On Sunday morning, I decided to visit Pike Island for my next BCI session. An island is arguably a system within itself, so it seemed appropriate given the prompt. Bound by the confluence of the Mississippi and Minnesota rivers, Pike Island is called home by many deer—who often leave the island during daylight—and birds, particularly those who need a pitstop during migration, as well as other creatures. On this trip, I walked along the Mississippi River side of the island.

As was the case with my other observations, the sounds of the city are always present. The whir of cars on MN-62 faded into the background as the ticks and trills of katydids came to the foreground, sprinkled with the occasional cricket chirp. Smells of the river and the sandy bank lingered in the air as bird calls echoed gently in the background.

Before closing my eyes, an egret sat across the river and upon opening them, a blue heron appeared on a fallen tree to my left. A fish jumped in the river in front of me and before I left, a kingfisher dove into the water and caught one for itself. I followed the sound and found a cricket near me on an exposed root, his song falling silent as I moved before beginning again as I settled.

The bank of the river on which I sat was lined with silver maple trees, many with exposed roots. They remained upright, as their roots bent like arms from the trunk and acted like stilts to level the tree. I was remined of mangrove trees and was struck by how well the maples appeared to respond to the erosion caused by the river. Looking around, I discovered that these exposed roots still supported other plant materials in spite of being somewhat disconnected from the earth. Because the area is so prone to flooding, I wonder if the adaptability of these roots lends stability to the surrounding area, preventing the Mississippi River from claiming more and more of the island. I also reflected on the tamarack trees I encountered at the Quavering Bog. Tamarack roots are notoriously shallow but spread to a large area, providing stability seemingly more suited for the standing water, albeit one also reinforced by sphagnum moss and the other surrounding aquatic plants.

While surrounded by numerous systems—those associated with the river, birds, fish, water, trees, roots, weeds and expanding to parks, recreation, and traffic infrastructure and expanding further still to the seasons, the weather, the atmosphere—I found it difficult to distinguish the systems fully from each other. The sounds of the katydids and crickets are inseparable from the time of year and time of day that influence them. But I found my eye caught by a small-scale system nestled within a tree hollow. Three levels of web filled the hole, like floors in an apartment building. Protected by the tree’s structure, the webs were placed to catch prey, most likely from the tree itself, whose bark ridges led unsuspecting insect snacks to their final destination. These parts working together struck me as reminiscent of Living Buildings and repurposing existing structures and when thought of in conjunction with the Quaking Bog, reinforces the role small systems play within larger ones.

Location: Pike Island

When: Mid-afternoon

Conditions: Mild, a little warmer than the past few days, a slight breeze