Skunk

2010-03-27T19:11:00.004-04:00

The whole purpose of this project -- the photographic series and the thoughts behind it -- is to sway the overwhelming public opinion of dead animals. In class, I've gotten good feedback, and it's rewarding to hear classmates say that seeing my photographs over the course of the semester has changed their perception of dead creatures. It makes me happy to think that perhaps this project does change the opinions of the people it reaches -- and then there are days like today, when I find out yet another dead animal has been thrown away.

It being a warmer afternoon, Steph and I decided to check up on November Skunk. Remember, we'd buried its body beneath all sorts of sticks and logs and beach debris so that it a) wouldn't be found and b) would be protected over the winter. The body was gone. Someone had gone through an awful lot of trouble to uncover the corpse and remove it (they probably flung it into the water). The skunky smell, which was most likely the main reason for its disposal, still lingered, of course.

This made both of us rather upset -- and understandably so! We had hoped to track the skunk's decomposition over the months. Yet again, someone didn't recognize that dead animals are very much a part of the environment and deserve to be left where they are. The ignorance of whoever disposed of November Skunk is astounding, much like the people who threw April Deer in the dumpster. It's a mindset I just don't understand.

The silver lining to this whole thing was the discovery of March Gull:

All that was left was its wing. It was relatively small, probably belonging to a ring-billed gull.

Interestingly enough, I've found over the months that dead birds are more likely to be left alone than dead mammals. Does the average person interpret a dead bird as more "pretty" or "peaceful" than a dead mammal?

Revised Artist's Statement

2010-03-24T08:55:00.005-04:00

The following is what I plan to post on the gallery wall beside my photographs next month. I think I'm happy with it, but it still has some tweaking left to do... it's still very wordy, in my opinion.

In our society there is a tendency to shun the dead bodies of non-human, non-domesticated animals. These bodies are viewed as disgusting, offensive, repulsive, and useless things. Children are often instructed to avert their eyes from the dead creatures they might happen upon; the many different species of animals hit by cars are categorized simply as road kill; even the bodies of animals found in nature are sometimes doomed to be thrown away in a misguided effort to clean trash from the environment.

In nature, dead animals are far from disgusting, offensive, or useless. Their bodies are vital to the ecosystems of which they are a part, and countless animals depend upon the deaths of other animals to survive.

When I encounter a dead creature, it gives me pause. I consider the animal, its life, and how it might have died, but I also wonder how many other animals have depended upon its body, and how many more will in the coming days and months. I regard each dead animal I find as an individual, and I treat it as such. I choose to photograph them respectfully, portraying these creatures as the dignified beings they are, in life. In every stage of their decay, these animals are beautiful if not interesting, and I try to portray that through my photography. They are not offensive, they are not repulsive, and they are not useless creatures.

Red Squirrel in the Evening

2010-03-17T10:21:00.002-04:00

My parents purchased a Jeep Cherokee for me the summer before I started my sophomore year at Northern Michigan University and suffice to say, I drive... a lot. I drive to and from class, I drive to Presque Isle, and I drive the eight hours it takes to get to Ann Arbor, and the eight hours it takes to get back to Marquette. With all this traveling, it's amazing that I have only ever hit one animal while driving.

In August of 2008, my parents and I were on I-75, heading north to Marquette. A gray squirrel darted out in front of me; I couldn't brake, and I couldn't swerve, traveling at 70 miles an hour. It didn't have a chance, and I was quite upset for the rest of the trip. I could only hope that its death had been quick, but thinking about that made me even more upset.

Squirrels seem to be one of the most vulnerable animals on the road. It's like their brains short circuit when they see a car headed their way, and instead of dashing to safety, they run right into traffic. They're very unpredictable.

