In the Shadow of the New Year

Ah, we return on the other side of a wonderful Christmas. Thanks to our “blizzard” I was granted an extra day with my girls and granddaughter. Another day of the sheer fun of making snowmen, watching movies, and eating pies and cookies and all the other delights. Now they are gone, and the sheets are in the laundry. The dried Play-dough waits scraping, but it can harden a few more hours, for the dog and I had our first bog walk in 10 days and now there are blog comments swirling about in my brain. No use trying to clean until they are emptied out.

First, our “blizzard” - not the 30” of NJ or even the foot and a half Boston got, but this magical snow that fell for the better part of two days, a veritable “White Christmas” backdrop. Due to the Cape’s warmer temps it kept itself to a modest, and easily dealt with 6”. But with the wild winds, it often looked like a hurricane in a snow globe- beautiful. And as my feeders were full, the suet was stocked and the water kept piping hot in the new birdbath my daughter gave me, we had a conga line of birds with bath towels and goggles waiting for a day at the Spa. All the hours cooking, doing dishes, etc. are far more entertaining when your view is of an avian world celebrating the holidays in fine style. Crows eating piecrusts, squirrels with peanuts, apple peelings, meant for the opossum, seemingly, by the tracks I saw, enjoyed by a coyote.

But back to the bog. When I wrote a few weeks ago, perhaps we were still discussing the hundreds of ducks and geese that were sporting about in the newly flooded bog. Now the bog is a frozen “lake” and the usual players are absent from the stage. No ducks, no geese. Cover that ice and all the bog with a few inches of snow and a whole new cast of characters makes itself apparent. Mice, shrews, the wanderings of crows, who spend far more time strutting about on the ground than you might think, all become clear.
Tracking, I love it! The world becomes an open book. And oh, to have gotten there when it first snowed, is to really see who lives where.

With vacation week upon us, I was looking at a more tromped upon landscape, but I am happy to see the tracks of sleds, the stomping of boots through the abandoned bogs on the forest side and snowballs still piled behind forts. Bravo for children and teens that still play outside- may their tribe increase! All this wonderful play meant that I had to look a little harder to find where the “wild things” were. However the dog walkers stick to the wide trail around the bog, and the kids stick to their forts in the abandoned bog. Consequently, I was able to return to “my trails” and find, voila, raccoons taking the same less obvious route through the woods and over the stream that I take.
And around the bog, off the wide trail, were signs of crows meandering, then taking off, and places where they had skidded in for a landing on ice- sliding footprints. When the snow is a little deeper and soft you can see the prints of their wingtips as they take off, and their tail feathers as they come in for a landing. I love that.

Dogs leave a meandering trail, gooning around is their main pursuit and they know their next meal is all but guaranteed. Not so lucky the wild canines, the fox and the coyote. Their next meal is never a given, so to conserve energy they walk in a straight line when covering ground. For that matter, their back foot, steps directly on their front track, so it looks like a two footed animal has gone this way rather than a four. The track I was following crossed the busy path of the dog walkers, but then continued alone out across a sparkling field of untouched snow.
I am looking in my tracking book as we speak, ”Mammal Tracks and Signs” by Mark Elbroch and the size was right for a fox rather than coyote. Yeah! I used to see fox here all the time, but when rabies hit years ago, it seemed to decimate my local foxes. How I do hope this is a sign of their return. Merry Christmas to me! Reynard may be back!

Just a mention of landscape alterations. The two large, but long dead, Pitch pines, where that crazed Blue Jay kept taunting the Coopers hawk in a blog back in the fall, both came down. When the migrating hawks pass through next spring they will have to find a perch a little deeper in the woods. And another Pitch pine that has amused me for having sprouts of needles coming out from under its trunk also bit the dust in this storm. A wonderful burrow is possible now in the soft sand under its roots. Branches do litter the ground everywhere for it WAS three days of wild winds. But we shall wait for another day to regale you with all the different types of seeds etc. you can find scattered over the snow after it snows.

Hoping then, that your Christmas was as wonderful and that you don’t want to throw things at the computer for the way YOU spent the “lovely” blizzard was trapped in your car, or in an airport or on a train. Oops, if so, sorry. And as we are “In the shadow of a New Year” I wish you all blessings and goodness to follow and the joy of enjoying nature together, even if only electronically. Happy New Year!

Nurturing Nature

I think we can all agree that, for many of us, December is a time of straight out frenzy. I feel I am forever apologizing to the Prince of Peace, that I have brought anything but peace into the equation. Yet, the frenzy is partly what I enjoy. It wouldn’t be Christmas if I didn’t make cookie sheet after cookie sheet of peanut butter balls; if I didn’t write to anyone I ever met, even if it was just for a prolonged wait in the supermarket line. It’s just who I am.

