Friday, September 19, 2014

Bird Buffet

The pokeweed I found this morning is the largest specimen I’ve ever seen.  It’s 10-12 feet tall at least—more like a pokeweed tree than a bush.  It is just covered with fruit right now, which the birds love and fight over.  I’ve never seen so much pokeweed fruit in one spot before.

This morning a blue jay was being chased from the tree by a small bird that was too fast for me to identify.  A little bit higher I saw an immature black-throated green warbler, but they are insectivores, not herbivores, so it wasn’t that little beauty.  It’s possible the warblers were gathering insects on the plant and didn’t take kindly to a nearby blue jay, but I don’t think it was that bird.

Pokeweed is largely toxic to humans, though various parts of it are edible, at least at certain times of the year. I’d have to be pretty hungry before I attempted it, though.  The plant is not toxic to birds and is in fact something of a bird magnet.  I’m already planning to “plant” myself near here sometime over the weekend to see what else shows up at this bird buffet.

Thursday, September 18, 2014

Early morning


The sound of great horned owls, the higher-pitched female and the basso profundo of the male, echo across the forest before dawn’s first paling.  They call back and forth to each other, one further up the hill than the other.

The last hour before daylight and the first hour of night is when they are most active and most vocal. I have lived on this mountain for more than 20 years now, and their presence has been a constant, though I have rarely seen them.

When I have seen them, it has nearly always been on a dreary, dark morning, when an overcast sky tempts them into staying out later to hunt for prey.  When that happens, crows may already be up and spoiling for a good early morning mobbing of the predator.  Sometimes, they meet up with another nemesis, the red-tailed hawk, which inhabits roughly the same ecological niche and eats much the same prey.  Those two are natural born enemies.

This morning was far more typical.  I heard the pair but never saw them, invisible companions.

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Ch-, Ch-, Changes

The hours of daylight seem to me to be diminishing pretty fast right now. Not only do I need my headlamp when I start out walking the dogs, I am still using it when our morning walks are over. Now, I can find only the barest hint of dawn in the east when our forays are done.
The chickens no longer wake me; crowing is later every morning. That is good news. Occasionally, in summer Doodle would crow starting around 4:30 a.m. It doesn’t hurt my feelings that my old rooster now doesn’t wake until around 6 a.m.
The lessened hours of daylight do interfere with my walks now. Most importantly, I can’t see as much, which translates into having less to write about. My headlamp only brightens enough for walking, not enough for inspecting every plant and rock. I also find myself staying on ground where I know the footing is pretty even. The headlamp isn’t good for illuminating little bumps and holes that I can easily see in daylight. It’s better if I just avoid areas with rougher footing until the weekend when I can walk in daylight again.  It goes without saying that even ground is less interesting than the rougher land, but a twisted knee is even worse.
Sometimes I hear an owl. Usually it’s one of the great horned owls calling to its mate. It’s too dark to see even the early-rising crows. The forest birds aren’t awake until I’m out feeding the chickens. One thing I have noticed is now that breeding season is over, the local residents are vocal again. Even the noisy chickadees turn quiet when they are nesting. No longer. They are busily scolding me and the chickens and the cats sitting in windows. They probably scold caterpillars, too. Summer is a long time for a chickadee to be silent, and they are making up for lost time.

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Fall Ruminations

Kralltown Rd., Washington Township, York County, Pennsylvania, September 15, 2014
Fall is beginning to make an appearance around my cabin. The trees still look green, but the annual foliage on the forest floor is beginning to show signs of color. Poison ivy turns first, and a few of the other plants are beginning to follow suit. Nothing is very pretty or dramatic yet; the change is only just beginning—greens fading towards a dull yellow or orange. The big trees are the last to turn color and that still won’t happen for a few weeks.

This week should be the big Broad-winged Hawk migration through southern Pennsylvania. More northerly hawkwatches are already starting to report daily counts above 1000 hawks each day. Likely in this area, the big push will be tomorrow or Thursday. The birds won’t reach the U.S.- Mexico border for another 8-10 days. And it will be the better part of a week before they arrive in Veracruz MX. By the time they get down there, the flocks (or "kettles" as we hawkwatchers call those flocks) could hold tens or thousands and even hundreds of thousands of birds.

