The Joy of Snow

I feel it’s a bold step to title this, “The Joy of Snow”, for I can imagine the hate mail that could follow from all of you Northern folks who are half crazed with cabin fever, or are frozen to the bone with a fear of never being warm again.  To all of you, I apologize for the following essay.  For that matter, you probably shouldn’t read any further unless raising your blood pressure might warm you up somehow.

You may have seen that even Texas has gotten snow in this wild winter, but sadly, I am in South Central Texas where the most we can hope for is freezing rain, which, in fact, if falling right now.  AND it is the reason I can write this for otherwise we would be outside.  My husband would be balancing precariously on a ladder, on the parts where it says you definitely shouldn’t balance, to reach the dead branches that need pruning on the Live Oak trees. I would be monitoring his progress with my finger poised to dial 911 should he fall.

 This pruning is an endless task in late winter for they manage to have A LOT of small dead branches.  If you wait until spring to prune, you risk getting the dreaded oak wilt, a fungus carried by insects, then spread through the roots of the tree killing all other live oaks in the vicinity. 

  This is Texas, land of superlatives, so of course it is the MOST DESTRUCTIVE tree disease in the US! Of course.  It is the reason no blogs have been forthcoming lately because all free time is spent pruning.

But I digress.  I have lived with very deep snow.  In Watertown NY, the average snowfall is 93” but approaches 200” in the snow belt south of there, which is where Ft Drum is. 

 When we lived there the snow covered the first story windows, you came in the house through a tunnel that made the whole place look very Hobbit-like and I loved it.  Granted, my only job was to take my daughter sledding right out the back yard each day and make sure we had our daily dose of hot chocolate.

 My second daughter was born there in Feb and I had nightmares about giving birth in a snowdrift, but that actually didn’t happen. It was often well below zero.  I know the tricky problem of not being able to exhale in a car because it instantly turns to ice on the inside of your windshield.  So I can empathize, yet even there, to the chagrin of all the Southerners ready to shoot their refrigerators, I LOVED it, and was sad when in MAY it finally stopped snowing!

All those winters on Cape Cod, I didn’t miss a day of walking my dog and I remember occasionally trudging through hip-deep snow to reach the railroad tracks that bordered the cranberry bog.  Once on the tracks, I was breathless, not only from the exertion getting there but also from the knock-your-socks off beauty that lay before me.  A field of diamonds!  I think you have all had that “diamond” snow this year.  The snow produced in such cold weather that each flake is rigid and reflecting light back to a dazzling degree.  Growing up as a fan of Paul Simon, I was always humming, “She’s Got Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes”, and I did.  Plus I felt just as “rich” as if they were the real thing.

 

Then, there is the joy of tracking; there is no better substrate to track in, well wet sand or mud is better I suppose, but for seeing the intricate pattern of a crows wingtips as he launched, or his skid marks as he landed, you need snow for that.   In snow, I would find out that my backyard was a veritable Interstate for coyote and fox travel. How easy to compare the long-fingered, jumping tracks of squirrels to the rounded tracks of rabbits, all laid out, clear as a bell before you. I miss that. 

Of course, the day after the blizzard there are virtually no signs, for the animals have “holed up” during the storm, but eventually, those who aren’t hibernating have to come out and look for food, so tracks will show up.

Remember though, one can be fooled by tracks in melting snow, for the imprint gets larger as it melts and you might convince yourself moose have moved in, when it really was a deer, or bears, where it started as a coyote track.  Some common sense is required. Not likely Bigfoot lives in your back yard!   

EVENTUALLY then, the snow will melt and another whole new world will be on display, the “Subnivian” world.  A world I have written about in a past blog, but is worth writing again; the revealing of the reveling that is going on under the snow that none of us sees now, but will when the snow melts.  Clues that will be left to remind you in summer how high the snow had been in winter. That can be the topic of the next blog.

I do have sympathy for all that you “blizzard bound” people have been going through.  I know it has cost a lot of lost work time, a lot of revenue for some, and a lot of injured backs or worse.  Please don’t think I have callous disregard for your troubles.  I don’t.  But the earth is spinning on its axis and gradually tipping us closer to the sun.  Friday, March 20^th, the first day of spring, is less than 3 weeks away!  Hold on then, and have another cup of hot chocolate, it’s on me.

Valentines Day for Skunks

Romance can be a dangerous thing, especially if you are a skunk!  Have you noticed how many poor, flattened, skunks there are on the road this time of year?  (Feb-April) That is because February, the month of love, is the beginning of the mating season for the striped skunk.

 Here in Texas, it is in full swing and you can’t help but notice the sad uptick in skunk highway fatalities.  If we were to take a survey, I would wager the dearly departed would be 100% male.  For such is the fate of many a male who swaggers out to find a mate.  Whereas his normal lifestyle would generally find him no more than a ½ mile or so from his home territory, when it is time to find a Valentine, he may travel up to 5 miles a night.  And in the course of those miles, he often has to cross many a road.  Sadly, his one means of defense, his spray, is no match for a car and so, our Romeos search often ends in tragedy.  Who remembers the hit song, (can you believe it was a hit!) “Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road”? A musical tribute to the dangers of love for a skunk!

