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A crystal clear sky today. The mountain is silhouetted against a brilliant blue backdrop. A light wind sends some dry leaves skittering cross the yard while a few still flutter forlornly on the trees. It’s been quiet around Hideaway Pond for the last couple of weeks.

Two weather fronts collided and had a mild argument in the wee hours a couple of nights ago. Eerily silent sheet lightning. Windless. The weather has been, in a word, unremarkable. Gray, moist skies with occasional blue haze and reluctant sun.

The seasons have fully changed and settled in. Mother Nature has donned her winter wardrobe of grays and browns. And the wind has blown piles of bright amber oak leaves against the ledge. They join the evergreens in colorful contrast to the neutrals of their surroundings.

A large flock of turkeys wandered from the woods a week ago. They slowly pecked their way around the pond, past the ledge and up the mountain. No doubt they’re relieved to know that Thanksgiving is behind them. They have little to fear. Thanks to their farm raised brothers and sisters, the ghostly visage of stuffing and cranberry sauce is long gone. To them, anyway.

Birds have been attracted to the feeder in large and lively numbers. Cardinals, nuthatches, chickadees, tufted titmice and their hardy winter friends fill its surrounding air. We’re pleased that a family of Carolina wrens has chosen to stay in our neighborhood. Though quiet in winter, they sing a loud and cheerful summer song. They don’t migrate, but a pair will choose to stay in a general area through several seasons.

A family of wrens hatched in one of our hanging baskets last summer. Carolina wrens are primarily bug eaters. During winter they turn to other alternatives such as seeds and suet. Food is scarce then. Birds use the feeder, especially the suet, to add a little fatty insulation under their feathers. We hang our feeders during the winter and bring them in at night. Bad news for bears.

Nonetheless, we’ve found the sad, dead remains of a couple of bird feeders strewn across the lawn and up the driveway on a couple occasions. Bruin burglary. In broad daylight. Feckless furry felon.

Rudy, a studly young four point buck has been a daily visitor. He has developed a strong preference for the delectable fare in our front yard. We have become familiar enough to him that he ignores us as he gorges on winter grass, He showed up with three does a few days ago. Not sure what that’s all about. But it’s none of our business, really.

What happens in Hideaway stays in Hideaway.

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Well, the four point buck who dropped by Hideaway Pond several days ago has returned. Not once, but five days in a row. It almost seems he never left. And I guess he hasn’t. We have dubbed him “Rudolf”. Not much of a testimonial to our nominative skills. But apropos of the season, I suppose. Perhaps we should have asked for his opinion.

We find Rudolf grazing on the front lawn every morning. Undeterred by our presence, he often remains for the entire day. We aren’t sure if he beds down here for the night. But he has grazed in the front yard several times until after dark. Apparently not partial to darkness, he has twice lain down in the rock garden during broad daylight and fallen asleep.

The Hideaway may be Rudolf’s refuge. Deer season came in this week. Sadly, there’s little we can do to influence his fate if he wanders out of our small critter haven. Hunting has been in the natural order of things since we apex predators were beating mastodons about the head and ears with ox bones. But we hope Rudolf will be safe.

Lo and behold, as I was about to put a period at the end of this sentence, I caught motion in the corner of my eye through a window. He’s back. Our lawn must be a part of the cervidaen food group. Grass. Bushels of grass. One wonders how Santa feels about riding a sleigh behind eight of these guys.

But the day now moves on. The last long rays of evening sun are lighting the highest peaks of the Catskills. Night will soon settle in. And mighty Erebus will quietly reign until morning.

It was a cold morning. 28 degrees. Skim ice still covered the pond at sunrise. The first pond ice of the season. Jack Frost had sprinkled a thin blanket of snow on the Hideaway over night. It soon sublimated into the thin frigid air and the dim rays of a rising sun slowly melted the ice. But it did little to raise the temperature. Forget Pope Gregory’s proclamations. By Mother Nature’s calendar, winter has arrived.

