Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area. George Genereux Urban Regional Park. Humboldt Broncos Memorial Forest. Come to Nature. Come to Life. Friends of the Saskatoon Afforestationk Areas Inc. friendsareas.ca
At first glance, the images seem familiar—quiet greenspaces, open grassland edges, and familiar wildlife resting in plain sight. But look closer. Something has changed.
This “Spot the Differences” nature challenge, created with the Friends of the Saskatoon Afforestation Areas, a non-profit environmental charity, invites readers to slow down and observe the subtle details of local ecosystems while reconnecting with the natural world. It is both a visual puzzle and a reminder that nature is always shifting—often in ways we only notice when we truly pay attention.
Within these scenes, participants may encounter a cast of prairie wildlife: the gentle Mourning Dove resting in open areas, the industrious Yellow-bellied Sapsucker marking trees in search of sap, the migratory Lapland Longspur moving through seasonal landscapes, the winter-adapted Snowshoe Hare blending into changing ground cover, and the quick 13-lined Ground Squirrel darting through grassland habitats.
Each detail matters. Each change tells a story.
A Fragile Ecosystem Hidden in Plain Sight
The Saskatoon region sits within one of the most threatened ecosystems on Earth: the temperate grasslands. Globally, grasslands have experienced extensive loss due to agriculture, urban expansion, and habitat fragmentation. In fact, temperate grasslands are widely recognized as among the most endangered ecosystems worldwide, with only a small fraction remaining in a relatively intact state.
These landscapes are not empty—they are living systems that support pollinators, birds, mammals, soil health, and water regulation. Protecting them is essential not only for wildlife, but for human well-being as well.
Connecting to Global Environmental Goals
This local nature activity connects directly to several United Nations Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs):
SDG 15: Life on Land – Protecting, restoring, and promoting sustainable use of terrestrial ecosystems, including grasslands and biodiversity.
SDG 13: Climate Action – Conserving natural habitats that store carbon and help regulate climate systems.
SDG 11: Sustainable Cities and Communities – Supporting urban green spaces like afforestation areas that improve ecological resilience and quality of life.
SDG 4: Quality Education – Encouraging environmental learning through hands-on observation and engagement with nature.
It also aligns with broader international initiatives, including the:
United Nations Decade on Ecosystem Restoration (2021–2030), which calls for preventing, halting, and reversing ecosystem degradation worldwide.
United Nations Decade of Action for the Sustainable Development Goals, emphasizing urgent global efforts to meet sustainability targets by 2030.
Seeing Nature Differently
This is more than a puzzle. It is a reminder that ecosystems are dynamic, and that even small changes in the landscape can reflect larger environmental processes. By carefully observing what has shifted between images, participants are practicing a form of ecological awareness that mirrors real-world conservation work.
Can you see what changed in the trees? Tiny differences become big discoveries when you take the time to look.
Every detail tells a nature story. Hidden changes are waiting to be found. Sharpen your eyes, explore the outdoors, and test your vision with nature’s disguise.
Because in places like Saskatoon’s grasslands and urban forests, noticing is the first step toward protecting. Please come to the forests and discover and record real wildlife surprises with iNaturalist on your smart phone, and help to discover species at risk- you cannot protect what you do not know, and help to discover invasive species- early detection rapid response to protect the forests!
The Tree Doctors of SaskatchewanWoodpeckers in bark, light, and listening silence
In the pale gold wash of a prairie morning, the woods along the South Saskatchewan River begin to speak—not in words, but in percussion. A hollow tuk-tuk-tuk echoes through trembling aspen, answered by a sharper, faster roll from deeper in the stand. To walk into places like the Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area is to enter a living clinic, where every trunk is examined, every weakness tested, and every hidden infestation brought to light by a cadre of tireless specialists: Saskatchewan’s woodpeckers.
Woodpeckers are often first noticed by their rhythmic drumming echoing through the trees—but did you know they also have unique, distinctive calls? Beyond the hammering on bark, each species has its own voice: sharp pik notes, rattling bursts, or ringing cries that carry across the forest. Learning these calls adds another layer to identification, revealing that woodpeckers are not just percussionists of the woods, but vocalists as well.
