Checking on the color change

Last night was a “four cat night” on my bed, so the speed of fall’s color change is likely to speed up. Right now, I’d describe the state of the leaf color as variable. In some places it’s quite nice, if not yet perfect. Drive 200 yards and there’s no color at all. Drive another 200 yards and it’s nice again.

Although the peak of the color is likely two weeks away, this weekend will probably show some reasonably nice leaf change. And if nothing else, leaf lookers will probably have two weekends of enjoying the fall colors before it’s over.

This past weekend I found some decent, if yet unspectacular, examples of local color change. As you can tell from the shots, the lighting and the weather wasn’t particularly cooperative. The weather was gray and a bit hazy. I’m hoping for better or at least acceptable weather for this weekend when I will try for more autumn photos. I have a route of walking and driving already planned out. Weather permitting, of course.

If you’re not traveling to New England or northern Pennsylvania for the color change, I highly recommend driving on Rt. 233 from just south of Mt. Holly Springs all the way to Caledonia. The drive is about 18 miles long and passes Fuller and Laurel lakes. The trip is entirely forested, with nothing but mountains, the state parks at the lakes and some cabins along the way.

The views of the mountains and forests are lovely. Roll down your windows to smell the pine trees along the way. You may need to turn on your car heater to stay comfortable while doing this. As a kid, we called this “playing Valley Forge.” There are plenty of places along the way where you can park the car and walk in along snow machine or hiking trails to see even more.

So far, I haven’t yet seen or heard the big flocks of waterfowl moving south. Today feels like the kind of day when that could happen. I wish I could spend the day home at the cabin to see if I’m right about today being that day. The timing is right, too. The few times I’ve added loons to my “yard” list of birds ranged between October 9-12. I count birds for my Roundtop list if I see them when they fly over the mountain.

National Apple Harvest Festival

This weekend was gray, gloomy and verging on cold, but that didn’t dampen the crowd at the National Apple Harvest Festival just outside of Arendstville PA. Hooded sweatshirts, with the hoods pulled up, were the clothing item of the day, and likely more than a few people wished they'd had gloves.  After two days of warm, fall weather a 20 degree temperature change made the day feel more like November than early October.

Apple Harvest is my favorite festival, and much of that has to do with the fairground. Nothing about the grounds is modern, and festival-goers walk around the pines to visit the vendors and food stands, which are abundant.  You can watch cider and apple butter being made the old-fashioned way, with steam engines ranging in size from this little one to those the size of locomotives.

If there’s anything made with apples that isn’t sold here, I don’t know what it would be. Apple sausage, apple butter, apple sauce, apple jelly, apple pancakes are just a few. You name it. If apples are in it, someone’s probably selling it at the festival. Held the first two weekends of October, the festival has been in existence most of my life, though it hasn’t been the National Apple Harvest Festival all that time. Adams County PA, where the festival is held, has long been known for its apple orchards, and it was a few of those growers who got together and started the festival about 50 years ago.

The festival has grown so much since the early days that now more than 300 vendors take part, and the shuttle bus system that brings people up the narrow mountain road to the fairgrounds is the best organized I’ve ever seen. I like to go early on Sunday mornings, as I think that’s when the festival is less crowded. People come from all over the mid-Atlantic states to visit.

This year I got a few Christmas gifts at the craft vendors and ate some really good festival food, which in my mind always tastes better for being cooked outside under the pine trees anyway. The difficult part is deciding what I'm going to buy because I wouldn't even have room just to sample it all. 

Flights of Fancy

What is that brilliant fiery orb gracing the eastern sky this October morning?

Look quickly. It will be gone by tomorrow. Enjoy its glory for the moment that is today. Revel in its brightness and heat. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.

Tomorrow the rains will return and autumn will take off its lightweight jacket and settle in with some real fall weather, the kind that means a fire needs lit, the hot chocolate needs brewed and that old, comfortable sweater needs dusted off for another year’s duty.

This morning migrating birds are on the move, small finches move in small flocks, trying to get further south before the coming storm. Birds that aren’t migrating are busy foraging with the first real urgency of the season. The short break in the weather has all the forest in action again, after days of inactivity.

Even the monarch butterfly migration is picking up again this morning, the frail, little bits of orange somehow managing to withstand the dangers of travel to migrate long distances. Their trip to Mexico takes about two months. The ones that survive will winter there and head back in the spring, but those oldsters will only make it back about halfway before the next generation completes the spring journey.

On their travels monarchs like to roost overnight in the same spot, replicating in temporary miniature the swarms of them that winter at the same few trees in Mexico. This year, reports are that in the East large numbers of monarchs are migrating, but not many have been seen in the drought-plagued Midwest. That’s already prompted some researchers to wonder just how many will make it to Mexico, as the eastern butterflies have a longer trip, and it’s thought fewer of them survive the hazards of migration. Last week monarchs arrived at the first three overnight roosts in Texas, where numbers were reported to be fewer than 50 at each roost.

This link takes you to a great website where monarch migration is tracked week by week so you can see where they are on maps and learn how many are showing up in the southern roost sites. The weekly news is updated every Thursday until the monarchs arrive in Mexico.

Looking ahead

It’s not just me who is lamenting the fog that still grips Roundtop and much of the east coast. Yesterday, I was emailed a photo of a lonely hawkwatcher sitting all by himself up on his fog-shrouded perch at Hawk Mountain Sanctuary. The only way that man would see any hawks (assuming one was desperate enough to be flying) was if one perched on his head. Another hawk counter from up in Connecticut told me he was holding a “fog watch” this year instead of a hawkwatch. It’s all funny, if not terribly amusing.

The forecast is still promising clearing up for a day or two before rain moves in again. That same forecast is promising some much cooler weather starting on Saturday. I’m already planning to bring the last of the summering houseplants back into the cabin, including my 10-ft tall ficus tree. The whole planned operation got me to thinking about dependent we are on weather forecasts in a way that was impossible just a generation ago.

Before WWII and the advent of radar, I would have little idea that the temperature would drop a good 20 degrees in another day or so. I might have been able to look at the sky and predict rain or another storm, but I never heard anyone report they could predict a 20 degree temperature drop. Back then I probably would have brought my houseplants inside based on a day of the calendar—perhaps Columbus Day. And if I’d relied on that day this year, I’d be at least two days too late for my houseplants. As it is I am scheduling my evening around bringing in the houseplants and getting them situated for the upcoming winter.