Earlier this week, while driving down Fourth Street, Steph spotted a red squirrel in the gutter. We doubled back to park on a side street, and as we did, this song started to play. It was amazingly appropriate and uncanny, and we both had our little chuckle. The red squirrel was incredibly intact; its eyes were open yet there was this blank, white cloud there which made it look unmistakably dead. The golden, early-evening sunlight caused its red fur to glow, and it was beautiful.

I'd never seen a dead red squirrel before. Like birds, they are so quick in life, and their stillness in death is almost surreal. After taking many pictures (and having Steph warn me of oncoming traffic), I moved the red squirrel off the road; surprisingly, his body was very stiff.

The entire time, two middle-aged men were watching me from their porch. I can only wonder what they were thinking.

Exposed, Returning to the Earth

2010-03-15T08:19:00.003-04:00

As this amazing -- dare I say it -- early Spring continues here in Marquette, the warm weather has almost completely obliterated most of the snow on the ground. What remains are dirty snowbanks and the remnants of deep drifts, but even those are melting little by little every day. For the next week -- at least -- the skies will be sunny, which will lead only to more melting and less snow. Birds are loving this weather; they're all very vocal. The crows have been congregating around our apartment complex, and they're wonderfully loud right now. Even the ring-billed gulls are back on Picnic Rocks, claiming the spots for their nests.

I was back at the bog yesterday, and was amazed to find that very little snow remained -- so little, in fact, that the skeletons of both January does have made full contact with the ground. It was a bit of a treat to see First January Deer: her skeleton, though the limbs were scattered, was almost entirely present; two of her legs that I'd not seen due to the snow were easily findable, and they were quite a ways away from the rest of the skeleton.

It's amazing how dry the ground is already. First January Deer was quite exposed, and I felt a little nervous about that -- the rotary club cleans the bog in the spring (when, I don't know) and I didn't want her to end up in the dumpster like last year's April Deer. Still, I moved on, completely soaked my feet in some standing water disguised by slushy snow, and checked on Second January Deer.

Her skeleton was less scattered, though three legs were absent entirely. The ribcage looked so perfect, resting at the base of a mossy tree, with the sunlight streaming through and illuminating her bones. I found a scapula nearby, and plenty of fur on the ground, where I'm guessing the initial kill happened. I was less concerned about someone throwing away this skeleton, as it lies in a far more sheltered, shady area.

Still, the location of First January Deer was bothering me. On one hand, I felt like it wasn't my place to move her skeleton and decide its fate; on the other hand, moving a skeleton to someplace safer is far less evil than throwing it away like trash, as the rotary club (or any casual bog-walker) is known to do. Steph and I returned to the bog later that afternoon, and together we transported First January Deer's skeleton to a more sheltered place nearby. This new location, in the late spring and summer, has waist-high grass and is infested with ticks... I doubt anyone will disturb the skeleton now. Steph recorded the action:

November Skunk

2010-03-11T18:52:00.003-05:00

Near the end of November, Steph and I were poking around on the beach near Marquette's working ore dock, as we often do. That particular stretch of sand is a great place to find all sorts of bizarre things: old parts of cars and machinery, mysterious animal bones, and beach glass, among other items. For the past few months, we'd been smelling a skunky odor from the road, and it was safe to bet that a skunk had been hit by a car nearby. While on the beach, we found the source of the smell -- and it was not pretty, I won't lie.

It was a bloated, hairless, yellowed, waterlogged, maggoty skunk corpse. Its jaws were wide open, resembling some monster from a horror movie, not the furry, black-and-white mammal with which we are all so familiar. Maggots surged from its mouth and eye sockets. It was the first -- and only -- time that, during this project, I was ever disgusted by an animal corpse. It took me a few minutes to get used to the maggots, as they weren't something I expected to see on a late-November day. I then began to photograph the skunk -- and to this day, it has been the hardest thing for me to photograph in the Useless Creatures series.

To put it frankly, there was nothing appealing about the body. It wasn't recognizable as a skunk, there were maggots leaking from its orifices, and its mouth looked so horrifying, demonic, almost. And yet -- there was something extremely compelling about its teeth. They were so white and sharp.

