Showy milkweed peaks as Hunt's bumble bees forage high

July 27, 2026

is at peak bloom across the basin right now, its rose-pink flower clusters drawing in (Bombus huntii) — a native bee closely tied to these high-elevation sagebrush grasslands. These cold-adapted foragers thin out at lower elevations, so seeing them at work here at 7,200 feet on the basin's peak nectar event is exactly what the ecology predicts. Milkweed blooms are brief, typically two to three weeks, but during that window they concentrate resources for native bees, beetles, and the occasional passing monarch in a way few other plants match.

Indigenous communities across the Great Plains used showy milkweed extensively — roots were eaten, stems and leaves yielded cordage fiber, and the seed fluff was used for insulation. The seasonal bloom marked a shift in summer's rhythm as surely as the solstice did, embedding this plant in the traditional calendar of plains life. Its ecological importance today is no less than it was then.

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Swainson's Hawks return to nesting grounds after pesticide crisis

July 17, 2026

are nesting across the sagebrush basin again — eight sightings since June mark a quiet but significant return. The presence of breeding birds here is a measure of hard-won recovery from the 1990s, when tens of thousands died from Argentine pesticide poisoning on their wintering grounds. That those years are no longer the standard narrative is real progress.Streamflow hovering near 10 cubic feet per second this week concentrates aquatic and ground-dwelling prey along wet draws and seeps, creating feeding corridors that likely support nesting adults hunting for their young. The hawks' recovery and current breeding activity depend on these interlinked pieces: stable prey availability, remnant sagebrush structure, and — crucially — the cessation of the pesticides that nearly erased them from this landscape.

Bumblebees visit showy milkweed in early summer

June 14, 2026

The Poudre River corridor holds the morning quiet in the cottonwoods, their broad leaves still and unstirred in the early heat. Along the edges where the floodplain meets the shortgrass prairie, the first showy milkweed flowers have opened into pale pink clusters, each bloom no larger than your thumb. If you are walking here, the sweet fragrance reaches you before you see the plants themselves.The showy milkweed stands waist-high in scattered patches, its thick stems and oval leaves a dusty blue-green against the summer grass. Each flower head holds dozens of small blooms arranged in perfect domes, and each individual flower presents an intricate architecture. Five petals curve backward, exposing a central crown of five upright hoods. Inside this crown, the plant hides its pollen in paired sacs that attach to visiting insects like tiny saddlebags. This is not a flower designed for casual visitors. It requires strength and persistence to access its nectar, and in early summer, the bumblebees provide exactly that.The bumblebees work the milkweed with methodical intensity. A worker bee lands heavily on a flower cluster and pushes her way between the curved petals, gripping with her legs as she probes for nectar with her tongue. The milkweed's pollen sacs catch on the joints of her legs and the base of her wings, and she carries them from plant to plant as she forages. This partnership reaches its peak now because both species face the same seasonal pressure. The milkweed flowers during the longest days of the year when nectar production runs highest. The bumblebees forage most actively when their colonies reach maximum size and their need for protein and sugar peaks. The American Bumble Bee, now threatened across its range, depends on these native plants for the resources that fuel late-season reproduction. The timing synchronizes not by accident but by the deep logic of shared survival.The bumblebee's flight between milkweed patches carries more than pollen. Each successful pollination ensures that the milkweed will produce its characteristic pods by late summer, splitting open to release seeds that drift on white silk across the prairie. The monarch butterflies that will arrive later in the season depend on milkweed leaves for their caterpillars, but right now the relationship belongs to the bumblebees. They visit methodically, working each flower cluster from bottom to top before moving to the next plant. Their low, steady hum blends with the rustle of cottonwood leaves and the distant sound of water moving over stones. The morning air carries the milkweed's perfume and the green smell of the river, and somewhere in the canopy above, a mourning dove calls once and falls silent.

