Reflected moon

The first hints of new spring growth are appearing on Roundtop, though sadly not in a native species just yet. The invasive autumn olive has teeny tiny leaves on its bushes. The native smaller trees, such as the dogwood, are starting to develop fat buds that will burst into something before too long. The warm weather is starting to have its way with the forest growth this almost-spring.

Contrarian that I am, the phrase “beware the ides of March” come to mind because I have a difficult time believing temperatures won’t rebound to semi-normal at some point. In this area it’s rare that abnormal temperatures last through two or more seasons. A warm winter does not promise a warm spring, and sometimes even seems to bring its opposite in the next season.

An appearance of winter once gardens are planted and fruit trees are blooming is not what anyone wants to see.
Has my photo today caused consternation? I decided that I’d better put a hint in the title of today’s post before people thought I was posting an upside down photo. I even toyed with the idea of flipping the photo around so the trees are right side up, but that just looked weird, as the shoreline of the pond then appears to be in the sky. The pond is rarely so still that a reflected image appears so perfectly to be the normal view.

I don't see this every day

Fireworks from the deck of my cabin

As readers of Roundtop Ruminations might remember, my plan for the New Year’s weekend included some birding to start the new year off properly. I birded a bit on January 1, after watching a midnight fireworks display put up by the ski resort from the front door of my cabin.

I’d also planned to go birding a bit more extensively on January 2, as I wouldn’t have my family’s traditional pork and sauerkraut dinner to attend in the middle of the day.

True to the plan I set off in the morning, heading towards the Susquehanna River, about 10 miles from the cabin. While on the way, I was driving past this farm that raises alpacas. The farm is run by what some would call a gentleman farmer. That simply means someone whose main livelihood does not come from farming. For a while the folks raised horses and then the horses gave way to sheep and a few years ago the alpacas arrived.

Anyway, as I was driving past, I looked up their long, long driveway (close to .25 mile) and saw two horses walking down the driveway along the fence. Both horses had expensive blankets on. It was only half a second after I’d passed the driveway that I realized the horses weren’t inside the fence but actually walking down the driveway all by themselves. So I stopped the car and backed up. By this time, the horses had reached the end of the driveway to appear on the public road.

So I got out and walked up to the grey horse (the other was black with a lot of white markings) and caught it by the halter. I tried to catch the second horse but he tossed his head a bit so I figured I’d better just take one at a time. I started to walk the one horse up the driveway and saw a gate to the big pasture where the alpacas were. Rather than walk the whole way up the driveway and then go back for the second horse, I figured I’d put the first one in the pasture and then go back and see if I could catch the second horse. By this time, the second horse had crossed the road, and a car came by (filled with teenaged skiers who avoided the horse but kept on going).

Then the second horse showed up next to me, following his friend, though I wasn’t leading him. So I opened the gate (the alpacas are on the other side of the pasture, which must be 5-6 acres). I lead the grey horse in and the second horse follows. Then I release them and go out, closing the gate behind me. The horses start running across the pasture, having a wonderful time. They reach the alpacas and they run a bit, too.

So now, I figure I’d better let someone know that I put these horses in the pasture with the alpacas. I was going to call the police, but out at the road, I saw a sign for the farm and it had a phone number on it. So I called. After 5-6 rings a man answered and I told him his horses were loose and that I caught them and put them in the pasture with the alpacas. And the man said, “They’re not my horses.”

Now would be a good time to report that this was not my first livestock roundup. In fact, in this rural area, they happen rather frequently. I’d say once a year is about right. Usually, it’s cows or sheep that escape, though these were not even my first horse adventurers. This past spring I encountered a tiny calf that had wandered out onto a road by easily walking underneath an electric fence that kept mamma on the other side. That little one was herded back in without further incident. The strangest roundup happened years ago near Hawk Mountain Sanctuary when friends and I were returning from an evening dinner only to find a bison calmly lying in the middle of the road. That one had broken out of its pasture and was enjoying the warmth of the macadam on a chilly November evening. In those pre-cellphone days we were lucky to find the owners at home and left them to manage the animal.

But on this day, I discovered I’d just put two horses in a pasture where they didn’t belong with a herd of alpacas. Half-panicked, I apologized profusely to the man and told I’d seen the horses walking down his driveway from up by the barn somewhere and I just assumed they were his. “No,” he said. “I think they belong up the road. I’ve been trying to call but I’m not getting an answer.” I apologized again, and said I was afraid they’d get hit out on the road. To my great relief, the man didn’t seem upset that I’d just put two strange horses in the pasture with his alpacas. When I eventually rang off, the man was going to try and find the horses’ owners, and the two escapees were still in pasture with the alpacas. So I got back in my car and went birding. Isn’t that something? What a way to start the new year!

Is anyone home??

I don’t usually post multiple chicken photos in the same week, but I couldn’t resist this one. I usually let the girls out in the evenings while I’m doing the evening outside chores. It’s gotten cold enough now that I was moving plants and other things inside, so the girls were out of their pen longer than is usual.

As I was heading back towards the cabin with a handful of eggs, I find one of my chickens investigating the front deck. She looked as though she wanted inside. Or maybe she just wanted someone to come out and play with her. I’m not sure which. I thought it looked pretty funny, though.

So how do you celebrate fall?

Fall is sneaking in on Roundtop Mtn., one leaf at a time, one plant at a time. It reminds me a bit of a stray cat that’s looking to become a house cat. Each day it’s a bit more bold, a bit further in the door.

Today, the red of the rose hips caught my eye as I wandered around the woods. Rose hips are used in a variety of things, from jams to teas to oils. All of the recipes sound too labor intensive for me to bother with. My idea of food preparation usually involves as little preparation as possible, except for coffee, where I never take shortcuts.

