chicken worries

Yellow iris along the edge of our farm pond

Here on Roundtop Mountain in Pennsylvania the weather this past Memorial Day weekend was about as perfect as it gets.  It was sunny, not too hot and frequently with a pleasant breeze.  That changes today, when the weather turns mid-summerish—hot and humid, if not yet too hazy.

Somewhat against my better judgment, I let my chickens out this morning. Last night the local red fox barked for half an hour or more, so close that I could see its eyeshine, if at the far edge of that light, in my headlamp.  It was close enough that when I was out with the dogs, they barked at the sound.

I have learned that if I don’t let my chickens out to roam the forest, I won’t come home to any unbroken eggs. They will lay eggs while inside their coop, but they end up broken before the end of the day when I get home.  And being in the coop all day makes them grumpy, too.  The biggest black hen typically gives me an unhappy peck if I don’t let her out.

So last night the fox barked from 9 p.m. until 9:30 or so, though I didn’t hear it the rest of the night. I just hope there’s enough activity from my neighbors and Roundtop people during the day to keep any wandering foxes away from my chickens. And I hope those girls don’t decide to go on one of their expeditions away from my cabin.

Usually, foxes are only really active at night, but this time of year, with the kits investigating life outside the dens, the parents don’t always have a normal schedule.  I’m just hoping that fox family is sleeping this hot, sunny day away.

Foxy morning

This morning I watched a very wet red fox rummage through the tall-grass field atop Roundtop.  I suspect it was looking for mice, though I didn’t see it find anything.  Although foxes usually hunt at night, I often see them and other predators in the early mornings, especially on overcast or stormy mornings, as this one was.  I’ve seen great horned owls well into the morning hours, plying their way through trees, scattering squirrels and small birds in their wake.

I typically notice these mostly night-time predators during post-dawn hours only on overcast mornings. I’d love to know how and why they view these overcast skies as good times to continue their hunts.  Is it simply more comfortable physically for the night hunters to stay out when the mornings are dark? Does the poor weather that’s now going to continue for several more days make them sense they should hunt now before the poor weather gets even worse?  Does a morning hunt mean their nighttime hunting was unsuccessful?  I wish I knew.

What I do know is that the forecast for my mountain contains several dreaded words, especially dreaded when they are all listed together—snow, sleet and freezing rain.  Those words mean the forecasters have no idea what kind of precipitation will fall or for how long.  The mostly likely translation is “ice storm,” and we all know how much fun they are.  So I will hunker down, resign myself to a weekend of accomplishing little or no outside work and hope the power remains on. Winter is coming, that’s for sure.

Morning sights and delights

The time when Baby Dog and I take our morning walk grows ever darker.  On mornings like this one, only an hour past an early morning thundershower, the overcast sky further glooms the morning.  The night creatures stretch their forays later into the day.  A screech owl calls as we leave the cabin.  Later, we see six deer, two of which were the ubiquitous buck and doe we see virtually every morning.  A less seen resident also appeared on our walk this morning, a red fox.

It was still too dark for me to tell much about the fox, other than that it was a fox.  Even that I knew only by its size and eventually by its black-tipped tail as it turned and sped away from us.  I couldn’t tell how healthy it was or how its coat looked.  Was it fat or thin?  Mangy or healthy?  I couldn’t tell. It seemed of good size, which is about as much as I can say.

Baby Dog saw the fox, too, much to her delight.  She is much intrigued by foxes.  When she was still quite young we once spied a fox in daylight. It stood stock still. She looked at it. It looked at her. This went on for some seconds before the fox disappeared. For a good two years afterwards, Baby Dog stopped in the exact spot every morning where she had first seen the fox and gazed up to where it had stood.  Who knew a dog could have a memory like an elephant? So she knew right away this morning’s sight was a fox, and after it disappeared, I let her trail it for a bit, finding it had scurried underneath the paintball mesh and crossed a paintball field to disappear into the woods. We didn’t go further than that, to her disappointment.

Our way led down a different path.  My day was just beginning, and the fox's was already ending.

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.

Blue and green

Showy orchis

Sunday was a day so beautiful that even a stack of chores and a dirty house couldn’t keep me inside. I had to go outside, to walk in the woods, to see what the forest had to offer. The bright sun and cool temperature begged for walking. Refusing that call was out of the question.

I headed down into the moist valley between Roundtop Mtn. and Flat Hill. I wanted to sit at the pond, explore the banks of the old road and look for a plant or a flower that I didn’t have in my drier woods up on the mountain. It didn’t matter what I saw, really, as long as I was out.

My first stop was the pond, and though I planned to sit there, I didn’t stay. The reason? A pair of wood duck startled at my approach and flew over to the far side, away from me. Perhaps they are nesting or soon to be, and I didn’t want to disturb that possibility. I walked on.

The woods are drier than I expected. Normally in spring, the old woods road has spots where the walking is all but impossible without a pair of Wellies. Today, Beaver Creek is running full and loud, but the road is dry, with not even a half-decent puddle to avoid. Water isn’t rushing off the mountain. The springs that drain off the mountain aren’t running. It’s April, the month of showers, and it shouldn’t be like this.