American kestrel feeds its growing brood

May 22, 2026

The male kestrel hovers thirty feet above the meadow, wings beating in sharp flickers against the morning air. His russet back catches the light as he holds position, scanning the grass below for movement. This is hunting ground he knows well, part of the territory he and his mate have claimed for their second brood of the season.American kestrels are the smallest falcons in North America, but what they lack in size they make up for in precision. The male drops suddenly, talons extended, and rises with a vole clutched tight. He calls once, a sharp killy-killy-killy, and flies toward the old cottonwood where his mate waits at the nest cavity. She answers from inside the hollow, her voice higher and more insistent. Four nestlings, now two weeks old, crowd the entrance as he approaches.The female takes the vole and tears it into pieces small enough for the young birds to swallow. Kestrels nest in cavities they cannot excavate themselves, depending on old woodpecker holes, natural hollows, or nest boxes. This pair has used the same cottonwood cavity for three seasons, returning each spring to raise their young in the safety of thick bark walls. The male will make dozens of these hunting flights each day, bringing grasshoppers, beetles, small rodents, and occasionally a sparrow or finch back to the nest. His hunting style relies on patience and precise timing. He can hover motionless for minutes, reading every flicker of movement in the grass below, then strike with startling speed.The nestlings grow quickly on this steady supply of protein. In another two weeks, they will fledge and begin learning to hunt for themselves, though they will depend on their parents for several more weeks as they master the complex skill of catching prey. The adults will continue feeding them while teaching them to recognize hunting opportunities, to read wind patterns for hovering, and to judge the right moment to dive. Young kestrels practice on insects first, then graduate to larger prey as their coordination improves. The family will stay together through late summer, the young birds gradually expanding their range as they gain confidence and skill. By autumn, they will disperse to find territories of their own, some migrating south, others remaining if prey stays abundant through winter.The male returns to his hunting perch on a dead snag overlooking the meadow. The cottonwood leaves rustle in the breeze, and somewhere inside the cavity, the nestlings settle into quiet after their meal. If you look up at the dead branches scattered through this landscape, you might spot his silhouette against the sky, compact and alert, waiting for the next movement in the grass below.

More about Showy milkweed

Wild bergamot seeds and the goldfinch's summer feast

June 28, 2026

Along the open edges and disturbed meadows near Westminster, the wild bergamot is finishing its bloom cycle. Some plants still carry a fringe of pale lavender flowers, but most heads have gone to seed — the tight, bristled clusters drying in place on stiff upright stems. This is the window that matters for American goldfinches, and right now they are using it.Wild bergamot is a native mint-family plant, and it grows in dense stands where the soil is dry and the sun is full. It flowers through mid-summer, attracting golden northern bumble bees, two-tailed swallowtails, and a steady rotation of other pollinators. But once pollination is done, the plant shifts its investment. Each spent flower head develops into a cluster of small, dry nutlets packed tightly inside the dried calyx. To a goldfinch, that structure is a seed cache. The bird lands directly on the stem, grips the head with its feet, and works the seeds out with its bill, one by one. If you are near a bergamot stand right now, watch for the stems swaying without wind. That motion is almost always a goldfinch.American goldfinches are one of the latest-nesting songbirds in North America. Most songbirds time their breeding to coincide with the peak of insect abundance in late spring. Goldfinches do something different: they wait for thistles, bergamot, and other composite and mint-family plants to set seed before they begin nesting. The female lines her nest almost exclusively with plant down, often from thistle and milkweed, and the nestlings are fed a diet of regurgitated seeds rather than insects. That dependency on seed maturity pushes their nesting peak into the heart of summer, which is exactly where we are now. The showy milkweed nearby is already producing pods, and the goldfinches will use that too, both for nest material and eventually for food. The plant community here is giving them everything they need at the same time.Male goldfinches are in their brightest plumage through the breeding season: a sharp, saturated yellow with black wings and a black cap. That color comes from carotenoid pigments the birds cannot produce themselves. They get it from the seeds and plant matter they eat, particularly the yellow-pigmented compounds in certain flowers and seed oils. A male that has fed well on a diverse seed diet through the spring carries more pigment into his feathers during the summer molt. The brightness you see on a goldfinch working a bergamot head is, in a direct way, a record of what that bird has been eating for the past several months.