Predator vs. Predator vs. Predator

Roscoe is definitely an indoor-outdoor cat.

Best as I can tell he spent the first year of his life on his own, fending for himself.  But I often wonder what trials and tribulations he encountered during that first year.  Did he have a mother who taught him how to hunt and dismember his prey, or did that come to him by instinct?  Did he have run-ins with other feral cats, or the neighbor's dogs, or racoons, or foxes, or coyotes?  And if so, how did he learn to defend himself? 

Since coming to live with us, he has grown accustomed to regular meals, a roof over his head, climate controlled surroundings, and soft, cushy blankets to nap on.  But that doesn't mean he's lost his wild side.  It's obvious that he enjoys - even requires - regular forays into the out-of-doors.  So I let him go outside, during the day, for a few hours about 3 days a week to do what cats were meant to do.  He stays within shouting distance, always returns home when I call, is always content from eating mice, and is always unscathed.

Autumn is here and there's a chill in the air, but today was a gorgeous, sunny day...perfect for hunting voles in the leaf litter.  After a few hours of romping through the woods around the house, I brought Roscoe back inside for the rest of the day. 

Not 15 minutes after I retrieved our little hunter, I saw a magnificent coyote trotting up our driveway and past the house.  No doubt he, too, was enjoying a sunny day of vole-hunting in the leaf litter.  It was thrilling to get such a good look at this stunner.  We know we have coyotes in our woods because we occasionally hear them yip-howling at night; but we rarely get to see them, and never in broad daylight...until today.

Thanks to humans, cats (felis catus) and coyotes (canis latrans) are the apex predators in our part of the world.  So that got me to thinking:  what would Roscoe and Coyote make of each other?  Coyotes are known to hunt cats and small dogs in urban areas, but we have other abundant and easy alternatives in our rural setting, so perhaps Coyote is inclined to leave Roscoe be.  While Roscoe may be able to evade or defend himself against one coyote, what about two coyotes hunting as a pair?  Have Roscoe and Coyote encountered each other in our woods in the past?  Heck, are they indifferent 'friends'?

Having had the rare opportunity to get hands-on with some live coyotes in my past, I have a special fondness for this particular predator.  I love that this coyote (and probably his buddies) call our woods his home.  And I'm also quite fond of Roscoe.  So I am faced with a dilemma.  Do I continue to let Roscoe roam outside so that he can express his true cat-self?  Or do I sequester him inside for the rest of his life where he will be safer but perhaps not happier?  What I guess I am really wrestling with is what role should I (the ultimate apex predator) play in this wildlife drama?  

How to plant a wildflower meadow

Four whole years ago, I decided we would transform about an acre's worth of downed trees into a native wildflower meadow.  My vision was to create a little ecosystem that would be respite for bees, butterflies, birds, deer and humans...a place where my compatriots and I would go to appreciate Nature's daily (and nightly) comings and goings. 

The process of turning an ugly, snarled landscape into a sea of colorful flora required some heavy equipment, several very good friends, some expensive native seed, and much patience.  It turns out there's only so much a bunch of well-meaning humans can do to restore the land to its natural state. You have to just let Nature do what she does best...and let her do it on her own timetable. 

We finished clearing in the Summer of 2007 and had to wait until that winter to scatter our native seed mix on the snow.  That following Spring, only a few annuals came up, mostly Indian Blanket and Cornflower with a lot of dirt in between. Where was the glorious Foxglove and Coneflower and Milkweed I was promised?  That Fall, the Indian Blanket and Cornflower promptly died back and I was certain I'd been sold a bad batch of seed. 

Then in the Spring of 2009, up came patches of Black-eyed Susan and Partridge Pea, still with lots of dirt in between.  We refer to that as our "yellow year".  And of course, it all died back in the Fall, and again I was certain I'd been sold a bad batch of seed.

Then it was Spring of 2010, and we got grass.  Lots and lots of grass.  We refer to that as our (you guessed it) "grass year".  We were certain that the grasses had run amok!  They must have out-competed all those beautiful flowers that were promised but never meant to be.  That Fall we mowed it all down, convinced like never before that I'd been sold a bad batch of seed.

