The Woodcock Who Came in from the Cold

Conversely, I could title this, “The crazy women who went looking for the Woodcock that was smart enough, unlike the women, to come in from the cold.” Only that would be a bit long for a title wouldn’t it?

Yesterday, Wednesday and time for my nature walk to once again coincide with some serious New England weather. However, we have established that the ladies I walk with are a hearty bunch, and in my defense, it wasn’t snowing yet when I headed to work. By the time we gathered it was coming down in serious, fill-up-all-the-cool-tracks-I-had-seen-that-morning fashion. At this point we probably should have cancelled. But, for the last two mornings I had been checking out this wetland behind an old fish hatchery near my home that had an abundance of Mallards, geese, a few Green Winged Teals, and shockingly, not one, but three Woodcocks. They caught my eye because one doesn’t expect a small plump bird with the unmistakable long bill of a Woodcock to be spotted here in January.


Yet there they were working the edge of this wetland, the terminus for a brackish tributary off the larger salt water Scorton Creek. Of course I had to tell everyone, had to gather anyone who was willing and drag them out to see for themselves. I even double-checked the area that morning, and although there weren’t three this time, one was there standing pretty close to an observation spot. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! But of course, nature doesn’t just stay planted in the same spot for my convenience and now, by the time I brought them there, with snow coming down like gangbusters, they were nowhere to be found. Neither were the Green Winged Teals, or the Golden Crowned Kinglet that had flitted along the path in the morning. All, wisely under the cover of some pine tree or in the case of the Woodcocks back among the protective tangle of vines and shrubs along the water’s edge. Not getting snowed on as we were.

But bless my ladies a thousand times over, as much as I apologize they graciously point out that the snow is beautiful, as it was, falling in large conglomerate flakes, and every branch, and every nest in the bushes was capped with snow. Lovely.
The Mallards were there in force, and they kept being routed out inadvertently by us, lifting straight up from among some overgrown fish hatchery runs. And where they had settled on the snow was a stampede of duck tracks. The mallards that stayed in the creek were all sporting a white patch of snow on their back, something else I realized I had never seen before, so that was noteworthy I suppose.

Also, in a “saving the day” manner, a local historian whose family used to own this property, as in REALLY used to own it, for the last 300 yrs. have owned it, spotted our van and came down to see what we could possibly be up to in this weather. John Cullity is the keeper of all knowledge for the history of this hatchery, and for this entire area really, and bless him, he was willing to do an impromptu history lesson for us right there in the sifting snow under the pines. He told us how it once was just a series of fast flowing springs that drew rich people from Boston to come fish for trout. Then in the early 1900’s some runs were built to raise the trout and according to John, the hatchery was in operation from 1909 to the 1990’s! Now the artesian wells still bubble up keeping the water moving. Cattails, a disappearing desirable plant around here, grow thickly in some of the runs and overgrown pussy willows line the edges. It has a fast moving creek with modest waterfalls that used to turn the mill that was here and all in all, even without the spotting of the mythical Woodcock, it DID make for a lovely, if somewhat cold and damp, day.

By the way, looking into Woodcocks that winter here, it is rare, but not unheard of. As with many birds there is that small renegade group that would rather take their chances sticking it out than doing the popular thing of flying south. Rather like those crazy people that won’t leave their houses in a hurricane. It’s a gamble. But then migrating is a gamble too. I just hope that working the edge of this unfrozen creek and others will provide them with all they need to make it through the next few months. And you know I will be down there checking again, and possibly lucky enough to see them, until, of course, I try to show them to someone else. Then like CIA spies they will, no doubt, melt into the brush again.

Happy Birthday to Me!

I have just entered a new decade today. Not a decade known for youthful exuberance, nor is it the “Over the Hill” decade. No, it is more like the, “If you are lucky, you can look forward to Medicaid” decade. Still, I realized that today is the youngest I would be in this decade, so let’s celebrate!

For me, that celebration takes the shape of a walk outdoors, no matter the temperature. Although it was a freezing day, the sun was out and the sky was blue, something that has been a bit of a rarity this January. I have a friend who has recently gotten a rescue dog and she wanted to see if, once off the leash, it would head for the hills or stay with us. Open fields are what we needed. We had a lovely little walk, the Lab stayed near, we didn’t freeze completely and as I had hoped, we saw a Marsh Hawk, make that a Northern Harrier as they are now called.

