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It’s recently been quiet around the pond. Breaking the silence, a dozen mallards splashed down yesterday. They puttered around in the shallows, grazing on submerged weeds, finally settling down in the tall pond side grass for the night. They took off at sunrise without so much as a solong. Back onto the avian highway south. Some of our local winged critters have already left for warmer regions, too. The heron has fled, thus relieving our fish of the horrifying summer long prospect of becoming raptor poop. Hummingbirds have abandoned the tempting sweets of our hanging baskets. And the monarch butterfly parade has finally passed until the return trip next spring. Last evening three does foraged at the side of the pond for acorns and pine cones before passing the porch and fading into the woods.

The steady bombardment of acorns on the deck and roof of the house has become a slow drumbeat. Continued bounty for the squirrels and chipmunks to gather for the forthcoming months of sparse times. When Mother Nature dons the cool grays and whites of winter.

But Autumn continues to increasingly occupy the stage. The maples are changing from earthy tones to more brilliant reds and golds. The tupellos’ shiny reds are in full color. And the oaks are bright yellow.

As someone said “Autumn is like a second spring where every leaf is a flower.” A nice thought to end to a quiet October evening.

Lots of recent action around the pond. Our little enclave is on the insect interstate. Migrating monarch butterflies constantly pass through, their internal compasses pointing south.

The tints of autumn are becoming more vivid and the air a bit more crisp. Hints to migrating critters that it’s time to go. And for local residents to find a cozy den in which to wait out the chilly gray tones of winter.

A dozen mallards splashed down on the pond a short time ago. They’ll find a quiet overnight nest in the high grass at the edge of the pond. And wing off at sunrise. No doubt dropping a few gratuities into the pond as they leave. Such is their ilk. Or whatever. We run a poop and go establishment, ilks and all.

A daily invasion of flickers has been occupying the front yard. Picnicking on Autumn’s annual gift of fallen seeds. A few robins, who seem to loiter in the north longer each year, prospect for worms among the flickers. Avian integration. And Mother Nature’s signal that she enjoys a longer summer too.

Our noisy downstairs neighbor, Chuck, continues to waddle his way every morning from beneath our porch floor to the abandoned drain pipe beyond the yard. I continue to suspect that he shelters a concubine there. But what do I know of rodentine love life? Or care to.

Falling acorns beat a loud paradiddle on the decks and roof of the house. An embarrassment of riches to the local squirrel and chipmunk population. A harbinger of an angry Jack Frost’s winter wrath? Perhaps. We shouldn’t complain. The upper mid-west is now getting three feet of snow, according to the weather gods of NOAA. As I loll in shorts and a t-shirt while soaking up the mild rays of a northeastern September sun. Downright shameful. Well, maybe not.

After an unexplained two week absence, the deer are back. Not that they owe me an explanation. Yesterday four does and two of this year’s fawns grazed past the porch and the pond before disappearing into the woods. A solitary spike buck sauntered through an hour later. Bad timing. Poor guy won’t meet any ladies that way. This afternoon, two does walked by within a few feet of the porch. They began to snack on my lovely bride’s mums. Bad idea. Very bad.

Incidentally, all of the deer have now doffed their beautiful rust red summer garb for the more somber gray browns of winter. In a couple of months, they’ll be digging in the snow, looking for those acorns the squirrels have hidden.

And the grand finale‘. A beautiful eight point buck joined us just before sunset. He loped along the north side of the pond and past the ledge. No loitering by his royal buckness as he quickly disappeared into the woods. No doubt to rendezvous with his personal harem, it being the onset of rutting season.

Love in the afternoon.

Things have been very busy around the pond during the last few days. To begin, the fish were premature in their celebration of the alleged departure south of the dreaded heron. He lingers. Worse for them, we watched him catch and brutally devour one of their beloved brothers today. Mother Nature can be a cruel old crone.

A dozen mallards emerged from the pond side brush yesterday morning. Apparently they had overnighted. They puttered around the pond for most of the morning before launching into the blue and onto the avian birdway south. Their departure may have been encouraged by two eagles who circled hungrily over the pond beforehand. No self respecting duck wants to be some predator’s fast food on the fly.