And now its 2011 and my technicolor vision is finally coming to fruition.  Butterflies, birds and humans alike are delighted by the Coneflower, Brown-eyed Susan, Bee Balm, False Sunflower, Foxglove, Rattlesnake Master, and Milkweed.  And at last, four long years later, we get to refer to this as our "wildflower year". 

Sunday snoozin'

Roscoe has become an accomplished napper.  He finds respite on sofas, rock outcroppings, a narrow windowsill...but his favorite place to snooze, by far, is on one of our laps.  Within minutes of settling in, he's in full-on paw-twitchin', lip-smackin' REM.

I wonder how it is that animals (well, the domesticated ones, anyway) can fall into such deep slumber at the drop of a hat.  Are their lives really that carefree?  I guess when you consider that we humans tend to their every need - nutritious food on a regular schedule, clean water, climate-controlled shelter, first world healthcare, entertainment - what could there possibly be for them to be stressed out about?  I, on the other hand, have trouble sleeping, tossing and turning over the day's silliest annoyances. Perhaps I've allowed my life to be more complicated than is really necessary. Alas, I think it's time to take a lesson from my friend Roscoe and just go chill out on someone's lap. 

Babe in the woods

Spring came late this year.  At least it did for me.  The weather remained cold and dreary right though April and I have been positively stir crazy.  But this weekend finally proved warm enough to don some shorts and a tank top, and I jumped at the chance to get outside to perform some post-winter clean-up around the property.

Throughout the winter months, ice and wind cause several trees and limbs to come down around the property - Nature's way of pruning her landscape.  Usually we just leave all this arboreal debris where it lies, but when it falls across the trails, driveway or in an otherwise unsightly location, we relocate it into the woods where it will rot and nourish the soil and be habitat for a multitude of woodland creatures.  Like this little one.

While tromping along the woodland edge, I happened to walk up on her.  She was sitting in the sunshine and taking in, what is for her, a brand new world.  I'm sure she was as surprised by me as I was by her.  For a long few seconds, we got a good look at each other.  I noticed her shiny coat, glistening jet black nose and enormous eyes.  I wonder what she noticed about me.  My scent of sweat and grime?  My odd-looking limbs?  My hairless body?  No doubt she did NOT find me to be as beautiful as I found her to be.

Once her instincts took over, she hunkered down under an old log where she remained motionless long enough for me to go retrieve my camera from the house and return to take several snapshots.  So young and vulnerable, hiding in this way is her only defense. 

My hope for this one is that she will live a long, healthy life with us, where she will be safe from hunters and free to eat our delicious trees and plants, and where there will always be a dead tree behind which to find safe haven.

Balancing act

About 8 weeks ago, a feral cat appeared at our house. In and of itself, the arrival of a strange cat is not unusual in our neck of the woods.  Every six months or so we spy a wayward feline making his or her way through our property, only to disappear a few days later.  What was unusual about this wayward cat is that it didn't move on.  For three straight weeks, we would get brief glimpses of it patrolling past the house, pouncing on crickets in the tall grass, or lounging in the sun on the driveway. 

Once it became clear that it had no intentions of heading for greener pastures, I decided I would have to intervene.  While I was reluctantly willing to tolerate one wild cat living in our woods, hunting, dismembering and consuming our beloved birds and squirrels, I could not allow an eventual family of wild cats making my home their home.  So I did some reading on how to trap-neuter-release (known as TNR) feral cats.

According to the TNR experts, the first thing you must do is get the wild critter accustomed to coming to the same place at the same time each day for a little bit of food.  Once that routine has been established, you set up a trap cage that will allow you to capture and transport the whirling dervish to and from a vet who has agreed to perform the neutering.  After the procedure, you release the cat in the same place it was captured, and it goes back to its feral cat life but without the ability to make more feral cats.  So there you have it...I was now ready to put my TNR plan into action and I commenced with step 1:  feeding.

