Northwest Indiana Nature

The southern rim of Lake Michigan in northwest Indiana is a healthy, resilient and ecologically connected coastal site that provides critical habitat for plant and animal diversity with equitable benefits for humans and wildlife. 

The Nature Conservancy’s Southern Lake Michigan Rim project works with residents and partners to improve this biologically rich area and to enhance the connections between people and industry with nature. The Region (as it’s fondly called by many) has globally rare habitats such as dune and swale and the Indiana Dunes, all amazingly juxtapositioned against intense development intersected by railroads and roadways.

August 2026

Tornado Tree Damage Offers New Lessons About Life

This article originally appeared in the Times of Northwest Indiana.

We were whirling in the basement, practicing a Viennese waltz for a ballroom dancing class, when the warning sirens went off in June. Little did we know, a tornado was about to change Northwest Indiana—and my backyard—forever. Once the sirens had finally quieted and the worst of the storm had passed, my husband and I cautiously went upstairs to find a fallen giant in our backyard—a cottonwood tree that had anchored our northwest property line for at least 75 years.

The massiveness of such a tree is never fully realized until it is lying on its side. It was a male cottonwood with four branching trunks coming out of the main trunk. Each trunk was at least 12 inches in diameter, and its mound of roots and soil tipped up was at least 8 feet wide. Thank goodness it did not hit the house, but at least six other trees were either compromised or crushed by it, including two six-foot-tall white pines I had planted from small sapling whips given to me at a Porter County Earth Day event about 13 years ago.

I’ve always had mixed feelings about that tree. Since it was a male, it never produced fluffy seed pods, but it was still a messy tree, constantly shedding branches and leaves. I also knew it could potentially endanger my house someday. On the other hand, I understood it had stored lots of carbon over the years, shaded my house and patio late in the day, housed multiple squirrel nests, and may have pumped more than 300 million gallons of water from the ground during its lifetime.

I also grieve the fact that it would no longer act as a host for the caterpillars of mourning cloak, red-spotted purple, viceroy, eastern tiger swallowtail butterflies, as well as several kinds of moths. I could see evidence of their existence in the obviously chewed leaves littering the ground. Let’s hope they had already metamorphosized before the disaster.

Wildlife Adapts to a New Reality

For me the death of such a tree is an sobering event, but for wildlife, the fallen tree presents a new opportunity, not a crisis. It has evolved into something new in my yard’s ecosystem, offering novel forms of habitat and hiding places in the way of snags and broken limbs.

The morning following the storm, a group of chickadees caught my attention first, most likely a family group of new fledglings, fluttering around and keeping each other in check using high-pitched “seet” calls as they explored their new playground.  Several robins also have loved the elevated perches for hunting and scanning their territory for danger.

The squirrels have been the most opportunistic of the bunch, treating the fallen trunks like an expressway to other trees. They have already built a new nest in one of the precarious snags. I hope it holds!

I was most surprised to see chipmunks exploring and using the new habitat, since I had mistakenly thought they were strictly ground oriented. Hopefully, the new territory and opportunities it provides for searching for seeds and nuts (perhaps stored by birds like nuthatches) will steer them away from digging up my vegetable garden nearby.

Decomposers Also Get to Work

One of the most fascinating aspects of this dead tree is the micro-ecosystem I mostly cannot see, consisting of bacteria that had already been present in the tree’s bark, sap and its internal tissues. Within hours of the downfall, fungal spores were already landing, and existing fungi were signaled to start digesting the cellulose. Within days or weeks, bark beetles arrived, laying their eggs under the bark and tunneling through the wood, spreading the fungi as they worked.

The tree's root mass will stay and is probably already creating instant burrows for chipmunks as it slumps and settles. If the stump remains tall enough, it will become a lasting perch for blue jays, woodpeckers and even a red-shouldered hawk that inhabits my neighborhood. Many downed, twisted logs and branches further away from my property line will remain, offering longer-term wildlife habitat. I’ll also honor the lost trees with some new native plantings suited for my location that it will be fun to choose.

What I’ve come to realize is that while we should take nothing for granted—a fallen tree is not the worst thing in the world. The landscape reshapes itself, adapts and finds new ways to thrive. The storm took so much from so many people. Life can bend. Life can break. But, if we let it, life will begin again.