I find wild geraniums, violets, buttercups and rue anemone, all of which I have up by my cabin. The ferns are unfolding, if still smaller than they will be. They are reaching the point where I can identify them, though, which is further along than they were two or three weeks ago when I was last down here.

And then I find the flowers. Small, with a broad green leaf. Most are blue, but the shades run from almost-white to almost-pink to pale lavender. The flowers aren’t completely opened yet.  And what is it? What is this pale blue flower.  Showy orchis.  A native orchid.

I found several plants, between 4 and 6 all together, all fairly close to each other.The top photo actually shows two plants together.  Aren't they beautiful? I suspected this plant was here. I found the plants last summer, long after the blooms were gone, but the leaves were still there and looked right.

The plant is small, perhaps 8-10 inches across. The flowers are but half an inch or so. The orchid is uncommon but prefers rich, moist woods and is most often found along stream beds.  The only other member of this orchid family is found in Asia, or so I've read. Unlike many orchids, this one is fragrant, though the aroma was still mild as the flowers aren't yet completely open.

A walk in the forest is always fun and always shows me something different.  And there's always magic, too. 

Spring is sprung

S. Lewisberry Rd., Monaghan Twp. York County, PA

Last night I heard the whistle of tundra swans over the cabin, heading north. Theirs is one of those sounds that is easy on the ears and so evocative of nature and the wild. Along with the call of a loon and the scream of a red-tailed hawk, the soft whooing whistle of a flock of northbound swans conjures up images of the wild landscape to which they are returning. It is spring when the swans fly north.

Signs of returning spring are common here on the mountain now. The first red-winged blackbirds have appeared. The males come first, seeking to find the best territory from which to attract a mate. Common grackles arrived over the weekend.

Last night, while listening to the swans and trying to see them in the dark, I saw two sets of eyes high up in an oak tree next to the cabin. My cabin is 28 ft. tall and these eyes were close to twice the height of the cabin. I went inside for my binoculars and after my eyes adjusted better, I discovered two young raccoons. I was surprised to see them so high up, let alone in a tree with no branches below the height of the cabin’s roof. But there they were, peering down at me while I was peering up at them.

This morning a fox rushed at my chickens, a scene I witnessed as I was returning to the cabin after Baby Dog’s walk. The fox had no luck and soon saw me and rushed off into the woods. When I got to the chicken pen to check on them, I saw Doodle the rooster all puffed up at the front of the pen, trying to make himself look taller and meaner than he is. He was trying to protect his girls from the fox. The chickens were upset by the fox but unharmed. I think I should place the extra layer of chicken wire around the front of the pen tonight. Fox don’t give up very easily, and I’m sure this one will be back.

Spring is here now and foxes and raccoons both think the chickens are an easy target.  Hopefully not.

Unexpected weirdness

I can’t really give you a good reason why I like this photo of vines twisted around a couple of saplings. I just do. Perhaps it’s the way the morning light warms the background, perhaps it’s the twists themselves. No matter.

Last night I was watching a TV show on DVD on my computer. The show took place in a rural setting, and in the background of one of the scenes I could hear a red fox barking. Now, this sound was probably added in some studio, simply as a way to add more “atmosphere” to the scene. I probably wasn’t even supposed to notice the sound, but being the kind of person I am, I did. And so did my dogs.

Dog and Baby Dog went nuts. They are attuned to the sound of a fox barking as much as I am. We have suffered many fox attacks on my poor chickens in the middle of the night. A pair of local foxes lives near the cabin and frequently bark to tell each other where the other is. I’ve had them gallop under the cabin, under one side and out the other. I’ve had them race down my driveway.

Well, those two dogs thought I had a red fox in the bedroom. They started barking, which soon turned into howling and later degenerated into lunging, utter chaos and full-scale destruction. The cats scattered and hid under the nearest piece of furniture. I had to the turn the DVD off to get them to calm down.

That’s the first thing they’ve ever paid attention to on the TV or computer. They totally ignore dogs barking on TV. They ignore wolves howling. Nothing else on TV has ever made me think they even heard the sound. But they sure heard that fox.

The girls are alright

Something came after my chickens Saturday night. I hadn't been asleep for long when I heard the girls fussing. The fussing almost immediately gave way to frantic squawks. I raced outside in my pajamas with only slippers on my feet in several inches of snow.

At first I didn't see anything but then a small dog-like shape appeared from beside the chicken pen. I thought it was a small dog with a long skinny tail but I couldn't tell anything more than that. I quickly chased it off and settled the girls. An hour or so later the girls started in again, and this time I was better prepared, as I grabbed my headlamp in addition to my slippers.

When I got outside, the marauder was further away, and I could see its eyes in my headlamp but nothing else.

