More beautiful early spring weather around the Pond this week. Sapphire blue skies. Lazy white clouds ambling in from the north.
Weāve been favored by one or two pairs of mallards every morning. They generally graze on submerged vegetation at the edge of the pond. They then hitch a ride on the feathered freeway north after fueling up. A pair of geese splash down like clockwork every evening at twilight. They fly in directly over the house and flare out as they hit the water near the porch. Since they donāt radio in before hand, weāve been unable get any photos. Nor of the two owls who argue in the nearby woods for a couple of hours every evening.
The prize of the day was the arrival of the first bear of the season. I caught a brief view of Smokey passing a window as we were having dinner. Shari ran for the camera and managed to get a couple of shots of him admiring the newly blooming dwarf rhododendron near the front of the house. He was probably attracted by the aroma of seeds that had dropped to the ground beneath the former location of the bird feeders. Apparently not interested in avian leftovers, he ambled on. Nary a wave nor a howdy doo.
Reveille. Before it hit the horizon, the rising sun had painted the sky bright pink. Evergreens stood out in stark black silhouette. Harbingers of a fine early spring day.
Itās been quiet around Hideaway Pond. Breezy sapphire skies. A moist dark day intervened last week. Welcome interlude of rain for the budding daffodils and forsythia. Red buds of the crimson and swamp maples seem to be bursting with impatience for arrival of their annual gift of bright green leaves. In two weeks or so, they should be rewarded and the Hideaway will recede into itās yearly verdant cocoon. A Sylvan Secret.
The placid surface of the pond is now disturbed by dark swirls. The bass are busily engaged in their annual spawning dance. The pond will soon be dotted with submerged black patches. Bass fingerlings. Both progeny and provender of their cannibalistic parents. Talk about tough love.
The grass carp go about their sad, sedentary sexless lives in total oblivion. Illusive grass shoots their primary prey. Danger lurks.
About 20 turtles sun themselves on the lawn and island. Springās siren song has inspired some into a frenzy of sexual passion. If you can imagine. A behavior which has suddenly afflicted many of the critters of the Hideaway. We have little choice in which direction to avert our gaze.
Weāve had daily visits by two or three pairs of mallards. Two Canada geese and a pair of mallards have splashed down as I write this. They feast on pond side grass and briefly climb ashore to sun themselves, disturbing a dozen sunning turtles as they pass.
Thus far, none have signed on to nest. Just as well, I suppose. Ducklings and goslings are fast food for the local snappers. Beautiful as she is, Mother Nature has a pragmatic side.
And Gilda, the goose who tragically lost her nest to a night time raider years ago has come and gone. During past years a summer long resident, she has found a new love and become a gone goose. God speed Gilda.
Chuck, our cleverly eponymed woodchuck lived under our deck all winter. He briefly exited yesterday, sniffed the air and immediately returned to his den. He apparently didnāt get the memo about woodchucks, sun and shadows.
Several does continue to drop by for an evening snack of newly greening grass on the lawn and surrounding area. And a buck visits on his own schedule. Totally un-intimidated by us as he dines near the house. We think heās Rudy. The buck that made this his home prior to the rutting season. He has now lost his antlers. Sequentially, I assume. One might wonder–or not–if this causes a crises of confidence in a male deer. I wonāt ask. Itās probably a sensitive subject. We found a single antler in the brush near the house years ago. Never found the rest of him. Just as well.
A waning crescent moon sails over the Catskills tonight. On April 26, in its full phase, it will become a āPink Moonā, so named by the Algonquin Indians for the color of phlox. One of the first blossoms of the year. It’s poetic that this beautiful day began painted in bright pink. Perhaps the Great Spirit has cast a spell, bathing the entire Catskill Range in pink moonlight. Why not? Strong medicine. Close your eyes. Pink dreams
Brilliant electric blue skies have ruled over Hideaway Pond for a week. Though nothing is blooming yet, the forest sings a quiet promise of oncoming green. A light, transparent, almost invisible green. Here in the Hideaway every color has a voice. If you stir in a little imagination. And watch. And listen. Colors sing. Very quietly. And only on Hideaway Pond. Really.