It was dipping low over the fields in that tippy way they have that makes you think either this bird doesn’t quite have a license to fly yet, or it has had one too many.
The truth is not only is it looking for its food, the yummy vole or mouse, but it is listening as well. If you look at its face it has a bit of facial disc like an owl which funnels the sound to its ears. With excellent hearing then, it can hear its meal yelping the mouse equivalent of “Yikes!” and find it easily. Plus, it is that low flight that lets you know you are seeing a Harrier and not some other kind of hawk, even before you see the diagnostic white patch at the base of its tail.


And one more cool thing about Harriers, you can tell male from female if you get a good look, for the male has a gray back and head with more white underneath where the female is more rusty brown in color.
Perhaps as with many birds that are ground nesters, all the better to blend in. And fact number three, they are ground nesters, not high in some huge nest in a tree, for really the marsh is more their home. Ok enough about them.

The wind was making the chill a tad chillier than we wanted, so after about 45 min we had had enough and headed home. However, I felt, “Wait a minute, its my birthday, I shouldn’t head home that quickly” and instead headed to a nearby large pond where in the past, Bald Eagles have been spotted. I had taken my nature group there, and I have stopped there a few times with no luck.

But today, on my very birthday, just as I was about to leave seeing nothing more than some gulls, a large brown motley bird swooped over my car, and yay!, no mistaking it, it was an immature Bald Eagle!
The pond as it turned out wasn’t as completely frozen as I had thought, and the eagle was headed to the edge where a large, tightly grouped flock of Ring Necked ducks was.
They lifted off, swirled around and resettled. The eagle then did a lot of hovering over the area, while a crow and a couple of gulls flew over and around it, with only the crow taking any serious swipes. But the eagle continued to hover, than flap away, soar and return. I thought surely I was going to see someone become lunch here, but then along came another immature eagle and together they soared back and forth in what seemed a more playful than hunting attitude. Then they sailed off over the ridge and out of sight. WOW! Happy Birthday to me indeed! Two other cars came immediately after, one with someone with serious camera equipment, and another with serious binoculars. I feel bad that they had just missed it, but perhaps the eagles returned after I left.

I know some of you might live where eagles have made a great comeback and are more easily seen. Here on the Cape however they are pretty rare, so it did make for the most unexpected and delightful birthday present! So, maybe there will be more to this decade than just awaiting Medicaid after all!

Where the Wild Swans Are

Wednesdays are the days I lead a nature walk with one wonderfully committed group of ladies. There are times when people, perhaps think we should be committed. For instance, when a Northeaster is blowing and we think it would be fun to see the difference between the wild, knock-you-off-your-feet, wind at the shore, versus the far more zephyr like breezes that are present in the woods directly behind the shore.

This past Weds followed a serious rainstorm on Tues that was having trouble clearing the area. It looked like we would cancel. But due to the willingness of a few of the wilder ones in the bunch, we carried on in our pursuit to track down one of the places our wintering swans go when ponds are frozen over. We headed to a place called South Beach in the town of Mashpee, an area of outwash plain from the glacier so long ago that has a barrier beach on one side, and Sedge Lot Pond, a salt pond on the other. And here in this pond is where the action is for both wintering ducks like the Hooded Mergansers and Buffleheads, and for gulls and Great Blue Herons. Around the edge of this pond, closer to the inlet to the Bay was a line of white. Ah, the Mute Swan winter hang out. We counted close to 100 swans clustered together along the edge and were able to follow the trail till we were parallel with them.


Now, of course they are lovely to behold, one of the largest waterfowl in North America, but I imagine a lot of you know, that, therein, lies the rub. They aren’t really from North America. Home Sweet Home for them is the British Isles, Northern Europe and North Central Asia.
But they are so fetching to look at, especially with that tendency to strike Hallmark-like poses, curving their necks together to make a heart, that in the early 1900’s some people thought it would be grand to have them here in New England, and in New York, in parks, on wealthy estates and in zoo’s. And as almost always is the case with imported species, a few got away. And what started with a few escapees in the early 1900’s is now about 14,000 birds on the Atlantic coast alone.