Okay, okay, as you might have guessed, it only took a couple of  feedings before this wild and crazed creature figured out that food comes from the nice lady as long as you look cute and a little pathetic and allow her to pet you once in a while.  Within three days of our first one-on-one encounter, he was (literally) eating out of my hand, totally content being picked up and kissed on the head and crammed into a tiny carrier and riding in the car and flirting with the vet and having his nails clipped and being stuck with needles and having his blood drawn and gagging on the nasty de-worming medicine.  And within a week of our first encounter, he was coming inside the house, snoozing on the furniture, using the litter box and sleeping with us at night.  And within two weeks, he had a name:  Roscoe.

Eight weeks have passed since this bundle of strawberry-blond fur chose our home to settle down in.  All of us here in our little ecosystem - especially our chipmunks, who serve as an endless source of entertainment - have had to make some adjustments in order to accommodate each others' idiosyncrasies.  Our balance has been thrown off a bit.

But change and balance are two concepts I've come to embrace living out here in the woods.  Every event, every action, has a ripple effect throughout the system, necessitating a constant re-balancing. A hawk snatches a bird from the feeder.  I accidentally run over a frog with the car.  A tree falls across the driveway.  A feral cat shows up at my door.  I think Roscoe's unexpected arrival was Nature's way of reminding me how interdependent all of Her creatures really are.

My first wildlife rescue

I am a planner.  I hate surprises.  And like a Boy Scout, I believe in always being prepared.  Since moving out to the woods, it has been in the back of my mind that we would inevitably find one of our wild creatures in distress, so I have spent a great deal of time and energy preparing for all manner of wildlife emergency.  I have a small library of books on wildlife rescue and rehabilitation, and keep the phone numbers of our nearest wildlife professionals by the phone.  I even have a wildlife rescue kit and checklist close at hand so that I can leap into action if and when one of my wild creatures is in need.

So as expected, during an early morning run on the property we spotted a young buck lying down in the woods, apparently unable to stand.  At first, we thought he had gotten his back legs caught in an old barbed-wire fence, but upon further observation discovered that his entire back end was completely paralyzed.  We surmised that he had been hit by a car on the main road and that his back must have been broken by the impact.  Apparently having dragged himself at least 200 yards from the road to the interior of our property, he was exhausted; yet his flight instincts still compelled him to flee from us.  It was agonizing to watch him frantically pulling his whole body along by just his two front legs.  With a heavy heart, we knew that the kindest way to "rescue" our buck would be to shoot him in the head.

I've never shot or intentionally killed any living creature, save a handful of mice and the occasional blood-sucking mosquito. I even put spiders back outside where they belong.  Chivalrously, Bill offered to pull the trigger.  And even though I technically wasn't the one who ended this particular life, I still felt obliged to be fully present for this final act.  I felt that to do right by this animal, I needed to be there in mind, body and spirit...to feel the gravity of my decision and to fully understand the implications of my actions.

Needless to say, my first wildlife rescue didn't exactly go as I had envisioned and prepared for.  But that's okay.  Nature is teaching me to live in the present, to think and act on my feet, and to expect the unexpected.  Good life lessons, don't you think?

Please don't feed the babies

We're starting to see the summer babies:  raccoons, birds, woodchucks and deer so far.  These mini-versions of their adult counterparts just melt my heart.  That awkwardness...the unsteady gait on those shaky legs is so endearing.  I long to get my hands on that silky fur and those bright feathers, so clean and still unmarred by life's inevitable trials and tribulations.  And there's that look of innocence and wonderment on those little mugs, where every experience is new and exciting and a genuine adventure. There must be something in our human DNA that makes us want to cuddle and kiss and nurture each of these tykes as though they were our own.

Of course, that's the same DNA that compels some of us to feed these adorable wild babies. We humans bond and communicate with each other through food-sharing at meals, so it seems only natural that we would attempt to connect with our wild cousins in the same way.  Alas, this heartfelt activity makes us feel good while often resulting in devastating outcomes for our wild friends. 