Will today be the last warm day of the year? It could be. Thunderstorms are predicted for later today but once the storms are through, the temperature is to drop about 10 degrees and spend at least the next week somewhere shy of 70 degrees during the day. In celebration of the season’s change, I am wearing my sandals for the last time before they get put away until springtime.

I suppose you could say that wearing sandals is a funny way of celebrating the equinox and the new season, but there you have it. Our ancestors built Stonehenge and aligned giant rocks by hand just so, and I’m wearing sandals. That doesn’t seem like an advancement, does it?

From my point of view, it’s an important step to put away the summer clothing that must be worn during summer’s heat and move on to clothing that’s sturdier and comfortable and can be layered or not as the day allows. So let our ancestors have Stonehenge, I’m getting out the fall sweaters.

Turkeys again

The wandering Wild Turkeys are playing in the road again. This is becoming, if not a daily occurrence, at least a common one. In the question of whether turkeys are the smartest or the dumbest, I’m starting to lean towards dumbest with this group.

They stop traffic, not because of their rarity, but so people don’t have turkey splattered all over the cars. And even when people stop, that doesn’t hurry them across the road. If anything, they move slower or stop entirely when a car nears.

"What’s that?" they seem to say, all stopping to look at the approaching car.

"I don’t know but it’s not a turkey."

"Big, though, isn’t it?"

"Very. Weird color, too."

"Why are its eyes so bright?"

"No idea. Maybe it’s an owl."

"No. Can’t be. I don’t see any wings."

"Silly. Owls are myths."

"No, they’re not. Tom roosted in a tree with one once."

"Tom was drunk on those wineberries."

"What should we do?"

"Let’s ignore it. Maybe it will go away."

Autumnal Pool??

So, do I still call this a vernal pool if it lasts until autumn? Usually these little wet spots don’t make it through July, but this year they are still going strong on September 1. Last evening I found several of them, usually laden with frogs.

And speaking of frogs...last year I walked around Roundtop’s newest pond and counted 70-couple frogs leaping ahead of me in a kind of froggy ballet, one after the other. That was nothing. This year so many leap into the pond at the same time that I can’t begin to count them. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was 70 frogs in 30 feet.

Dog and I walked along the edge of the pond last evening for just 100 yards or so, and I know we saw hundreds of them. This summer’s rainy weather was no doubt right up their alley. I’d like to think all the frogs would draw plenty of unusual shorebirds to the mountain top, but since I haven’t seen many yet, I doubt that will happen. The water level is higher than it usually is by this point in the season, and shorebirds crave mudflats.

Last night the temperature dropped into the late-September range. This morning it was 52 at the cabin. The local screech owl was screeching near the cabin. I heard it when I woke up to pull a blanket over me in the middle of the night. I think it’s going to be an interesting fall—cold weather the last night of August, lots of rain in the summer. I don’t know what the fall will bring, but I’m looking forward to seeing how the new season plays out and how it is different.

A funny thing happened on the way to today's photo...

No, this photo was not taken on Roundtop—don’t I wish!

I took this photo about 10 years ago when I was backpacking the Chilkoot Trail in Alaska in late September. The view was taken on our next to last day on the trail, looking towards Lake Bennett in the distance. At this point, my hiking partner and I had the trail kicked. If you can make it up and over the Chilkoot Pass, you’ve pretty much got the trail kicked. We’d done just that the day before and were only a few miles from the night’s camp site, and we were happy campers.

My plans for today’s Roundtop photo didn’t work out.

Late yesterday I was driving back to the cabin. It was raining a bit and overcast. A flock of 20+ wild turkeys ambled across the road, ruffling their feathers, the males displaying their tails and all of them generally just doing what turkeys do. I took a couple of photos. Unfortunately, none of them are clear, even though they looked fine in the little 2 inch camera view . It was too dark. Well, that’s what happens sometimes.

So I ended up photo-less for the day, with my only options to not post today, or not run a photo today or to use an old photo. I’ve been organizing some of my Alaska photos recently, so I thought, why not?

Anyway, back to reality and Roundtop: I’ve still not heard the first eastern phoebe of the season, so the species is now officially late by my records. An average arrival date for the birds would have been two weeks ago. This isn’t a surprise. Phoebes aren’t like swallows returning to Capistrano on the same day every year. Phoebes show up when conditions are right for them and not before. The weather is getting close, I think, to what they consider "right."

Bird migration seems to be running a bit late this year, judging by the pace of reports from the spring hawkwatches. Vultures are moving in good numbers, and Red-tailed hawks are moving decently. Eagles of both species are moving north (but those birds are strong enough to fly in almost any weather). The rest of the crowd—falcons, accipiters and smaller buteos—not so much yet.

Roundtop got about .25 inch of a nice gentle rain, not nearly enough to impact the 5 inch deficit, but it was a start. Once this rain clears the region, I think spring and bird migration will take a big step forward. All at once. Stay tuned.

Have a great weekend.

Disapproving Face Tree

This is my disapproving face tree. The tree (and the face) look right into my bedroom, and I always thought the idea of that was hilarious. I wouldn't have thought to put this on my blog, except I've discovered that there are other bloggers and other face trees around. I got the idea from Teach Me About Birdwatching, where the blogger posted her own face tree, which isn't disapproving the way mine is.

My own face tree has grown quite a bit since I moved to the cabin. The face is now several feet above his original vantagepoint. And the left "eye" isn't quite as visible or symmetrical as it was then. The right eye, nose and mouth are still pretty good, though.

Soon this face will be disapproving into my second floor window. So maybe this is the start of something. Do you have a face tree--dispproving or otherwise? I'd kind of like to see a smiling face tree. It would be kind of novel after looking at this guy for all these years.