My now year-old kittens will have forgotten about the tree, or if they haven’t, they will remember just how much fun it was to climb up to the second floor of the cabin via the tree instead of the stairs. Of course, they are much larger now, fully grown, and the tree will not support three cats still operating on kitten brains. I am not looking forward to dealing with a tree toppled in my living room until they learn this lesson. But learn they must, and deal with it I must. I hope they learn quickly.

Too foggy

Fog and drizzle is starting to be a broken record here on Roundtop Mtn., though the forecast promises an end by the weekend. I’m starting to find the lack of visibility annoying. The gloom of the fog only serves to make the shortened hours of daylight feel even shorter.

Bird activity is depressed. I’m not sure if it’s just that I can’t see them or if they simply aren’t out and about. I suspect it’s the latter. Even the Carolina chickadees and Tufted titmice that visit my feeders are fewer in number and nearly silent when they do appear. Instead of their near-constant chatter, they arrive quietly, grab a seed or two and disappear back into the fog.

This morning Baby Dog and I nearly stumbled over one of the deer that frequents the tiny patch of grass at the bottom of the lane that runs up the mountain. I stopped, the doe stopped and looked, and Baby Dog couldn’t see the deer at all, though it was only the width of the lane away from us. It wasn’t until the doe bobbed her head, probably trying to figure out what we were, that Baby Dog noticed. Her single bark was more than enough to put the deer into a run and disappear.

Are the colors changing on the trees? I can’t tell.

Are avian migrants on the move? I can’t tell.

Are enough leaves down that I might see the curve of the mountain to the west again? I can’t tell.

For all I know the ski resort might have disappeared in the past week. It’s simply too foggy to see much of anything, and the woods aren’t talking.

Wishing

Rainy autumn days always make me wish:

I could sleep longer.

I didn’t have to go to work.

The dogs wouldn’t start to fuss until I was well and truly awake.

A hot cup of tea or coffee (depending on my mood) would be ready for me whenever I stumbled out of bed.

A good book was waiting for me and that I could spend hours immersed in it. Or not.

Mostly, that I could sleep longer.

October song

Any day now, the big flocks of Canada geese will fill the air over Roundtop. Last night for a few minutes I thought I heard the first group of them heading south. I changed my mind after I listened for a few minutes. It was only the local geese fussing or feeling antsy. Soon, they all took flight and moved to a different pond on the mountain, circling all around a time or two before they set down. The local geese don’t migrate, but the urge to move is still there in fall and they fly with little provocation. It’s as though October sings in their wings, even when there’s no place to go.
October started off on a very foggy note this morning. I couldn’t see the mountains. I could barely see to drive. Oddly, the only spot that was less foggy was the lowest point on my morning travels, down by the old stone bridge at the foot of Roundtop Mtn. After I took this photo I also noticed that the trees down here seemed a lot more green than up where I live.

Up on the mountain most trees are showing at least a few leaves that are displaying the colors of fall, though the trees with the most color are still no more than half-changed. Most show color on about 10-20% of the tree. Breezes have already forced more leaves off the trees and onto the forest floor than I would expect. That makes me wonder if the leaf change won’t look like much this year.

The forest is most beautiful when the trees all show their colors at about the same time. If a few leaves show color now, fall during the first breeze and then that cycle repeats, the leaves that remain on the trees are always the ones that are greenest. The leaves that are on the trees will grow ever fewer, but the dramatic colors of an all yellow and red forest never quite happens. I hope that’s not the case this year but if it is, it wouldn’t be the first time. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see what happens.

Friday's odds and ends

The leaves are starting to take on the hues of autumn, though here in southern Pennsylvania the best color won’t be for a few weeks yet. Today, it’s not easy to see the color through the morning mist, still rising after a night of rain.

Last evening I was suddenly surprised to see how far into the forest I could see. No longer is the ground hidden by summer plants. I can see at least twice as far as I could only a month ago. The change is a welcome one. By summer’s end I always feel a bit claustrophobic or shut in by the greenery. I prefer the open sky of winter, and the start of that is already noticeable. In another month, I’ll be able to see the western mountain again. In the meantime, seeing 50 feet into the woods is an improvement over 10 feet or so.

September is shaping up as a bit warmer than normal, though in studying the temperatures this month, I’ve noticed that it’s not the daytime temperatures that are particularly warmer. It’s the nighttime temperatures that have boosted the mean temperatures for the day. Much of that is due to the cloudy or rainy nights that kept the temperatures from falling very much. More than a few days this month featured a daytime temperature that was normal but a nighttime temperature that was only a few degrees cooler than the day, which caused that day to be 8-9 degrees above normal solely because it rained overnight or stayed overcast.

Shifts

A non-name creek on a misty morning in late September

While sitting on Waggoner’s Gap hawkwatch during a slow period recently, the gathered veteran hawkwatchers started to talk about how hawkwatching has changed over the years. Notably, we all remembered the bad old days after DDT, when bald eagles especially were very scarce. At that time I had a cabin near Hawk Mountain Sanctuary, and the regulars there had a tradition of toasting each eagle we’d seen with some alcoholic beverage down in the parking lot after the day’s hawkwatching was over. Often there was nothing to toast, and when we did toast the eagles, it was rarely more than one or two. A good day was perhaps three. We gave up the toasts after the day we saw seven, as none of us was fit to drive afterwards. And yet now at Waggoner’s Gap and elsewhere eagles are common, and a good day is more like 20.

Our discussion on the mountain drifted away from eagles and moved into other species of birds. We all remembered the first black vulture we’d seen on a Pennsylvania hawkwatch, an event that only occurred perhaps 15 years ago. Now, in this area, no one lifts a finger when a small flotilla of these birds that used to be a more southern species drifts by. Someone joked that if we all live long enough we’re likely to see the first magnificent frigatebird fly by. Well, perhaps in a thousand years.

It’s not just my area that is seeing the shift. Black vultures move ever-further north, but even turkey vultures are counted in much higher numbers at the Canadian sites than they were 30 years ago. Back then the year’s results were often under 100 birds, where now a normal year at an Ontario site produces well over 1000 birds.

The shift is seen in non-raptors too. In my area until perhaps 10 years ago, no one ever saw a Carolina chickadee. We had the black-capped chickadee. Then I started seeing birds that were clearly a mix of Carolina and the black-capped. On Roundtop the black-cappeds hung on far longer than EBird wanted to allow (I think my elevation helped), but now even I see only Carolina chickadees. Even a bird I would call a mix is rare.