We were visited yesterday by the first ducks of the year . A pair of mallards. They splashed down in mid-afternoon. After they had surveyed the pond, they bathed. As only water birds can bathe. Filling the air with spray. They then lofted off onto the feathered flyway north. Another three couples dropped in today. And left. An old flyboyās ātouch and goā maneuver. Not a wave or a word of thanks. But mallards have never been known for mastery of the social graces. Notwithstanding that, we enjoy their visits. Pretty little guys.
The fish are recovering from their winter long torpor at the dark bottom of the pond. They make large swirls on its surface. Before long, theyāll be snapping futilely at overhead dragonfly traffic.
The bass are already spawning. We avert our eyes. Even fish need a little privacy. And turtles sun themselves on a bank next to the pond. Must be a life altering event after a winter in the deep cold dark mud of the pond.
Before long the bullfrogs and peepers will be lending their voices to the forest chorus. Their song can occasionally become a bit too āfortissimoā. A hearty holler into the dark will generally quiet the air.
A doe and two of last yearās fawns continue to graze on the front yard at sundown. Still clothed in their dark winter garb, they become invisible against the forest background. Theyāll soon be wearing the red robe of summer. Itās about time for Mom to push them out to make room for a new family. They seem reluctant. Go! Get a job!
The local raccoon finally deciphered the āsecurity codeā on the bird feeders. We found one feeder in critical condition on the ground two days ago. Both the wounded and the survivor will be retired for the summer. This will no doubt piss off the turkeys and their small avian cousins. Pissed off chickadees. Imagine. So birds, life is cruel. Get over it.
And speaking of cruel, āGildaā the goose is back. Gilda lost her family to a mid-night raid on her nest 3 years ago. A nocturnal predator. While she was mourning her loss, (and geese do that) her mate left for parts unknown. Geese mate for life and will ordinarily find another mate under such circumstances. Not āGildaā. Sheās a one gander girl. She has returned each year and immediately gone to her old nest site.
As the Hideaway warms and days grow longer, Mother Nature will slowly return in all of her verdant glory. Her spring wardrobe will be garlanded in wild flowers. Hideaway Pond will have survived another winter. Her critters will emerge from their various shelters. Theyāll stretch, yawn and blink in the fresh spring sun. And listen to the lovely new colors of another spring. Really.
High times around Hideaway pond. My lovely brideās āgang of fiveā turkeys has made daily runs on the bounty that the birds have kicked out of the feeders. Perfect symbiosis. I suspect that it involves a formal treaty. An avian nation has now made the feeders their national capital.
Meanwhile, our resident raccoon continues his obviously futile quest to crack the code on the feeders. There is regular morning evidence of his total incompetence at the art of thievery. A roof ajar. An odd angle where there should be none. A subject of shame and shunning, by his clan. Virtual artisans in the realm of thievery.
Deer graze the yard on a daily basis. Totally aloof of their surroundings.
So life goes on apace around the Hideaway. The weather gods have been kind. Extreme cold. But with it have come frequent radiantly blue skies. The winter equinox is a mere two weeks away. With it, the first official day of Spring. And Spring, as Robin Williams said, is Natureās way of saying āLetās party!ā
Moist blue-gray skies have ruled over the Hideaway through most of February. Occasional bright sun has heralded in crystal clear days. The weather gods have been kind.
But this evening an angry northerly cold front blew in snow. Temps are projected to be in the teens. Northbound birds will be dealing with heavy headwinds. And de-icers.
Weather aside, critters have been surprisingly active. Several turkeys, dubbed by my lovely bride āthe gang of fiveā, visit daily. They feast on leftovers disdainfully kicked out of the feeders by their smaller more picky cousins. They may be members of a larger group that appears every few days.
But I suspect that theyāre free lancers. Theyāre more enterprising. And smarter. Theyāre cashing in on most of the seeds. Little seems to disturb them save a trio of nearby deer. And it appears to be reciprocal.
On the mammalian front, Shari spotted a raccoon lurking under the feeders last night. It had obvious intentions of a midnight raid. One of the feeders was slightly askew this morning. Evidence of a slight gust? Or the raccoonās futile ineptitude? A deficiency which could get it expelled from the entire raccoon nation. Thievery being their proud forteā.
And a very large woodchuck romped through the backyard as we were preparing breakfast yesterday. It appeared to be very well nourished for having spent the winter on scant provender. But that was yesterday. It may have grown with passage of time the way a fish grows in size as itās passed along the piscatorial network.