I’m noticing the chillier nights, which make for great sleeping weather, as long as the animals don’t take all the room on the bed, which they often attempt to do. The big question I wrestle with each year is when should I "migrate" my houseplants from outdoors back inside the house? The Christmas and Easter cactus are the easiest ones to gauge, as I try not to bring them back inside until they have set buds. My houseplants do best when they are not in the house but outside. Sometimes I think they are only just barely being kept alive inside during the winter. So I tend to wait until the last minute, or even the last second, before bringing them inside. I know the time for them to be outside is soon ending. I just don’t know which day it will be.

Friday, September 12, 2014

Evening visitor

Northern walking stick
Another sign of fall appeared on the outside wall of my cabin last evening, a northern walking stick. Mid-September is when they mate, so it’s not surprising to find them out and about now. They have the best camoflauge of just about anything. I had to enhance the photo a bit just so it wouldn't blend into the background. This one was perhaps 2 inches long.

I haven’t been able to decide if this one is a male or a female. The males tend to be dark brown and the females a kind of brownish green. I’m leaning towards this one being a female, but it’s neither as brown nor as green as some I’ve seen, so I might be wrong. The females are a bit larger, too, and as walking sticks go, this one was in the mid-range, so that didn’t help either.

The oak forest that surrounds my cabin is perfect habitat for them. Oaks are their preferred food source. Walking sticks are mostly nocturnal, which is how I came to find this one when I took the dogs for a final outing of the day. As a side-note, I am still getting used to the lessened hours of daylight. During mid-summer darkness meant it was time to begin to get ready for bed. Without thinking, I automatically did that earlier this week and then discovered it was still only 8:30 p.m.

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Weatherlore and predicting the winter

Now that I’ve officially proclaimed the start of fall (ahem!), it’s time to start looking to the signs for the winter ahead. Collecting natural weatherlore is something of a hobby of mine. I find it all very interesting and some of it is even right. My own experience suggests that you can’t bank on one piece of weather lore to tell the story, but when you get a couple or several of them lining up in one direction or another, there’s often something to it.
Even for me, it’s a bit early to predict what the winter ahead might look like, so I thought I’d report on some of the more interesting bits of lore I’ve collected and will use in the weeks to come to attempt to predict the severity of the upcoming winter.

"If a cold August follows a hot July, it foretells a winter hard and dry." August 2014 here on Roundtop was a bit colder than average but not by very much. I might say this means an average or slightly colder than average winter but nothing to get your knickers in a twist over.

"For every fog in August there will be a snowfall in winter." Hmm, we did have a fair amount of fog on those gloomy August days.

If anthills are high in July, winter will be snowy." I didn’t really look.

"Onion skins very thin, mild winter coming in." Truthfully, the onion skins look pretty normal to me, but I’m no expert.

I’m sure you’ve all heard some of the other ones—thick animal coats equal a tough winter; squirrels frantically gathering nuts, thick corn husks are all supposed to equal tough winters. My animals are only just starting to shed so it’s too soon for me to tell about that one. The squirrels aren’t doing much of anything unusual yet and the corn husks, well, I’m about as much an expert with those as I am with onion skins.

For many of the truisms, it’s still too early to see. October and even November weather is what most of them go by to predict the winter ahead. So stay tuned. At the moment, the signs are very vaguely pointing towards an average or perhaps a slightly colder than average winter, but nothing looks dire. At least not yet.

Tuesday, September 09, 2014

Going, going, going...

Local Canada geese all veed up during flight practice with the young ones
Ruffed grouse, Pennsylvania’s state bird, will be nearly gone from the state by 2050 and will be gone by 2080, where it will only be found in Maine and perhaps the Adirondacks in the lower 48.  And that’s just one species, out of as many as 314 that could be threatened by continued climate change.

Such is the conclusion of a new report from Audubon about the future effects of climate change on birds in the U.S.  As many as 314 species, nearly half the species found in the U.S., are threatened. Using three decades of citizen-science observations and climate models, Audubon’s chief David Yarnold says the study is conservative in its predictions.  At you can read about which species will be affected and see the species projections by state or province.  There also you can ready how the science was conducted and learn more about what can be done. 

The report was discussed on NPR this morning at and in today’s New York Times, to name two spots.
Birders have long seen some evidence of this.  In the past 20 years I’ve seen the black-capped chickadee morph into a black-capped/Carolina chickadee hybrid and then the black-capped disappeared from Roundtop entirely, replaced by the Carolinas.  That’s just one example.  Another is the ever-growing range of the black vulture in my area, and the turkey vulture appearing ever further north.  Red-tailed hawks and Canada geese, to name two, no longer migrate the way they used to. Often then stay where they are or move late and then don’t go very far south for the winter.