We received an early morning surprise yesterday. While we were having breakfast, a beautiful four point buck arrived. His “royal rackness”’ had apparently won or avoided the travails of the current rutting season. His coat was beautiful, flawless and unmarred by combat. He began to graze ten feet from the house and continued to graze for most of the afternoon. To our surprise, he stopped grazing in late afternoon, lay down and eventually went to sleep.

Even asleep, he continued to chew. For those who haven’t grown up on or near a farm–or are not given to such crude behavior themselves–he was chewing his “cud”. Cows, moose, oxen, bison and similar critters are of the same digestive inclination.

These are of a species called “ruminants”. By definition, they have multiple stomachs. In the case of a deer, four. The first stomach is used primarily to store large amounts of food that’s poorly and rapidly chewed due to a variety of reasons. One is no doubt the potential for interruption of lunch by some predator. Once the animal is at rest, it will bring the food up for further chewing. This is called “rumination”.

Gotta admit. Some things on which I’ve “ruminated” have had the same effect.

Moving on down the digestive tract, the other stomachs have assigned jobs such as addition of bacteria, acids, enzymes, etc. that aid in the digestive process. The dubious assignment of the last stomach is to squeeze the very last bit of nourishment out of the food. And bid farewell to the rest. including various gases created in the digestive process. These are expelled freely into the environment for general enjoyment by other critters.

Crude, I guess. And more than you wanted to know. Sort of takes the royalty out that royal four point buck, doesn‘t it? But full disclosure of information, etc, etc.

His antlered excellence eventually stood up, grazed some more and left. And, I assume ruminated a bit more before finding shelter and turning in.

Now aren’t you happy you’re not a ruminant?

A wet front is coming in. Tonight we’ll have a high in the mid-forties with a waning crescent moon. The stars will peek out from behind mixed clouds. Snow is unexpected and the pond will remain thawed. The Catskills and Hudson Valley faded to black at 4:29PM, Time for action by Hideaway critters of a nocturnal persuasion. The inexorable gears of time grind on. The winter solstice is now a mere month away. And days will begin to lengthen again…….Again.

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A massive stationary high recently lingered for four days above Hideaway Pond. Skies so searingly blue and cloudless they almost hurt the eyes. The final flair of brilliant Autumn color as the leaves finally lose their grip and fall to the ground. The lowering winter sun now moves southward and silhouettes the island pines against a wan gray overcast.

Yesterday the gods of weather became morose, sent us dark clouds and drizzle. The sun set at 4:37pm and darkness fell in mid-afternoon. To match the tone of the day, a flock of about 20 turkeys marched single file from the woods behind the house. They pecked their way across the yard and moved on up the mountain. Could be my imagination, but I’d swear I saw a pronounced gloom in their demeanor. Concern for the imminent fate of their domestic brothers and sisters? The Thanksgiving pots are already a-boil. Perhaps. Were those I heard the faint strains of Chopin’s Marche Fune’bre? Probably not.

But today Mother Nature changed moods again and blessed us with one of most beautiful sunsets of the season. November. The gray limbo between the bright colors of Autumn and the crisp frigid whiteness of Winter Equinox. Full of surprises.

Through all of this, the Hideaway critters go about living their lives. Each one greeting the seasons in its own way. The grass carp no longer trace their small wakes across the surface of the pond. And the bass have ceased their futile leaps at the now long gone dragon flies. They already lie at the bottom of the pond in their long winter torpor. Their metabolism has slowed, significantly lowering their nourishment requirements.

Avians change guard. House wrens and phoebes leave. Junkos arrive.

Woodchucks, fox, mink, rabbits and other earth dwelling critters have by now occupied their winter homes. They will hibernate if food becomes scarce. Their metabolism will then drop and their heart beat will slow from 80 bpm to about 3 bpm. In contrast, the heart beat of a hibernating bear will lower from 50 bpm to 8 bpm. Breathing will decline to 8 breaths per minute. One wonders why they bother.

Contrary to common belief, female bears will waken briefly to give birth and care to newborn cubs. Pretty rude interruption of a good winter sleep, if you ask me. But, then, I wouldn’t know, would I? I thought not.