However, I also know that to sustain the high-octane level of energy, the “Eloise” level of energy- “Oh trinkles oh trinkles sing fa la la lolly ting tingle bells there and here. It is the absolutelysiest busiest time of the year ping ping” (from Kay Thompson’s, “Eloise at Christmastime” a family favorite) one must find some way to regenerate. No surprise here that, for me, the regenerating happens outside. The morning walk. The list is long, the day is short, but without touching base in the woods and the bog, I would face it all with less cheer.

Today it was a gray dreary morning, but it wasn’t dampening my dog’s enthusiasm for getting out, nor mine either and we were rewarded with a newly flooded bog offering a newly renovated duck/goose hostel. There must have been at least 100 or more ducks and, interestingly, about 75% of them lifted off when we rounded the bend, with that wonderful whoosh of wings. And I wondered. Did the 25% of those who held their ground know Tuck and I? “Oh, it’s just those two. No that isn’t a gun, just binoculars. Not worth ruffling your feathers over.” Or were they just, in general, gutsier ducks?

But here is the magic of it, I left the house thinking there was no way I would get to the list of things I had lined up for myself, so the first leg of the walk was fairly guilt driven, “What am I nuts?” But then, the sea of mallards, the whoosh of wings and Wonder! Then all thoughts of lists vanished and it was replaced by a calmer, sheer delight in what was around me. And that is the recharge part. I still have a lot to do, but for at least a little while, I am realizing there is beauty here to calm the soul, and a lowering of blood pressure is taking place. It is what I always remind my walking ladies. “We are not here to raise our heart rate but to lower our blood pressure” and so it does.

My wish for you then, this December is that you find a moment, in all you must do, to take a moment to nurture nature. And let it nurture you right back. And as there is much to do, including enjoying my family who will return home for at least a little while, I don’t expect to find time to write again until after Christmas. I love that Christmas soliloquy from 1510 by Fra Giovanni and so I leave you with that.

“ I salute you! There is nothing I can give which you have not; but there is much, that while I cannot give you can take.
No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in it today. Take Heaven.
No peace lies in the future, which is not hidden in this present instant. Take Peace.
The gloom of the world is but a shadow; behind it, yet within our reach is joy. Take joy.
And so at Christmas time, I greet you, with the prayer that for you, now and forever, the day breaks and the shadows flee away.”

Take Joy then, and we shall hope to return in the shadow of a New Year.

Flights of Fancy

One of the treats of coming south, soon after migration, is I have the pleasure of imagining I am seeing the progress of the birds that a month ago where gathering in flocks on the marsh, or at my bog, now gathering here in TN. Of course, “my” birds, given the month that has elapsed, more than likely would have made it farther than TN by now, perhaps all the way to their winter digs. But there are surely flocks here, so why not imagine them as familiar friends.

The very first day I was here, we took Elena to the playground I loved last spring that is surrounded by woods and a stream. The trees, which looked to be some kind of crab apple, were teaming with the familiar “perp, perp, perp” of robins.
Not the dark breasted Canadian variety, but our summer robins. What ho! Good to see you!
Then just yesterday, travelling down the highway on yet another Christmas errand, the radio was playing the Nutcracker, the “Waltz of the Flowers” selection, when a flock of blackbirds started to fly, not only in tandem with the car, but in time to the music! It looked for all the world like they were auditioning for a remake of “Fantasia”. Forget the waltzing flowers, have you thought of rolling and spiraling blackbirds in the role? Ah, a bit of Christmas magic.


And when we cut down our tree in the Blue Ridge over Thanksgiving, not only was it on a beautiful rolling hillside, but also, the air was alive with bluebirds. Anyone I know out there? Very likely a local flock for they could easily summer and winter here. Still, it felt good to see them.

In my daughters yard the cardinals that we saw wooing in the spring seem present and accounted for, all with head feathers in line now, the “vulture” look that male had in the spring replaced by a full head of feathers. Rogaine to the rescue!
The Carolina Wren pair “teakettles” about the bushes and flocks of Goldfinch and Purple Finch have returned to the feeder.
My daughter is perhaps too busy or too disinterested to keep up the bird-feeding regime, but as soon as I arrive, the Italian Nona is setting out a spread for the birds again and it amazes me how quickly the word spreads. Clearly they have caught on to texting, for in a weeks time we are seeing the feeder drained every other day. I am doing my best to teach Elena to check it and then bug one parent or another to help her fill it.

Yesterday, our Advent chain told us to make peanut butter pine cones for the birds, and although yesterday they were left fairly untouched, my guess is that will not be the case for long. At home, the crows make off with them entirely, or the squirrels, so we shall see how long they last here. I am sure my daughter will be “thrilled” to add this task to her others when I leave. Smearing peanut butter, rolling in birdseed. It is the essence of childhood isn’t it?