Writers like Gerard Gorman and Paul Bannick often frame woodpeckers as ecological keystones, while Stephen Shunk lends them narrative precision—birds defined as much by sound and behavior as by plumage. Frances Backhouse, meanwhile, would likely remind us that here on the northern plains, their work unfolds in a landscape shaped by fire, frost, fungus, and time. Together, these perspectives reveal a truth foresters have long known: woodpeckers are not merely inhabitants of the forest—they are its physicians.
A silviculturist is a practitioner of forest medicine, managing ecosystems through science and care; in the spirit of Baba Wya Miti, Richard St. Barbe Baker, they parallel woodpeckers by targeting hidden threats beneath bark and ensuring trees remain resilient.
Drumming in the Clinic of Trees
Forests, even the modest shelterbelts and riverine groves of Saskatchewan, are battlegrounds. Beneath bark and within cambium flows an unseen war: beetles burrow, larvae tunnel, fungi spread. Dutch elm disease—caused by Ophiostoma fungi and carried by bark beetles—has already rewritten the story of prairie towns. In this relentless siege, woodpeckers serve as both diagnosticians and surgeons.
Their tools are deceptively simple: a chisel bill, a barbed tongue, and a skull evolved to absorb impact. Yet with these, they perform countless “operations” each day—extracting borers from living trees, peeling bark to expose colonies, and halting outbreaks before they cascade across entire stands. Unlike other birds that glean insects from leaves, woodpeckers specialize in the hidden. They go where the problem lives.
Stand quietly in the afforestation area and you may hear it: the soft scaling of bark, the deliberate tapping that signals inspection, the explosive drilling that follows discovery. Often, the wound they leave is so slight it vanishes within weeks. The patient tree survives; the parasite does not.
A silviculturist is an environmental practitioner who nurtures forests through careful intervention, working as a counterpart to woodpeckers by managing threats too large or complex for natural predators alone, in line with Richard St. Barbe Baker – (also called) -Baba Wya Miti’s vision of cooperative stewardship.
The Familiar and the Elusive
Seven species of woodpeckers may be encountered in Saskatchewan’s central parkland, though not all with equal ease. The most familiar trio—Northern Flicker, Downy Woodpecker, and Hairy Woodpecker—form the daily rhythm section of the woods.
The flicker is the ground forager, a woodpecker that has, in some ways, stepped outside its guild. You’ll find it probing lawns and ant hills, its spotted belly flashing as it bounds away, white rump catching the light. Its call carries far—a ringing kleer that seems too loud for the open sky.
The Downy and Hairy, however, demand closer attention. They cling to trunks and branches, black-and-white shadows flickering upward in short hops. At a glance, they are near twins. But birders, like surgeons, learn to notice the fine details.
A helpful field mark—shared quietly among observers and reinforced by field experience—is this: look to the tail. On a Downy, the white outer tail feathers are often marked with distinct black spots. Dotty equals Downy. If those feathers are clean and unmarked, you may be looking at a Hairy—though absence alone isn’t proof. Structure matters too: the Hairy’s bill is longer, more dagger-like; the Downy’s shorter, more delicate.
If the beak is short, just eye to beak, Downy’s the bird you’re trying to seek. But if the beak is long, sharp, and proud, Hairy Woodpecker calls out loud!
Taxonomy, too, has shifted beneath our feet. Once grouped together, these species now sit in separate genera—Dryobates for the Downy and Leuconotopicus for the Hairy—reflecting deeper evolutionary divergence. When uncertainty lingers, one can retreat, sensibly, to a broader label: pied woodpeckers of the tribe Melanerpini. Even in naming, the forest resists oversimplification.
Downy in Dryobates pubescens and the Hairy in Leuconotopicus villosus. In the field, a simple rule of thumb is often the most practical starting point. If the bird is smaller than a robin, it is almost certainly a Downy Woodpecker; Hairy Woodpeckers tend to be closer to robin-sized and noticeably more robust. Bill proportion is even more reliable: if the beak appears about the same length as the head, or equal to the distance from eye to tip of bill, it points to Hairy Woodpecker. Downies, by contrast, have a noticeably shorter bill—usually no longer than the space between the eye and the base of the beak. Behaviour can also help: Hairy Woodpeckers often forage lower on tree trunks and on larger, more mature stems, while Downies are more likely to work smaller branches, the tops of trees, or finer twigs where bark is thinner. Although both species may show subtle differences in tail feather markings, such as faint spotting on the white outer feathers in Downies, these plumage traits are less reliable than size and bill shape. In the end, most field observations in Saskatchewan come down to a careful combination of these clues, and even experienced observers will sometimes pause, reassess, and conclude—as many do—that the bill size and structure confirm a Hairy Woodpecker after all.