I’m sure you’re dying to know. Hibernating animals can actually recycle waste into usable protein, certain minerals and other usable bi-products. And absorb them in their sleep. What a gift! However, when so inclined, they will also exit the den to do their thing, as it were. In the cold. In the snow. From a warm den. That’s serious incentive.

Deer, on the other hand, don’t hibernate. They find a sheltered place, such as a stand of evergreens, where they can sleep and forage for nearby food. A place where the snow collects as a barrier against winter wind.

Three pairs of wood ducks splashed down last week. And five mallards. Two males and three females. Three. Well, whatever works. Mallards are kinky birds.

Two days ago an entire flock of Canada geese dropped in for breakfast. They covered the entire yard and adjacent pond. They lingered for about an hour, then exploded noisily aloft and set their compasses to the south. No doubt leaving countless gratuities on the lawn as they left. We could object, but it’s probably useless. What’s the French Canadian term for goose poop? Me neither.

Three does occasionally drop in at sunset. They now wear the dark gray garb of winter. They quietly graze near the ledge and gradually become invisible as night falls.

The Hideaway quiets as winter approaches. Soon the temperatures will drop further and snow will fall. Subtle neutrals, the whites, grays and greens of the winter palette, have already replaced the warm tones of Autumn. The critters of the Hideaway will soon sleep. And Jack Frost will slowly pull up the cold white blanket of Winter. Shh.

It’s been beautiful, if somewhat melancholy, around the pond these days. Within two brief weeks, Mother Nature has displayed her most elegant and radiant wardrobe, woven from a magnificent spectrum of colors. Only to cast it aside. Her brilliant gown abandoned in a rainbow blizzard of leaves that now carpet the floor of the Hideaway and surface of the pond. The neutrals of winter now peek through indiscreet rends in the colored fabric of her robe. The bright golds of the oaks and deep reds of the crimson maples still sing. Quietly. “I Hate to See October Go”. Barry Manelow

Yet, the grays and whites of her winter wardrobe have their own elegance. And they don’t seem to bother the Hideaway critters one bit. Those who don’t sleep through it venture forth from their lairs and seem to enjoy life as it comes. Another lesson from Mother Nature. Neutral is nice.

All of that aside, these have been interesting times around the pond. A week ago an eight point buck turned up at twilight, a comely doe in his company. Apparently this well armed dude had already succumbed to the wily charms of the woodsy female cult. They did a promenade along the island side of the pond while nibbling on waterside hors d’oeuvres. They then sauntered off together into the woods. Don’t ask.

At sunset the following evening, a solitary six pointer ran past the porch. He soon reversed direction and spent the next hour grazing in the front yard until darkness settled. Apparently the grass is always greener on the other side of the porch. Fence. Whatever.

A mink family has been lurking nearby. And several pairs of wood ducks have splashed down before moving on. Presumed vanguard of the avian migration.

We had all but given up, until Spring, on close encounters of the bear kind. But a few days ago, Smokey ran down our driveway past the pond. He stopped briefly to examine the ledge before ambling off into the woods. The sows are now on the move with this year’s cubs, fattening up for the long winter sleep. The cubs will stay with mom for a second season before moving off on their own. Must get a bit crowded in that den. This guy may have been a dead beat bear on the run from his paternal obligations.

Anyone who follows this blog may recall the sad story of our resident goose family and the deadly midnight raid that some predatory critter made on their nest. The destruction and loss of eggs caused such a severe case of PTSD that the goose went into mourning. She spent a solitary day in the woods. That afternoon, apparently because things were in such disarray, the gander flew off. The goose spent all of the next day obviously awaiting his return. Apparently finally sensing that he wouldn’t come back, she took one last trip to the nest, spent about five minutes there and flew away.

It’s a scientific fact that geese mate for life, but should one of them lose its mate, it will stay at or return to the place where they last saw their lost one. Even if they find another.