Well, this migratory bird will be heading north again tomorrow. Not exactly going “as the crow flies”. Rather, four flights will be needed to get me from Knoxville to Providence by way of Ft Lauderdale! But if they are willing to give me four rides for less than one I will take it! I love flying, so why not. And my optimistic husband feels certain that with so many connections I am bound to miss one and thereby garner a free ticket somewhere! I think I would just rather make it home. Back to a dog that needs to go re-scent his trails, back to a bog that might have a new set of winter ducks, back to a house that is still decked, not with holly, but with Cornucopias and pumpkins. I think I have some work ahead of me.

I do hope your holidays are making you Merry, not crazy. For those of us who celebrate Christmas, I am always aware that I am ready for the Real Christmas at any moment, the Yeah God part, the thrill of what He did for me by coming, but the Commercial Christmas is quite a different matter, always two steps behind. But that is the one that, in the end, in the ultimate end, matters very little. So, with that in mind, may we just make Merry and find joy in the little things, the feeding of birds, and oh delight! the falling of snowflakes, even in TN! Wishing you all Joy in December and with enough spare time to refill YOUR feeders.

Entertaining Royalty-Golden Crowned Kinglets

The week before we left for this trip to MD and TN I had the distinct pleasure and honor of having royal guests in my trees- Golden Crowned Kinglets had arrived from the north. Actually they had been on the Cape since the fall, but it seems they don’t swing by my yard until later in November, so it is has always felt like another “Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat” sort of marker for me.

And was there ever a cuter bird wrapped in royal clothing? Second smallest one out there after the Hummingbird and they come in two species, Golden Crowned and Ruby Crowned. Both adorable, Ruby’s being more rare than Goldens where I live. But don’t let that Disney-like cuteness fool you. This is one tough bird you’re looking at it. Able to withstand sub-zero temperatures and to eek out a living in the Maine winter woods as easily as here on the slightly balmier Cape.

If you want to know in GREAT detail how they do this, I recommend Bernd Heinrich’s book titled, “Winter World”. A professor of Biology at the University of Vermont who spends at least half his time in the Maine woods, he also marvels at how a bird of this minute size can maintain an internal temperature that would cause us to die of heat stroke, constant in sub-zero weather! Their internal temperature is even higher than most other birds.

So what’s their secret? Mostly, its simply becoming little puff balls in the cold. It’s a testament to how insulating their downy feathers are. When fully fluffed out, the kinglet can manage about 1” of air space that amazingly holds in the heat. It also doesn’t loose heat to its feet as we do, for like many birds it has mechanisms to keep its legs and feet just above the freezing mark. Tucking its head and feet up close to its body when it sleeps all combine to keep it warm on the inside when it is cold on the out.

Heinrich was so intrigued by the kinglet's ability to maintain an internal temperature that was, at times up to 78C. different from the air around it, that he came up with all kinds of experiments, using dearly departed kinglets as his subjects. He would pluck them and then measure their rate of cooling. A naked kinglet (something I don’t even want to picture) would cool at a rate 250% faster than a feathered one. Actually, you and I might have been able to figure that one out and we aren’t even trained biologists, but still, some of his calculations are impressive. I quote, “ Thus at an air temperature of –34C a kinglet that maintains a steady 78C difference between air and body temperature at its normal temperature of 44C would have a passive cooling rate of 78 x 0.037 C/min.=2.89 C/minute.” Got that? That my friends, is the difference between a real scientist and someone just playing around the edges of Naturalist as I am!

Well, I am not suggesting you go out to find and pluck your own kinglet for further testing, but I would encourage you to keep an eye and ear peeled for them. They are another of what I would call “hearing test” birds for their call is fairly high. It sounds a lot like our Black Capped Chickadee only the “tsii, tsii, tsii” sound it makes is slightly higher than the chickadee’s and comes in three’s. When I hear it repeatedly doing three calls I start checking and usually, there they are. They also flit about more than a chickadee. I like this description from a National Geographic site. “A tiny, thin billed, wing flicking insectivore”. That captures it pretty well.

Although they spend their summers in the Canadian arboreal forests, they do come to the States for the winter, with some staying year round in the Northern states like Maine. So there is a good chance, if you are out and about and listening you might just happen upon this small bit of royalty. If you do, marvel at its ability to survive but erase from you mind any picture of naked kinglets cooling!

Traditions

Ever since my children were young, we have always had a White Pine for our Christmas tree. It became the default tree because we lived in VA at the time and you could drive out to the Blue Ridge and cut any White Pine on the hill for $12, so the price was right. Growing up in New England, Balsams were king, but here in VA they were unaffordable exotics at the time. It took me a few years to give up my longing for that scent of Maine woods, and to get over the fact that as soon as you hung an ornament on the branches it would disappear behind those long soft needles. It was as if it was a secret between you and the tree that you had decorated it at all. However, I was gradually being won over by the softness of the needles and how willing it was to hang on to those needles well past Christmas. A trick the Balsams could use to emulate. So my allegiance switched over time and now it is a White Pine or nothing.