3/2/2021
The cold front that blew through last night dropped a skim of snow. It had blown away by sunrise. Left behind was the gift of a radiant blue sky.
The āgang of fiveā has come and gone four times today. They now ignore us while they gorge. Between them and the constant seed fest on the feeders, our kitchen has become a window on the world of avian gluttony.
Perhaps itās a hallucination. A mirage. Or mere fervent hope. But Iād swear that the crimson maple is beginning to show the minutest hint of red buds. Mother Nature is beautiful in her winter garb. But even she eventually yearns for the warm palette of Spring. Perhaps those buds are a harbinger. Perhaps not. But, as Shelley said in his poem āOde to the West Windā, āO, Wind. If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?ā
Gray clouds have ruled the skies over the Hideaway since last weekās blizzard. The thermometer hasnāt budged out of the teens and twenties. The snow left behind by the storm still lies in place, disturbed only by a maze of deer and turkey tracks.
Things have been so slow on Hideaway Pond that weāve had to resort to watching birds for entertainment. (Be still, my heart), Most earthbound critters are well sheltered in their winter homes.
However, three days ago, a flock of about two dozen turkeys invaded the front yard. Some continued to travel up the mountain. But a few of the more vigilant and enterprising birds lingered. They had discovered a treasure trove of seeds in the snow beneath the feeders. Bounty that had been carelessly dropped by their smaller avian cousins. Oblivious in their gluttony. some are beginning to resemble small feathered tennis balls.
Now one can choose to believe this or not. But two of the turkeys under the feeders left the party and caught up with the flock. Five minutes later they returned to the feast with the entire crowd and went straight to the feeders. The resultant riot of scratching and scraping in the snow was a thing to behold. Seems, in this case anyway, that birds have a way of communicating. A language? Birdish? Turkish? Nah.The next day about half of them raced down the driveway and went directly to the area under the feeders. There they had breakfast until they spied us inside. Theyāve returned each morning since. Weāve become so familiar to them that they no longer spook when we approach the windows. Looks like weāve acquired some pets.
FYI, turkeys have vision that is 3 (some say 10) times better than that of humans. And with location of their eyes on both sides of their heads, they have a 270 degree range of vision. And they can see two objects at a time. (Iāll pass on that, thanks) However, they have limited distance perception and canāt focus on one object at a time. (Bummer).. So when you see a turkey bobbing itās head, itās trying to get a visual fix on a distant object. This is called monocular vision. But you knew that.
Hmm. I wonder how those bird seeds would go down with some berries and a morning cup of coffee.+2
Cold. Very cold. So cold that one might think the very air could crack and splinter like broken glass. An angry swirling wind, companion to the cold. Birds line up in trees near the bird feeders. Social graces are blown away as they struggle to gain a perch on the wildly swinging feeders.
A frigid high has lingered over the area for the last two days. A sky so crystalline blue it seems that Jack Frost has added a luminous new color to his palette of winter hues.
Deer have recently been crossing the ice to the island. They graze on bare brush. Unusual behavior, given easier forage nearby. Maybe they know something we donāt. Animals have a sixth sense regarding Mother Natureās mischief.
A blizzard is forecast for tomorrow. Things will change.
Blog–Tuesday–2-2-21
Groundhog Day. And Phil didnāt see his shadow. Perhaps heās spared us from the gray limbo of mid-winter after all. Though I canāt complain about our winter so far. Except for yesterdayās blizzard itās been uneventful. Even boring, if one wants to know the truth of it. Phil might sleep right through Memorial Day. An alarm clock? I doubt it.
And speaking of the blizzard, no big surprises. By Sunday evening, the wind had piped up to a swirling 40 knots and sent the bird feeders into a frenzied dance. A prelude to yesterdayās main event.
As the storm developed, horizontal snow, driven by heavy northeasterly winds reduced visibility to a few hundred yards. The generator clicked on several times as Jack Frost took a toll on commercial power sources. The blizzard continued well into the night.
By this morning the storm had plastered the windward sides of the house with ice and snow. An additional foot had fallen. Frigid last gasps of the storm have been spitting brief icy flurries all day. As the wind has calmed down temps have gone up.
The bird feeders have slowed their dance and begun to drip. Snow has blocked access to the seeds, so the birds happily make do on the more available suet. Resourceful little critters.