This shift of southern species into areas that used to be outside their range is ongoing. Carolina wrens? Even as recently as 10 years ago they weren’t common here. I can remember my grandmother telling me that she never saw redbirds, as she called the cardinals, when she was a girl, which would have been around 1900-1910. In my own lifetime, they have always been common.

The plants and insects that feed these traditionally southern species shifted first. Pawpaws are moving northward, and they were always a tree that was rare here on what used to be the northern edge of their range. They are still uncommon but less so. More traditional species, like the eastern Hemlock, are losing ground.

Unless a meteor hits the earth fairly soon, I will not live to see the world shift back to the climate of my own youth. The shift is well apparent and still accelerating. It’s only because I notice such things—and usually associate with others who also notice—that the change is so noticeable to me.

Foxes, Raccoons and No Bears

Last night, for the first time in months, I heard the foxes barking at each other again. One was only a few feet from the front door of the cabin. The other was further up the mountain. The one closest to the cabin barked for a long time before its mate answered back and it went off to join it. That was enough for me to forbid the chickens to be out this morning.

Today it is dark and raining a bit. I’ve noticed before that warm, cloudy nights are favored by predators. And when daylight comes, those same predators stay active for an hour or so longer than is usual for them. The gloomy morning must seem a bit like early dawn to them. In my area, the predators I most worry about are foxes, raccoons and great horned owls, primarily—or at least those are the ones I most keep an eye on. The skunks, screech owls and opossums don’t cause much trouble for the chickens.

Rarely, I hear coyotes sing but never from right on Roundtop Mtn. Perhaps ten years ago now, I saw a coyote here, twice, but it was all by itself and not that near the cabin. And, I didn’t own chickens then.

Bears, though common across in the ranges across the valley, haven’t been seen around me for some time. Perhaps 10 years ago now, one that possibly had cubs several months later wandered through and was seen a couple of times over on Moore’s Mountain. More recently, A few times in the past couple of years, a bear or two tried to cross the wide valley, now filled with farms and suburbs. They never made it this far, but if they had not tried to raid suburban bird feeders they might have, as they were all within a mile or two of a mountain’s safety.

Roundtop Mtn., Nell’s Hill, Flat Mtn., Wright Knob, Pinetown Hill and the forests around me are like foothills or pre-foothills of the continuous ranges of the Appalachian Mtns. across the valley to the north. I like to think of this little grouping as an island of mountains surrounded by the ever-encroaching modern and urbanized world. So far we are holding our own.

I am surrounded by more than enough forest to support several bears or more, but no doubt the last was killed years ago, and since then the wide valley has thus far kept them from repopulating this little “island.” It’s the fox and the raccoons I have to most watch out for, at least when it comes to my chickens.

On the move

Corn and clouds, Mt. Airy Rd., Monaghan Twp., York  County PA

Everything and everyone was on the move in some way this weekend.

The weather was so lovely here in southern Pennsylvania this weekend that anyplace I went I saw people outside. Even people who apparently don’t spend much time outside were outside this weekend, judging by the number of picnickers, walkers, anglers and boaters that I saw. People were all over the ski slopes, the most ambitious walking up the mountain. Roundtop was as busy as I’ve ever seen it, except in the middle of ski season.

I was busy, too, though I spent more time that I would have liked working around the cabin. This weekend the overnight temperature forecasts made me think it was time to bring most of the houseplants that summer outside to the inside. I set up my bird feeders for the fall and upcoming winter season and was already forced to clear the back deck of leaves, twigs and other accumulations from recent storms. Some of the debris has been there for a while, but it’s only when cooler weather arrives that I have much ambition to do anything about it.

The nights are already down into the 40’s and the days may or may not reach 70 degrees. Some of the trees are starting to turn color, though none of them are very far along yet. The annual plants are dying back and have reached the point where in some places I can walk through the woods without benefit of a trail again. Even the overhead canopy of the forest is thinner, and though I don’t have much of a sky view, I can already tell if it’s sunny or cloudy, which is a big improvement over midsummer.

Birds are moving across the mountain, too. Songbirds, raptors and hordes of grackles are moving south, as are blue jays and crows. Jays and crows fall into that category of birds that both do and don’t migrate. I still see a few chimney swifts, but most of them are gone already.

The first of the golden delicious apples—my favorites—were ready this weekend. Soon the corn will be harvested too. It’s a busy time of year for everyone, whether migrating or not.

Purple asters and honey bee

After the last few years, anytime I see a honeybee I feel a little progress has been made moving back from the brink. Colony collapse disorder has decimated their ranks. Last evening I saw not one but two different honeybees flitting through the purple asters. It’s possible that both bees are from the neighboring orchard, just a mile away through the woods. It’s just as possible, perhaps even more likely, that these are wild or at least feral bees with a hive of their own not far away.

Some of the more recent research on bees suggests that the colony collapse disorder didn’t affect wild bees as much as it has the domestic ones used by beekeepers. Since the disorder is related to or caused by pesticide levels and other toxins, it makes sense that wild bees would be less affected. Wild bees are much harder to study, and the research on them is limited, even to the point of not always knowing ranges and the species within a range.

In any event, this honey bee and its partner over on the next batch of asters seemed happy enough and didn’t mind that I got close to them to take photos. I didn’t even see the bees at first, deep as they were in the small blooms.

Purple asters are also called fall asters around here, and fall arrived on Roundtop Mtn. a week or so ago, despite the calendar not catching up to the “boots on the ground” reality until Saturday. It’s time to put away the last of the short-sleeved shirts and bring out the long sleeves. The cats, who abandoned my bed during summer, are back and cuddled tight against me at night. It must be like sleeping in a straight jacket as I have no room to turn at all. Who knew a couple of 8 lb cats could be so impossible to move?

Evening and early morning now requires a sweatshirt. The golden delicious apples will soon be ready; perhaps the first will be available this weekend. The leaves haven’t started turning yet, but with these cool evenings that can’t be far away. This weekend will be time to bring in the plants that summered outside and add another bird feeder to the deck. Fall is here.