We rarely see animals in such a bizarre state of decay, and as a result, when we do see them like this, it's quite shocking. (Here is another angle of the corpse, view at your own risk.) To protect the body from snow and footsteps, Steph and I stacked a good deal of driftwood atop it. This would also serve as a marker so that we would be able to locate the body again.

Today, we returned to November Skunk. Amazingly enough, several months later, it still smells just as vivid as a living skunk. It has a lot of decomposing left to do; plastered to the body are a number of fly pupae. Despite there not being a dramatic change in its appearance, already the corpse is starting to look more peaceful. Its color is beginning to match with its surroundings, and it is beginning to return to the earth.

We will check back again in a few months.

The First Thaw

2010-03-06T20:06:00.003-05:00

For the past week -- and for the next several days, according to the forecast -- it's been warm and sunny here in Marquette. The daytime temperatures have been far above freezing, even rocketing into the mid-fifties today! In the Upper Peninsula, of course, there always seems to be a First Thaw, followed by a snowstorm or two, and a second and third thaw after that, finally culminating with what is truly Spring, which is in early- to mid-May, at least here in Marquette. Anyway, this warm weather we've been experiencing is waking up the animals, and they're starting to roam about more freely than they do when it's windy and cold. Sadly, animal territories are crisscrossed by highways and roads, and their small bodies are no match for cars traveling 60 miles and hour.

Two days ago, on a drive along Highway 550 (the Big Bay Highway), Steph and I spotted a raccoon on the side of the road. It was a small animal, much smaller than most raccoons I've seen; its head was crushed, and there were many raven tracks all around the scene. The scavengers had already started to pick away at the body.

Of course, I photographed the raccoon's feet. Animal feet are pretty amazing, and they're all so very different from species to species. How often is it that you get to see a raccoon foot, anyway? My mother posed an interesting question: are raccoon "finger" prints all unique, as they are with humans? I'm willing to bet they are.

Today, Steph and I drove south on Highway 41 to Menominee (and then backtracked a bit because we missed our turn to get to the DeYoung Family Zoo). We saw plenty of evidence of dead animals along the road; I counted two deer and two porcupines, as well as three or four raccoons and a squirrel, and what was perhaps a fox. One of the first dead critters Steph and I spotted, though, was an opossum, near Escanaba.

Opossums aren't generally found in the Upper Peninsula; they're ill-adapted to the region's chilly winter climate. However, they do roam in the southernmost parts of the U.P., and somehow they are able to survive the cold and snow. Highways, though, are another threat. The individual we found was not a very big animal.

If you examine the photograph closely, you can see that the skin is stripped from the bone at the end of the tail. Did this happen when the opossum was struck by a car, or did it get frostbite? I've heard of opossums getting frostbite on their naked fingers, tails, and noses, but I'm not so sure about this. The 'possum seemed pretty healthy and hadn't been dead for long:

Opossums are pretty animals, in my opinion. They're quite bizarre, too, being North America's only marsupial.

With the warmer temperatures also comes the melting of snowbanks. What's left behind along the highway often seems to consist of cigarette butts, car parts, and old roadkill. One of the porcupines I saw today had been frozen for a long time, and was finally escaping -- for the time being -- from its snowbank tomb. The animal was rather indistinguishable; I think I might have seen its head, and maybe one of its arms, but it was pretty hard to tell what was what. I did, however, take a photograph of the quills on its tail:

With all the dead animals we saw strewn along the roadside today, it goes without saying we saw many winged scavengers: crows, ravens, and bald eagles, all feasting on the bodies, making sure that nothing is wasted in nature.

March Deer and One-Time Photography

2010-03-03T09:01:00.004-05:00

Yesterday, a friend alerted me to what she thought was a roadkill coyote along Wright Street here in Marquette -- a stretch of road marked 45 mph but more commonly traveled at a higher speed. Seeing as how it'd been warm for the past few days, I wasn't surprised, and Steph and I zoomed over there as soon as I got the news. We arrived in just the nick of time; a man was dragging the remains of something off the pavement and into the woods.