But of course, living on Cape Cod these last 13 years has tested that allegiance, for although White Pines are one of the predominant pines of the Cape, they are rarely, if ever, sold as Christmas trees. Consequently we have logged many a mile tracking down the U-cut Christmas Tree Farm that might have one or two on the back acreage.

A tree that isn’t the popular choice can grow to some pretty impressive proportions over the years, so we have brought home trees that tested the limits of the ceiling, and might have better been suited for the town square. More often, of late, we seek the gumball size trees that are as wide as they are tall, another sign of being passed over by the trimmer.
There are times we have paid fairly exorbitant prices for them, when my thrill of finding a White Pine at a local Cape Cod Tree Farm was so evident that the wise merchant just had to up the price. And times when I managed to get them for free. A man was clearing his land of White Pines and offered them to anyone who would get them, so, what a banner few years they were. These trees had hardly been trimmed but featured bonus items like bird’s nests or bittersweet wrapped around them like natural garland.

But now, what ho! My youngest daughter went to school at VA Tech and now works in MD, so once again we have resurrected the tradition of finding the White Pine on the Blue Ridge hillside at a reasonable price. It meant some transportation issues, but if they can cut and bring them from Canada, then our little Escort could play the part and pile one inside on top of suitcases and presents and make it home by Christmas.


This year finds me in TN spending some time after Thanksgiving with my daughter’s family and just yesterday we headed off to cut their White Pine tree. Marvelous, a scene from Appalachia right within the Knoxville limits. All white pines, $4 a foot, with the most classic addition of a larger than life, Power Ranger, presiding over the whole affair. So, the torch has been passed.

No doubt your tree, if you cut one, is a Fraser or Balsam but whatever kind it is, may it have worked its way into your family’s heart the way these White Pines have lodged in ours. December is here, let the playing out of traditions begin!

Sidetracked by Sea Ducks

I have admitted before to being incorrigible, and so I am. Saturday, with a “to do” list that filled an entire page, I allowed myself between errand 5 and 6 to take a short detour to a nearby beach. I had the dog with me, and due to the long “to-do” list, he hadn’t gotten a walk that morning. After seeing a high-tech, “William Tell”-type archer in the woods with my walking ladies the other day, I have thought twice about where I take the dog during hunting season. This beach in East Sandwich is perfect for it is not a hunting beach, most tourists are gone, cottages are shuttered and dogs are welcome. “It will only take a minute”, I reasoned, and then I will get on with my errands.

Well, as you have also seen, winter ducks are a bit of weakness for me, and there, when I crested the dune, were wonderful floating racks of sea ducks; many kinds of Scoters, Red Breasted Mergansers, Eiders and Loons. What a bonanza! And just as it is fun to look for the aberrant duck on the pond, the possibilities at the ocean are even more tantalizing. So, out with the binoculars and let the scanning begin.

I spent some time sorting out Scoters- Common, White-Winged, and Surf Scoters all present but we have covered them before, so lets move on. Red Breasted Mergansers, now, there is a duck with a wild head of feathers. They are swept back like an application of heavy mousse was available to their stylists, making the “spike- look” popular way before the punk-rock people ever discovered it.
Several large rafts were floating just beyond the waves and watching for one to come up with a fish trapped in its serrated bill ate up more time than I intended. Never saw it happen either. There was a lot of comings and goings among them, and it struck me that the other easy identifying thing about them is that they look like a flying needle with wings, with that long slender bill out in front of them.

Here on the Cape, we have two types of loons that make the coast their winter home. The Common Loon is just that, the one I most commonly see. A heavyset bird, it is the largest of loons, anywhere between 28-36” long and it sits sort of low in the water. We also have Red Throated Loons, which, although I hear everyone saying we have here, I had had a hard time “seeing” because, silly me, I was looking for a bird with a red throat. It turns out to see their throats in their red phase you would have to take a trip to the Arctic during breeding season.
And I don’t know about you, but my “to do” list probably means that isn’t as likely for me. So, on this day, I made a point to look for a loon without a red throat, and, shazam, there they were.
Spread out like the Common loon; one here, one there, and much smaller with a daintier bill that points upward. Ah, this was worth the time that was slipping by.

But what made it really all worthwhile was a Red Banner, write-it-on-my-calendar, sighting of one, just one, Razorbill. But what excitement for me, I have never seen one. It was like looking at a little auk, or a penguin!
And it was right beyond the surf line, near a Common Loon but small and with the crazy bill that lets you know you are seeing something really different. It kept-"ploop", diving down, then thankfully, popping back up again just as close. These are Alcids, cousins to Auks, and probably more often seen along the coast of Maine than here on the Cape, but again, perhaps that Nor’easter, now gone, delivered it here. And they have the cutest, short, little tipped-up tail. Forget the “to do” list, this was the best thing to do after all!

