Audubon: Audubon in Action

One day in 1991, Suzanne Krom was in a forest eight miles from downtown Seattle when she saw a bald eagle raid the nests of a great blue heron colony. In the coming days Krom watched the big gray birds fend off other attacks. Although only three of their young fledged that summer, the herons' struggle to survive cemented Krom's commitment to the birds.

"I decided that if the herons wanted that much for the site to be their home, then I'd continue to do everything in my power to make that happen," says Krom, who, as a member of both the Seattle and Rainier Audubon chapters in Washington, had been working for two years to preserve the herons' habitat.

In fact, the greatest threat to the herons wasn't bald eagle predation but encroaching development. Surrounded by industrial warehouses and office parks in a sprawling Seattle suburb, the 90-acre stretch of forest and wetlands was an oasis for urban wildlife. Except for a 34-acre, city-owned storm-water-runoff pond and patch of woods, most of the land was privately owned and slated for development. "At the time I knew nothing about land use, wetlands, or talking to public officials," says Krom. "I just loved birds."

Krom, a soft-spoken technical writer, had no previous activist experience. But taking her cue from the herons, she knew that there was strength in numbers. So after joining the two local Audubon chapters in 1989, she enlisted their support for her goal, which she dubbed Herons Forever. Within three years she built a grassroots coalition of 350 people who would write letters and testify at public hearings. In addition, she organized field trips and media events to educate the public about this critical urban wildlife habitat. By 1996 Krom helped secure $8 million in public funds to purchase the nearly 60 acres of private land buffering the herons' nest sites. Today the entire 90-acre Black River Riparian Forest is protected public open space. The site supports 110 great blue heron nests, making it one of the largest colonies in the greater Seattle area. "Without Suzanne, there would be office buildings on the land instead of herons," says Kate Stenberg, former wildlife program manager for Seattle's King County.
For her efforts, Krom has been named Seattle Audubon's Washington Environmentalist of the Year and one of King County's Earth Heroes. "Every special place has a guardian angel, someone who can pull people together to commit to its protection," says Bruce Harpham, conservation chair for Rainier Audubon. "For the Black River Riparian Forest, that someone is Suzanne Krom."

A golden blanket already covers the Clovis Trail at the Audubon center in Greenwich, Connecticut. As yellow leaves continue to float down, it becomes nearly impossible to distinguish between where the leaves end and the soil begins. Only a few blood-red dogwoods peek through the canopy, a reminder that many trees are still a few weeks from turning. "I prefer this early part of the fall season," says center manager Marilyn Smith. "The trees are still leafed out, and they're getting beautiful colors. Some of the earlier trees to turn, like sugar maples and ashes, are most striking against the brilliant blue skies we get at this time of year."

Photos by Kevin Keith

For the Greenwich center—at 61 years the oldest Audubon center in the country—autumn is a busy season, drawing visitors for both the intense colors and its annual Hawkwatch Festival. Last year this celebration drew 1,500 people to the center's lofty Quaker Ridge. "The broad-wings, sharp-shins, kestrels, and ospreys didn't show up in record numbers, but they did put on a magnificent show," recalls Ted Gilman, Greenwich's environmental educator, who notes that in past years as many as 10,000 hawks have passed by in a single day.

Nearly a month after the last migrants have departed, a lone resident red-tail skims the kaleidoscopic treeline. Geographically, the Audubon Center of Greenwich is situated in one of the world's best spots for blazing fall foliage. "Few places, except for North Korea or Siberia, rival northeast U.S. forest colors in terms of intensity," Gilman says, surveying the 522-acre sanctuary from the nature center, the starting point of a foliage hike.

We've taken no more than two steps before Gilman points out the first attraction, a naked white ash, one of the first species to drop its leaves. "White-ash wood is where we get Louisville sluggers," Gilman tells the dozen or so hikers in our group, most of whom made the one-hour trip from Manhattan to soak up the many hues absent in the city.

Stretching behind the white ash is a massive sugar maple, so vibrantly golden against the blue sky that the colors seem almost unnatural. "This combination of clear sunny days and cool nights seems to be the best condition for vivid color in autumn foliage," explains Gilman, stroking his salt-and-pepper beard, his animated eyes revealing a fascination with these woods that has stayed constant throughout his 25 years as an Audubon naturalist. "It's one thing to look, but I want people to learn how to see a lot more, how to read the landscape," he says. "Learning lets them take more emotional ownership of the natural world."

Using education as a tool for conservation still shapes the groundwork of the center, where, since 1941, nearly 10,000 teachers from around the country have attended ecology workshops. The land the center sits on—the largest privately owned plot in Greenwich—is a legacy of environmental stewardship that dates back to the town's days as an 18th-century Quaker farming community. Habitat restoration and minimal development have kept the sanctuary pristine.

By 2003 the 16,000-square-foot Kimberlin Education Center, complete with exhibit and lecture halls, will stand near the entrance to the sanctuary, where it will serve as a departure point for those eager to explore the grounds. The building itself will be a lesson in ecology—cooled and heated using geothermal techniques, and built with certified, sustainably harvested lumber. The center's flooring will be made of lumber milled from the few trees that had to be removed from the site. "There's something that feels very good about using local materials," Smith says.

With its redeveloped education agenda, the center will initiate science programs to supplement local grade school curricula, provide teachers with training in environmental education, and offer another day camp for children.

"We want to improve on everything we're already doing, including habitat work," says Smith. A few years ago the sanctuary enjoyed an extended visit from a Virginia rail, a rare occurrence that would not have happened without the clearing and reclamation of a freshwater marsh. "Restoring these old meadows and improving the degraded wetlands has encouraged the return of a lot of wildlife," she says. This has, in turn, given the center's visitors a greater appreciation for nature in their own backyards.

As our hike winds to an end, Gilman alerts his audience to the mosaic of yellow and red leaves flanking the rim of Mead Lake, a vision reflected in its glassy black water. "Education involves discovering the richness of what's around an area," he says, "available to anyone who wants to take the time to stop, look, and listen."

—Shervin Hess