Bears are still nestled in the warm breast of hibernation. The sows are probably beginning to sense the first internal stirrings of a new family. Theyāll waken to give birth and to nurse. Usually. But awake or asleep, Momās always open for business. Dad will probably be out foraging for food before the family is up. Donāt expect any cigars. Heāll probably be on his independent way. A dead beat bruin.
Squirrels, rabbits, field mice and other small earthbound critters lie low at this time of year. Food is scarce. Predators lurk.
Winter intimidates the deer not at all. They find shelter in shrouded enclaves out of wind and weather. And not to be forgotten, the fish slumber in their deep torpor at the dark cold bottom of the pond. What a great life.
Silence reigns in the Hideaway at this time of year. Night critters skitter or flutter quietly. Unseen, unheard in their quest for food and refuge. Owls will argue. Or coyotes howl. Their voices rippling though the stillness. A āwolf moonā has sailed over Hideaway Pond during the past week and lit the Catskills in its passing. Dark silence floats in its wake. The Hideaway sleeps.
Gray and wet around Hideaway Pond for the last week or so. Yesterday we awoke to signs of an overnight sleet storm. Glassy remains tangled in the grass. Today brought snain. āSnainā. Try saying that with a bad head cold. And tonight, according to the gurus of weatherdom, 3ā to 5ā of snow will grace the Catskills.
In other words, itās wintertime and Mother Nature is displaying all of the symptoms. Small animals have heeded the warning and remain holed up. Winter birds–cardinals, titmice, chickadees and their fellow avians–are lining up in trees adjacent to the feeders. The seeds and suet the feeders contain will help pack some insulation under their feathers. They donāt make de-icers for the small flying folks.
A 4 point buck–Rudolf, according to my lovely bride– has been an occasional visitor. The wet weather and lack of snow have kept the lawn surprisingly green for December. He grazes for an hour or two on this unexpected bounty. He then saunters off to find whatever mischief awaits. Rutting is still in. Getting late in the season, however. Last come, last served.
Speaking of that, a doe and last summerās twins visit daily. Seems that even in the ruminant world, itās hard to get the youngsters to move out.
And a princely 8 point buck makes rare and stately stops. Aloof, though he is, we enjoy his royal highness while heās here. However, we have yet to devise a name fitting to his lofty station in the sylvan world.
1-4-2021
A new morning. And the Hideaway is embraced in a fairy land of pristine white. Clinging to every branch and twig is a frosting of ice and snow. Magic. And like much of Natureās magic, it will be fleeting. During the next couple of hours the sun will arrive. The trees will begin to lose their grip and rain their lovely costume. Or a wind will arrive and blow it all away. Seems sad. But perhaps, after all, its brief presence is what makes it so precious to us.
A beautiful day on Hideaway Pond. A cold front moved in overnight and daylight issued some light flurries. Total lack of wind left the trees lightly covered by noon. Subfreezing temps kept the snow frozen in place. The pond is a black mirror full of reflections.
Mid-afternoon brought the surprise appearance of two six point bucks. They arrived separately and, stoked with rutting season zeal, took an instant dislike for each other. This, they proceeded to demonstrate between the ledge and the pond for over an hour. A horn locking pushing, pulling exercise that eventually ended in an apparent draw.
There were no comely young does in sight to explain the contestantsā bellicose behavior. Bucks often get into a territorial dispute and this could be such a case. However, a doe may have been lurking unseen in the brush waiting to loose her wiles on the victor. Or extend comfort to the vanquished. What do I know about the precocious ways of the young ruminant female?The two bucks finally called a truce and went their separate ways. Apparently neither injured nor educated by the experience. Male oblivion.
We assumed that Mother Nature had exhausted her repertoire of theatrics for the day. However as twilight fell we noticed the sudden appearance of another buck in the front yard. An eight pointer. He was scraping snow away and grazing about 20 feet from the house. The camera was inaccessible and our efforts to retrieve it spooked him. His antlered excellence then slowly loped up the driveway and into the growing darkness of the woods.
Heavy snow is expected. Winter solstice is a mere few days away. The longest night of the year. The woods will be its darkest then. And its most silent and beautiful as Mother Nature quietly works her frigid white magic. Listen.+7