The deer have suddenly become very active. Two does grazed at the side of the pond last evening. Both already garbed in the dark robes of winter. A four point buck sauntered through the yard and grazed past the ledge into the woods today. Probably rehearsing for the oncoming rutting season. Just missed the two does and a fawn that dropped by this evening. Some days are like that.

A very melodic and persistent cricket on the deck outside the porch has been serenading us well into the evening every day. Only knows one tune, but, if it’s happy, we’re happy. Before long it will have found a winter home or gone to the great cricket match in the sky.

The trappings of Autumn are becoming more evident every day. One of the maples in the front yard, always a harbinger of fall, has changed colors first. The crimsons are a darker crimson. And the oaks that overhang the house are beating a loud staccato of falling acorns on the roof and deck.

The squirrels, of course, are enjoying the bounty. I’ve seen a few with acorns in their mouths so large that I wonder if they’ll ever get their jaws closed again. According to one, it’s going to be a cold winter. That is if you can believe a squirrel.

It’s been said that winter is an etching, spring a water color, summer a painting and autumn a mosaic of them all.

Good closing to a beautiful late summer day. The last piece of the mosaic.

Not much mammalian critter action around the pond this week. Our noisy downstairs neighbor, Chuck, made a stealthy dash from under our porch to an allegedly abandoned drainpipe yesterday. We had labored under the belief that we had two bachelor woodchucks. Chuck and a pipe dwelling stranger at the other end of the yard. But we can now draw only one of two conclusions. Either Chuck has a weekend home in yonder pipe or he has secreted a hidden lover. Didn’t know old Chuck was that much of a dude. Anyway, that’s Chuck’s business. Far be it for us to get involved.

Yesterday a doe and two fawns grazed along what we call the Isthmus. A narrow band of wooded land that separates the back of the pond from a large marshy area beyond. Another beautiful little doe grazed last evening near How’s Bayou an inlet on the south side of the pond. She was still wearing her beautiful rust red summer garb. Summer clings to a last few shreds of September. She’ll soon don a new robe of more restrained gray/brown. The better to hide her from hunters and rutting bucks. Though rutting bucks have laser like vision with regard to comely young does.

The bass and grass carp have been unusually active. Perhaps celebrating the departure of their nemesis, the heron. He has now taken wing for his winter home in the South. The humming birds so far remain. Still dipping into the hanging baskets of tuberous begonias and pansies. They, too, will soon be leaving us for the warm rays of the South. Cool autumn winds in their wake.

The dragon flies are thinning. A contrast to the usual flurry of activity that hovers about three feet above the surface of the pond all summer. And, pretty as they are, they can be brutal in the way they dispatch their food. The little beasts have serrated teeth and terrible table manners. Really. And they’re cannibalistic. They dine on such entomological delicacies as midges, mosquitoes, flies and their own tiny larval children. Talk about child abuse. You don’t wanna know.

Finally, we were recently blessed with one of Mother Nature’s rare and beautiful gifts. A constant stream of monarch butterflies passed us on the way to their winter havens in Central America and Mexico. We’re lucky enough to be on the butterfly migration interstate. The journey involves several generations on the way. Must take some interesting procreative gymnastics. Sex on the wing. Whatever floats your chrysalis.

Time flies.

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It’s been a beautiful late summer around the pond. The shadows are becoming longer and the sun a little lower. But it’s a warm light, typical of the season. And there are still enough BTUs in the sun’s output to entice a few woods turtles to haul out onto the yard and soak in its gentle rays. Even a large snapper sounded and slumbered briefly on the surface. Sometimes an afternoon thunderstorm and light drizzle have rumpled the surface of the pond.

No complaints from the fish. The marauding heron will soon be leaving them in peace and heading south with his migrating avian pals. They’ll leave behind their hardier relatives–cardinals, blue jays, finches and other feathered friends more impervious to Jack Frost’s unwelcome bite. Meanwhile, as autumn wanes, winter comes and the pond freezes, the fish will happily ease into a chilly, peaceful torpor. Metabolism will lower to the point of minimal activity and required food intake. The perks of cold bloodedness.