I asked if I could photograph the animal -- I recognized immediately that it was a deer, and not a coyote -- before he took it away, and it turned out he was removing the body from the road so that scavenging eagles wouldn't get hit by cars! How thoughtful, and respectful -- not only for the animals that will scavenge, but for the deer, as well.

I was strangely both disappointed and relieved that the victim of traffic was a deer; I'm not sure how I would have reacted if it was a coyote. I imagine the experience would have been a lot more emotional for me; I have never seen a live coyote in nature, but I have seen them dead on the road, and seeing a dead coyote so close might have been just too much.

Anyway, I photographed the remains of the body, while sinking in up to my knees in cold, gritty, dead-deer scented snow. It wasn't a very pretty sight; all the grime and grit and snow on the road had clung to the deer's fur and gave it a very dirty, old appearance. None of the legs were attached to the body; they had been severed and mangled and were in many pieces. With little to work with, I photographed only the head of the animal.

I feel very different when photographing a road-killed animal, especially one that I'll likely only see once -- as compared to an animal that I'm able to photograph over a longer period of time. I'll never get to know March Deer nearly as well as the January Does, and because of that, the few photographs I took were hardly satisfactory. There have been a few animals I've photographed only once, ones that were found in the road (October Sparrow, November Squirrel, and January Pigeon come to mind), but they were small and easily moved to someplace safe where I could take my time photographing them.

That wasn't the case for yesterday's deer; Steph had parked her car in a rather dangerous spot and had stayed with it, and I probably spent less than five minutes taking pictures. It was late in the day and the light wasn't very good, and the snow was incredibly deep, so deep that I almost got stuck on a few occasions.

In any case, I prefer to photograph an animal over an extended time frame, but in the winter, I will take what I can get. It wasn't the most comfortable photographing experience, but it was good to know that the man who moved the deer from the road was taking into consideration the safety of scavenging wildlife.

Minimal

2010-02-28T14:30:00.003-05:00

We're on the cusp of March; today's the final afternoon of February, it's "spring" break at Northern Michigan University, and it's been snowing for the past few days. I decided to check up on the January Does yesterday, and made the mistake of trudging through the bog without wearing my snowshoes. At times, in places where the snow had piled in deep drifts, I'd sink in past my knees. It made me wonder how the deer deal with such things; do they know where the snowdrifts are, and learn to avoid them? Coyotes take advantage of deer stuck in deep snow, and deer, with their small, pointy feet, can't exactly float atop the snow like the naturally-snowshoed lynx.

Anyway, First January Deer was almost completely buried, once more. Only a handful of her ribs protruded from the freshly-fallen snow:

The skeleton looked ever-smaller. This time, no crow and coyote tracks were to be seen. Perhaps the scavengers have salvaged as much as they can from the bones.

It snowed more overnight; will the skeleton of First January Deer be completely buried? I look forward to rediscovering her in the spring, after the snow has started to melt. Unfortunately, here in Marquette, spring won't happen for another few months. The big thaw, I've found, seems to occur in mid- to late-April, but it has snowed as late as May.

The snow is still falling today, and as it falls, my goal of finding more deceased animals to photograph over spring break is erased. People have suggested searching the sides of the highway, but the snowplows obliterate everything on the shoulder of the road. I will continue to search, though, in hopes of discovering more useless creatures.

In other news, 360 Main Street is featuring a short photo essay by me, accompanied by a handful of my photos! Check it out here.