“All the more fetching, Hallmark-like birds to gladden our hearts” you might say. Well, we might say, but the native ducks that also have a yearning to raise their young on the ponds, and the many animals who also would like to eat the submerged vegetation in the ponds would beg to differThe male swan, called a Cob, is notoriously aggressive when nesting, and will drive everything else off the pond he and his mate have chosen.
With a wing span of 8’ they make a formidable opponent as they charge down on anything else cruising on their waters and I should spare you the gory details of what they do if they do find others have nested in the same place.

They also have a hefty thrust to their bill, so when they are upending the submerged vegetation they like to eat, they can do a bit of damage to the younger plants trying to grow. Which in turn is not appreciated by the myriad of aquatic insects that are making their home in those plants. The web of life is always a tricky one isn’t it? So what to do.

At our nature center, we are lucky enough to have natural controls already in place. One very large, snapping turtle really looks forward to spring when cygnets are on the menu. And although it is sad to play the counting game of watching them go one by one, it also means our pair isn’t adding to the overpopulation. I read that in Rhode Island, they have a program where they find the nest, and then shake the eggs, ending any chance of hatching, but leaving them in place so the pair doesn’t lay another clutch. Wow, sounds labor intensive doesn’t it? But killing off adults is also too gruesome and unwelcome by the public so how to truly manage them hasn’t been figured out yet, at least not to my knowledge.

Well, did all the above spoil the Hallmark moment for you? I am sorry. They are lovely. And you know, they were beautiful out there on the water, and the sight of them flying overhead is stunning, and the pair we have on our pond delight everyone.
So while we know they should be somehow kept in check, we also can’t help but enjoy seeing them. Lets just be sure that none of us spearheads a movement to, say, bring Koalas to our woods, or flamingoes to our lawns other than plastic ones. “A place for everything and everything in its place” applies to nature too.

Scatterings on Snow

This past week, I heard them say on the news, that every state except Florida had some sort of snow cover. So, if ever there was a time to talk about things you can look for on the snow, this would be that time.

We were fortunate enough on the Cape to get a fresh layer of snow on top of the slush that began our storm. Good for tracking, but not so formidable that you need snow shoes to go out looking. My dog and I headed out the morning after the snow, but I knew that because of the blowing wind, we were unlikely to find many tracks, for any wise animal would have slept in. Other than my dog and I, squirrels and mice had been the only ones venturing out.

But, now it is Saturday and in the ensuing days many, including people, have been out and about, leaving their trails to be seen and their activities to be guessed at. Oh happy day, it looked like the fox, what I am hoping is a fox, trotted through the neighbors yard and headed for the overgrown bog on this side of the track. Not surprisingly, it seemed to favor walking in soft snow on the ridge of the trail, rather than the uneven pitfalls of the main trail where boots and larger paws had left uneven craters. I followed it as far as I could until my 68” height had to bend far more than its 25” and I gave up.

But the title of this little essay leads one to believe we are not talking about tracking, but something else, the “scatterings” (a word apparently of my own invention) on the snow. The tree “dandruff”, the seeds, the amazing variety of things you see blown over the snow that can tell you, if nothing else, which way the wind was blowing. The scraggy Pitch pines that are prevalent here in the sandy soil of the Cape put out seeds all year long. All the better to start a little sprout I suppose. You can see them on the snow, delicate little seeds with a one sided wing to help them spiral away from the parent tree. Sometimes I find them intact, sometimes, the small seed has been eaten and only the small wing remains.


Once I was walking down the tracks when suddenly, the snow seemed covered with tiny crosses. Remember, I am out there praying often, so this seemed like some celestial moment. What they turned out to be, were the seeds of the White Birch tree. We, of course, tend to look down when we walk, to keep from stumbling, but it is always a “tadaa” moment when you see something scattered on the ground, then look up and say, of course, it came from that tree.

The “tree dandruff”, scales of the bark scattered around the base of the tree, is interesting because it often shows you that, either some squirrel or other animal has been routinely going up and down this tree, or if the chunks of tree are larger and part of the pulpwood, than clearly a woodpecker has been at work. This happens throughout the year but is so clearly seen against the white snow.