Diversion

Chipmunk

Wednesday at Waggoner’s Gap hawkwatch was another good day on the mountain. The wind was strong in the morning, prompting some of the hawkwatchers to haul out last winter's gloves against the strong northwest air. The wind did keep many of the migrating hawks away from the ridge and further away, so I didn’t get any new hawk photos. Still anytime I can see 10 bald eagles in a single hour is a good day on the mountain. Also migrating were Sharp-shinned hawks, some Osprey, American kestrels and Cooper's Hawks for a grand total of 710 for the day.  Chimney swifts, Monarch butterflies and Black-throated green warblers all showed up, too

Because I didn’t get any new hawk photos, this morning I will post one of the other “hawk watchers” who are a regular fixture on the rocks.  This chipmunk is just one of several that dash between the rocks on Waggoner’s Gap. They are over and under the rocks, almost underfoot, wending their way from wherever they live out to the rock where American chestnuts, almonds and other goodies are arranged for their dining pleasure. This week a new nut—the pawpaw—was placed out there. That was soundly rejected by the chipmunks, who nosed each one before moving on to the next. Eventually, they worked their way through a dozen or more of the pawpaw nuts (or are they seeds?), rejecting each and every one. That prompted a return to the chestnuts, which promptly were gobbled up or stuffed into their cheeks.

A Little Hawkwatching

Juvenile Broad-winged Hawk

Kettle of Broadwings

 Until bad storms and heavy rains called a halt to my hawkwatching, I was having a good couple of days at Waggoner's Gap hawkwatch, near Carlisle PA. Waggoner's Gap is across the valley to the north from Roundtop.  On clear days I can see Roundtop from the hawkwatch.

Mid-September is the time of year when the highest numbers of hawks are seen.  On good days we can typically see several thousand migrating hawks. Most of the ones seen now are Broad-winged Hawks, which frequently travel in groups, always searching for the next warm thermals to take them ever higher and higher.  In this area a big kettle is probably something more than 100 birds, though kettles of 500-1000 are not unheard of, if not the norm.  The birds will be in south Texas in about 10 days and will winter over in central and South America.

Even though now is the time for Broadwings, other species are moving too, notably Sharp-shinned Hawks, Ospreys, falcons (we have American Kestrel, Merlin and Peregrine Falcon) and Bald Eagles.  Golden Eagles will migrate late in the season.  This has been a good year for Bald Eagles so far. At one point on Monday I saw three moving together.  The photo below is one of those. Bald Eagles don't get their full plumage of a white head and white tail until they are about four years old.  Although the adult birds are gorgeous (and huge!), I always like to see the brown juveniles, because that means there's young blood for the future.

Adult Bald Eagle

September Sunrise

I've been hawkwatching this weekend.  So far, the hawks have been quite cooperative.  Today, Bald Eagles,     American Kestrels,a raven or two and several hundred Broad-winged Hawks--most very high but still beautiful.

Today,though, I was most taken by the colors of the sunrise here on Roundtop.

Large and small

My new batch of Rhode Island Red hens have produced their first egg.  Isnt't that little thing the cutest little brown egg you ever saw?

Pullet eggs, the first eggs from hens that have just started to lay, are always small.  They will soon be normal size within a week or two or three.  The large egg is from my one of my 3-year old chickens.  A chicken's eggs get larger as they age, and my old girls are now laying jumbo eggs. The little egg is about two inches long, roughly half the size of the jumbo egg. 

Plans

Pinchot Lake, September 12, 2012, 6:30 p.m.

Tonight a rare occurrence at Carolyn’s cabin: a evening free of other obligations and clear weather. So tonight I plan to do a little outside work, and though I don’t have to mow in my forest, that doesn’t mean there’s nothing to do.

First off tonight, I will clear out the pipe that drains the basement during heavy rainstorms. This is a chore I have to do many times in the fall. This cleaning will take care of the accumulation of summer’s leaves and twigs that clog the “stream” that’s created by the draining basement. Then once the leaves begin to fall, I’ll need to do the job every week or two until all the leaves are finally down and not being blown around.

My chicken pens also need attention. Last night the first egg from my new chickens was produced, a lovely little brown thing about two inches long—about half the size of the eggs produced by the 3-year old chickens. So I need to make sure the nest boxes for the new girls are deep with new straw and that they are happy with the arrangements. The rest of them will begin to lay any day now, too. The first pullet eggs from a chicken are always small, but they reach normal size within a week or so.

I also need to put anti-skid tape on all my outside steps and around the front deck. This is a yearly job, as that tape works well but never lasts more than a year. Those wooden steps are slippery when wet or iced up or snowed under. And the tape doesn’t stick well below a certain temperature, so I have to remember to do this chore before it gets too cold.

If I have time I will take a look at chopping down some of the undergrowth behind the cabin. I worked on that in the early summer, before July’s heat made that job too much to any sane person. Fighting off the multiflora rose is a never-ending job. Sometimes I think I’m making progress, sometimes not.

And I need to redo my bird feeders in preparation for the heavy feeding season in fall and winter. My feeder arrangement is different every year, partly because I’m always trying new things, partly because my feeders never last more than one season. Raccoons, opossums and the weather all take a toll.

Naturally, I won’t get everything done tonight, but it will feel good just to have the time and nice weather to work on it all.

Not fair

It’s a shame, I think, to find that once the temperature turns so comfortable I can fully enjoy being outside again it now gets dark so early in the evenings. As a result I don’t have much time to take advantage of the lovely weather. Now would be the perfect time for daylight to last until 9 or 10 p.m. Too bad it doesn’t work that way, but if I ruled the universe, it would.

I fantasize about lovely evening rambles down along Beaver Creek, watching the shadows growing golden and long. I think of an unhurried walk, stopping to look at plants or watching the chipmunks play. And instead it gets dark. It’s just not fair.

In a few weeks, when we change the clocks again, it will be even worse. Oh, I do walk in the dark, sometimes, but I certainly can see a lot more and the forest is a lot more active during the day. I don’t walk down the mountain to Beaver Creek in the dark—the footing on those paths is not conducive to that even when I wear a headlamp. Maybe if I was 20 and not decades older than that and didn’t have a bad knee, but since I don’t rule the universe, that’s not going to happen either.

Instead, I try to pack as much as I can into the few minutes of daylight I have. Still, the chickens need attending to and the dogs have to go out. Sometimes evenings are more of a rat race than they are relaxing. Such is life, I guess. I have to make time to take time slowly and do the best I can.

Avian Adventures

I can always tell when a great horned owl is around because the eastern screech owl that hangs out near my cabin is silent. Great horned owls will prey on the little screech owls, and they aren’t the only ones. Barred owls, long-eared owls and short-eared owls would all take a screech owl if they can find them. And that doesn’t count the mammals, such as mink, weasel, the ever-present raccoons and skunks, not to mention other large birds, such as crows. Screech owls have a tough go at keeping away from predators. So many things would be happy to eat them.
So this morning the screech owl was silent, and the big great horned owl hooted from higher up on the mountain, not as close to the cabin as the screech owl, but close enough that the smaller owl wasn’t about to draw attention to itself. Barred owls are also common in this area, just not around my corner of Roundtop Mtn. I have occasionally heard one down in a swampy area at the bottom of the mountain, but not for a while and never very often.