But now, with only one day before I leave, the list is consequently longer than I can probably get to. And what am I doing? Blogging about it! Incorrigible. Oh, and just one more thing. If you were reading this blog last week, I mentioned that first a female Hooded Merganser was at the pond by herself. Then the next day, no female, but a male, then tadaa, on Friday, male and female finally were there together. Perhaps a completely different pair, but it made me feel like social networking was alive and well among our feathered friends. Ok, now go get something done Pat! Happy Thanksgiving again, to you all. Be thankful for detours that show us there is more to life than what we think we have to do!

The Duck "Du Jour"

This is getting to be a very entertaining game for me, each new day, a new duck on the bog pond. Right after I wrote the last blog about the female Hooded Merganser showing up among the Mallards, I took my morning walk with the dog and the female was gone, but there was the male Hooded.
Alone and looking like “a day late and a dollar short”. If she had left a forwarding address I could have passed it on but, alas, no such information was given.

This morning, the male Hooded remains, but the new duck among the throng of Mallards was, once again, a female-a female Bufflehead.
Of course it is so scientifically wrong to be anthropomorphic, but it is so tempting to do so, strictly for the comic angle. So bear with me. But again a female, arriving first, could it be that she was willing to ask for directions and got here sooner? Could it be that she perhaps prefers to travel alone, without having her flying skills criticized along the way? Now we are getting too personal aren’t we Pat, and ridiculous at the same time. Still, it is interesting to wonder if females, not in breeding season, not with young, are fine just travelling with any companionable flock. Ornithologists would have the answer no doubt, but alas, I am not one.

Buffleheads are also here to stay for the winter, coming from the far northern reaches of Canada where they raise their young on lakes. They are hole nesters like Wood Ducks with mom prodding the young out of the tree to flutter, or crash and burn on the ground before following her to the water.
Those lucky Canadians, should they be willing to traipse to the northern most regions of their country, get to see all these incredibly cute antics of young Wood Ducks and Buffleheads. Here’s the other amazing thing, those lakes are free of ice for just about 4 months and that is exactly the time it takes for these ducks to mate and raise their family before heading south again.

Speaking of ornithology, and the fact as I have mentioned many times, that each branch of science has its own “inside” terminology; do you know a “flock” of ducks is only truly a “flock” when it is flying. When they are on the water, they are either a “raft” of ducks, a term we do often see or a “paddle” of ducks which is far more fun but less used perhaps because people would think you were writing for a children’s book. To see a “bunch” of ducks is also correct but a far less impressive word.

Soon, we shall be heading south to be with my daughter’s family in Tennessee, and aberrant ducks will just have to come and go without my noticing. It will be interesting to see if any of the birds that have recently left here get passed along the way down Rte 95. How far have the flocks of Grackles gotten or the Red-wing Blackbirds? New Jersey? Delaware? We shall see.

Consequently, there may be a bit of a No-Blog zone for awhile over Thanksgiving but I hope to find time to resume writing from TN after the holiday. Elena and I shall be enticing birds to her door again and noting the comings and goings of the wrens and whatever else is to be found nearby. Till then I wish you all a wonderful Thanksgiving and may we all appreciate how truly blessed we are just to be given eyes to see the beauty around us and a mind to wonder about it all. “In all things give thanks” and we do God, we do.

"One of These Ducks is not Like the Others"

“One of these ducks is not like the other
One of these ducks just isn’t the same.
Can you guess which duck is not like the other
now before I end this game?” (Approximate lyrics, it’s been a long time!)

I find myself singing this old Sesame Street song as I look out over the bog pond that is getting increasingly more covered with Mallards. For what I have found of late, is that IF I scan the flock more carefully, I will be rewarded to find they are NOT all Mallards. Aha! In their midst is in imposter. Or just a lone duck looking for the safety of the flock which is poignantly more likely.

Yesterday the one aberration that caught my eye was a female Hooded Merganser. The sweep of the head feathers is the give away. Although being a female, she is brown and not the startlingly black and white of the male so she blended in pretty easily with the female Mallards. One can only guess what may have happened to her mate, her siblings, or whomever else she would normally be travelling with.

I wrote about Hooded Mergansers when they came this way in the spring.
Male Hoodeds are the ones that do that spectacular summersault in a shower of droplets with a big “tadaa!” in front of the female. Those that have seen it say the female doesn’t seem nearly as impressed with this as the one watching with binoculars from the shore. However, now is not the time for impressive water displays, but time instead for the serious business of getting out of Dodge before the snow flies. I wonder if this female is just ahead of the others, or was perhaps separated from her own flock in that wild three-day Nor’easter. A question that can only be speculated on and never really answered.