We all know squirrels bury their acorns in the fall, but walk out in winter and you will see how many open holes there are, often with the nutshell still there proving they are pretty amazing at finding these solitary caches. They are using their sense of smell to do it.
One wonders however, if it is the nut they buried, or someone else’s. What code of ethics would keep you from sniffing up someone else’s treasure and not eating it? And of course, some are never found and a tree is born that way.

So, if you happen to live in any state other than Florida, I invite you out into the woods, or just your back yard to see what the snow is showing off. Bearing in mind that one of the most dazzling things it shows off is itself. This morning was a sunny morning, and the untouched, wide snowfields that cover the bog were fields of diamonds. No tree dandruff, no galloping dogs to mar the bog itself. Just a field of diamonds, a sight fit for a king, bestowed on lowly us, for no cost whatsoever.
What are you waiting for then? Out with you, for depending on where you live, this snow won’t last forever. It may only seem to!

Squirrel L'Amour

January may be a cold month, but things are heating up in the trees out my window. The squirrels that overrun my yard are insuring that they will do so in perpetuity. I have always noticed that January was a busy season of “boy meets girl” in the bushy-tailed world of Gray Squirrels, and this year is no exception. Except, perhaps because their numbers seem to be ever increasing, (where is a good top predator when you need one), there seems to be no direction I can avert my eyes to that doesn’t showcase some chase scene going on.

And what a gymnastic event this chase is. The female shoots up one tree, leaps to another, twirls around the trunk, then up another tree. It seems she is acting out a saying my father-in-law always quoted, “Go to the round barn Mable, they can’t corner you there”. Well it’s equally hard to corner a female squirrel on a round trunk. She is usually pursued by two to three males, yet still seems to outwit them. I watched as she led her merry chase out to the thinnest of branches, one that she must have calculated could hold only one squirrel, and indeed they stopped. They must be hardwired to do an internal formula of mass ratio to branch width in seconds for otherwise there would have been a rain of squirrels falling out of that tree.

There is a time though, when she does choose, and then it’s the “busy myself in the kitchen time”, but I also have noticed that there seems to be a “joi de vivre” that follows with playful leaps and tumbles on the ground. I have seen it before, you may have too, a squirrel who looks to be in the midst of an epileptic fit, but this time, I was able to see that this leaping about followed mating, so maybe it wasn’t epilepsy after all! Time then to be ready to put out more seed, to feed more mouths, even though technically I am supposedly NOT feeding the squirrels. By my husband’s orders. Ah, but so many birds are ground feeders, I can’t not spread seed for them. And so it goes, a steady source of food, a willing chase and soon more fluffy tailed rodents will be on the premises.


Just a few facts about the little dears that will soon be here, well, in 45 days or so, will be here. The books claim that squirrels have two broods a year, which I would say has increased to at least three a year in my yard, due, I believe, to such a reliable food source. They only have 2-4 in a brood with each female raising an average of 6 a year.


They also claim there are more females generally then males for males leave the nest looking for adventure sooner than the females and often find it. Ending what might otherwise have been a stellar squirrel career. For that matter, they give a rather grim statistic that only 1% of them live out their allotted 5 years with some 70% being killed off in their first year. Quick, start a government program. Yet, they remain one of the most prolific and wide spread mammals on the continent so perhaps government subsidies are not in order.

You, of course, have seen their nests, drays they are called, leafy arrangements fairly high up in the tree. The summer home is light and airy whereas this winter dray will have an insulating layer, 5-7” thick comprised of moss and fur and feathers and whatever warm insulating bark they can find. We have red cedars locally and the bark is often stripped off to make such linings, for bird’s nest and squirrel drays. I saw the female gathering leaves in her mouth yesterday and bounding off to enlarge the nest. She does all the rearing too, and will chase off any male who ventures to give an opinion.

So, chickadees, as we mentioned the other day, are giving their territorial calls and squirrels are mating. Even though the winds are howling and snow is blowing, spring, or some image of it, comes to mind. Now to put out some more food while my husband shovels. Pregnant mothers must be cared for, mustn’t they?

Just an Observation

Walking the same path each day doesn’t always result in some new startling revelation, but there are many small vignettes that, although they may not be worthy of an entire dissertation, could fall under the category of “Just an Observation”. And that’s what I am here to share today.

