Walks
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First Birdsong
We seized upon the first sunshine in what seems like ages to go for a walk this morning. As far as sights go, it was mostly about textures and colors in little patches here and there.
These lichens seem to be doing their best to hurry spring along, stretching out toward the sun. 
It’s amazing, the variety of textures growing on this one furry tree foot. Here’s a close-up of the same tree:
There were other small wonders, like this tattooed rock…
or this woodpecker hole (I heard the pileated laughing in the distance)…
or this fallen tree. When I stop and study all the varieties growing here I wonder what it would be like to be small enough to live among them. It’s kind of strange thought, but there it is. There just seems to be such diverse vegetation in such a small area. (The pic will enlarge if you click on it.)
The vernal pool was still iced over and had a layer of snow over it, but in the deeper pond we did actually see a salamander or two. I didn’t envy them.
No beavers, though the lodge is safe and sound. No muskrats. A few deer. Two accipiters; one redtail sailed over. We heard cardinals doing warm-ups, and chickadees singing their spring love songs. And at the pond we heard what I think was a song sparrow singing like he meant business. I didn’t see him, but his song cheered me. It may not sound like much, but the first song of spring means a lot to a color-deprived Northeasterner like myself.
We headed for home after that, assured that all is progressing toward the warmth and color and wakefulness of spring. Just a short wait now.
I played with some of the artistic filters on this pic. -
Glitter and sparkle
Just before we got to Hickories Park, I wondered if kingfishers migrate. I got my answer immediately: they don’t. Or at least, they haven’t yet. This was perched over the fastest current on a bitingly cold morning.
He was quite talkative, but even with all the rattling, it was hard to get my eye on him whenever he changed perches.
Even the water was shivering, and the ice made strange noises. Maybe there was a muskrat under it.
Cold blue and white and glittering snow everywhere.
A juvenile eagle sailed over us — always an inspiring sight.
And along the stream, little birds were hopping like popcorn. It was as if the ground was moving, they’re so similarly colored. Mostly sparrows and juncos.
There’s an old gospel song: “His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he cares for me.” I hope he’s keeping a closer eye on me than the sparrows. They looked awfully cold, and there are plenty of predators that would like to eat them. They were too busy to think about that though. There is something inspiring and cheering about the way they get down to business and do what they have to do to survive. I celebrate sparrows. We nondescript types have to stick together.
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Frog on ice and other sights
To celebrate the sun’s return from long vacation, we took a walk at a nearby marsh today. Most of the snow has melted, and I’m convinced at least some of the birds are confused. They’re certainly vocal — I heard a titmouse belting out his piercing call on my neighborhood walk this morning, and yesterday there was a goldfinch in the tip-top of a tree, singing his heart out.
Today I saw something a little more down to earth. We’ve probably all heard the illustration about the frog boiled alive in a science experiment as the heat was turned up so slowly the frog didn’t feel it happening. But this is the first time I ever saw a frog sunbathing on ice.
The only birds we saw in the woods were crows and one downy woodpecker. There was a red-tail in the distance, and he treated us to a few wild shrieks as he flew over. Most of the beauties were small things — bursts of color in the predominantly gray-brown drabness of the woods.
Winterberries 
I read somewhere that these berries are a last resort food for deer. If I remember correctly from last year, they won’t last much longer before shriveling and disappearing.
The woods near the marsh have a primeval feel — lots and lots of dead trees, many of them fallen and covered with moss. The varieties of moss really stand out this time of year — so rich looking and so many different textures and shades of green.
It sounds morbid to say it, but moss always strikes me as a beautiful window dressing for decay. These trees have surrendered — the girls love to climb in among them. They call it the carpet store.
And these are making their slow descent.
I stood beneath these for awhile, listening to what I thought at first might be a woodpecker, but what turned out to be simply the creaking and rubbing of this tangle of tree trunks. Then I called the girls over and asked them to listen. “A woodpecker!” Younger Daughter immediately exclaimed. It made me feel better.
This tree had ferns between its toes.
The marsh has a decrepit bird blind that we always walk out on — with some fear and trembling. It’s pretty old, and I think it’s been flooded numerous times. One of these days we may discover its limitations.
The view is worth it — beautiful in a lonely kind of way.
In warmer seasons we’ve seen green herons, great blue ones, blue-winged teal, wood ducks, mallards. There are muskrat lodges all over the place as well.That’s about all. It was wonderful to feast our eyes and ears, and to feel released into the wide world.
On the way home we saw several red-tails. I’m not above stopping along a busy road to admire these fierce, regal birds.