Downy likes twigs up high to play, Nibbling bugs in a lighter way. Hairy goes low on the big tree trunk, Drumming deep with a forest thump!
Beyond these common residents lie the rarer presences: the soot-backed Black-backed Woodpecker, drawn to burned forests; the enigmatic American Three-toed Woodpecker; the laddering Yellow-bellied Sapsucker, drilling neat rows of sap wells; and, if fortune and patience align, the imposing and endandangered Pileated Woodpecker, whose resonant blows recall the forest primeval.
Hairy Woodpecker male (note the red) (Picoides villosus)Downy Woodpecker (Male) Dryobates pubescensNorthern Flicker Colaptes auratusDowny Woodpecker (Female) Dryobates pubescens
A Forest Under Siege—and Its Defenders
To understand woodpeckers is to understand the scale of their task. A single stand of birch or poplar can host hundreds of insect species—borers, weevils, aphids—each adapted to exploit a different weakness. Some attack leaves, others seeds, still others the very heartwood. Their numbers swell with astonishing speed; a single infested tree can become the epicenter of a spreading outbreak.
And yet, outbreaks are often halted before we notice them. A woodpecker locates the infestation early. If one bird cannot manage the feast, others join. They remain until the last larva is extracted, the last chamber opened. It is a quiet triumph, repeated thousands of times across the landscape.
Their work extends beyond pest control. The cavities they carve—meticulously hollowed chambers in dead or dying wood—become shelter for others. Chickadees, bluebirds, nuthatches, even small owls inherit these spaces. In winter, when prairie cold sharpens to the edge of survivability, such cavities can mean life.
A silviculturist is a forest steward trained to guide the growth, health, and regeneration of trees; like woodpeckers—the forest’s “tree doctors”—they diagnose problems early and act to sustain long-term forest vitality, a role exemplified by Richard St. Barbe Baker, also known as Baba Wya Miti (“Loving Father of Trees”).
Listening as Practice
To walk among woodpeckers is to relearn attention. Identification is not only visual; it is auditory, tactile, almost intuitive. Each species has its own cadence of drumming—flickers slower and more deliberate, Downies brisk and even, Hairies louder, more forceful. Calls carry through branches like signatures.
This is where writers like Shunk excel: urging us to build a vocabulary of sound. And where Bannick’s photography reminds us that behavior—posture, movement, foraging style—is often more telling than color. Gorman would add: watch the habitat. Burned forest? Think Black-backed. Sap wells in tidy rows? Sapsucker. Open parkland with scattered trees? Flicker territory.
Backhouse might step back further still, asking us to see not just the bird, but the relationship—the ancient contract between tree and woodpecker, decay and renewal, death and reuse.
A silviculturist is a “tree doctor” in human form, applying knowledge of soils, species, and pests to heal forests, echoing the natural work of woodpeckers and the conservation ethic championed by Baba Wya Miti, ‘the affectionate Father of the Trees’, the name bestowed upon Richard St. Barbe Baker.
A Final Note in the Woods
There is a tendency to think of forests as static, as scenery. But they are dynamic systems under constant pressure, requiring balance, intervention, resilience. Woodpeckers are part of that balance—not ornamental, but essential.
So on your next walk through the afforestation area, pause when you hear that steady tapping. Somewhere nearby, a tree doctor is at work—probing, diagnosing, healing in the only way the forest understands.
Watch the tail feathers. Listen for the rhythm. And remember: the health of the forest is written in these small, deliberate blows.
‘Trees and forests are the ideal environment for man, and he should study how to help his brother trees, By cooperating, man and forest both flourish.” Richard St. Barbe Baker, Silviculturist
A silviculturist is a dedicated student of forest life cycles, trained to protect and enhance woodland ecosystems; in partnership with woodpeckers as natural surgeons, they uphold the enduring philosophy of Richard St. Barbe Baker that forests are living communities requiring care, respect, and skilled stewardship
Bibliography
NOTE Two of the best places to learn woodpecker calls are:
Cornell Lab of Ornithology – especially their All About Birds website and the Merlin Bird ID app, which include high-quality audio recordings, descriptions, and comparisons of calls and drumming.
eBird – offers extensive libraries of bird sounds through its media section (linked with the Macaulay Library), where you can listen to real field recordings from across North America.