The bears have left us and moved into the deeper woods. There they’ll finish fattening up for the long winter hibernation. They’ll be shopping for a suitable den in which to make their winter home by Nov/Dec. By Spring they’ll have slept if off. The females, much thinner, may have had a cub or two–or three or four. Gotta be a restless sleep. Their pulse will drop to about 8 beats per minute. They don’t eat or drink during hibernation so they don’t–well, you know. Makes for a clean den. Betcha always wondered. And no, I don’t recommend it.

The trees have adopted a slightly darker, more conservative green than the bright lights of their sylvan youth. With accents of tans and yellows on a few trees.The tupeloes are flashing some of their bright shiny reds.

Deer have been a little bit shy lately. It’s early for rutting season when it’s party time for every adult deer in the forest. A raucous cervidaen bacchanal. The annual prelude to fawn season in the Spring, And memories with which to regale their friends during their declining years.

A small doe wandered out of the woods at the side of the pond last evening. We noticed that she had changed her beautiful rust red summer coat to the more conservative gray brown of *erg* winter. Still beautiful, she stayed for only a short while and moved back into the woods. So time moves on in its inexorable way. The crisp beautiful blue skies and splashy colors of Autumn still lie ahead of us. And cold. And snow. But as the Indian authoress Anamika Mishra wrote, “Winter is not a season. It’s a celebration.”

And, hey, it’s still summer.

It’s been quiet around the pond this week. A Tom turkey has been loitering for a couple of days in the woods near the back of the pond. The high grass has gone to seed back there. He varies his menu with an occasional foray to the island, where he probably finds much the same boring fare. Turkeys are not given to very sophisticated epicurean taste. Perhaps he’s too old to chew anything else.

A great blue heron has been dropping in once a week with larceny on its mind. It usually purloins a couple bass children before launching off into the blue. No thanks. Ungrateful cad.

The lawn was mowed yesterday. The grass carp followed the mower as the pond side grass was sheared. They gorged on the clippings that were thrown into the water. The bass had a carpe diem moment. They ambushed all of the crickets, grasshoppers and other unfortunate creepy crawlies that were in the fall out zone. Icky, but it’s provender. 

A few woods turtles are enjoying the weekend by soaking up some late summer sun on the lawn. I think it would get pretty toasty inside those shells. Suppose they get a tan in there? Nah.

The mushrooms that grew near the porch are gone. And with them, the small deer that feasted on them every evening. There’s a rumor among the critter set that some of those fungi were of a psychedelic persuasion. Really. No, really. Word must have gotten around, however. Two beautiful little does just came by and grazed for awhile next to the porch. 

The quiet was interrupted today by a sure sign that Mother Nature is slowly drawing the curtain on summer. A massive flock of of migrating starlings, some walking, some flying, invaded our placid little enclave. The trees, woods and lawn were dark with them. A feathered, crawling, flying river of black that flowed through the lawn, air and surrounding woods. Disappearing as soon as it arrived. On its inevitable way south.

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It’s been quiet around the pond this week. The bear visits have dwindled to zero. We may get a couple more before they become less social and retire into the deeper woods until next year. Their annual reclusion. Our annual rejection. (sob) We now await the first of southbound water bird traffic. Our small enclave is on the main avian freeway south.

Three does continue to have a sunset snack along the north end of the pond near the ledge. They still wear their bright rust red summer coats. Reassurance that Jack Frost and his icy grip are still months away. I’m probably a bit jumpy on the subject. Jack seems to become more unfriendly as the years wane.

A spate of heavy rains has recently inspired a riot of mushrooms on the lawn and in nearby woods. Absolute ambrosia to deer of an epicurean bent. A small buck has discovered this and arrives near the porch almost every evening to sample the overnight yield. He seems oblivious of the three does on the opposite side of the pond. Makes me wonder if our little fungus garden includes a few mushrooms of a psychedelic persuasion. Imagine. A stoned deer. Hardly our intention to introduce local sylvan youth to the nether world of psilocybin. But what else would distract his mind from the chorus line on the opposite side of the pond? He usually finishes his feast a few feet from the porch. Tossing us an occasional glance that I interpret as a cross between guilt and apology. And–well–a little out of focus.