This story may have the happy ending for which some romantics yearn. A few days ago, a pair of geese splashed down. They swam immediately to the site of the old nest on the island. She went ashore for about ten minutes while he waited nearby. That evening they flew away together. Wing and wing.Fill in your own notes, but I’d swear I heard the faint strains of Tchaikovsky’s theme from “Romeo and Juliet“. As the music swelled to a crescendo and the sun faded quietly behind the Catskills, a lovely pink and gold sunset gradually lit the sky. Really. Well, sorta really.

Does anyone need a tissue? (sob)

The mellow critters of the Hideaway have been blessed this season with the most beautiful weather they’ve seen in years. Scattered white clouds on a blue canvas has been the order of the day, Quiet skies have occasionally coaxed in some gray clouds and light rain. Sunsets have turned them into a medley of pink and gold.

Mother Nature has descended into a dark mood only once. A tantrum of very heavy rain, driven by swirling winds briefly invaded the peace. The verdant walls of our small cocoon turned into a writhing mass of dark green anger. Wind whipped trees rained colored leaves which quickly gusted away in the wind. Thankfully, Mother Nature gradually regained her composure and a cautious sun returned. Thus another paroxysm of feminine rage is subdued. Scary.

It’s been a busy time around the pond. Our little enclave has become a roadside rest for numerous flocks of water birds traveling the avian highway south. Wood ducks have begun to arrive in larger numbers. Two pairs splashed down yesterday afternoon and took to the air as darkness fell.

Many other birds of a migration persuasion have left the area and are on the way to warmer climes. The hummingbirds are long gone, as are the phoebes, blue birds and wrens. Though we heard the last trills of a Carolina wren well back in the woods a day or so ago. It’s farewell song for the winter. Monarch butterflies, flaunting their regal garb of gold and black, have been using the Hideaway as a route to the far south.

Surprisingly, the robins have stayed to watch the trees change color and a banded kingfisher made a raid on the pond as it passed on south. Greedy winged reprobate.

Several massive murmurations of starlings have passed through the area, some settling in the trees en route. We came out to the porch for breakfast yesterday morning and the trees on the island exploded into black smithereens. A surprised gulp of very hot coffee alerts the senses.

The fish will soon begin to settle into their long winter sleep at the bottom of the pond. Torpor. So called by ichthyologists. A type of hibernation brought on by change in temperature. Thirty five degrees Fahrenheit. Frigid by any name. What a great life.

Some of the land based Hideaway critters will be looking for winter quarters. One is the mink that Shari saw skulking in high grass near the pond yesterday. We later saw a smaller one–probably this year’s offspring–swimming to the island. However, they’ll venture forth during winter to make life exciting for field mice, moles and other assorted small prey,

Turtles have stopped sunning on land and opted for winter refuge in the pond. Four months in cold mud. How good can it get?

A magnificent six point buck ran through the front yard last evening. Velvetless and ready for antlered conflict. He passed a few feet from the porch and stopped further along the pond to graze. He then waded back to the porch, grazing on pond side vegetation and low hanging tree branches. He grazed near the porch until he became invisible in the falling darkness and faded into the woods.

We arose yesterday morning at sunrise, alerted by the familiar cluck cluck of a flock of wild turkeys. They were pecking their way across the back yard, approaching to within a few feet of the house. One feathered narcissus apparently fell in love with its reflection in a sliding door window. It flared its tail in a display that would be the envy of the most amorous of avian Romeos. Our having been taken by surprise, we have no evidence of their rude intrusion. In the way of compensation, I’ve attached a video of a family of turkeys behaving in ways that would shame the most bawdy band or revelers at Roman bath.

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Now would be a good time to escort small children from the room.

Spring Frolic

Night has fallen as I finish writing this. Two barred owls argue in the nearby woods. And a new moon sails somewhere high in the dark Catskill Mountain sky. Black starry silence. The Hideaway sleeps.

Birds and fish were of course exempt since they practice their oeuvre in different–and more silent–media than their earthbound brethren. And, of course, they aren’t mammalian. In case you haven’t noticed.