May 2026

Invasive Plants: Misbehaving Far From Home

This article originally appeared in the Times of Northwest Indiana.

Apparently, it doesn’t take much to amuse me. When traveling in other countries, I like to see not only native plant species that live there, but, more particularly, species living in their own home range that are invasive here. Last month, my husband and I were privileged to travel to Japan, and this guilty pleasure was certainly fulfilled.

One species I noticed quickly was Japanese stiltgrass (Microstegium vimineum), looking like tiny bamboo plants on the forest floor. Easily identified by small silvery threads running down the middle of its leaves, it is an annual scourge in places like the Hoosier National Forest and other managed natural areas in southern Indiana.

Mike Everidge, a conservation land manager for TNC in south central Indiana, believes this species is “the single worst invasive species” in that area. Fortunately, in northwest Indiana’s nature preserves it is still what is known as an “early detection species,” which means that it can still be controlled—IF caught soon enough.

It spreads quickly here, forming dense mats after it dies in the winter Everidge calls “death mats.” Those mats then smother native spring emergent species such as wild ginger and blood root. It flourishes under both full sun and deep shade and everything in between, and it’s not picky about soil wetness or dryness. Further, its late-season seeds are like tiny pieces of Velcro, hitchhiking on any number of mammals or sticking to your hiking or hunting boots (which should be cleaned then after use).

Meanwhile, in Japan it is said to not be aggressive—because the insects, pathogens and competing plants it evolved with keep it in check. It fills up available spaces, but is readily displaced by sedges, ferns and spring ephemerals. It was good to see it behaving in its own realm instead of the wall-to-wall invasions we see in our forests.

Phragmites australis Not Evil in Japan

Another distinctive species I had no trouble identifying in Japan was Phragmites australis, also known as common reed, an incredibly bad player in our area with no checks and balances, except maybe high-water levels. Our crews spend countless hours controlling it. Here it densely grows in wetlands, ditches, ponds and water detention areas, and is most recognizable in late summer with its purplish plumes, sometimes reaching higher than 13 feet tall.  

The real story, however, is in the muck below. It’s a master of subterranean expansion with dense underground stems searching up to more than 60 feet to create new invasions. It also secretes chemicals into the surrounding soil, curtailing native species, including a now rarely seen native Phragmites. The result is a wall of grass that hides open water and silences marsh bird and frog calls because there is no place left for them to live.

For me, all that Phragmites marred the view of Mt. Fuji from Oishi Park on Lake Kawaguchiko. While the patch seemed dense to me, apparently it does not expand aggressively there and lives well with neighboring native sedges and other aquatic plants. It’s also a host species there for stem-boring moths and flies, and mammals like deer and rodents graze on its shoots and rhizomes, stunting its spread.

It’s Not the Plant’s Fault

Understanding how these species have evolved and live in their native range is a good reminder that we should not outright believe a species is wholly bad when it’s invasive in one location but has natural checks and balances in another. It’s not the species’ fault, it’s our own. More than 90 percent of invasive plants in the U.S. are here because we planted them for enjoyment or as a means of preventing erosion (kudzu comes to mind). Further, our propensity to “disturb the land” through development or grazing leaves the land vulnerable to invasion.

Surprisingly, many species impact both countries. I saw star of Bethlehem (Ornithogalum umbellatum) taking over several places in Japan, including an area of the Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden where it thickly carpeted the floor of a beautiful bald cypress grove (not native to Japan either). In the ground, tiny, copious bulblets have formed dense underground mats that spread further each year. I chuckled to myself about it and tempered my opinion to avoid spoiling the scene for others with us that day.

While looking at plants and comparing their characteristics to invasive plants here did not occupy all my time in Japan, it was sort of satisfying to see self-regulating ecological processes at work with some of the species. It was also good for me to recognize that other countries are dealing with invasive species as well. As humans, we love to move things around a bit and then wonder why plants—and some insects and animals too—then misbehave out of their natural range.

Learn more about invasive species.

April 2026

Region Progress Is More Sustainable When Adding in Nature

This article originally appeared in the Times of Northwest Indiana.

I’ve been reading with interest and pride lately the NWI Times series “Identity at a Crossroads,” covering the great progress the Region is making toward improved economic growth, innovation and quality of life.