In Africa, humans and wildlife do a better job of sharing habitat than we do here in North America.  But the lessons there have been learned the hard way.  Baboons are intelligent, engaging, human-like creatures, so humans like to feed them.  But feeding the baboons doesn't do anything to help the baboons; in fact, feeding them transforms them into annoying, aggressive, and dangerous pests that ultimately must be managed (read:  "exterminated").  So to remind humans of the consequences of their well-intentioned but uninformed actions, there are signs posted everywhere that say, "You feed the baboons, we shoot the baboons".

I think about those signs often, especially whenever I am tempted to toss a morsel to one of my lovable wild babies, and I force my head to tell my heart that it's always best for everyone involved to let the wildlife be wild.

An oldie but a goodie

 We've got a worn out maple tree sitting just off the patio, with loads and loads of character (and by "character", I mean it is mostly dead).  It is a haven for woodpeckers, owls and bats and we have loved chronicling the wildlife activity that occurs in and around this wizened old boy.

We have so many woodpeckers, including the rarely-seen pileateds and red-headeds, because of the abundant habitat in the form of dead or dying trees around our property.  And the cavities that our woodpeckers create make lovely homes for many other birds, bats and mammals.  Regrettably, all that character was sitting just a little too close to our house and we were in danger of having one of its heavy limbs come crashing down on us during one of our frequent windstorms.

It has always been our philosophy to let Nature do what Nature does and just stay out of the way as much as possible. So we decided not to take the whole tree down, but to try only to remove certain branches that were a threat to our own abode.

The task of lopping off certain branches at certain places so they will fall in a certain direction is a complicated and dangerous one, and could not be attempted by a couple of tree-hugging amateurs like ourselves.  So we called upon a team of logging professionals to help save our home as well as that of the birds and bats.

Logging is not a job for the faint of heart, and it is one that is only mastered after years of hands-on experience (and that's only if one's hands remain firmly attached to the ends of one's arms).

The first step in the process of removing only the deadest of the limbs is to accurately throw ropes around the targeted branches so they can be pulled away from the house during the cutting.

 The next step is for the "climber" to strap on some tree climbing spikes and a special belt, and then precariously make his way toward the top of the tree.

Next, the man on the ground hoists a chainsaw up to our climber who then performs a variety of Cirque du Soleil style maneuvers to reach just the right place at just the right angle.

Finally, in a cloud of 2-cycle exhaust and sawdust the offending branch goes crashing to the forest floor with a deafening thud! 

And voila!  Here's the finished product.  Almost as good as what Nature could have done herself.

Check out our salad bar

So far, everything in our new Square Foot Garden seems pretty happy.  So happy, in fact, that someone (and not Bill) has already started helping themselves to our bounty.  Our first perfectly ripe strawberry has vanished without a trace!  Some of my gardening friends have suggested it was a blue jay; others say it was a chipmunk.  Whoever it was, they took the entire berry without disturbing anything else.  Just another one of Nature's great mysteries out here at Troy Valley.

The things that I started from seeds (lettuce, carrots, spinach) came right up, but I learned that I used far more seeds than necessary.  Next round I'll only put two or three seeds into each hole.  It's hard not to overdo it because the seeds are soooo small.  The green onions came in sets, but I think I have too many in there.  In fact, I need to harvest some and use them up.  The cilantro has gotten enormous, as has the parsley.  Guess I need to get to using up those as well.  When I planted the cilantro it was looking pretty piqued, but it came right back once I got it into a large space with some good soil.  And the parsley was just a little nub because it had gotten nibbled by a squirrel before I got it planted.  The pepper plants haven't flowered yet, but some of the tomato plants have a little flower or two.  As you know, the strawberries are starting to ripen so I just collected my first handful (I'm trying to beat our berry thief to the punch). 