The presence of the great horned owl wasn’t worrisome enough to silence Doodle, my rooster, this morning, but the big owl never answered back the way the screech owl will. I still let my chickens out of their pen this morning, though the big owl could easily feast on one of them. The chickens love to be out in the woods and if the weather is bad or they feel threatened, they hide under the cabin. So far, that’s worked fine. Doodle finds a low branch and perches on it, with the girls below him pecking on the ground. He’s watching for danger so they can forage, but he’s only about two feet off the ground, so I have to wonder how much he really sees. It looks impressive, though—a big Rhode Island Red rooster alert for danger while the girls calmly feed and look for worms. Doodle is all about looking impressive.

Season-changing storm



View from Waggoner's Gap, looking north



It’s fall now, whatever the calendar says. On Saturday afternoon a severe storm front moved through the entire east coast, scouring out the wretched humidity and dropping the temperature a good 20 degrees. Behind that storm, the weather is crisp and cool at night, requiring a light blanket on the bed. Behind the storm, the migration floodgates opened, bringing raptors and songbirds south.

I spent Sunday at Waggoner’s Gap hawkwatch, enjoying the show. Merlins and American Kestrels, 23 Bald Eagles and 12 Ospreys, Sharp-shiinned and Cooper’s Hawks, a Red-shouldered Hawk and nearly 200 Broad-winged Hawks all moved south. And it wasn’t just the raptors that migrated either—more than 100 monarch butterflies, 15 red-breasted nuthatch, nearly 300 chimney swifts also crossed the mountain.

It’s time to pull the long-sleeve shirts out of storage and put away the short-sleeved ones. Time to think about making soup and stews again. Time to finish that knitting project. Time to get the cabin ready for cooler weather.

So, in my book, it’s now official. Summer is over and fall is here. The calendar will catch up to the season eventually.

Early morning

At this time of year I start my morning walks with Dog and Baby Dog a full hour before sunrise. I can’t see even a hint of morning in the east. Instead of being greeted by robins or the even-earlier rising crows, the call of the screech owl is now what greets me as soon as I step out the door.


The screech owls range all over Roundtop, sometimes closer, sometimes further away from my cabin. Lately, one bird has been very close, but I still have never seen it, even when I use my headlamp to try and catch a glimpse of its eyeshine.

Once I turn my porch light on, Doodle, my rooster, wakes too and starts an unlikely duet with the screech owl. The owl calls and Doodle crows, back and forth, half a dozen times or more before Doodle wins. Doodle, refreshed after a night’s sleep, always wins. The little owl probably figures it’s too much effort after a long night of trying to make a living off the insects and mice in the forest. With all the katydids around right now, the owl can probably do pretty well for itself and by night’s end is probably looking for a good nap.

The constellation Orion is high in the early morning sky right now, too. We tend to think of Orion as a late fall constellation that rises as darkness falls, but if you get up early enough, you can see it now. You could probably see it in August, too, but I usually don’t get up that early!

After half an hour or so of walking, the eastern sky starts to lighten. The Canada geese wake up and fuss a bit over on the big pond. At first I thought something might be after them, but they act like this every morning. It’s just how they wake up. Eventually, crows sound out the start of day and the sun appears on the horizon. The mountain is waking up to another day.

They're heere!

..Or at least they are passing through. This morning as I stepped out the door of the cabin, I was greeted by the familiar tin horn sound of a red-breasted nuthatch!  I didn't get to see the bird but it was nearby and I heard it clearly.  If that's not a harbinger of fall, I don't know what is!

A few weeks ago I was at the Hawk Mountain-sponsored Kittatinny Roundtable, which brings together hawkwatch site coordinators from Pennsylvania and New Jersey.  There, we speculated that migration might happen early this year because of the drought.  So far, that hasn't really been the case with raptors, though this stuffy, humid weather is likely as much to blame as anything.  Without this constant layer of clouds and humidity, the birds may well have started to move.  Raptors prefer better weather for migration, preferably the day after a cold front passes, when they will have a tail wind and the higher pressure makes flying easier. They may well be sitting up north, eager enough to move south but held up by the rain, clouds and humidity.

Smaller birds, like the red-breasted nuthatch, migrate a bit differently.  They often fly from treetop to treetop, not always moving at much altitutde, so weather can be less of an issue for them.  They may also be hungry enough to have to move now, while the raptors are still well-fed enough to wait for more typical timing. And yet, the signs are there that birds would like to be moving; a fair number of Northern Goshawks have already been seen, and those are a late-season migrant normally.  Red-shouldered hawks, a mid-season migrant, are also starting to show up as they pass hawkwatch sites.

I fully expect that the day this weather truly clears to be an outstanding time to be on a hawkwatch.  And not just for raptors either, as most raptor sites also see lots of songbirds and other avian migrants.  Right now that nice clear day might be Friday, but the jury is stil out on that.  Maybe it will hold off until the weekend, when I could share in that fun.  

Almost didn't go

Roundtop on Sunday morning

I almost didn’t go hawkwatching on Sunday because when I went outside it was so foggy and overcast that I couldn’t even see the top of Roundtop Mtn. But since I’d planned the day for hawkwatching, I decided to go anyway.

Then just as I was getting onto the Pennsylvania turnpike to head towards the hawkwatch at Waggoner’s Gap near Carlisle, a few drops of rain sprinkled my windshield and I almost turned back. But I got on the road anyway. About halfway to Carlisle, it really started to rain, but then I couldn’t turn back because the next interchange wasn’t until I reached Carlisle. So I got off at Carlisle, figuring I’d turn around and come home, but I couldn’t turn around at the interchange, so I pulled into the first spot I could, turned around and decided to check the radar first.

Radar showed just a small blob of rain, a tiny little blob, only around Carlisle, so I decided that since I was almost already at the hawkwatch, I might as well drive up the mountain and see what the day looked like from there. So I got there around 9 a.m. to a semi-socked in view from the gap. I could see down to the ground but only just.

No one else but the site’s hawk counter was there. We talked for a few minutes. Dave hadn’t seen any hawks yet. He said there were a lot of grackles migrating and then we saw a whole flock of them, hundreds even, out at the far end of the hawkwatch. Since there wasn’t anything else to look at, we looked at those. Then we both saw a bird at the front of the grackle pack land in a dead snag. Dave stood up to look at it and said, “Does that bird have a yellow head?”