Yesterday morning greeted us with a large white egret on the opposite end of the pond. The first of it’s kind to favor our wet little world. It sat there looking like a large white undertaker while prospecting for breakfast. Drawing a blank, it took to the air, dropping a token of its disapproval as it left. Cursed mercenary.

High point of the week was a visit from our friend, John. John was accompanied by his beautiful little Shetland dog, Rowdy. Rowdy is 10 dog years old. 70 people years. Which makes him an old dog. Thus, we have much in common. We spent hours exchanging stories of the Elysian fields of our youth. Regrettably, I had nothing to match Rowdy’s stories of bounding after sheep on the heather covered moors of Scotland. Burying bones. Fetching sticks. Chasing butterflies. Pure doggerel.

Politics

It’s a beautiful quiet evening on Hideaway Pond. Added to our usual cadre of sunset critters, two new deer have become regular visitors during the past week. This evening, they dropped by and grazed by the ledge. Should they continue this pattern they’re likely to be endowed with names by my lovely bride. She believes that all of Mother Nature’s critters deserve the dignity of a name. Though it’s hard to define their gender persuasion from a distance. They don’t take well to close inspection. Thus, Joseph could be Josephine or vice versa. Frankly, I haven’t heard any of them complain one way or the other. Perhaps they enjoy figuring things out for themselves.
Our noisy downstairs neighbor, Chuck the groundhog, has apparently mended his ways or left town. Pretty quiet down there. We’ve seen a woodchuck loitering by an unused drainpipe near the pond. It appears to be living in there. I doubt that it could be Chuck since he’s accustomed to much more luxurious digs than a drain pipe. Perhaps we should name it Diogenese after the 4th century BC nutty philosopher who ate and slept wherever he happened to be at the time. Which, while he was in Athens, was a very large ceramic jar in the marketplace. Chuck would cringe.
The house wrens who raised a family in our birdhouse and skipped town have been replaced by a new family. Shari cleaned the birdhouse and they moved right in. I guess house wrens are given to these wanderin’ ways and often raise two families per season. Oversexed little critters. But they’re nice tiny guys and welcome to the neighborhood.
A morose old Tom turkey hobbled through the front yard last evening. Well past his prime but no doubt heartened by memories of his youth. The bird bacchanals featuring hot little hens and fully flared tails. Ah, those must have been the days. All a fading memory now. By the way, is there such a thing as turkey tail disfunction?

Well, it’s been a crazy time around Hideaway Pond.

Yesterday morning, just as we were beginning breakfast on the porch, a great blue heron flared out and landed a few feet away. Those guys have wing spans deserving of official FAA numerical identification. Impressive. It had the courtesy to leave us in peace with our meal and flew to the island. There it spent the rest of the morning looting our unsuspecting fish. Following which it flew away with its ill gotten booty on board. Not even a word of thanks. To make matters worse, it pooped in our pond as it left the local air space.

During the early evening a buck and a doe dropped by. They grazed along the edge of the pond near the ledge. Half way through their meal they launched into some behavior that was, to say the least, very unusual to our innocent eyes. They paused and the buck proceeded to lick the full length of the doe’s neck. Haven’t seen behavior like that since the fraternity parties of my erstwhile college years. With some brief research I found that such behavior signifies affection as well as dominance. So there you are. Never know what your going to learn from this modest little blog. Nor most likely care, either.

This morning a bear dropped by. Our 13th sighting of the season. We first saw it huddled down by the pond, clearly occupied by something it was eating. We suspect it of having snatched one of our fish. However, since its fur coat didn’t appear to be wet, there’s probably not enough evidence to prosecute. Once it detached its attention from its meal, it wandered into the woods and around the pond. It eventually disturbed a heron, fully occupied with fishing for its lunch. Thus, irritating it enough to fly off to a quieter lunch venue. This bear is obviously an unabashed serial pain in the ass. Don’t suppose the heron can prosecute, either.

The evening was absolute chaos, caused by the almost simultaneous arrival of three does and their fawns. Two pairs came within a few feet of the porch and eventually grazed on the lawn. Another pair hung out on a peninsula on a far edge of the pond. Much ado about nothing if you ask me. Or don’t.