Spangled Skimmers are patrolling the ponds this summer, their iridescent bodies…
June 28, 2026
Spangled Skimmers are patrolling the ponds this summer, their iridescent bodies catching the light — a welcome sign of dragonfly activity in the region. Yet beneath that beauty lies a harder truth: all 47 of the water bodies assessed here are classified as impaired, none supporting their designated uses . The state lists ten of them under the Clean Water Act's impaired-waters inventory, a tacit admission that recovery is uncertain. Midsummer heat and stagnation are the immediate killers. Warm water holds less oxygen, and slow ponds become soup-thick with algae blooms — exactly the conditions that should favor dragonfly larvae, yet the oxygen crashes kill them before they can emerge. The Piscataquog's Abenaki name means "where deer drink," a name that still holds literal truth: deer still wade these shallows to drink, as their ancestors did. The water, though, is no longer fit for its original purpose. The skimmers are here; the system is not.
Streamflow surged nearly **25-fold in two weeks**, with the gauge jumping from…
June 25, 2026
Streamflow surged nearly 25-fold in two weeks , with the gauge jumping from a low of 157 cubic feet per second to 3,970 at peak—a gage height swing from 2.82 to 6.77 feet. The timing collided with mayfly emergence, when immature insects are most vulnerable to violent scouring. In a healthy watershed, such pulses are vital disturbance—renewal, migration cue, nutrient transport—but here the flood pulse simply moves the problem downstream. The water quality records tell the underlying story. Every assessed water body in the region is officially impaired—all 50 of them fail to meet their designated use standards. Only nine have made it onto the formal 303(d) list, meaning 41 are degraded enough to be tracked but not yet formally listed as polluted. The Merrimack at Garvins Falls Dam carries that formal 303(d) designation, a reminder that no volume of water washes away chemical or biological insult. A flood event in a truly functional stream renews the ecosystem; it scours filth, redistributes gravels, reconnects floodplains. Here, the disturbance merely amplifies an existing condition—moving contamination faster and farther, leaving behind the same degraded baseline.
Chimney swifts hunting the insect rise
June 5, 2026
Above Concord's neighborhoods and wetlands, the air fills with the chittering calls of chimney swifts. These sickle-winged birds slice through the early summer sky in erratic arcs, their mouths open wide as they collect the season's bounty. The longest days of the year have arrived, and with them, the emergence of countless aquatic insects from streams, ponds, and marshes throughout the region. Chimney swifts never land except to nest and roost. They feed, drink, and even mate on the wing. Their entire lives unfold in three dimensions above us. In early summer, these aerial hunters face their greatest challenge: feeding nestlings tucked inside chimneys and other vertical structures around town. The young birds demand constant provisioning, and parent swifts respond by hunting almost continuously from dawn until dusk. The timing aligns perfectly with one of nature's most reliable food pulses. Mayflies, caddisflies, and other aquatic insects spend months or even years developing underwater as larvae. When water temperatures warm and daylight peaks, they emerge en masse over just a few days or weeks. The insects crawl from streams and ponds, shed their nymphal skins, and take to the air for their brief adult lives. Some mayflies live only hours as winged adults, just long enough to mate and lay eggs. For chimney swifts, this emergence represents a concentrated feast. The birds gather wherever the insects rise thickest. Over the Merrimack River and smaller waterways, swifts wheel and dive through clouds of newly emerged insects. Their gular pouches, expandable throat sacs, allow them to collect dozens of small insects during a single hunting flight before returning to feed their young. The swifts hunt in layers. Some skim low over water surfaces where insects first take wing. Others patrol the middle air where thermal currents carry the insects higher. The highest fliers intercept insects that have dispersed widely from their emergence sites. This vertical partitioning means swifts can exploit the insect emergence at multiple elevations simultaneously. Parent birds make dozens of feeding trips each day. They compress their catch into a compact ball held in their throat pouch, delivering protein-rich meals to nestlings that will double their weight in just weeks. The young swifts must grow quickly. By late summer, they will join the adults in their remarkable migration to South America, spending the winter months in perpetual flight above the Amazon basin. But for now, in these longest days, the focus narrows to the immediate demands of raising young. The adult swifts trace their hunting patterns against the evening sky, their calls echoing off buildings and trees. Each erratic flight path follows the invisible highways of rising insects, the ancient choreography of predator and prey played out in the air above Concord. Listen for their chittering calls overhead, sharp and insistent against the softer sounds of evening.