Having lived here for nearly my entire life, it’s great to see some of the latest developments realized, like the Monon Corridor opening for the South Shore commuter line. As Tom Schager, president of The Times Media Co., said so eloquently, now is a time “in which the Region must define its identity and embrace the opportunity to lead the Midwest in economic growth, innovation and quality of life.”

As I read the articles, it occurred to me that something was missing: how ongoing conservation, ecological restoration and nature-based benefits are also contributing to quality-of-life gains here while also improving the health of Lake Michigan—and the planet. It’s all intertwined with sustainability, sometimes described as a “three-legged stool.” For progress to be sustainable in the long run we need to make sure each leg of the stool is strong.

The Three-Legged Stool of Sustainability

The leg being covered most extensively in the NWI Times series is the one that represents economic sustainability, including development, profitability, tourism, infrastructure and employment. The next leg of the stool can be imagined as human well-being and community resilience centered on things like public safety, access to education, basic human rights and social justice. In our quest for those things, however, sometimes it’s easy to overlook the final crucial leg: the environment, resource management and ecological health.

You may be wondering how nature helps you, so let me explain. Our dependence on nature is not always obvious. Conservation and environmental stewardship protect biodiversity while also preserving food security and clean water and offsetting the impacts of climate change through practices that make communities more resilient to things like flooding. In short, people and nature are interconnected; therefore, the future of one depends on the other.

A perfect example of recent progress made in that area is the efforts of several entities and communities committed to reforestation. Organized and tracked by CommuniTree of Northwest Indiana, since 2017 more than 14,000 trees have been planted in the area. Each one of those trees has the capacity to pump and use as much as 11,000 gallons of water, reducing loads on stormwater systems while also lowering air temperatures and absorbing pollutants.

One might assume that with both legacy and current air, land and water pollution wreaking havoc on the environment here, protecting our natural resources is a lost cause. I’m here to tell you that is far from the truth. Although saving the dunes for future generations is 20^th-century history, and many nature preserves have been protected, safeguarding them means nothing if the resources aren’t managed.

I’m happy to report that a term coined way back in 2006 by the late Lee Botts, a staunch advocate for the environment and the Indiana Dunes, “Northwest Indiana’s restoration revolution,” is still underway. Through the efforts of many partners, including The Nature Conservancy, the Indiana Department of Natural Resources, Shirley Heinze Land Trust and Lake County Parks, more than 900 acres are reaching sustainable restoration levels in the Grand Calumet River’s adjacent dune and swale habitat. Some sites have attained an amazingly low invasive plant species cover goal of 5%.

Once known as one of the most polluted rivers in the U.S., today the Grand Calumet River is more than 60% remediated and restored, with more projects underway in the next year or so. This includes a crucial area of the river, known as the “Junction Reach,” and the Lake George Canal the East Chicago Waterway Management District has been planning for years. Getting the river cleaned and habitat restored is vital to economic development and well-being for both humans and wildlife like endangered Blandings turtles.

Of course, the National Park Service is also doing its part, working with partners like Save the Dunes to establish wildlife corridors for pollinators, sometimes using NIPSCO right-of-ways to connect and enhance habitat (especially along the Calumet Trail in Porter County).

Local Sustainability Commissions Lead the Way

What I am most encouraged about, though, is how many communities are now making sure that third leg of sustainability is addressed by enacting sustainability commissions that are actually getting work done. One of the first created was Michigan City’s Commission on Sustainability, which, among many other accomplishments to date, was recognized in 2024 by the National Wildlife Federation (NWF) as a Community Wildlife Habitat™. As of March, 53 residents and entities have certified their habitat with NWF, earning the city points toward full certification.

Another group that has impressed me is the Greater Gary Environmental and Sustainability Advisory Council (GESAC). I attended one of their meetings last fall and was amazed at the level of energy and commitment of this citizen-led advisory group tasked with fostering sustainable development and enhancing environmental resilience in Gary.

These kinds of locally based measures help build closer relationships among neighbors and strengthen our capacity for self-reliance.

“There is a groundswell of things going on,” said Kathy Sipple, a catalyst for many important sustainability efforts in the Region, including working with the Indiana Wildlife Federation to get the entire state of Indiana recognized for having wildlife-friendly habitats driven by community-driven conservation efforts.