Both platforms let you hear differences between species—like the sharp pik of a Downy Woodpecker versus the louder, more forceful notes of a Hairy—helping you identify birds by sound as well as sight.
If it’s smaller than a robin in the tree, A Downy Woodpecker it’s likely to be! But if it’s robin-sized, strong and tall, That’s a Hairy Woodpecker—you’ve got it all!
On a bright morning edged with curiosity, a young explorer named Mira stepped into the field with a simple goal: find a clue.
Not a treasure chest. Not a map.
A feather. A bone. A whisper of something that had been there before.
“Discovery,” Mira said aloud, testing the word like a new pair of boots. “Let’s see what you mean today.”
The meadow stretched wide and golden, dotted with grasses and the occasional fence post. Mira walked slowly, eyes scanning—not just looking, but noticing. That’s what good naturalists do.
Near a patch of flattened grass, something caught her eye.
A feather.
Not bright and flashy. Not from a peacock or a parrot like at a zoo. This one was soft brown, with darker streaks running like tiny rivers along its length.
Mira crouched.
“Okay,” she said. “Now what?”
She remembered what she’d learned: Don’t just pick it up and guess. Investigate.
So she placed a small ruler next to the feather and opened the iNaturalist app on her phone. Snap. A photo with scale. Good lighting. Clear focus.
“Who do you belong to?” she wondered.
The app began to think.
While it did, Mira pulled out here phone to scan the Feather Atlas.
She compared shapes.
Long and narrow? Short and fluffy? Was it a flight feather or a body feather?
“This one’s a contour feather,” Mira said slowly. “Not for flying. For covering.”
The streaks… the size… the soft edges…
Her phone chimed.
Suggestion: a meadow bird.
Mira grinned. “That makes sense.”
She imagined the bird—hidden in grass, singing from a post, then dropping back down where feathers like this might be lost unnoticed.
iNaturalist works by pairing smart image-recognition technology with input from real people: the app suggests possible species using AI, and then a community of observers and experts helps verify and refine the identification. So Mira waited, there may be scientists, citizen scientists or naturalists who love to consult the Atlas of Feathers who come together to help in the identification in the “found feathers project” on iNaturalist. Mira had some answers, and she will check again!
Later, near the edge of a small grove, Mira found something else.
A bone.
At first, it looked like a stick. Pale. Smooth. Hollow.
But sticks don’t have joints.
Mira knelt again, more carefully this time.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Whose story are you telling?”
She didn’t touch it right away. Instead, she looked. Observed.
Was it solid or hollow? Thick or delicate?
Bird bones are often light—built for flight. Mammal bones? Usually denser, heavier.
This one was thin. Almost airy.
Mira took another photo, again placing her ruler beside it. Then she opened a new tab and searched through the Atlas of Bones.
Page after page of shapes.
Skulls. Femurs. Wings.
“This looks like…” she paused, comparing angles. “A wing bone?”
Not human. Not large. Something small. Something that once moved through the air.
She checked her app again. It offered possibilities—but not certainty.
“That’s okay,” Mira said. “Discovery isn’t always about perfect answers.”
iNaturalist uses a blended approach: it offers quick ID suggestions using computer vision (AI image recognition), then relies on crowd-sourcing, a community of people—naturalists and experts—to review and confirm what species has been found. So Mira waited, there may be scientists who love to consult the Atlas of Bones who come together to help in the identification in the “skulls and bones project” on iNaturalist
She sat back on her heels and looked around.
The feather. The bone. The grass. The trees.
Each one was a piece of a puzzle—but not a puzzle meant to be finished. A puzzle meant to be explored.
“Here’s what I know,” she said, thinking like a scientist.
“A feather tells me a bird was here. Its size, shape, and pattern give clues about which bird.”
“A bone tells me about structure—how the animal moved, lived, survived.”
“And tools like apps and atlases help me ask better questions.”
It’s the question that follows every birdwatcher like a curious shadow. Why here? Why now? Why that branch, that patch of grass, that muddy edge of a pond?
One spring morning, as frost still clung stubbornly to the edges of the prairie, three birds found themselves asking it at the same time.