Mel (the SFG guru) says you need to use compost from mixed sources - not just cow manure, for example - but that was all I could find out here so when I heard I could get my hands on some "spent" mushroom compost I thought I'd give it a try.  I guess there's some controversy in the gardening community over the use of mushroom compost because it can be too "salty" for young plants and seedlings.  But I mixed it with cow manure compost, and also vermiculite and peat, so I think it's okay.  It's probably not organic (I didn't verify that when I was compost shopping).

So far, my gardening endeavor hasn't been nearly as tricky or time-consuming as I had been led to believe.  If this keeps up, I'll be doubling the size of our garden next year!  Now why do I have this feeling that all you longtime gardeners out there are giving me that "awww-she-is-sooooo-naive" look right now?

Out of this world

One of my favorite evening pastimes is to stargaze from the big platform in our wildflower meadow.  It's a quiet opportunity to take in the vastness of our solar system, our galaxy, our universe...to contemplate my relative insignificance in God's grand scheme.  This evening meditation always helps to put my seemingly insurmountable and all-consuming challenges into humbled perspective.   

And then, just as I am about to become one with space and time, to transcend this Earthly mortal existence, a piece of space-junk goes tumbling by.  And there I am once again with my butt firmly and pragmatically planted in my ordinary lawn chair on my ordinary platform here on Earth.  

It's an interesting juxtaposition of activities, simultaneously stargazing and space-junk-gazing, and it plays with my emotions.  At one moment I am pondering the relative irrelevance of my existence, while the next moment I see that I, along with my fellow humans, have recklessly set thousands of pieces of garbage into orbit around the only home we'll ever have.  I feel sheer wonderment over what we humans can do along with utter disgust over what we humans have done.   

If you've ever stargazed, chances are quite good that you've seen plenty of space-junk.  Here is a fabulous  website for tracking everything - galaxies, planets, space debris - in your nighttime skies. 
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Needless to say, I can't take credit for the photo...it's from spaceimages.com

Show-off!

We eagerly went for a hike this morning, in the pouring rain, so we could get a glimpse of this rare and stunning native wild orchid.  It's called a Showy Orchis (Orchis spectabilis) and the field guide says this perennial flower is found in moist woods (check), especially beech-maple woods (check), in May or June (check), and should be left undisturbed (check!!!).  It can take orchids 15 years to mature and produce flowers, and the soil and light conditions have to be just right.  What an honor to have one show herself in our woods...and well worth the soggy hike.

The great morel caper

The morels have shown themselves.  Here are just some of our little beauties popping up through the leaf litter throughout the woods.  I didn't know much about morels when we first moved out here, but after chatting up some of the locals, I quickly learned that they're (1) rare, (2) fleeting, (3) expensive if you have to buy them, (4) delicious, and (5) so highly prized that people will risk life, limb and employment to nab them.

So you can imagine my euphoria when I discovered this particular mushroom, photographed alongside a full pair of scissors for scale.  He was the  granddaddy of all morels - one of the biggest I've seen in my short mushroom-hunting career.  I say "was" because Granddaddy was poached from our property not even an hour after I snapped this pic by the guy who comes to mow our pasture.

I caught him red-handed!  When confronted, he admitted to picking it, but when I demanded that he hand it over, he said, "...uh, hmmm, I don't know where it went."  Now c'mon!  Of course he knew where it went, and it was apparent that he wasn't about to give it up.  So what's a girl to do in this situation?  Summon the sheriff?  Pat him down?  Pronounce him a big fat liar and other unflattering epithets?  In the end, I resorted to a stern and hysterical lecture...something about "....only here to do the  job I pay you to do..." and "...never, ever again help yourself to the morels..." and "...the same goes for the deer or wild turkeys or anything else you find out here..." and "...hey, I had big plans for that mushroom!"

Springtime happenings

I'm going to try growing a few vegetables this year, and have started a little garden in one of the only perpetually sunny places on the property.  In "square foot gardening" style, I've got tomatoes, peppers, carrots, lettuce, spinach, strawberries, onions, parsley, rosemary, cilantro and chives crammed into this tiny but efficient space.  To keep our numerous veggie-loving critters at bay, I've crafted some wire cages that fit handily over the raised beds.
 