Deer Feet (Or: It's Hard to Find Dead Animals in the Winter)

2010-02-21T20:58:00.003-05:00

I've wanted to update this blog at least once a week (twice a week is better!) but sometimes, life gets in the way and you have to move to a different apartment with a five-day notice. I wasn't able to get outside at all this past week to photograph anything, and even if I had, I probably wouldn't have found any dead creatures. It's challenging to do this project in the winter: between it snowing and animals not wanting to move around much, dead creatures are pretty scarce! Which, you know, is good for the animals but tough for me when I'm doing this project both for Senior Show and for a portfolio in my Photography BFA Seminar course. I did take some photographs today, but I'll do an entry about them at a later date... maybe in a few months.

Anyway, a few weeks ago, a classmate pointed me in the direction of a "dead animal" at the trailhead of the Forestville Basin area, so Steph and I decided to investigate. What we found was the flayed skin of a deer (looking much like how April Deer appeared) with its legs attached. Scattered along the trail were shards of the ribcage, presumably the result of the trail grooming machine hitting the skeleton. There wasn't much for me to work with, so I focused on photographing one of the deer's feet: its hooves were so perfect, and the fur was so soft.

How often do you really get to see the underside of a deer's foot? It was pretty amazing to see how worn the hooves were, and I never really realized that the dew hooves are so pointy.

The deer in Marquette have much thicker winter coats than the deer downstate -- and for obvious reasons. This particular individual (I'll never know if it was a doe or a buck) had very thick, soft fur.

I visited the same site a week later, and what was left of the body was barely visible beneath a recent snow.

Artist's Statement

2010-02-14T15:25:00.005-05:00

The following will be handed in tomorrow as a first draft. I'm not entirely sold on it, primarily because of its length (a much shorter version will accompany my work for senior show). It also doesn't really deal with the visual structures of my work -- more the social thoughts behind it. Take a read, tell me what you think. Most of the second paragraph is probably unnecessary (as well as opinionated). Anyway, a good start? Garbage? There's only so much I can cram into a brief artist's statement:

It is a standard in our society today to shun the dead bodies of non-human, non-domesticated animals. These corpses are viewed as disgusting, offensive, repulsive, and useless things. Children are told to avert their eyes from the deceased creatures they might happen across; the many species of animals hit by cars on the highway are desensitized into the catch-all term of road kill; even the bodies of animals found in nature are sometimes doomed to be thrown away by misguided citizens who believe they are cleaning trash from the environment.

The fact is, dead animals are not disgusting, nor should they be considered offensive. Their bodies are vital to the survival of the ecosystem of which they are a part. Take, for example, the deer: she died in January, a victim of the harsh winter. Almost immediately, the coyotes find her body and gorge themselves, as they, too, are very hungry. Arriving next are the raccoons, foxes, and mink; even a bald eagle might help itself to the available flesh. So too will the crows and ravens, who pick at even the smallest scraps of meat. Porcupines, squirrels, and mice gnaw at the skeleton for needed calcium, and chickadees and woodpeckers cling to the bones and scavenge for nutrient-rich suet. When the air warms and insects awake from their wintertime torpor, burying beetles and flies flock to what is left of the body, where they lay their eggs. Their larvae dine on the very last of the remaining marrow and connective tissues, leaving behind a pile of disarticulated bones. The skeleton will eventually dissolve, returning at last to the soil.

The entire process is, in itself, beautiful. It is a ritual that has been perfected by nature, where nothing is wasted. The death of an animal in its environment, while perhaps painful and tragic for that particular being, is absolutely vital to countless other creatures living in that same ecosystem.

When I encounter a dead animal, it gives me pause. I consider the animal, its life, and how it might have died, but I also consider how many other animals have depended upon the body, and how many more will in the coming days and months. As I reflect upon this deceased creature and its place in the ecosystem, I photograph it. I regard each dead animal I find as an individual, and therefore I treat it as such. I choose to photograph these animals respectfully, portraying them as the dignified creatures they are, in life. These animals, in every stage of their decay, are beautiful if not interesting, and I try to represent that through my photography. It is my mission to sway the overwhelming public opinion of these dead animals: they are not offensive, they are not repulsive, and they are not useless creatures.