However, two days ago, Mother Nature kicked old Hypnos from her cozy couch and became fully alert. She’ll thank you not to ask questions about this, by the way. That very evening, a doe and twin fawns dropped by and grazed on pond side greenery near the island. They were followed shortly thereafter by two 4 point bucks. They waded in the same area, coming close to the porch before disappearing into the woods.

Rutting season being on the cusp, the bucks will no doubt soon gird themselves for antlered action. Competition for the comely young does who flaunt their charms in the nearby woods.

To round off the day, my lovely bride discovered a raccoon lurking near the front porch at twilight. It lumbered off, no doubt disconsolate at having found a lack of loot in the vicinity.

Two young does showed up on a point near the island during breakfast this morning, but they soon retreated back into the woods. Perhaps too polite to interrupt.

Half way through morning coffee, I remarked to Shari about how much the trees on the island had grown since I cleared the land for the pond. Then it occurred to me that it was half my lifetime ago. Tempus fugit.

We had concluded that the bears had written us off of their dance cards for the season. But in mid-afternoon a very large guy passed us on the opposite side of the pond. There are several bears in the area this large, but we suspect that this could be the one that dropped in a year ago for a drink and a dip in the pond. Shari has named him Barry. She didn’t even invite the bear’s approval. Crass. I’ve attached a photo of “Barry” just in case you‘re interested. Or not.

The high point, and grand finale of the day was the splash down of a pair of beautiful little wood ducks. Our first of the season. They loitered for an hour or so, snacking on pond side veggies. Then they took to the air. Off to some far away latitude marked only on their instinctive navigation charts.

Buon viaggio, little birds. Buon viaggio

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Things around the pond have been very quiet lately. Calm, beautiful weather with idyllic sunsets. A gibbous moon.

It’s been 2 weeks since we‘ve seen a bear–a mom and two cubs. 9th, 10th, and 11th bruin sightings of the season. We managed to photograph mom. But the cubs disappeared into the woods before we could lay a lens on them. Stealthy little guys. They slipped by 20 ft from the porch while we were distracted by a buck on the opposite side of the pond. Che sera.

A doe and her two fawns, former daily visitors, haven’t shown up for a week. The last time, one fawn left the other two deer and grazed by itself in our front yard . Mom cast an occasional nervous glance in its direction. I suspect that our solitary fawn is about to seek a home elsewhere. It’s the time of year when maturing fawns lose their spots and establish a new life. Cursed, I’m sure, with the fear and anxiety of sudden cervidaen adulthood. Gone are the days of wine and roses.

The turtles, not known for a raucous life style, sleepily sun themselves next to the pond. And the fish, wrapped in total silence, cruise in their liquid home. By the time the snow flies, they will have settled into the “warmest” spot at the bottom of 40F degree pond. In their annual torpor, the fish version of hibernation. What a great life.

So we find ourselves in a quiet interlude between wood critter activity and the arrival of migrating water birds. A few photos are attached to freshen memory. Or whatever.

A pause in action offers something to ponder. At this time of floods, hurricanes, conflagration and pandemic (not to mention the blazing tonsorial bonfires of present day politics). Do the critters know something about the simple life that‘s well out of reach of homo sapiens?

I asked. They absolutely abhor politics and forbid it in the Hideaway. Who’s to argue?

Of course, the critters do have the nasty habit of occasionally consuming one another. But that’s for sustenance. Not greed, animosity or religion as is too often the case with their two legged planetary co-habitants. The pecking order. Or in this case, the chewing order, as it were.

And lest we feel too self righteous as a civilization, according to history, even homo sapiens once had the habit of snacking on one another. Grim subject, I suppose. But legend states that with a little coconut milk and a dash of sea salt it offers–well, something to ponder.

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A week of schizophrenic weather on Hideaway Pond. Placid blue skies were occasionally interrupted by heavy dark clouds that brought with them windless rain. It dimpled the surface of the pond as they slowly passed. Brief gusty rains sometimes blasted the pond‘s surface, turning it steel gray, black cats paws racing across its face.