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Plain Brown Packages
The girls and I took a walk at the local pond where we saw the redtail a month or so ago. He flew by a short distance from us but didn’t put on a show like he did last time. But it was fun to see (and hear) a flock of tree sparrows peeping as they fed in the bushes accompanied by goldfinches, cardinals and white-throated sparrows. The bushes were full of rustlings and twitterings, and the white-throated sparrows were in top form flipping over leaves on the forest floor.
Sparrows are thought of as plain birds, but seen up close they never fail to win my admiration. These tree sparrows have such a beautiful combination of browns and golds. They seem like flying chipmunks. I never noticed the yellow on the lower part of their beaks before.
There was a song sparrow too, in the same place I’ve seen her before.
Not far away was some fresh beaver work. Younger Daughter was convinced we’d startled the beaver because the tree “had spit on it.” 🙂
There are two large beaver lodges on the pond, as well as a number of muskrat homes. This lodge seemed to be where the numerous saplings and bush stems the beavers has nipped off were being taken.
It was cold, but we enjoyed seeing these reminders of creatures busy about the work of survival. It almost seemed like they enjoyed seeing us too. We certainly gave the birds something to gossip about.
“Dotty the Tree Sparrow spends the winter here. He left for his home in the Far North about the time you took it into your head to wake up.”
“Why do you call him Dotty?” asked Johnny Chuck.
“Because he has a little round black dot right in the middle of his breast,” replied Peter. “I don’t know why they call him Tree Sparrow; he doesn’t spend his time in the trees the way Chippy does, but I see him much oftener in low bushes or on the ground. I think Chippy has much more right to the name of Tree Sparrow than Dotty has. Now I think of it, I’ve heard Dotty called the Winter Chippy.”
“Gracious, what a mix-up!” exclaimed Johnny Chuck. “With Chippy being called a Tree Sparrow and a Tree Sparrow called Chippy, I should think folks would get all tangled up.”
“Perhaps they would,” replied Peter, “if both were here at the same time, but Chippy comes just as Dotty goes, and Dotty comes as Chippy goes. That’s a pretty good arrangement, especially as they look very much alike, excepting that Dotty is quite a little bigger than Chippy and always has that black dot, which Chippy does not have. Goodness gracious, it is time I was back in the dear Old Briar-patch! Good-by, Johnny Chuck.”
(Thornton W. Burgess, Burgess Bird Book, chapter 4)
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Chill Beauty
When I got up yesterday morning and peered out the window, the air was thick with moisture. As day dawned, it became apparent that the moisture had sugar-coated the world.
We haven’t taken many walks lately. We’ve been lying low through deer season, but with sun in the forecast and such a beautiful start to the day, we decided to ditch our usual routine and head out for a walk.
We didn’t even get to the preserve before this caught our attention. Jack Frost had exposed the hidden snares of spiders. This red light is the final stop for flies!
I snapped my photo as the light turned green, giving Older Daughter a laugh. “That was fun for those truckers,” she said, “seeing a woman take out a foot-long camera to take a picture of a green light!”
At the preserve we enjoyed the frosty setting, though we didn’t see many birds. Chickadees were calling everywhere, but they stayed up high in the treetops.
Fresh beaver work! Whoever is responsible was snug inside the lodge, though.
When we got to the boardwalk, I took pictures of a sparrow in its ice palace.
Meanwhile, Older Daughter took pictures of me. I like this one with its waterfall of light — a cold sun baptism.
My daughters picked up various ice samples and then, when the chunks were large enough, exulted in the joy of smashing them.
Then they played in the creek for awhile on our way back out. My toes and fingers were cold, but the girls can play in water in any wind or weather. Older Daughter had a balsa boat she’d made, and Younger Daughter heaved all that was heavable to make splashes for the dog.A Cooper’s hawk flew strongly over our heads as we walked back to the car. I dislike the way Cooper’s hawks eat songbirds, but I admire their strength and speed in the air. I have to respect a creature willing to work so hard for its sustenance, and they are beautiful to look at.
It was a glorious morning.
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Lab Mascot
This was an appropriate sight in the parking lot at Cornell Lab of Ornithology.
I learned from a person at the lab that this hawk, which we’ve seen before around Sapsucker Woods, was rehabilitated and released nearby, and he’s just stayed around. People don’t rattle him. It made me wonder if the hawk we saw yesterday might have been a rehabilitated hawk as well. That would help to explain his lack of fear around people.
I notice that when hawks launch, they always go down before they go up. Food for thought.
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Autumn sights
We’re past the peak for fall color, and as the season mellows, other quieter beauties emerge.
November is coming, when Northeasterners hunker down for the long winter’s deprivation of color. I like to prepare myself with John Updike’s poem about November in A Child’s Calendar:
The stripped and shapely
Maple grieves
The loss of her
Departed leaves.The ground is hard,
As hard as stone.