Baby American Robin (Turdus migratorius) MallardsAmerican Robin., Turdus migratorius
Robin tilted her head from her perch in a trembling aspen. Below her, the ground was soft, dark, and alive with promise. Yet other Robins were using evergreens, as they migrate so soon, and the trees are not all in leaf yet, and a few robins decided to try nesting on the ground. And yet…
“Why up here?” she wondered aloud, pressing a strand of dry grass into the curve of her forming nest. She used the bend of her wing like a potter shaping clay, smoothing, pressing, building. Soon she would fetch mud—good, sticky mud, the kind that comes from worm-rich soil—and line the cup until it could cradle sky-blue eggs like secrets.
From below came a reply.
Meadowlark stood half-hidden in a clump of last year’s grass, sunlight catching the yellow of her chest like a dropped piece of sun.
“Why up there?” Meadowlark called, her voice a flute-note over the field. “The wind is stronger. The branches sway. Everyone can see you.”
Robin looked down. “Everyone can see you,” she said.
Meadowlark gave a soft chuckle. “Not really.”
She stepped into her nest—if you could call it that at first glance. It was not obvious. It was a hollow, a careful dip in the earth, roofed with woven grasses, with a narrow path leading in like a secret doorway.
“I disappear,” Meadowlark said simply. “Foxes pass by. Hawks glide overhead. But I am part of the ground. My nest is not seen—it is missed.”
Robin considered this. She glanced around her tree. The branches were still bare this early in the season, but buds were swelling. Soon, leaves would hide her.
“I choose height,” Robin said. “Later, leaves will cover me. And up here, fewer things climb. Also…” She paused, listening.
The soil below shifted faintly.
“Worms,” she said, almost dreamily. “I need them. I need the mud they leave behind. I need the trees and the ground. Without both, I cannot raise my chicks.”
A splash interrupted them.
From the edge of a nearby wetland, Duck lifted her head, droplets sliding from her feathers.
“You’re both asking the wrong question,” she said.
Robin and Meadowlark turned.
Duck stood near a patch of thick grass just above the waterline. Her nest was tucked beneath it, nearly invisible unless you knew exactly where to look.
“The question isn’t just why here,” Duck continued. “It’s what works most often.”
She nudged aside a bit of grass, revealing a shallow bowl lined with downy feathers.
“I nest on the ground,” she said, “because I must stay close to water. My ducklings will walk to it the day they hatch. I hide my nest so land predators struggle to find it. But if one does…” She shrugged in that very duck-like way.
“I lay again. And again. I try many times.”
Meadowlark nodded. “Yes. We ground-nesters take risks. But we balance them differently.”
Robin shifted on her branch. “I take fewer risks with each nest,” she said. “So I build carefully. Strongly. With mud. With structure.”
Duck smiled, if ducks can be said to smile. “Different strategies. Same goal.”
A breeze moved across the landscape—through trees, over grass, across water.
Robin looked at Meadowlark’s hidden dome. Meadowlark looked at Robin’s rising cup. Duck settled deeper into her camouflaged hollow.
“Why?” Robin asked again, softer now.
Meadowlark answered first. “Because the ground feeds me, and hides me.”
Duck followed. “Because water protects my young—and I can try again if it doesn’t.”
Robin touched the rim of her nest, now firm with drying mud. “Because trees, soil, and worms together give my chicks the best chance.”
And somewhere in that shared question, the answer unfolded:
Not one reason. Not one way.
But many small choices, shaped over time—by predators and weather, by food and shelter, by failure and success—until each bird carried its own answer in its bones.
Why?
Because survival writes different stories for wings that share the same sky.
Baby American Robin (Turdus migratorius) MallardsAmerican Robin., Turdus migratorius
Part SE 23-36-6 – Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area – 241 Township Road 362-A
Part SE 23-36-6 – SW Off-Leash Recreation Area (Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area ) – 355 Township Road 362-A
S ½ 22-36-6 Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area (West of SW OLRA) – 467 Township Road 362-A
NE 21-36-6 “George Genereux” Afforestation Area – 133 Range Road 3063
Wikimapia Map: type in Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area or
Google Maps South West Off Leash area location pin at parking lot
This is a story about Time. Not the minutes and hours we use to schedule our lives, but Deep Time—the kind of time that moves mountains and carves provinces.
As we celebrate Geologists Day this April 5th, we aren’t just honoring a profession; we are honoring the detectives of the Earth. We are looking at the ground beneath our feet here in Saskatchewan and asking, “How did you get here?” To answer that, we have to look past the wheat fields and the living prairie and envision a world dominated by ice and cataclysm.