Actually, the first one wasn’t on the trail, but right outside my kitchen window. I have aligned all the bird feeders to be in sight of the window at the sink where I spend much of my kitchen time. It’s a small forest of suet feeders, birdseed tubes, thistle feeders and an old platform feeding station. Like the Food Court at the mall, I suppose, only for birds. Yesterday, I even added some peanut butter covered pinecones to woo back the Carolina Wrens who seem to have left me for my neighbor.

At any rate, you may remember that I mentioned a few days ago, while I was on my walk, a Titmouse unfortunately found itself on the menu of a passing hawk and just yesterday I saw the hawk return. Correctly identifying a hawk isn’t always easy, even when you see it. It was either an immature Sharp Shinned Hawk or a Coopers Hawk sitting in my oak tree, and by the time I saw it, all the birds had vanished. And soon, so did he.

Well, this morning, I saw something pass through quickly and watched the vanishing act of the birds on the ground again. I assume the hawk was back. But there was a male Hairy Woodpecker on the suet feeder who clearly thought it was too risky to fly off, so it just froze.
Not a muscle stirred. Amazing. For at least 6-7 minutes this bird might as well have been a carved bird on the feeder. Finally a few Titmice returned to the platform feeder more or less announcing “All Clear” and the woodpecker flew off.

And again I wonder, what is that like, to be eating cereal, say and have to freeze because there is a chance you are about to be gobbled up. Be thankful folks, “Free as a bird” clearly comes with a price. But their gift is one of quick response with no neurosis that follows. No wringing of the feet wondering “What will I do if that happens again?” Instead, instinct, reaction, and on with the business of the day. Perhaps that part we could envy.

The other short observation is how amazed I am that as early as the first week of January I have been hearing the Chickadees “fee- be-be” call. Each day that has been sunny, with a touch of warmth has seemed to set the male chickadees to thinking about where it is they may want to call home come the spring.
Chickadees become strongly territorial as nesting time gets close in April or so, then this sort of “fee-be” song can become an invitation to “Meet me in the street” for a showdown. But you may hear it from now until then with less attitude behind it as they begin to perhaps casually check out areas that might be suitable. Or perhaps they are just fond of the tune. Or perhaps warmth of feathers makes them yearn for spring. I love to hear it though, and for years I have noted that here in the Cape, January can take on the magic of spring when I do hear it.

Just some observations. Surely you have your own you have noted, and with each one, we learn a little more don’t we? Or we learn to wonder at a little more. I know I have written about this before, perhaps ended with those exact lines but the joy of sharing the little things is what this is all about. So excuse any redundancy on my part. Snow is in the forecast for tonight, how I hope it does come to pass, than back to the joy of tracking we will go. Till the next time then, see what you can see.

All Quiet on the Western Front

These frozen January days have led to some quiet walks around the bog. Quiet because I am bundled up with wrap-around scarves and ear muffs and quiet because most birds seem to have either taken shelter somewhere else, or, are all, as it seems, in my backyard enjoying the daily dole of free food that I offer. For that matter, in the time it took me to walk around the bog the other day, a hawk of some sort came grazing at my feeder so that when I returned a little gray poof of feathers was all that remained of a Titmouse. Perhaps it is best I wasn’t there for that particular event.

Today’s walk seemed similarly cold, and similarly quiet. Thanks to the dog I am well aware of all the various tunnels around the bog that the meadow voles are using, and a crow or two flew over but otherwise I was free to think my thoughts, pray for my family, etc. without interruption. Until, just as I left the bog and was heading back through the woods, the crows began to set up a huge cawing, coughing, sounding madness.


The crow family that seems relegated to the woods-side of the tracks had gathered low in some trees whose view was obscured by the tangle of high bush blueberry and other trees. Trying to get a line on what was going on with binoculars just wasn’t working. Their calls would reach a pitch, than abate, than start all over again. I was due at a dentist appointment but this was too intriguing to be ignored. I had to pick my way around a tangle of briars, I love their other nickname of “Wait a Minute Bush”, for it truly took awhile. Either my scarf would catch, or my pants or my hair. Really I can be ridiculous at times even my dog had already headed home by now. But once free of the first line of briars the trail opened up a bit so I could skirt the overgrown bog and get closer to the action. There in a large dead Maple was the reason for the racket.