So I stood up and looked at it and just that quick “a yellow-headed blackbird!” Yellow-headed blackbirds are a western species, only rarely found in the east. We both got good looks at it but Dave didn’t have a camera and I didn’t have my camera unpacked (and it was too far for my lens, anyway). A yellow-headed blackbird was a first Pennsylvania sighting of the species for both me and Dave. I’d seen one years ago in New York at the Derby Hill hawkwatch and the times I’ve birded out west. Dave the counter said It was also the first sighting of the species on Waggoner’s Gap.

We didn’t see many hawks on Sunday—the clouds were really low, no wind, lots of overcast—but Dave, the few regulars who eventually showed up and I had a nice variety of hawks. I saw 5 Bald Eagles, a couple of Broad-winged Hawks, Sharp-shinned Hawks, a Merlin, a Northern Harrier and some red-breasted nuthatches (non-hawks). Someone brought up a pound cake and shared it with everyone there. It was a good day all around.

Moonset over mountains

Some evenings I sit outside and not much happens. Other times I see lots of interesting birds. Last night was one of those—a small flock of 14 cedar waxwings and (I’m almost certain) a Philadelphia vireo, in addition to the usual run of bluebirds, crows and house finch to name a few. Yesterday was a good migration day for raptors, too, which nearly always means it will be a good day for migrating songbirds.

A clear sky, little wind—if I were a bird that’s when I’d like to migrate, too. Why wait until the last moment, when all the other birds are rushing ahead of some terrible bit of weather, fighting a headwind and scared they can’t fly fast enough to miss the storm that’s hot on their little tails? No, the smart birds leave when the weather is still pretty nice.

This morning as I was walking Baby Dog August’s second full moon of the month was sinking slowly behind the mountains. I grabbed the camera and tried for an early morning shot as the moon dipped behind the western ridges. I dropped Baby Dog’s leash (it’s her seventh birthday) and went in search of a good spot for a shot. Baby Dog just stood there, waiting for me to tell her to do something. When she realized I wasn’t going to tell her anything, she nosed her way along the forest edge, sniffing for rabbits. Fortunately, she didn’t find any or I’m sure she would have zipped off into the brush, which would in turn require me to go chasing after her and likely missing my moon shot.

I’ve been trying to get a decent photo of the setting moon for sometime, with little success. Sometimes the moon sets while it’s still too dark for a decent shot. Sometimes, it’s gotten too light. Sometimes the moon sinks behind clouds and disappears entirely. Today, none of that happened; Baby Dog didn’t find a rabbit to tear off after, and I got a shot of the moon setting over the mountains.

Grumpy

old road at Roundtop

I am nearly at the point in the year when I will need to start taking my week’s worth of blog photos on the weekend before I post them. The mornings are already growing darker than I like for photos. Even on this morning, which dawned clear and bright, the sunlight is only in the treetops and not down on the ground by the time I leave the mountain.


That change in my blogging life always takes some getting used to. It usually takes me weeks. I guess I’m just a slow learner. Usually I end up with fewer photos than blog entries. Some of it is just my own orneriness, too. I like to take the day’s blog photo on the same day as I post it. When I’m forced to take all my photos on the weekend, usually my best photos are used first, so on Mondays and Tuesdays the photos you see are usually pretty good. By Wednesday or Thursday I’m often less happy with the photos I post. By Friday, that’s what I post whatever is left. When I get down to posting photos of the dogs, cats or chickens it usually means I don’t have anything else.

Another reason I don’t like to take all my photos the week ahead is that by the end of the week the photos no longer seem current to me. The weather has changed, the light has changed. Photos of the previous weekend seem out of date and no longer relevant to however the woods and my life has changed in the past seven days. I know most readers won’t know or notice that, but I do. In a week a flower may bloom or be past its prime. Perhaps snow fell or completely melted away, and I’m still posting old photos from the week before.

But now that day is nearly upon me. Time to shift gears and plan to take a week’s worth of blog photos over a weekend again. At least this weekend will be a long weekend, so I’ll have extra time get a few taken. Maybe even Friday won’t be bad.

Summer's end

Pinetown Rd., Warrington Township, York County, Pennsylvania

The swallows are gone. So it’s official now, summer is over. I’m not sure exactly when the swallows left. I think it was a couple of days ago. Some days when I looked for them and wouldn’t see them, I thought they had left only to find them again on the next night on their usual wire. But I haven’t seen them at all for a couple of days now, so this time I think they are well and truly gone.

The swifts are migrating but still around. Typically I see them, as well as nighthawks, up until around the middle of September. Usually those September birds are the ones I see from a hawkwatch ,and they are the northern birds heading south, not the local birds. The ones that summer here will have already been gone by then. But for the moment at least, I’m pretty sure the swifts that skitter over the pond are the local birds, and last night I still heard the pewee call. Neither will be on the mountain for much longer this year.

Last night I walked out to one of the snowmaking ponds and watched the mountain settle into darkness. For once the weather was pleasant and clear. I even found a good rock for my perch. I brought my binoculars but only used them once or twice. Mostly, I was close enough to see or hear all the birds around me. Nothing much happens most of the time, which is fine with me. It relaxes me to watch daylight disappear, to listen to the sounds of day turn into the quieter hours of night. Sometimes I see a bird I haven’t seen in a while. Sometimes I don’t. It’s the watching that matters, not what I see.

Soon I won’t have daylight enough to bird in the evenings. Even last night, with a nearly full moon overhead in the early evening, it was fully dark well before 8:30 pm. When those days arrive I will rely on my hearing to enjoy my evenings on the mountain, though I will still try to sit outside for a few minutes on most days, even in winter. The only time weather keeps me inside is during heavy rain, extreme heat (sometimes), thunderstorms and the odd tornado. Sometimes evening activities keep me from sitting out, so I don’t like to let bad weather stop me when I have an unscheduled evening.

Sitting outside in the evenings here on the mountain is something I value pretty highly. Over the years I’ve learned a lot about the natural world and its local inhabitants just by sitting among them and watching. I guess I feel that if I don’t take advantage of what I can learn from the mountain, what’s the point of being here? Where else can I get such a free education? It would be a shame to ignore what’s just outside my door.

Not seen every day

Hoping for a ride?

Even in Pennsylvania where deer are as common as chickens, I don’t see something like this every day. Oh, sure, I have the daily antics around the cabin of the dubiously named deer, Maude and Mergatroyd, but so far those two have never wanted to go for a car ride.


