Meanwhile, Back at the Bog...

It seems like it has been awhile since I actually wrote about the doings at the bog. Between being out of town, and walking at the beach on these glorious days, I hadn’t taken my normal morning route in over a week. It is amazing how many things change in so short a time.

The cranberry plants themselves, are in the act of transforming their cranberry colored leaves of winter,to their OD (olive drab) green leaves of summer. Not the bright Kelly green of new maples, or the Easter grass green of new grass, but this subdued army issued looking color. Perhaps that is because the anthocyanin (the pigment in the plant responsible for the maroon color)is so prevelant in these plants. Personally, I prefer their winter look. The flowers themselves are probably another month away. The flower is what gives them the name “cranberry”, which was originally, Crane berry. And that is because the flower looks strikingly like the head of a heron, which the colonists, called cranes. I will have to dig up a picture of said flower for a later posting.

The pond and the “slough” were devoid of ducks, although some mallards lifted out of the ditches around the bog. But the rattle of a kingfisher was a happy sound, and one of our returned ospreys flew over. I have never seen them nest here, this is probably the one from nearby Scorton creek. If you can fly after all, why not tour the neighborhood rather than simply hang out at your own creek. Phoebe’s are back, doing their New “Joisey” feee beee with guttural accents. One or two toads trilled but nothing compared to the ear damaging trills of the DC crowd.

Speaking of that, I finally got to take a group out to see the woodcocks display, in this case, woodcock. One lone soul who took off time and time again but the female approval was lacking. At least no one stepped out of the shadow to reward him for his effort. Perhaps, if she were a modest woodcock, we might have been the problem. But we didn’t linger forever, not wanting to spoil his chances and headed over to the swampy wetland to see the peepers. Wow, after much straining we finally saw them, right at our feet, with their little bubble gum throats fully extended, but oh, the noise! Painful. When we were done, our ears were ringing like we were at a rock concert. How do they make so much volume out of such a little throat sack! Did I mention the other day, when talking about peepers that scientists have noticed the females are better able to hear the “peep peep” the male makes, than he can. And they say, it may just be that he is deafened by being at one too many peeper concerts. I can fully believe that now. Take heed you adolescent peepers, wear ear protection! Little round discs over your circular tympanums!

Next week I head to Tennessee for the delight of watching my granddaughter for ten days. When I return, I can imagine the bog will be altered again. The leaves on the tangle of briars that fill the forest around them will be out and the curtain will be closed on animal trails that I can see now. Birds that are hard to find on bare branches will be impossible to see behind a curtain of leaves. But the green herons may be back by then and they are easy to spot. The wildflowers around the edge may be up, or then again, there may be snow on the ground! This is New England after all.


Whatever, you can be sure, I will keep you posted. And expect to hear some southern blogs from TN, “greenest state in the land of the free” when time permits. They will be further along in their spring than even DC was so perhaps baby birds, and full blown flowers will be about. The world is full of grand surprises wherever you go. Hope you get to discover some on your own. Guaranteed to make your day a better day when you get out and see some wonder.