A Red tail hawk, with its back to me, was holding something dark and furry in its talons, and it was the reason the crows were going ballistic. The hawk had found itself a worthy breakfast and it appeared the crows felt there was plenty to share. I imagine the dives and calls were an attempt to have the hawk drop its prize. But good for you hawk, hang on, you can take a little verbal abuse. A large hawk like you must need all the nutrition you can find on a cold winter’s morning.

It eventually swooped off the large branch it was on and flew lower into the tangle and out of sight so I didn’t get a clear look at what prey it had come by, but my impression was that of something larger than a rabbit. It flew low like it carried something of weight and I wonder if it had succeeded in taking a raccoon. That would have been my guess but it is just a guess.

“All quiet on the western front” then, ended not as quietly as it began. Once again, I have these rambunctious crows to thank for leading me to this intersection with nature. Should you hear such a commotion yourself, please allow yourself to be curious. Although I don’t recommend plowing through a briar patch to get a better view, do your best to see what all the fuss is about. More times than not you will be rewarded with something interesting. January is the month that owls will begin finding their mates and starting their nests, which is another trigger for crows to go a little nuts. And their racket is one, I might add, that can be easily heard even through layers of ear-muffs and hats and scarves! A local birder on the Cape always ends his column with “Keep your eyes to the sky”, and I would add, “and you ears too”.

Now you See it, Now you Don't

What a completely apt phrase that is, “now you see it, now you don’t”, for looking for tracks in snow. The forecast for the Cape’s New Year’s weekend was for balmy temps, so I knew I had to get out as often as I could before the chapters closed on who had been where on the bog.

I chose to walk around a bog that is attached via a short trail to the main bog area but for some reason sees less human traffic. I was rewarded by seeing where those fox tracks of the other day had perhaps originated, in a wetland tangle at the far side, but what held far more fascination that day, was the iced over bog itself. On one side there was a complete stampede of crow tracks!

It looked like a waltzing of crows or the site of a crow Contra dance. Really, this one entire section of the bog was covered every inch with crow tracks of all kinds. Not just walking as I usually see, but so many landings and taking off, with those feather imprints that I mentioned in the last blog, clearly seen.
Then tracks that seemed to go about in circles, so, so many of them! They were also all over the bank that led to the bog. Had someone scattered corn perhaps? I saw no evidence of it.

Now, I need to remember that several days had passed since the snow had fallen. This may not have been one large gathering of crows, but a repeat performance of a family of crows that kept coming back for some reason. There are three distinct families that call these bogs their home and I have been noticing what a successful breeding year they had, for rather than the usual 6 or 7 crows in a family unit, I have been seeing 10. Those numbers may decrease if the winter is harsh, but so far, they seem to be a large family. Were the three groups of crows roosting in this area? They are one gregarious species and roosts are reported to have hundreds and hundreds of crows in them. It may be that these three families were having some pre-roost play on the bog, for crows are playful. Usually though, you see that play, play itself out in the air with swoops and dives and rolls. Hmmm.

I often think there are so many surveillance cameras watching us these days, at red lights, at shopping malls. How I wish there were some night cameras set up here to see just WHAT does go on while I am not here! So, I have no answers for this, just that today, after a weekend of temperatures in the mid 40’s, any evidence that it ever happened, has melted away. Which is why my admonition is always to “get out and get at it” when you can!

This morning though, the cold had returned, with a wind that had me keeping my scarf over my nose. But aha! Not all the snow had melted. In the shady areas and the areas of drift it was not only still there, but crusty enough to walk on without leaving a track. I think those cold temps returned after an opossum had made its way down the same slope I do and its tracks were cast now in this icy medium and were wonderfully clear- the outstretched digits that look like a star when you see them.
And the tunnels of meadow mice with their roofs melted away gave a clear picture of where they had scurried to and from. A marvelous protection when the snow is there, a clear highway when it is not.

Now you see it, now you don’t. But the point is, go out to see what you can see. For if you don’t, you surely won’t. Consider that my suggestion of a New Years resolution for you. If you don’t, you surely won’t. And wouldn’t that be a pity? And around here, more snow if perhaps forecasted for this coming weekend. Yippee. A clean slate again. Enjoy everyone!