A Native American proverb says, “we don’t inherit our Earth from our ancestors; we borrow it from our children.” There are many great initiatives underway to make the Region shine in the Midwest. Whether we are building gray infrastructure, bike trails, stadiums, convention centers or welcoming loads of tourists, let’s work together to make sure all three legs of sustainability are addressed not just for us but also for future generations of both humans as well as the nature here we all love.

March 2026

Creatures Great and Small Migrating to and Through Indiana

This article originally appeared in the Times of Northwest Indiana.

For many species, the heralding of spring as the sun rises higher in the sky is a signal that it’s time to move north (or south if you live in the southern hemisphere). Birds that migrate feel it first, their ancient compass stirring and telling them it’s time to head for home, mate and raise the next generation.

Mid-February through mid-May, you can bet that the sky will be crowded, 24 hours a day, first with species like sandhill cranes stitching threads through the sky. Sometimes they fly so high I can hear but not see them. Recently, several of our staff were elated to see a federally endangered whooping crane embedded in one of their v-shaped formations as they flew over a nature preserve in Gary.

One species many recognize through their vocalizations is the killdeer, a plover species. During a recent stay in French Lick, I saw and heard at least a dozen killdeer gathered in a gravelly area, loudly trilling “kill-deer” to warn each other of a pestering crow. We’ll soon hear them up here, living up to their scientific name of Charadrius vociferus, with the word “vociferus” meaning “shouting” or “yelling” in Latin.

March also brings major waterfowl influxes like northern pintails that breed as near as Wisconsin, resting and feeding here with their long tails held high above wetlands here such as the Highland Rookery (owned, in part, by The Nature Conservancy). Green-winged teals also migrate through the area during the spring, where they can potentially be found dabbling in puddles in fields and in wet swales in places like Miller Woods in the Indiana Dunes National Park.

Yellow-bellied sapsucker woodpeckers seem to come to the same tree every year in my backyard, drilling little wells that exude sap sweet to their long tongues. I see them briefly, then they are gone in a flash, flying at night to nesting grounds in Wisconsin, Michigan and a major swath of Canada. Their annual visit is a sure sign of spring if I have the time to look for them.

Surprising creatures that go the distance

Some species that migrate might surprise you. I recall being delighted once to see hundreds of red admiral butterflies while doing some invasive species mapping work near the Oak Savanna Trail in Hobart. I can’t remember the exact date, but I know it was early spring because the ground was saturated and muddy.

Even though they don’t fly as far as the monarch butterfly, which goes all the way to central Mexico, red admirals still move quite a distance south in the fall to areas where frost is rare. There they continue breeding through the winter, then new generations travel north innately seeking sprouting species in the nettle family of plants, the only kind they will lay their eggs on. It’s hard to believe something like the native stinging nettle could be useful for something!

One of the most famous migrants is the monarch butterfly, however, those that spent the winter in Mexico only make it about as far as northern Texas on average where they breed, if they haven’t already, and lay eggs. It’s up to the next generation then to complete the journey north to our area and—for some—as far as southern Ontario, Canada. In a community science tracking map on the Journey North website, I’ve seen reports of some arriving as early as late April with the majority arriving in May.

Also chasing spring northward are dragonflies, such as common green darners and wandering gliders, conducting a migration relay of sorts as a single dragonfly never makes the round trip south and back north. It appears to me that dragonfly migration is still under study, as the word “may” is sometimes used in the book Dragonflies of Indiana, by James R. Curry, to describe the migrating habits of several species. Lifting off like living jewels, they use their exceptional flying skills, wing adaptations and muscle control to hover, cruise and glide, seeking air currents and using sun-based internal compasses to find their way to wetlands where they can thrive.

Conservation is key to successful migration

The common thread that runs through all creatures that migrate is that they need habitat, regardless of whether they are passing through or returning residents. Think about the massive amount of energy it takes to migrate. Then think of our wetlands and forests as fueling stations and rest stops for them, providing shelter from predators and extreme weather events. Now you will understand why crucial habitats need to be protected.

Migration is not just movement—for these creatures it’s a necessity for them to follow their instincts. In turn, we are also reminded that life goes on, the oncoming warmth will restore us, and life will persist despite the odds. Life’s journey is long, but we all keep going.