During Nature’s calmer moods, grass carp skimmed the surface of the pond. They left behind small zigzag wakes in their quest for floating vegetation. Turtles slept, quietly sunning themselves on the warm grassy banks of the pond. Oblivious of the role they were playing in the surrounding pageant.

Thus, the background to one of the busiest weeks in our small summer soaked green cocoon. Notwithstanding, in this report, an absence of bears, who range widely and can show up any time. Or not.

A doe and her twin fawns seem to have adopted us. They’ve been regular visitors, arriving shortly before sunset each evening. They often dine on pond side greenery near the ledge. They will sometimes cross to the side of the pond near the porch. They then wade as they graze, often approaching to within a few feet of the porch.

Two young testosterone laden bucks deign to show their antlered excellence about once a week. In a few months their interests will be elsewhere, rutting season then being in full flower. So to speak. Suffice to say, the cervidaen set will be otherwise occupied.

A high point of the week was the reappearance of the ever elusive bobcat. This time we moved fast enough to take a photo. Albeit one of its hasty retreat.

Today Mother Nature was in one of her most restless and angry moods of the season. We began the morning wrapped in dark cloud. Not unusual at this sea level.

Things went downhill from there, becoming darker, more cloudy and windy. Nature occasionally teased us with a few brief peeks at the sun. Then she brought down her full fury. Rain battered the windows until it ran down in large rivulets, killing the outside view. Wind whipped even the largest trees like weeds. The pond became totally obscured by rain and spume. All of this lit by lighting strikes before Mother Nature finally regained her composure. Sheesh.

Somehow, in the midst of all of this, a large blue heron flew in during a break in the weather. No doubt flying on instruments. Had it radioed in, we would have turned on the runway lights. Unabashed, it calmly fished at the back of the pond, eventually settling on a spot near the porch before lofting off into a finally clearing sky.

A wan wet sun has finally peeked through the clouds and slowly evolved into a quiet pink and gray sunset. Our local owls have begun their endless query. “Who cooks for yooo. Who cooks for yooo?“ A placid Catskill nightfall is lit by a bright half moon. Peace.

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The pond was very calm today. A pool of ink full of reflections. The weather has been much the same during most of the week. Warm. Intermittent showers trading time with blue skies. Billowing cumulus, slowly floating southeastward like massive square riggers under full sail.

The Hideaway critters seem stricken by the lazy ambiance of it all. A great blue heron joined us yesterday. “Harry”, according to my lovely bride. Though I suspect that “Harry” is comprised, also, of several of his kin. Perhaps even a “Harriet” or two. It fished for a while in the shallows at the back of the pond. Nabbed some of our small finned friends, by the way, before spreading its wings and quietly launching aloft. Cursed mercenary.

Three days ago a solitary fawn suddenly appeared in our front yard . Perhaps six months old, it grazed calmly for about an hour . We were concerned that the little guy had strayed from its mother and gotten lost. Or that its mother had been injured or hit by a car. The family of coyotes that we heard yipping nearby last night could make short work of a fawn that size. The story had a happy ending, however. We later saw the little guy with its mother at the end of our driveway. She had apparently been foraging and had left the fawn in a safe place while she was gone.

Two six point bucks have been showing up nearly every evening to graze on the strip of grass between the ledge and the pond. They generally arrive like clockwork an hour before sunset, have a leisurely dinner and retreat for the evening. Do deer have curfews?

The star of the week was a beautiful 8 point buck who arrived at sunset yesterday. Such solitary bucks are reclusive and generally stay on the move. He appeared from the woods opposite the island as the sun began to set. He waded from about 100 yards away, feeding on pond side vegetation, to within 50 feet of the porch. He then disappeared into the darkening woods.

Two owls, one by the stream down the hill and one up the mountain, generally engage in an argument at sunset. They will soon do so as the clouds, now white against a darkening blue sky, turn pink. And another dimming Catskill sunset quietly lights the sky. Stars.

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