The year is old,
The birds are flown.And yet the world,
Nevertheless,
Displays a certain
Loveliness –The beauty of the bone.
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Scavenger Hunt
Yesterday we finished our book work early, so we took a woodland scavenger hunt from this book and headed out into a sunny fall day to see what we could see.
The first task was to find “something older than yourself.” Not too difficult in a forest! There were numerous good-sized trees around, as well as plenty of snags and blow-downs.
How about “something smaller than your thumb”? The blooms on this white flower (yarrow?), one of the few hardies to have withstood the recent frost, fits the bill.
Older Daughter also thought of berries, which a flock of migrating robins were munching on.
Along with the dragonflies, white-throated sparrows, red-bellied woodpeckers and chickadees, the robins satisfy the third challenge: “something that flies.”
I saw the first robin of spring at this preserve, and I’m guessing these may be the last robins of fall. All were dull-colored, and travelling together in a group. At one point we counted seven in the same bush — though it was hard to get a clear view. They flapped and fluttered and clucked and shook the leaves, and generally gave every impression of wary and purposeful activity.
Next comes “something taller than you.” Easy enough: trees, as well as the hillside.
“Something that needs air.” Hmm. It would be harder to find something that doesn’t need air! How about humans for this one?
“Something younger than yourself.” Virtually all the leaves, dying in a blaze of glory after a few months…
“Something that makes you laugh.”
This guy squealed and ran from my daughters, only to find himself a yard from me before freezing in horrified indecision.
“Something that is important.” Water…
“Something that you have never seen before.” A new path, though I have no pics. It delighted us all.
“Something with a smell.” Again, no pics, but autumn has a smell all its own. I suppose it must be decay, but I think of it simply as “fall smell.”
Last, “something with spots.”
Gorgeous day, satisfying sights, time together.
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October’s bright blue weather
This morning it was in the mid-twenties after the first serious frost. The beauty of the woods warranted quoting a line from this poem in my title. The only line I dispute is the one about “leaves sinking noiselessly.” They rattle ceaselessly, actually, making it sound like the woods are trying to flutter up and away en masse before the snow falls.
The yellow-rumped warblers were coming through, snatching bugs from leaves and branches.
I heard a whole flock of crows sounding the alarm about something, but aside from the warblers and a few chickadees, I didn’t see much.
I investigated a trail I haven’t walked in awhile and discovered it was almost impassable because of the uprooted trees, courtesy of a strong storm maybe a month ago. It was interesting to try to trace the path of one particularly large oak that had torn limbs off one tree and knocked over another on its way down. It lived a life of influence — and died the same way.
There’s a certain quality of brightness to the fall sunshine that I look forward to. I think of Wendell Berry’s line of poetry in “Clearing” about vision with “severity at its edge.” That’s what the light reminds me of this season — it makes things starker and reveals the contrasts.
I need the seasons.
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Autumn state of mind
The woods are so much quieter now than they were in the spring and early summer that it’s easy to lose the sense of expectation. But it’s a good exercise in faith to remain attentive; invariably we are rewarded with wonders large and small.
It was a little eerie on a recent walk in Ithaca. My husband and daughters and I were coming to the end of a stroll on an overcast day when our paths intersected with some characteristically cheerful sounding chickadees. My daughter, the bird-whisperer, sounded her chickadee call to attract them, and it seemed they were responding with more and more vocalization. Then we rounded a corner and saw the silent silhouette of a hawk.
No doubt the chickadees were sounding the alarm. It may have been the redtail that haunts Sapsucker Woods, but it seemed a little small for a redtail. My guess is it was a broadwing. It clutched a chipmunk in its talons.
How typical of us humans to think that we were controlling the scene, when all along a life and death drama that had nothing to do with us was playing itself out.
Another hawk has been making unwelcome appearances in our area: a Cooper’s hawk. Our feeder is situated next to an evergreen so that the birds have cover, but I think this hawk is attracted by the busy chatter of the goldfinches and the two or three chipmunks who feed on the ground beneath. We haven’t seen it successfully catch anything yet, but here it is perched in the middle of the food court.
No wonder the chipmunks hide!
See it in the log? I’ve seen some tiny warblers in recent walks in the woods, but few have rewarded me with photo-ops. I did manage to get a shot of this one, tentatively identified as a Nashville warbler.
It was a treat to see this red-eyed vireo feeding with some chickadees, too. Vireos are so much more easy to hear than to see; they are so like the leaves themselves.
The white-throated sparrows are coming through on their way southward. We have four or five of them hanging around our yard this week, but this one was spotted in a nearby preserve.
Last but not least, the deer have been everywhere, and they have actually seemed to pose for me.