Hooded Mergansers do migrate along our coast, where they sport about on the local ponds rather than in the surf as the Red Breasted Merganser does and this pond has hosted them for several years now.
In the past, a few pairs have even lingered here for weeks, lucky me. Lucky me indeed, for as I give a cursory glance to the many small ponds I drive by in a day, I realize they are not all as decked out in ducks as this bog’s pond is. Perhaps it’s wonderful seclusion; no roads going by it, only one house set back from it, is what makes it so desirable or maybe the dining here is better than in other ponds. Whatever the reason, the fall is as promising a time as the spring for new arrivals each day.

But back to the, “One of these ducks is not like the others” theme, about a week ago, it was a Ring Necked duck that was in the midst of all these Mallards.
Again, just one, and a female and although it was in the right place at the right time, it was on its own. I frequently see a pair of Black Ducks hanging out with the Mallards. At a quick glance they look very similar to female Mallards, but they have a dark Mohawk-like streak on their head, a purple wing patch rather than the blue and the patch is not as strikingly bordered in white as the Mallard’s is.
These species frequently are seen together, but where I live, the Mallards generally outnumber them by a considerable amount. It is amazing how many Mallards are gathering at the pond. The numbers seem to increase daily and I wonder what the carrying capacity of this pond is and where they will all head when eventually the pond freezes. The salt water marshes perhaps.

So, if you happen to have a body of water near you and you are on a favored migration route, than keep a keen eye, “for birds of a feather DO flock together,” but on careful inspection, not all “feathers” are the same. See if you can spot some interlopers, or lonely hearts, or those misplaced momentarily from their own kind. And pat yourself on the back when you are observant enough to notice the difference. Feel free to hum the Sesame Street song while doing so!

The Comings and Goings of "Snowbirds"

It’s good to notice such things-comings and goings. For the year is full of small celebrations, numerous “firsts” and they aren’t always marked on the calendar that hangs on your wall. Each of us has another calendar, which is turning its pages right outside our door. The “natural” calendar which is uniquely suited to each individual with special days that mark what that person happened to “see” that day.

My own calendar will claim that I saw the first “snowbird”, Dark-eyed Junco, on Oct 21st. And for me, that is an important date on the march towards winter. I will be providing three squares a day for a small squadron of Juncos that make my yard their winter home and I love the sight of that first arrival. Now this isn’t to say that is THE first day Juncos were on the Cape, it is just the first day I noticed one. That’s the beauty of this personalized calendar. Don’t feel intimidated, it won’t be printed in the Smithsonian, it is just your own awareness of changes going on around you.

And a Junco in my back yard, being on the East Coast is going to be a slate colored bird, almost black tuxedo-like with a white belly. However, if you live out West your Junco would have a rusty colored back with a gray head
and if you are in Oregon, your Junco will have a black head and brown back, and they all are called Dark-eyed Junco’s.
Go figure! And perhaps yours live by you all year.

This is one of the most common birds in North America, some 630 million of them, so no doubt you have one in your neighborhood too. And the nice thing about these seedeaters is that they actually like the millet in those mixed seed bags that so many other birds leave behind. But for my personal calendar, fall is in full swing and winter coming on soon when the “snow birds” arrive.

Coincidentally, their arrival from the North is parallel to the two-legged Snowbirds leaving their Northern home to head further south for the winter. Not searching for insects this group but for days of shuffleboard or golf or Salsa dancing under the stars. I will sadly lose one of my faithful walking ladies as she migrates south this week. The first in a long line of people dodging the wildness of a northern winter. We shall miss them and they make a dent on my personal calendar too.

Because I am insane enough to walk the dog in any weather, I was treated to another calendar event this week. On Nov. 8, the day of our first slushy snow, which pretty quickly turned to a sideways-driving rain, I saw my first Snow Bunting.
This has to be the earliest I have ever seen one. Perhaps this never ending Northeaster scooped it up and tossed it my way ahead of schedule. Poor dear, the weather was so wild, but then that is its element. This is a bird that finds love in the northernmost part of the
Tundra, in the Arctic, that scratches out insects and seeds from the most barren places and usually travels in twittery flocks. It was strange to see one all alone, as this one was. The rain was coming down so hard that it shook its feathers every few seconds to keep the water off. It let me get so close that I wanted to offer it my umbrella, but then off it went I hope to catch up with the rest of the flock that must have been somewhere. First snow, first Snow Bunting, it made it a red-letter day on my calendar.

So, here is your challenge- start noticing. Any firsts, any changes, any new arrivals or maybe departures of your wild neighbors. Listen for crickets, are they still chirping where you live? Have your chipmunks sealed off those round holes of theirs yet? I have been meaning to check mine. And a million other things you might notice. It’s your calendar to highlight as you will, declare your own holidays and celebrate your own list of firsts. And the year can start whenever you are ready to notice it. Now, enjoy!

