Ruby-throated hummingbirds arrive at early flowers
May 23, 2026
The air above the Dover Community Trail holds a different quality now. A faint whirring cuts through the morning stillness, then stops. Ruby-throated hummingbirds have returned to southern New Hampshire, their arrival timed to the opening of the first reliable nectar sources and the emergence of the tiny insects they need to fuel their breeding season. A male ruby-throated hummingbird weighs less than a nickel, yet he has just completed a journey of over five hundred miles from wintering grounds in Central America. His throat flashes crimson as he hovers at the small white flowers of Canada mayflower, his bill probing for nectar while his tongue flicks out forty times per second. But nectar alone cannot sustain him. Hummingbirds require protein for muscle maintenance and egg production, and they find it in gnats, aphids, and spider silk gathered from webs stretched between branches. The timing matters. Northern red oaks along the trail are releasing clouds of pollen now, their catkins dangling in the warming air. This pollen feeds countless small insects, the same insects the hummingbirds hunt. Gnats cluster around the oak flowers. Aphids work the tender new maple leaves. Small spiders rebuild their webs each morning, and the hummingbirds harvest both the trapped insects and the silk itself, using the protein-rich strands to construct nests no larger than a golf ball. The pink lady's slipper orchids, emerging now from the forest floor, attract small bees and flies that also feed the returning birds. Each flower that opens extends the foraging opportunities for creatures that measure their energy expenditure in heartbeats per minute. The male hummingbird establishes a territory around these resources, defending a circuit of flowers and insect-rich areas with fierce precision. He dive-bombs intruders, his wings producing different sounds for different threats. Against other hummingbirds, his wingbeats create a sharp chittering. Against larger birds, he produces a lower buzz. His mate, when she arrives, will need these defended resources to fuel the production of two eggs, each the size of a navy bean. She will incubate them for two weeks, leaving only briefly to feed, then spend another three weeks bringing insects to the nestlings every ten to fifteen minutes throughout the daylight hours. The forest's insect abundance in late spring makes this intensive schedule possible. Listen now. That high, sharp chip from somewhere in the canopy above might be a hummingbird calling from his perch between foraging runs. The sound carries farther than you might expect from such a small bird. If you are still, if the morning light catches just right, you might see the flash of green and red as he moves between the oak flowers and the understory blooms, his presence proof that the forest's smallest partnerships have resumed their ancient rhythm.
Piping plovers claim the empty beach
May 21, 2026
The morning light catches the sand at Parsons Beach before the first footsteps arrive. A small bird runs across the open expanse, stops abruptly, then runs again. Its legs move so quickly they blur, but its body remains perfectly level, skimming just above the surface like a wind-up toy tracing invisible paths in the sand. This is a piping plover, and it has traveled hundreds of miles to reach this particular stretch of Maine coast. The bird is pale as driftwood, nearly invisible against the sand until it moves. Its black collar and orange legs mark it as a breeding adult, and its presence here means the beach has passed an ancient test. The plover requires specific conditions: open sand with scattered shells and pebbles, minimal vegetation, and easy access to the tide pools and mudflats where it feeds. This federally threatened species cannot afford to choose poorly. Fewer than 2,000 pairs breed along the entire Atlantic coast. The plover stops running and begins to probe the sand with its short, orange bill. It finds amphipods, tiny crustaceans that live between the grains, and marine worms that tunnel just below the surface. Each feeding session lasts only seconds before the bird moves on, covering remarkable distances in its search for the small invertebrates that fuel its breeding season. The male has already begun scraping shallow depressions in the sand above the high tide line, testing potential nest sites. He will create several before his mate selects one, and even then they may abandon it if conditions change. Beach grass cannot be too close. Human activity cannot be too frequent. The nest scrape must be positioned where storm tides will not reach, but close enough to foraging areas that the adults can feed quickly and return. Other shorebirds share this coast. Willets probe deeper in the mudflats with their longer bills. Short-billed dowitchers work the water's edge in small flocks. But the piping plover occupies a narrower niche, dependent on the specific conditions found only on sandy beaches and dune systems. When these habitats disappear or degrade, the plovers have nowhere else to go. Their eggs, laid directly on the sand, are perfectly camouflaged but vulnerable to storms, predators, and disturbance. The adults will feign injury to lead threats away from the nest, dragging one wing and crying pitifully until the danger passes, then flying strongly back to their territory. The tide pools glisten in the strengthening light, and somewhere in the distance, a herring gull calls across the water. The plover continues its methodical search, each step deliberate, each pause calculated. If you find yourself on a beach like this one in the coming weeks, watch for the small bird that runs and stops, runs and stops, claiming its place on the empty sand before the day begins.
Giant Mayflies emerge in peak numbers across New Hampshire
July 6, 2026
Giant Mayflies ( Hexagenia limbata ) reached their emergence peak this week, with 44 sightings logged across a seventy-mile stretch from Goffstown to Holderness on July 4 and 5. The timing is significant: these mayflies spend three years developing in stream sediment as burrowing nymphs, so their presence now signals that bottom oxygen levels have held steady enough to sustain a full aquatic life cycle. Yet their emergence is a partial reprieve, not vindication. Within ten miles of the observation zone, fifty water bodies remain classified as impaired , and none is currently designated as fully supporting its intended uses. The giant mayflies are thriving where conditions permit — but the broader watershed is still struggling. Their success is a canary surviving in a cage, not a cage growing safer.
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