Three flycatchers hunt in summer air
June 11, 2026
The air above the Southampton County woodlands carries the steady click and whistle of three flycatcher species, each claiming its own layer of the summer canopy. From the highest branches comes the sharp wheep call of the Great Crested Flycatcher, while the softer pee-a-wee of the Eastern Wood-Pewee drifts from the mid-story. Below, in the understory shadows, the Acadian Flycatcher gives its sharp pit-see from dense cover.Each species has settled into a different hunting zone. The Great Crested Flycatcher takes the crown of the forest, launching from exposed dead branches to snatch beetles, wasps, and moths from the open air above the treeline. Its broad bill and powerful flight let it handle larger prey than its smaller relatives. The Eastern Wood-Pewee prefers the middle canopy, where it makes long sallies from favorite perches, returning often to the same branch after each hunt. Its diet runs heavily to flies, flying ants, and small beetles. The Acadian Flycatcher works the understory, darting upward from low perches to intercept insects rising from the forest floor or dropping down from higher branches.This vertical separation becomes critical during breeding season, when each pair must capture enough flying insects to feed both themselves and their growing nestlings. A single brood of Great Crested Flycatcher young requires hundreds of insects daily. The parents hunt almost continuously during daylight hours, their beaks often bristling with the wings and legs of moths, flies, and beetles. The Wood-Pewee and Acadian Flycatcher face similar demands but with smaller prey items, requiring even more individual captures to meet their energy needs. The forest's summer insect abundance supports this intensity. Flying ants emerge from colonies in the leaf litter. Moths navigate between flowers in the canopy. Beetles move between feeding and breeding sites. Flies rise from decomposing matter on the forest floor. Each flycatcher species intercepts insects moving through its preferred air space, creating little overlap in their hunting territories despite sharing the same woodland.The forest holds its breath between the sharp snaps of bills closing on wings. Each successful hunt registers as a brief pause in the calling, then the rhythm resumes. If you stand still beneath these trees, you can hear the soft thud of an insect meeting its end, the rustle of leaves as a bird returns to its perch, the almost immediate resumption of the hunt.
Chimney swifts screaming through dusk
June 26, 2026
The light is going out of the sky over Southampton County. The tree line holds its shape a few minutes longer than the sky above it, and in that gap, small dark birds are moving. Not gliding, not perching — moving, continuously, in wide arcs over the rooftops and treetops of Branchville. These are chimney swifts, and right now, at peak summer, they are everywhere the evening air is warm enough to hold flying insects.Chimney swifts are built for this kind of flight. Their wings are long and narrow, set far back on a body that is almost entirely chest. Their feet are so small and weakly muscled that landing on a flat surface would strand them. Instead, they grip vertical surfaces: the rough interior walls of old brick chimneys, hollow snags, the insides of silos. They do not perch on wires or branches the way a flycatcher does. When they are not clinging inside a chimney, they are flying. That is the shape of their life. During breeding season, the adults are flying from before full light until well after dark, hunting the insects that rise into warm air columns at dawn and dusk. They catch everything on the wing: flies, beetles, flying ants, small moths. A single bird can take more than a thousand insects in a day.Somewhere nearby, if there is an old brick chimney still standing and uncapped, a nest is attached to the interior wall. Chimney swifts build a small bracket of dead twigs, each one snapped from a branch in flight, glued together and to the wall with saliva. The nest is roughly the size of a half-grapefruit, open at the top, and it holds three to five eggs. Both parents incubate, and both feed the nestlings, which grow quickly on a diet of compressed insect pellets. By late summer the young will be flying, and by early fall the whole population will begin moving south toward South America, following the insects. But right now the nest is full and the parents are hunting.The calls are what you notice first, usually before you pick out the birds themselves against a pale sky. Chimney swifts make a rapid, high-pitched chippering that carries well in open air — a sound that seems to come from several directions at once because the birds are moving so fast. If you hear it where you are right now, look up and slightly ahead of the sound. The birds are always a little farther along than their voices suggest. They cover a lot of ground in the time it takes to locate them. Other aerial feeders are out at this hour too — a great crested flycatcher may be making its last passes from a high snag at the wood's edge, and the Eastern wood-pewee sings its descending whistle from somewhere in the mid-canopy — but the swifts are the ones that keep moving after everything else has gone quiet and still.
Ammonia violation at Capron school plant doubles with no oxygen data to check it
August 10, 2026
The wastewater facility serving Capron Town-Elementary School has crossed into Significant Non-Compliance, the most serious tier EPA uses for permit violations. The label matters less than the trend behind it: the ammonia overage stood at 42 percent above the permitted limit last fall and had climbed to 95 percent above limit by the quarter ending this March, doubling in a single reporting period with no sign of correction since. Of the 16 permitted dischargers tracked in this watershed, only this facility and the Drewryville FAS Shop now carry that designation, and total penalties assessed across the entire watershed add up to just $3,762, a figure that sits oddly small next to a violation of this scale.What makes the timing worse is what isn't being measured. The Nottoway and Meherrin river gauges nearby track streamflow and gage height, but none of them measure dissolved oxygen, temperature, or pH. That means an escalating ammonia discharge is entering Three Creek and the Meherrin River corridor, a system that already carries failing water-quality grades from earlier assessment, with no independent way to check whether oxygen levels are actually being driven down.Ammonia at high concentration is directly toxic to fish and invertebrates, and its breakdown in the water column consumes dissolved oxygen, exactly the resource that blackwater streams in the Rolling Coastal Plain have little buffering capacity to spare once August heat sets in. Whether that depletion is happening right now is not something the current monitoring network can answer, which is its own kind of warning.
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