It seems like everywhere I look, there's a Robin nesting somewhere.  There are little blue eggs in our new (second) Wood Duck nest box, a nest in the head of our oil well (that gets an amusement park style ride every time we make some oil), and another nest on the steps of our oil tank, right out in the open.  

A couple of days ago I saw a Red-tailed Hawk flying over the pasture with a big, black snake hanging from his talons.  I've seen a lot of snakes around the property, but never one that big (probably a black rat snake).  What a breathtaking sight! 

There are tent caterpillars starting to appear on some of our trees.  In years past, I've noticed that we start seeing the Scarlet Tanagers around the same time we see the caterpillars, so I've been keeping my eye toward the treetops for these bright red tropical birds.
 

Recently, I saw a mother raccoon moving her baby to a new den site.  I've read that it's normal for raccoons to change their sites while rearing their young.

So far, I haven't seen any ducklings paddling around the pond, so I'm pretty sure that Lady is still sitting on her eggs in there.  I saw her hurriedly returning to the box yesterday morning when a pair of Canada Geese stopped by for a little rest.
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As for the photos, they're all mine, except for the Scarlet Tanager, which I copied from naturalpatriot.org.

Get out...and stay out!

Spring time is critter exclusion time.  It turns out that you have to be both ingenious and tenacious to prevent a variety of birds (and other creatures) from using your dwelling to raise their families.

Eastern Phoebes like to glue their nests of twigs, moss and mud into the various crevices and ledges of our house.  They are adorable little fellows but unwelcome at the house because they are poopy birds that leave unsightly stains and insect-attracting debris around their nest sites.  Bill's solution has been to insert temporary "fillers" into various places around the house to close off the most enticing crevices.  

Another favorite site for the Phoebes has been the high ledges of our screened porch.  Inspired by the billboard companies that add big spikes to the tops of their signs to deter pigeons and other birds from roosting and pooping, Bill has lined our ledges with rows of unwelcoming nails.

This has been our first year for Starlings.  I don't know why they've only just now shown themselves in these parts, but my hope is that we make our house and property so unattractive that they move on permanently.  Starlings are unwelcome throughout North America because they are a non-native species that displace our native ones.  They are unwelcome at our house because they build twiggy nests inside our gutters and downspouts which clog them up and are really difficult to clear out.  Bill's solution - which seems to be working so far - has been to stuff some pointy chicken wire into the gutters and downspouts.

For the past several weeks we've had wasps and ladybugs (technically, they are Asian Lady Beetles) exploring every nook and cranny of the stone foundation and chimneys, and some have even made their way inside the screened porch and house.  We don't particularly want either of these insects getting a foothold, as they can do harm to people and property. But because our stone provides so many attractive nesting spaces, I'm afraid that excluding these guys will require professional intervention and some toxic chemicals.  This has me greatly concerned over the negative impact that said chemicals may have on our bird and bat and butterfly visitors.

It can be a real struggle, this concept of co-existence.  What is the "best" way to appreciate Nature while having the smallest possible impact on it?  We humans are integral members of our ecosystem...by virtue of us living here in the woods, among the birds and bats and deer and insects, we have an impact.   So when it comes to being environmentally conscious, it is sometimes really hard to know whether our actions do more harm than good.

Ducklings on the way

The little clean-out door at the bottom of the Wood Duck nest box started to come open yesterday.  It was imperative to get it closed back up, lest the whole nest was going to slide out the bottom of the box and into the pond!  In doing this minor but urgent repair, I inadvertently sent the female (I call her Lady) scuttling out of the box.  I'm afraid she was none too happy about the intrusion and gave me a good talking to on her way out.

With the box vacated, I couldn't resist the urge to peak inside where I found about a dozen creamy white eggs nestled in a bed of wood chips and duck down.  I'm not sure when Lady started incubating, so it's hard to say when we can expect to see the ducklings, but I'll estimate her "due date" as April 26th.  Since last year's brood mysteriously disappeared (we had empty eggshells, but never saw the ducklings), I am really hopeful that we'll get to see the little ones this time around.  I'll keep you posted.