January 2026

Low Fall Sandhill Crane Counts Striking at Jasper-Pulaski FWA

This article originally appeared in the Times of Northwest Indiana.

The numbers hit me hard. No, not employment, consumer confidence index or voter turnout numbers in Indiana (all down from previous years). It was the December counts of sandhill cranes at Jasper-Pulaski Fish and Wildlife Area (J-P).

During fall migration, Indiana Department of Natural Resources staff at J-P wake up at the crack of dawn once weekly to count the number of cranes. From the first week of October through the last week of December, I receive automated updates indicating that new counts have been posted, and I routinely check them several times each year.

The presence of sandhill cranes is always a novelty to me. When I was growing up in Munster, I don’t ever recall hearing their distinct “kar-r-r-r-o-o-o” bugle-like calls or seeing them flying overhead. Since that time, their numbers have rebounded thanks to conservation efforts, habitat restoration and changes in hunting regulations.

I believe they have also become more accustomed to incompatible development and disturbances caused by humans (but probably not humans themselves). A few years ago, when we vacationed on the Keweenaw Peninsula of Michigan, I was able to watch a colt and its parents casually wander around the neighborhood each day going from feeding station to feeding station. I felt so proud to know that their nesting site was most likely at a nearby protected area (Bete Gris Wetlands Preserve) owned by The Nature Conservancy, where I work.

That experience endeared me even more to these tall, gray, elegant creatures with crimson crowns. So, when the mid-December numbers were posted, I was gobsmacked.

The count was 219, compared to 11,713 in 2024 and 20,158 in 2023! Of course, my first thought was to go to the worst—a decline in population.

A bit of research supports that supposition. In the publication "Status and Harvests of Sandhill Cranes 2025 Mid-continent, Rocky Mountain, Lower Colorado River Valley and Eastern Populations," produced by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, it was reported that the 2024 estimated eastern population of 91,485 birds was 17% less than the previous year. I’m now wondering what the 2025 estimates will look like.

Several possible explanations exist

What could be the cause of population decline? I have no scientific evidence, but I do recall reading several posts on Indiana birding sites on Facebook last winter where people reported seeing hundreds of sandhill cranes dead, most likely from avian flu. In an article in the IndyStar newspaper dated Feb. 28, 2025, Eli Fleace, an avian health biologist with the DNR, indicated that reports of dead sandhill cranes began rolling in last January, and, at that time, DNR “had estimated that roughly 1,500 had died across the state.”

I’m certainly not an expert on birds, so I decided to consult one of my impassioned, fellow TNC staff members, Katey Powell, who is not only an expert birder, but also works and lives in the J-P FWA area. She believes there are several factors that may help explain the severe drop in numbers there.

According to Powell, migration timing was different this year. Although November, to me, seemed sort of brutal, overall, we had a relatively warm fall, delaying freezes and northerly winds that would typically trigger mass migration from north of here. That would certainly help explain some of the early fall counts being low, but what about more recent counts?

Sandhill cranes typically huddle together each night in shallow wetlands, safe from marauding predators like coyotes. Powell also believes that water level changes in wetlands in her area may have also shifted migration patterns or smaller groups stopped and left on days in which a count did not happen. This past year, especially last fall, J-P has been either abnormally dry or suffered from a moderate drought, according to the U.S. Drought Monitor website. Somehow word got around to other migrating cranes that they needed to find better conditions.

So, where did they go instead? With freezing conditions in mid-December, it’s possible the cranes just bypassed the area, and flew south to far-southern Indiana, Kentucky and Tennessee for the remainder of the winter. Reports on Facebook indicate that some may already be poised to head back and are biding their time at Goose Pond near Linton, Indiana (a great spot to see birds any time of the year).

While sandhill cranes bring a sense of awe, their migration timing and shifting routes may be telling a subtle story about how the land is transforming, either through climate change or the destruction of wetlands. Avian flu will also continue to be a concern.

All hope is not lost

On the positive side, population recovery since the species was nearly extirpated from Indiana in the early 20th century has been remarkable. Let’s hope that the number of cranes visiting J-P will rebound in 2026, soon to be heralded by their v-shaped flying formation and distinct call starting in February.

Note: if you find dead sandhill cranes or wildlife, please do not call the Department of Natural Resources. Instead, file a report with the DNR, with the understanding that not all reports can be investigated.