I can often go several days without seeing anything really exciting. Poor weather, poor timing and daily busyness can all conspire against interesting sightings. Then there are days like this morning.

So I’m driving to work this morning and there in a yard are three deer—the other two were shyer. But this one is cropping within arm’s reach of the family car, out in view of everyone driving by and thoroughly unworried by that. The grass always tastes better in someone’s yard anyway, don’t you think?.

And the deer wasn’t the only thing that happened this morning. Not a mile further down the road a raccoon crossed just ahead of my car, requiring heavy braking by me and the car just behind me to avoid it. It was a medium-sized raccoon, ambling across until forced into a run by my appearance. The morning commute and dawn aren’t very far apart now, and when you add fog to the mix, the mornings are even darker than they would be otherwise. The raccoon was probably just heading back to its den after a night of foraging for trouble. Who knows what’s next. I never know what to expect.

Rainy

Sassafras leaf

The fall season is trying to nose its way onto the scene on Roundtop Mtn., a bit like a stray dog that’s vying for attention and hoping for a handout but is still afraid to be too bold. Here and there this wet weekend, I found red leaves. This one is from a sassafras tree. But I also saw dogwood, Virginia creeper and, of course, poison ivy with red leaves.

For all its beauty, fall is the time when we get used to small, seasonal losses—the loss of daylight, the loss of fresh produce from the garden, the loss of warm weather and long evening walks. We are compensated for that with the glory of fall colors, which makes us forget about those losses for a while. By the time winter arrives on the scene, those little losses don’t seem like much in the face of winter. They help us to prepare, I think, for winter or at least they should.

The one thing I seem to have forgotten about fall in Pennsylvania is that it also tends to be a rainy time. I find myself thinking there’s plenty of time ahead to get organized for the winter months. Then I lose a weekend to rain and suddenly the time to prepare is shorter. Fall is also a time when I can’t count on good weather to accomplish my list of pre-fall, pre-winter outdoor chores.

Chimney swifts are starting to migrate now—they didn’t seem to mind Sunday’s rain. I saw 6-7 of them wheeling across the sky and cutting back and forth, chittering all the way. There could have been 5 or even 8—they are hard to count when they won’t stay in one place for more than an instant.

Losing the light

This morning I walked without my headlamp, but I probably should have used it. The morning was dark enough at my normal dog-walking hour that I couldn’t see very much. Even the crows, one of the first to announce the start of a new morning, weren’t up yet.

The shortening of the days are hard for me to get used to, even though shorter days last for more of the year than longer days. In summer the longer days mean I can judge the weather of the day and do a little early-morning birdwatching during my walks. Most of the birdwatching is done by sound, not by sight, as I do try to enjoy the time spent with the dogs on my walks. I’ve grown used to hearing nuthatches, chickadees, wood thrush, belted kingfishers, the ever-present bluebirds and robins as well as the less-frequently heard yellow-billed cuckoo. I can tell if the geese are around and when they are being fussy. I know the morning is well underway when the little pewees echo their mournful call through the forest. And this morning was silent. Not even the screech or the great-horned owls put in a comment.

Our only sighting this morning was a deer galloping away from us. It had gone down to the pond for an early morning drink of water when we startled it. I heard the clatter of hooves and saw a darker shadow bolt towards the woods just in front of Dog and me. I couldn’t even tell if it was a buck or a doe, Maude or Mabel or Mergatroyd.

In another two months and a bit more, the leaves will have fallen, opening up the forest and allowing moonlight to reach the ground. That helps a bit or so I tell myself. Until then the mornings will be dark, I will need my headlamp, and I won’t be able to see much during my early morning walks. It’s going to take me a while to get used to that again.

Lazy

Evening primrose

The forest around me feels as though it is in a quiet and calm mode for the moment. Nothing as earth-shattering as spring blooming or fall color changing is going on. The weather has been quite moderate. Even a breeze is just about nonexistent. I should be taking advantage of this to get a lot of outside work done around the cabin, but I’m not.

For once, summer’s weather is pleasant and comfortable, and I’m enjoying that. I’m enjoying wandering around and peering into hollow logs, listening for bird song and staring at tracks in the drying mud. I should be tackling my arm-length list of outside chores, but so far I haven’t been able to break away and get going on them. I’m sure I will pay for my lack of ambition. At some point I will end up in a race with worsening weather, doing at the last minute all the things I should be doing now. I work better with an imminently looming deadline than I do without one or one that’s still miles away.

The dogs join me on my wanderings, finding so many places to sniff and explore that some days I wonder why I call them walks at all. They are usually the first to notice the deer trying to sneak off into the brush. Baby Dog is now fixated on the spot where a local rabbit bounced away from her for three days in a row. It’s been a week since the rabbit was last sighted—apparently, it finally wised up. But Baby Dog is still convinced the rabbit is going to reappear every morning in that spot, and she can’t wait or walk nicely until we reach it. Her disappointment now is palpable.

I heard an eastern pewee call this morning, the first I'd heard in several days. I had wondered if they were already gone south, and I enjoyed hearing one again. It won't be long before I've heard the last of them for the season, but today was not that day. Summer lasts another day.  No need to hurry and get something done just yet.

Even the geese are grounded

The fog is so dense this morning that even the Canada geese are grounded, forced to walk from one pond to the other. After weeks of drought, exacerbated by the high temperatures of July, August is settling in to be a month with frequent downpours and the resulting fog. Add this morning to that list.

Dorsey Lane, Carroll Township, York  County, Pennsylvania

  Once I drove off the mountain the fog wasn't quite as bad.  I could see a couple of hundred yards ahead.

Up on Roundtop the old north parking lot looks deserted and eerie.  The fog is a lot worse up here than in the valleys today. Usually it's the other way around.

Almost

Foxtail

Dawn breaks ever later in the mornings, now. I notice this especially on Monday mornings after two days of not getting up at 5:30 a.m. This morning, I not only needed my headlamp but a lightweight sweatshirt, too, when Dog and I ventured outside. Somewhere behind the cabin, the screech owl calls, followed shortly by my rooster, Doodle. They yodeled back and forth a few times before the owl fell silent, victim of the coming dawn.

The forest is in one of those odd times, when nothing much is happening. The summer blooms are gone, with the exception of the Queen Anne’s Lace. Fall inches every closer, close enough to see and perhaps to smell, but it’s not here just yet. Not this week.

The first fall hawkwatches are open again. Some are even counting decent numbers for August already. At a gathering of fellow hawkwatchers a few weeks ago, we speculated that migration might come early this year due to the dry conditions. Perhaps that explains the good early-season results.