Ruminations on Brumation

There are a couple of 50-cent words for you. Rumination- to muse upon, to contemplate and, “Brumation”-the technical term for when a reptile or amphibian “hibernates” for the winter. To “hibernate” implies the shutting down of a warm-blooded system to survive the harsh winter climate. Here in New England, bears, bats and woodchucks are our main hibernators. But if you don’t have a warm-blooded system to start with, it’s hard to shut it down.

It seems every area of study has its “insider” lingo. Brumation is a term that herpetologists seem to keep close to the vest, for I hardly see it in print when talking about how frogs, toads, turtles, snakes etc. make it through our New England winter. Brumation- it’s a word I love to teach to young children so they can dazzle their parents with their widening vocabulary. Now you can dazzle someone too.

Brumation is the answer to the question “Where have all the froggies gone?” (Shall we, of a certain age, sing, “Long time passing”?) “Gone to pond muck everyone..” (Sorry, these songs just present themselves.)
Since the beginning of October, the Bullfrogs, that in summer line the rim of the pond at the bog, have been MIA. And wisely so, for the temperature has swung back and forth from near freezing to nice again, then back to raw and cold. A cold-blooded animal, caught in the swing wouldn’t be around to croak out its love again next spring.

So when the days get shorter, the frogs of the pond head to the bottom where they partially cover themselves up with mud, then the heartbeat and breathing slow way down. Turtles are down there too, but they slow their body rates down to such an extent that they can get by on the oxygen found in the mud that they bury themselves in. Bullfrogs, on the other hand, need oxygen-rich water to make it through the winter, so they may be found on top of the mud, or partially buried in it. They say that frogs may even occasionally, take a slow swim around in the winter. Something I will just have to take their word on for I haven’t been scuba diving at the bottom of the pond in winter to see for myself.

What I do know, is that, usually, by May, the frogs that seem to leap out of nowhere in front of him, will once again entertain my dog. And if you remember, in May, look and see how dark the skin of these spring Bullfrogs is, not the Kelly green of summer but an almost black-green.
I have always wondered if that was to help them warm up more quickly in the sun. Nothing like dark colors to absorb the heat. Hmm, more things to ruminate on. Now, that is just what happens to the pond frogs, such as the Bullfrogs, Pickerel Frogs
Green Frogs etc.
Toads, well that’s a whole other story and an equally dazzling one at that, so shall we return to ruminations on brumation another day? I think we shall. Until then, enjoy your own ruminations.

"There Came a Killing Frost"

“And the pony she named Wildfire, busted down its stall”. Somehow I can’t say the title of this essay without singing the next line. A sure sign of how old I am! Last week, we had two days of light frost, the kind that kills the impatiens and morning glories but spares the petunia’s. It is still too dark to tell, but surely everything was finished off last night, for when I let the dog out in the dark of the morning there was an inch or so of slush on my deck.

And so, on this somber, sopping, Monday with another Nor’easter at our door, I would like to share a poem that captures the lament of an insect lover such as I, when the dreaded killing frost is upon us. The book is titled “Joyful Noise- Poems for Two Voices” by Paul Fleischman and I share it with children and teachers whenever I can. You read them in tandem, two readers, reading their lines sometimes alone, sometimes together. It is a wonderfully effective device and classes usually love it.

Let’s read “Requiem” together, followed by a moment of silence for the voices of the summer chorus, now stilled.


REQUIEM

Carolina sphinx moth
Grant them rest eternal Grant them rest eternal
Maple moths
Let light undying Let light undying
shine upon them. shine upon them.

Praying mantises
green darners
rest eternal rest eternal

Black-winged damselflies
brown darners
light undying light undying.

Grasshoppers Grasshoppers
great crested
spur-throated
three-banded
Katydids Katydids
round-headed
northern
gladiator
Cave crickets
mole crickets Cave crickets
tree crickets mole crickets
field crickets tree crickets
Grant them
rest eternal rest eternal
Give them
light undying. light undying.

This past night
we had the fall’s first
killing frost.

Paul Fleischman

Amen.

The Changing Landscape

I am constantly amazed how much the landscape can change, especially at the turning of a season, if I walk somewhere else for just a few days, and then return to the bog. I had to check out some new conservation areas to take my walking group to this week, a wonderfully pleasant task, but when I returned to the bog yesterday, I was struck by how much had altered. It was as if fall, “fell” last weekend. Which I suppose it usually does. We are all glorious color through October, then, if a wild wind and rain event happen right before Halloween, which it did, the color is transferred from trees to ground.

When I walked the bog last week, in one section of the woods, the trail was still surrounded with the bright yellow, practically glowing, leaves of the Wild Sarsaparilla. Now those leaves are curled up and browning and many plants are already lying on the forest floor well on their way to becoming mulch.