Meet my exterminator

Here's a little beauty that I caught napping in the eaves of our porch today.  Ohio has 9 species of bat:  little brown, big brown, evening, Rafinesque's big-eared, silver-haired, eastern red, hoary, eastern small-footed, and Indiana.  I'm pretty sure this is a little brown bat.  It's really hard to identify bat species while in flight, so I am delighted that this little one sat still long enough for me to snap his pic.

Little brown bats like to forage over water, so this is probably the same species of bat we see swooping over the pond at dusk each night.  An individual bat can consume up to 1,200 insects in just one hour of feeding, which is one of the reasons I am so fond of them.  

Earliest spring arrivals

Just today I noticed that the butterflies have re-appeared.  And I suppose it's no coincidence that I also noticed, just today, that many of our flowering trees and bushes are starting to bud out.  Here's a "rare to occasional" Milbert's Tortoiseshell butterfly (who is supposedly very shy) gorging himself on the yummy nectar of a willow.

Today was 80 degrees, not too humid, and the warmer temps seem to have brought everything to life.  There is at least one pair of bluebirds (maybe two) occupying the nest boxes in the wildflower meadow.  The Spring Peepers have also made their debut, as have the bats.  And of course, the Wood Ducks have been showing up, on schedule, to lay their daily egg.

It's supposed to cool off later this week, coinciding with the arrival of our first thunderstorms of the year.  And so spring begins.

Now that's one tasty cable

Our satellite internet has been out for the past several days.  Thankfully, the HughesNet dude has finally come to our rescue and is diligently working on reconnecting us to the outside world.  He discovered that the power supply to our modem has shorted out...it's totally fried and must be replaced.  Now what could be the cause of that?  Upon further investigation, he found that one or more toothy critters have been chewing on the cable that runs 100 feet from the satellite dish into the house and to the modem.  The cable is wet inside, full of water...it too is totally fried and must be replaced.  Apparently, said cable should always be buried, which will (hopefully) prevent our many groundhogs, squirrels and raccoons from nibbling it to death.  And speaking of nibbling, we have had a mouse (or squirrel, I don't know) go to work on our cedar trim.  What's with all this chewing?!

I'll let the wildlife have 99% of our property.  I'll pay the taxes, I'll keep the woods healthy, and I'll go to great effort and expense to remove anything that doesn't belong here (like European Starlings and Multiflora Rose).  All I ask is that I get to live undisturbed within the four walls of my den.  Is that too much to ask? 

Rocky and friends

Like a groundhog tentatively emerging from my winter den, I ventured out yesterday to enjoy our first official day of Spring.

The first stop on my trek was the big old garage out by the oil well.  My first major discovery was a family of Southern Flying Squirrels nesting in our woodshed.  Although Flying Squirrels are Ohio's most common squirrel, they often go unnoticed because they are nocturnal.  Contrary to their name, they don't actually fly, but rather glide from tree to tree using flaps of skin that connect their front and hind legs.  I've only seen them in action once, a few years ago, during an evening campfire.  These little guys are a sight to behold, speedy and energetic and utterly adorable.

My next stop took me down to the pond where I noticed that the Wood Ducks have returned, right on schedule.  Like last year, there are five...two females and three males.  Each day this season, they will arrive at daybreak to lay a single egg in the nest box, then spend the next couple of hours working their way around the pond shore eating invertebrates and other pondly delicacies.

Next, I headed into the woods to see what, if anything, might be in bloom.  It's still too early for the dogwoods or redbuds, but I could see some Tulip Poplar buds way up high in the canopy.  In a few weeks, the woods will be filled with their fragrant smell as the buds open into huge, beautiful yellow-orange flowers.  Tulip Poplars are actually members of the Magnolia family, and they are one of Ohio's most ancient trees, having been in our woods since the time of the Wooly Mammoths. 

