I put my hand out in front of me like I’m offering to shake and say: “How do you do, sir. I’m called JJ, just like my father, and his father, and his father before him. We’re all ferrymen here in Old Saybrook, and we’re all called JJ.”
Not just for pancakes, maple syrup has been a staple in the North American diet for centuries.
Years ago, I had a close encounter with a big antlered buck, or male white-tailed deer, that I will never forget.
If you were a robin returning to the Connecticut River in the spring of 1970, you would have seen compromised industrial sites along the riverbanks.
Wildflowers—on my own home turf here, at the southern end of the Connecticut: this should be fun.
The maple sugaring season is one of the most celebrated and ephemeral of spring events to occur up and down the Connecticut River watershed.
From the rocky knob of Great Hill at the southern tip of Meshomasic State Forest, I gazed at a big bend the Connecticut River takes in the middle distance, with ridges fading to gray-blue behind it.
There are about 100 land trusts in the Connecticut River Watershed, plus four state land trust associations, plus a national association.
Residents of Connecticut should be proud that, on January 14, 2022, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) approved Connecticut’s application for a National Estuarine Research Reserve (CT NERR).
Anyone who studies rivers knows that the land cover in a watershed is the number one predictor of the health of a river.
But from the first few dreamy days of April on well into May, where better to discover springtime than in one’s own patch of cozy, quaint New England woods?
By now, knowledge that invasive plants are bad news is pretty widespread. Numerous articles and agencies cite “billions of dollars” in damages annually to agriculture and fisheries; they are the “leading cause” of population decline and extinction in animals.
Streamside walking connects us with the splendors of flowing water on our Water Planet.
It seemed like just another spring day when we stopped at the Salmon River, a tidewater tributary of the Connecticut River that splits the towns of Haddam and East Haddam, Connecticut.
My father operated a farm in Maryland in 1944 and planted five acres of string beans, all to go toward the war effort.