The Big Chill: Saskatchewan in the Pleistocene
To understand the Saskatchewan plains, you have to appreciate the Laurentide Ice Sheet. Imagine a slab of ice two miles thick sitting right where you are. It’s heavy, it’s grinding, and it’s moving. During the Pleistocene, this ice wasn’t just a static blanket; it was a sculptor’s chisel.
But the real magic happens not when the ice arrives, but when it leaves. When you melt a continental-sized ice cube, you don’t just get a puddle—you get a deluge. You get the kind of hydraulic power that can move house-sized boulders and rearrange the geography of a continent in a matter of weeks.
The Yorath Island Spillway: A Post-Glacial Firehose
Let’s talk about the Yorath Island Glacial Spillway.
There was a moment in our deep history when a massive proglacial lake—what geologists call Lake Saskatoon—was held back by a crumbling wall of ice. When that dam breached, the release of energy was staggering. This wasn’t a gentle stream; it was a high-pressure firehose of meltwater seeking the lowest path.
As this water tore south and east, it ripped through the glacial till, carving out more than one glacial spillway. This wasn’t a slow erosion over millions of years—this was a singular event. The water surged with such velocity -that of the Niagra Falls- that it scoured the landscape down to the bedrock in places, leaving behind the West Swale we see today – very visible on Satellite Maps. Yorath Island itself is a remnant, a “land-island” created by the sediment carried along by the sheer ferocity of these diverted currents.
The Legacy of the West Swale
When the water finally subsided and the great spillway went quiet, it left behind a masterpiece: the West Swale.
Today, the Swale looks like a peaceful string of wetlands and meadows, but to a geologist, it’s a “fossil” of that ancient flood. It is a long, linear depression—a scar on the face of the plains that marks where the Yorath Island Spillway once roared.
Because the spillway cut so deep, it exposed different layers of Earth’s history, creating a unique “micro-topography.” The West Swale isn’t just a ditch; it’s a catch-basin for biodiversity. The reason we have such rich wetlands and unique vegetation there today is directly tied to the catastrophic hydrology of 12,000 years ago. The Yorath Island soils aren’t from here—they are hitchhikers from the Canadian Shield brought south by the ice and dropped by the flood.
Why Earth Science Matters
Geologists Day reminds us that the “flat” Saskatchewan plains are anything but boring. Beneath the topsoil lies a high-stakes drama of tectonic shifts, glacial sieges, and massive floods.
When you stand on the edge of the West Swale this April, don’t just see the grass. See the Yorath Island Spillway in full roar. See the ice wall to the north. Feel the vibration of a billion tons of water reshaping the world.
The Earth is a book, and geology is the language we use to read it. There is so much more to reveal—so keep looking down, keep asking questions, and never take the ground beneath you for granted.
As a birdwatcher in the West Swale, you are more than an observer—you are a sentinel for over 60 species at risk. Every step you take can either support or disrupt the delicate “green ribbon” of our wetlands.
1. The Golden Rule: Stay on the Path
The West Swale is a mosaic of breeding grounds.
Grassland Birds (Sprague’s Pipit, Baird’s Sparrow): These are ground-nesters. Walking through tall grass during the breeding season (May–August) can inadvertently crush nests or cause parents to abandon their young.
The Mudflat Zone: Species like the Lesser Yellowlegs and Piping Plover forage on the muddy margins. Your footprints can destroy the micro-habitats of the invertebrates they eat.
2. Respect the “wetlands”
Keep a respectful distance from the shoreline edges.
Action: Use binoculars or a spotting scope to observe colonies from at least 30 meters away.
3. Protect the “Floating Nurseries”
The Horned Grebe and Western Grebe build floating nests anchored to cattails and rushes.
Vulnerability: These nests are highly sensitive to “wake” and disturbance.
Action: If you have a dog, keep it on a leash and away from the water’s edge. Even a friendly dog swimming can swamp a Grebe’s nest or cause a Western Tiger Salamander to retreat, disrupting its breeding cycle.
4. Be a Bio-Coder: Document Your Sightings
Stewardship thrives on data. When you spot a species at risk:
Use eBird and / or iNaturalist: Recording your sightings helps the Friends of the Saskatoon Afforestation Areas track the success of restoration strategies.
Note the Habitat: Are the birds in the Smooth Brome or the native Fescue? This information is vital for our “Battle of the Brome” management strategy.