The Sweet Pepperbush also was a curtain of yellow. This common shrub from the White Alder family spreads by runners and so it lines the edge of an overgrown bog, and also either side of a small trail I sometimes take. Now, it too, was stripped of leaves making the trail seem no longer hedged-in but more expansive.

On the ground, the white bacteria that spreads over the oak leaves and looks like frost was much in evidence. This will help to break down those tough oak fibers returning nutrients back for the trees to recycle into new growth next spring. See if you notice it on your walks.

On the bog itself, the now harvested and combed looking cranberry plants have changed from that olive drab green of summer into the deep maroon that will remain all the way until next May or June. It has always struck me, and others no doubt, that the fall colors on Cape Cod are more reminiscent of an Oriental rug, than the brilliant splash of day-glow that Vermont trees can be. The combination of the deep red of the cranberry bogs, the green of the pitch pine, the russet and scarlet of the oaks, will be colors that linger for perhaps another month, before one needs to find beauty in shades of gray.

Around the pond, the Tupelos are bare, and now, if you haven’t looked closely at them before, you can see how their branches go at right angles to the tree and tend to be all twisted at the top like a Japanese Bonsai. I love their shape. They were the first to bring on the bright red leaves of fall but they are also the first to go. Red Maples also have shed their leaves, and now the color around the pond is restricted to the High blush blueberry, whose red is still reflected in the water.

But all these bare branches are great at uncovering secrets too. Those sneaky crows that skulked through the trees to their nests, that built fake nests to throw us off, now, those nests are out for all to see. But which one was the real one still is a bit of a mystery. One really large nest is right on that path where the Sarsaparilla grew. By its size I would have to think someone used it, most likely the crows. If it was, I can be pretty embarrassed that I walked under it so often and knew nothing. Chalk another victory up for what is inarguably our smartest bird.

The calendar then has flipped to November- the world alters itself again. Admission is free to this show; you just have to step out your door to take a front row seat. Ok, maybe, if you live in a city, you have to go beyond your front door, but wherever there are plants, the show is on.

The Gift of Gannets

I have to confess I am simply beguiled by Northern Gannets; I never tire of watching them swoop and dive and cut across black skies over a stormy sea. And the amazing thing about them is that, just as I am lamenting the end of “skies filled with swallows”, they show up. Here on the Cape, Gannets are seen off our coast both in spring and fall. April and May, September to November are the times to look for them. But I think of the two seasons, the fall is the most spectacular for the slate gray November skies or stormy Nor’easters provide the most dramatic backdrop for those long, tipped with black, but mostly white, wings.

Today is just such a day; wildly windy, a sky that goes from light gray to dark gray then back again, and I happened to arrive at the beach with the tide on the way out, so the sandbars were sea-glass green. Gorgeous! Again and again I think of a favorite line from a Psalm, “The boundary lines have fallen in pleasant places for me.” Indeed, for me, they have. Not only were there Gannets slicing back and forth across the sky, both mature and immature, but also the sea ducks have begun to arrive.

Medium-sized rafts of Surf Scoters and White Winged Scoters have showed up. The White Winged ones have white on their wings, (there’s a shock eh?) that you see more clearly when they are flying. To someone new to looking at these birds, they all look rather alike, rafts of black looking ducks floating on the water, but there are differences.

Surf Scoters, if they are male, have white on the front and back of their head, and if they are female, they have two white spots on the side of their head. They are also the ones that have this wonderful Disney-like habit of diving all at once, as though there were some underwater buzzer they were all cued to. They pop back up at different times, but it can be puzzling if you see them on the water, then put your binoculars to your eyes and they have vanished. It can happen that quickly. But continue to watch, and “pop, pop, pop”, up they come again. I love that!

Loons also show up off our coast for the winter. They leave their yodeling calls behind in Maine, but here, they spread themselves out along the shore, not in large rafts but, one here, one there. That actually makes them easier to spot because they are, first of all, likely alone, and they are pretty heavy- bodied birds that ride low in the water. For me, finding Loons positioned in their spots along the shore, is another sign that fall is well underway.

Cute little Sanderlings are still working the shore in their manic way, racing one way and then another on those cartoon-like legs. I watched one switch directions continually for at least 4 minutes or so before ever probing for something in the sand. “Not here, no, not here either, back over here.” It would seem more energy was expended than was replenished by the wee crustacean it finally found. Sadly, they will be gone in probably just another week.

The weather remains threatening. It is incredibly warm, but the forecast is for rain, so deciding whether my Walking group is a “go” or not is so frustrating. The gray skies are bringing out the vibrant colors of fall, the warm wind makes it feel like Florida with foliage, but getting everyone soaked wouldn’t make for a good experience either. Ah, the joys of being a walking leader in New England! Guess I will show up and see who are the game ones that a little wild weather doesn’t stop. And if you live on the Cape, the wilder the better for Gannets, so get yourself to the shore and see the beauty unfold for yourself.