By nature, skunks are both shy and solitary.  In the winter, especially in colder climes, skunks will hole up in their cozy den for weeks at a time.  The females either enjoy each others company (sound familiar?) or just find warmth in numbers, for you may find 5 or 6 females in a burrow together with last year’s young.  Males, however, are solitary (also sounds familiar) and come out of their burrows before the females do in search of Mrs. Right.

To be honest, he may search out many Mrs. Rights, for skunks are polygamous and once the next generation has been secured, he is on his way to find the next Mrs. Right. The females seem to like it this way, for if the male were to try and come around after the kits were born she would aggressively chase him away. (No comment!)

 In defense of skunks, let’s note that they are, for the most part, slow moving animals, without the best sense of sight or smell or hearing for that matter.  Touch is their best sense.  And an animal like that, needs a decent defense if it is to survive. And do they ever!  Musk that not only smells bad, but can temporarily blind the attacker if it lands in its eyes, and because it is oil based, the scent will be on that animal (how well we dog owners know this) for a long time!  Their black and white coat, easily seen in the dark, is a warning, “Remember me? Don’t mess with me or you’ll be sorry!”

And their musk is precious to them; they would rather not waste it, so they do give a clear warning.  First they will stamp their feet, maybe even click their teeth, “Back off, I am warning you!”  You and I, most mature coyotes and fox will do just that.  It is the inexperienced young animal or not too bright dog that will keep approaching. 

 Next, the tail goes up, it may back up a step or two.  “Foolish enough to come closer?”  Then, it does a little handstand and with its back to you, but its eyes keeping you in sight, it sprays the oily musk with great accuracy up to 15 feet. 

  The result is usually in the favor of the skunk.  As the dog is yelping and clawing at its face, the skunk can waddle away, unharmed.  Too bad cars don’t have the same reaction.

 As a public safety announcement, please drive carefully in this season of skunk love.  Remember, the scent is as hard to get off your car as it is off your dog.  Although many of you may think skunks are a nuisance, for instance, when they decide to den under your porch, remember that they also do us a great service of insect control, and carrion removal etc.  When rabies hit the Cape a few years ago, and the skunks took a big hit, my yard that had been kept free of grubs, started to have the telltale yellow patches.  Oh no, my skunks must have died! 

 That went on for a couple of years, and then, just as I was about to move, what did I smell?  Yeah! A skunk! They’re back! Long live the lawn! 

So, this Valentines, have a heart and watch out for the love struck skunk in your area.  Your lawn will thank you.

IN TEXAS, IF YOU DON’T LIKE THE SEASON, WAIT A MINUTE!

 

In New England, as in many states, the saying is, ”If you don’t like the WEATHER, wait a minute.”  After three years in Texas, I would say the Texas saying should be, “If you don’t like the SEASON, wait a minute.”  This week we have clearly had spring or early summer with temperatures in the mid-70’s.  But we have also had freeze warnings and nights that the plants needed to be covered. Presently, it is in the 40’s and raining, very reminiscent of a fall day.

I dread ever being asked the kind of question that is designed to see just HOW senile are you?  As in, “Can you tell me what month it is?” or “Can you tell me what season it is?”  On any given day, I am bound to get either one of those questions wrong.  Off to the “home” with me!

From late May to November, I would be likely to answer, “It is summer; the month is August, and these are indeed the dog days of August.” That’s how

Texas feels to me for 8 out of the 12 months.  

I just started teaching again at the Nature Center, and when I was trying to explain that my fractured leg had kept me from teaching in the last session, I hesitated.  “I wasn’t here for the fall, or was it the spring session?”  Hmmm and what season are we in now?  Well, it is February and this is the spring session, right?”  Right.

The plants are no help either.  At the moment in my yard I have three trees turning gold and orange, clearly fall colors, while on the other hand, my sorry little few sprigs of forsythia, the herald of spring and Easter on the Cape, are just blooming.  The “grass”, actually burr clover, is as green as it would be in May, and the Possumhaw Holly has bright red berries on bare branches, just like our Winterberry would have in the winter on Cape Cod.

So, you tell me, what season is it?

 

Birds sometimes anchor a season in your mind and I am getting a better handle on that here.  When Lesser Goldfinches, who are soooo cute, empty my thistle feeder every few days, I know it is winter. 

 When my, loved on the Cape, Chipping sparrows, crowd the feeder, I have to remember it is winter.  They were a summer bird up North.  And as the arrival of the first Junco, “Snow Bird”, meant winter was on it’s way, here, it is the arrival of the Ruby Crowned Kinglet. 

What a treat to see this diminutive pair of Kinglet’s peck away at the suet.  You can tell these birds by their white eye-ring and subtle olive color, NOT by the advertised “ruby crown”.  Only the male sports the crown and until he is either in love enough to flash it, or angry enough to raise a “red flag”, it is so well concealed that you don’t see it at all.  So far, none of the males have shown an inclination towards either emotion.  No flash of red for me to see, and by the time they are courting, I think they will have moved north again.

So, is it early Alzheimer’s, or is it just that Texas is so confusing?  Let’s hope for the latter!