5. Practice “Stealth Birding”
No Playbacks: Avoid using recorded bird calls to draw birds out. For species at risk already under pressure from urban noise and habitat loss, this extra stress can be detrimental.
Color Choice: Wear muted, earthy tones to blend into the willow and dogwood thickets, reducing the “threat profile” perceived by nesting raptors like the American Kestrel.
Species
Where to Look
Stewardship Tip
Common Nighthawk
Open skies at dusk; gravel patches.
Watch your step on open ground; they nest in the open.
Loggerhead Shrike
Thorny shrubs (Buffalo Berry).
Look for “larders” (insects impaled on thorns). Don’t trim shrubs!
Short-eared Owl
Low over grasslands at dawn/dusk.
Maintain silence; they hunt by sound.
Bobolink
Tall grass upland areas.
Listen for the “R2-D2” bubbling song; avoid walking in deep grass.
The Sustainability Connection
By following this guide, you are directly contributing to UN SDG 15 (Life on Land) and SDG 14 (Life Below Water). You are helping to maintain the carrying capacity of an ecosystem that provides over $32,000 in annual services to the City of Saskatoon.
“We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors; we borrow it from our children.” — Let’s return it to them full of song.
Part SE 23-36-6 – Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area – 241 Township Road 362-A
Part SE 23-36-6 – SW Off-Leash Recreation Area (Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area ) – 355 Township Road 362-A
S ½ 22-36-6 Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area (West of SW OLRA) – 467 Township Road 362-A
NE 21-36-6 “George Genereux” Afforestation Area – 133 Range Road 3063
Wikimapia Map: type in Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area or
Google Maps South West Off Leash area location pin at parking lot
Saskatoon has a well-earned reputation for being a city that notices nature—and every spring, it proves it all over again. From April 24 to April 27, the Saskatoon City Nature Challenge (CNC YXE) invites everyone to take part in a wonderfully simple idea: slow down, pay attention, and record the life that’s already sharing our city.
You don’t need to head off on an epic expedition. In fact, you don’t even need to leave home. With the iNaturalist app on your smartphone, you can listen and observe nature right where you are—your backyard, a sidewalk, a schoolyard, a nearby greenspace, or a favourite park. A sparrow singing from a fence, a dandelion cracking through the pavement, a beetle minding its own business—all of it counts.
Take a photo, record a sound, upload it to iNaturalist, and just like that you’re contributing to a global effort to understand and protect biodiversity. Fifteen minutes is plenty. Curiosity is the only real requirement.
If you’d rather explore with others, even better. As part of CNC YXE, there are four free, guided events, offering a chance to learn, share discoveries, and enjoy Saskatoon and area’s remarkable green spaces together.
Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area An evening walk through forest and shelterbelt habitats as spring begins to stir. Expect birdsong, early plant life, and the quiet magic of dusk.
Memorial Healing Forest between Clavet and Saskatoon A gentle afternoon of observation in a place of reflection and renewal, focusing on plants, insects, birds, and the details often missed at first glance. This proposed forest area needs an ecological assessment to discover what exists here before planting the trees!
George Genereux Urban Regional Park Discover how wildlife thrives in an urban setting, from birds and mammals to tracks, plants, and surprising pockets of biodiversity.
Wetlands, Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area A hands-on wetland adventure featuring pond dipping and a close look at the tiny aquatic creatures that support entire ecosystems.
Whether you’re listening for birds on your lunch break, spotting plants along the sidewalk, or joining a guided walk, the City Nature Challenge is an invitation to look closely and enjoy what’s already here.
Nature isn’t somewhere else. In Saskatoon, it’s right outside—and it’s ready to be noticed.
SmartPhone nature Photo using the free iNaturalist app
Part SE 23-36-6 – Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area – 241 Township Road 362-A
Part SE 23-36-6 – SW Off-Leash Recreation Area (Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area ) – 355 Township Road 362-A
S ½ 22-36-6 Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area (West of SW OLRA) – 467 Township Road 362-A
NE 21-36-6 “George Genereux” Afforestation Area – 133 Range Road 3063
Wikimapia Map: type in Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area or
Google Maps South West Off Leash area location pin at parking lot
The Great Backyard Bird Count: Snow, Silence, and Feathers of Defiance in Saskatchewan
There’s a particular sort of quiet that comes with a Saskatchewan winter. Not the cosy, muffled hush of a light frost, but the big, ringing silence that settles over the land when the snow is deep, the air is sharp, and even your thoughts seem to crunch as you walk. It’s the kind of winter that makes you wonder—briefly—whether anything with feathers and a pulse could possibly still be out there.