I still await the first nighthawks, those tiny scimitars that slice through the air. I sit on the shore of a pond at dusk, because above the water is open sky, the better to keep watch for them. So far I haven’t seen any, just the blue of bluebirds that fade into the dusk, the tiptoed steps of a deer, the last call of the pewees and the first evening flight of bats. When the nigthawks arrive, I will know for certain that fall is here too.

Late summer blooming

Common mullein

I’ve always liked mullein flowers. I don’t know why. Partly it has to do with the size of the stalk they are on. The plant in this photo is a good 5 ft. tall, and the flowering end is about a foot long. The flowers have a lovely scent, though you have to put your nose right up to the flowers in order to smell it—at least if you’re a human. Beware of bees around mullein. They apparently like that scent too.


Mullein is an introduced plant, though it’s been here as long as the first settlers and long enough for Native Americans to find herbal uses for it. Typically, it’s still referred to as a “weed” that inhabits “waste areas,” and that just sounds so derogatory and insulting to me. The flowers don’t all bloom at once, which probably limits its appeal somewhat. In today’s photo, I would say that more than an average number of the flowers are blooming at once on this plant. Sometimes I can only find 3-4 blooms on the stalk. The others are either not out yet or over with.

American goldfinch and indigo buntings don’t mind that the plant isn’t a native. They are happy to eat the seeds. Some insects are said to use the plants as a winter shelter, burrowing deep inside the brown stalks.

Around Roundtop, the blooms typically appear now, so it’s a late summer bloomer. And if you’re keeping track, a mullein in bloom is yet another sign that the summer season is past its midpoint.

Fall Fever

The calendar is still a good 5 weeks from the autumnal equinox but I already have fall fever. Temperatures have dropped out of the 90’s and that’s apparently all it takes to get me thinking about fall projects and chores. I’ve already started a fall knitting project and have canned a few quarts of peaches and green beans. The first of the fall hawkwatches are already counting southbound migrants. Is it time to take the air conditioner out of the window?

Whenever cooler weather arrives, I always “wake up.” Some years it’s though I’ve done little but sleepwalk through the summer. My only thoughts revolve around how to stay cool, and I rarely get too far from a cold iced tea. Anything more than that is just too much effort. With the arrival of cooler weather, I suddenly notice how dirty the cabin is and wonder why I haven’t moved that stack of books that’s been on the floor for weeks. Suddenly I have energy and ambition again and realize just how much that was lacking during summer’s heat.

It’s easy to put off chores and projects when I have the excuse of hot weather. Now, I have no excuses for delaying any longer—and that’s the bad news. There’s something to be said for having a good reason not to do anything productive. Now that my summer excuse doesn’t hold water, those lazy days have to give way to doing more about my projects than just thinking about them. 

Summer wears on

In case I forget to notice how the summer season is already beyond its midpoint, Grandmother Nature has a way of reminding me. Here’s a brief list of my “reminders” from the past few days.

• Walking sticks, one of the cuter insects on our planet, are starting to be in evidence. I found one on the side view mirror of my car yesterday morning. It still wasn’t yet a full-sized one, as it was still rather brownish, though they can also mimic the color of their surroundings, at least within the green and brown spectrum. They make good pets, as they live for about a year, and though I’ve been tempted on occasion, I always leave them someplace safe and let them go.

• Hickory nuts are falling—almost on my head. The woods are not quite littered with them, but that’s not far away. A walk in the woods yesterday had them falling to one side or another of me frequently. Most are still greenish on the outside shells, so these haven’t ripened fully. If I get ambitious this weekend, I’ll get out my hammer and see how the nuts look inside. Shagbark hickory nuts are delicious but I probably expend more calories getting to the nuts than I do from the nuts. I’ve already had a few close encounters where the nuts nearly fell on my head. I’m not at all sure I want to know how that feels.

• Barn swallows are congregating on wires. This has always amazed me. The swallows line up like people waiting for a movie box office to open. They spend days lined up and then one day they are suddenly gone until spring. Do they talk among themselves about when they are going to leave? Are there arguments or disagreements over the right day? Does one of them lead the pack and they all just follow the lead bird? I know scientists will tell the story about the shortening hours of daylight, weather, food, etc. as triggers, but I suspect the birds still “decide” in some mysterious birdy way. They are all lined up together, waiting for the spirit to move them, or the leader to say “now!” They are fun to watch. For once, the spit-spatting and minor swallow arguments are forgotten. They sit calmly, as though waiting for a signal. They will be gone from here within a week, if their timing this year is normal.

Cooler weather = projects ahead

I must be more superstitious than I thought, because I momentarily hesitated before typing this: I think the summer’s heat has broken. Oh, I don’t mean that fall is here yet. I just mean that the heat and oppressive humidity of midsummer seems past its high point. Temperatures are currently in the mid-80’s, sometimes flirting with 90, but those days of the mid-90’s flirting with 100 seem past. Not a moment too soon, as far as I’m concerned.

Suddenly being outside is pleasant again, and the pre-dawn mornings are cool enough that I need a long-sleeved shirt or at least a heavy polo shirt. A walk with Dog or Baby Dog is no longer a sweat-fest. It’s a blessed relief. The chickens are no longer droopy-winged in the afternoon, beaks open. The dogs look forward to their walks and don’t act as though a walk is a punishment.

Cicadas are in full throat, or at least whatever passes for their throats, right now. They make it so noisy that conversations outside after dark are close to impossible. I’ve given up listening for the great-horned owls calling to each other down in the valley. I can’t hear anything over those cicadas. This is as noisy as it ever gets here on the mountain, and I look forward to when the sound will dim, and true quiet will return. Certainly cicadas are better than chain saws or lawn mowers but only just.

With the cooler weather, it’s time for me to do more than just think about some of the outside work that I should accomplish before winter outside the cabin. This year, it will be mostly some clean-up work, and the annual fix-up in the basement utility area. I need to clean up the back deck—currently littered with some downed twigs and leaves, not to mention bird feeders. I need to start thinking about cleaning the gutters—that one can wait for a while. I need to buy more of that sandpaper tape to put on the deck steps before it gets too cold to stick to the steps. That stuff is a wonderful help to prevent slips and trips in bad weather, but it needs replaced almost every year. I should think about giving the patio door frames another coat of stain.

The list is always endless. The only thing bad about cooler weather is that now I have to do something about all those projects. In hot weather, I can be excused for not doing anything more than thinking about them.