While hiking up the aptly-named Morel Trail (not yet - they won't be out until May),  I heard some of our earliest Spring arrivals including the Eastern Phoebes.  And even though the Cardinals, American Robins, Eastern Towhees and Carolina Wrens have been around all winter, they get more vocal and active during mating season, which offered audible reminders that Spring is officially here. 

So....thirty degree temps and a few flurries notwithstanding, I'm happy to report that everyone - even me - is moving forward with their various Springtime responsibilities.
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About the photos: 

• Southern Flying Squirrel - Copied from the Ohio Wildlife Center's website
• Wood Duck - mine
• Tulip Poplar buds - Copied from flikr
• Eastern Phoebe - Bill's, summer of 2009

Mud Season is looming

"Snow-mageddon" is what the headlines read.  Okay, it's just not that bad.  While it has been a little challenging getting in and out of the house, and then in and out of the driveway, we've had no real problems at all.   In fact, the snow and freezing temps actually have their pros.  I got to walk out onto the pond today to put some fresh wood shavings into the wood duck house.  God forbid my beauties show up this year to find their warm, fluffy bed missing.

For the first year ever, we're going to tap one of our sugar maple trees.  The sap will start running as soon the temperatures start to get above freezing during the day, while still dipping down below freezing overnight.  The weather-chick says we should (finally) get above 30 degrees sometime next week, so the tap will go in this weekend.  Since we will only be tapping one tree (as an experiment, really), we won't have enough sap to make anything significant from it (it takes about 40 gallons of sap to make 1 gallon of maple syrup).  So our plan is to add our sap to that of a friend's to produce a limited edition "blend" this year.

When all this snow melts, it's going to become one muddy mess around here.  I refer to that time of year as Mud Season, and it is the bridge between our beautiful snows and the spirit-renewing sights and sounds of Spring.  Mud Season arrives just before the trees start sprouting their green fuzz, and just as my skin color reaches its most lifeless shade of gray due to lack of sunlight.  Alas, Mud Season is our ugliest time of year and try as I may to deny its inevitability, deep down I know it will come.

So this weather-chick says it is white and brisk and overcast and stark and utterly gorgeous out there!

Who's frisky?

 First, I just have to show you how bee-you-tee-full it is outside right now!  Having snowed for about 24 hours straight and leaving behind over 14 inches of the heavy wet stuff, we're just now re-emerging from the house to find the sun shining and the birds totally groovin' on the feeders.  It's the weekend, so we've got nowhere to be and we still have power and we've got plenty of firewood, so it's all good.

We have moved the car out of the garage and parked it down by the main road so that we can get to work come Monday.  This plan entails us shuttling ourselves (in "dress" clothes) and briefcases between the house and car with our Gator until the snow melts enough for us to drive the 4-wheel drive Escape all the way back up to the house.  This would be quite a sight if there were anyone within miles to glimpse it.  We refer to these as our "Green Acres" moments.

Next.  You know how I love tracking, especially in the snow.  A few days ago (before this latest blizzard) while hiking the trails, I came across several signs of wild turkeys - dozens of very large (as big as my hand) 3-toed footprints (plus a 4th toe in the back), and several big piles of leaf litter lying on top of the snow where they had scratched looking for insects and such.  Additionally, I also noted these really interesting tracks in several places.  These are the tracks of (at least) one male turkey (called a "gobbler").  The long marks on either side of the footprints show that his wings were dragging on the ground while showing off his spectacular plumage in hopes of attracting a mate. 

And that got me to thinking...temps are in the teens, there's snow everywhere, and food is seemingly non-existent, so how weird is it that anyone is feeling romantic right now?  And since turkey mating season isn't supposed to begin until late February or early March, maybe these guys were just practicing, or showing off for each other.

A rare bird

We had a Brewer's blackbird stop by last week which, according to Peterson, is considered "scarce" here in the East.  This means he is scarcer than "uncommon" and almost downright "rare" for these parts.  Just a little excitement during this rather quiet and bitter cold winter.

More photos from Wyoming