And yet, they are.
From February 13–16, 2026, the Great Backyard Bird Count invites you to step into that snow-bright stillness and discover just how alive winter really is—especially in places like your back yard, along a trail, or in the Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area and George Genereux Urban Regional Park, where trees, trails, and tangled shelterbelts become lifelines for birds tough enough to call Saskatchewan home in February.
The idea is simple, even heroic in its modesty. Spend a little time—fifteen minutes is plenty—watching birds in your favourite place. Identify them. Count them. Then share what you’ve seen. That’s it. No need to thaw your fingers for hours or trek heroically into a blizzard (though points for commitment if you do).
In winter, every bird feels like a small triumph.
Winter Birding: The Art of Paying Attention
Birdwatching in a snowy Saskatchewan park isn’t about abundance; it’s about clarity. Leaves are gone. Sounds carry. Movement stands out starkly against the white. A Black-capped Chickadee appears like a flying punctuation mark. A Downy Woodpecker taps with quiet determination. A magpie sweeps across the snow, all swagger and monochrome elegance, as if winter were merely an inconvenience for other species.
In the Afforestation Area, those planted forests—so carefully imagined decades ago—now shelter flocks of redpolls and grosbeaks, birds puffed up like animated mittens. In George Genereux Urban Regional Park, where city and nature politely overlap, you may find nuthatches creeping headfirst down trunks, or a Sharp-shinned Hawk slicing through the cold air with purposeful menace.
These are not birds passing through. These are birds staying put….enjoying winter with you!
One Province, One Planet
What makes the Great Backyard Bird Count quietly astonishing is that while you’re counting chickadees under a prairie sky, someone else is counting sunbirds in Africa or parrots in Australia. Same four days. Same shared effort. Your Saskatchewan winter list becomes part of a global portrait of bird life—one that scientists rely on to understand population changes, migration shifts, and the growing pressures birds face worldwide.
You can submit your sightings using eBird, or identify birds with the wonderfully helpful Merlin app. If you already use either, you’re already contributing—any observations logged during those four days automatically count toward the GBBC.
This is community science with snow on its boots.
New to Birding? Perfect.
If you’re thinking, I wouldn’t know where to start, you’re in excellent company. The GBBC is designed for beginners as much as seasoned birders with notebooks that smell faintly of damp wool.
There’s an upcoming live, one-hour webinar (Feb 5 or 11)to get you ready—friendly, encouraging, and refreshingly free of birding snobbery. Members of the GBBC team will share practical tips, while author and birder Julia Zarankin explores the joy of beginner birding and the quiet magic of noticing birds right where you live—even in winter.
Consider it a gentle invitation rather than a lesson.
A February Challenge
So here’s the challenge. Bundle up. Walk the familiar trails of Richard St. Barbe Baker or George Genereux, look in the trees or find those bird feeders in the forest, peek out your window at your favourite bird feeder. Let the snow squeak under your boots. Stop. Listen. Watch.
You may not see many birds—but every one you do see will matter. Merlin will hear and identify the birds for you. On eBird you can mention how many you saw each time you are observing. Each observation is a small vote of confidence in a living world that carries on, even when temperatures plunge and breath hangs in the air like a thought bubble.
Count what’s there. Share what you find. And take a moment to admire the sheer stubborn brilliance of birds that sing, forage, and survive through a Saskatchewan winter.
The planet is counting on them.
And for four days in February, it’s counting on you too.
Pine GrosbeakPoecile atricapillus Black Capped ChickadeeDowny Woodpecker (Male) Dryobates pubescensPine Grosbeak Hairy Woodpecker female (Picoides villosus)
Part SE 23-36-6 – Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area – 241 Township Road 362-A
Part SE 23-36-6 – SW Off-Leash Recreation Area (Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area ) – 355 Township Road 362-A
S ½ 22-36-6 Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area (West of SW OLRA) – 467 Township Road 362-A
NE 21-36-6 “George Genereux” Afforestation Area – 133 Range Road 3063
Wikimapia Map: type in Richard St. Barbe Baker Afforestation Area or
Google Maps South West Off Leash area location pin at parking lot
Forests of Memory. Forests of Learning. Forests for Life. 