The next morning the girls were okay, if still jumpy. When a hawk flew past to the north, they acted as though it was right overhead. Later, I kept thinking about what I thought was a small dog, and I've come to the conclusion that it wasn't a dog at all. I've never seen a stray dog around here, and I pretty much know all the dogs within a mile or so of the cabin. There aren't many and most of those are farm dogs.

I now think my midnight marauder was a fox with mange. In the fall, I saw two foxes with an early or mid-stage of mange. They still had some fur on their bodies but the fur on their tails was pretty much gone. This nighttime predator struck me as being very short-haired at best. I didn't see any hair, just its silhouette, which reminded me of a small, short-haired terrier with a long, skinny tail.

If I'm right that it was a fox with mange, I'm astonished that a fox could survive the winter without its fur coat. Perhaps that's what made it try for the chickens in the pen right under the cabin. It must be desperately cold and willing to take risks, such as approaching the cabin, that it wouldn't ordinarily attempt.

The next morning, I reworked my chicken pen a bit, tightening up the edges, covering it up on the far side with a tarp. So far, I haven't had a repeat of Saturday night's attempt. I hope this predator, whatever it was, has learned its lesson.

Too much drama

First Dog gets doused with skunk. Then a fox tries for the chickens on Sunday night, and last night an owl tried for the chickens. I believe that the dry weather has pushed the predators to spots they wouldn’t ordinarily be and to try things they wouldn’t ordinarily try. If my theory is correct, the rain that dampened the forest early this morning should put an end to all the drama. I hope so.

Dog is well, and his stink is now at a lower level. At least it is low enough to allow him back in the cabin during a storm. The chickens are well, too, but after two attempts on their pen in as many days, they are jumpier than usual.

Last night the chickens woke me up around 3 a.m. They were all worked up, but nothing was visible. They wouldn’t settle down, though, and then I heard a great horned owl call close by. I shone my headlamp in the direction of the sound but couldn’t find anything through the dense canopy of leaves. The girls took a long time to mollify and longer to settle down.

Just before 5 a.m. a thunderstorm rumbled through the forest, lighting up the sky and waking me up yet again. I went through the cabin, closing windows, relieved to hear the sound of rain on the roof and glad that it didn’t fall in a downpour. The rain was steady but would likely do some good and not just run off. By daylight, nearly an inch of rain had fallen in about 2 hours or so. That’s a good start, though after days of a heat wave and no rain, a bit more wouldn’t hurt. I sure hope it’s enough to ease the nightly dramas that have plagued my last few sleeps, though.

Morning routines

The loveliness of a cool summer morning seems extraordinary after last week’s heat wave. Sitting out on the deck, a mug of coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other are pleasures I had to forego for a while. Now that those are reestablished, all seems right in my little corner of the forest. That’s assuming, of course, that I don’t read the newspaper too closely. Allow me a day or two of enjoying my little routine before I fall back into the abyss of reality.

The improved weather and cooler temperatures mean I am suddenly seeing more animals around the cabin again. Early Sunday morning as I was heading off the mountain, I saw this large and lovely red fox sitting alertly next to a moist ditch—I would be overstating the case if I called it a stream. The fox was likely looking for mice or other delectables in the tall grass.

When another car went by on the nearby road, she loped off and I managed to get one not-too-blurry photo. It was only when I looked closely at the photo that I saw the fox had almost no hair on her tail. It might be from mange or it might be from fleas. She certainly looked otherwise healthy and was acting fine, so I hope it’s nothing serious.

The fox aren a near-constant presence after dark around the cabin. I hear them barking several times a week. Last night I heard the first bark a little after 10 p.m. and then again an hour or so before dawn. Their calls always set my dogs to barking, which naturally wakes me from a sound sleep. The dogs require that I go to the door and assure that we are not being attacked before they stop barking. They immediately fall back to sleep. Me? Well, sometimes. Between the fox and the raccoons, it’s rare for me to be able to sleep through the entire night. That’s at least partly why I need coffee on the deck before I can properly start a day.

A walk in the greeny woods

Last evening produced another brief respite from the rainy weather that is May and June this year. A nice breeze earlier in the afternoon helped to dry things off enough that I could venture into the woods without coming back to the cabin soaked to the skin.

As you can see from today’s photos, the forest is as lush and as dense as a jungle right now. Bushwhacking would require a machete, so I stayed on the trails. Even those were more overgrown than is typical and likely the reason I came home with three ticks.

I stayed out of the deepest valley between the mountains, as I knew that would be deep with mud. The trail I followed skims along the side of Roundtop mountain about halfway down it. I start out going steeply downhill and am glad I brought a hiking stick. I have to pay attention to where I place my feet and still skid here and there, using the pole to prevent a fall.

The trail I wanted heads north and once I reach it, the going is flatter and grassy. The reason I like this trail is because the upslope side of it is covered with moss and ferns. Most are Christmas ferns and lady ferns, but I find one patch of 5-6 maidenhair ferns, the most I’ve ever found in one spot and the first time I’ve located them on this trail. Last year I found one single plant nestled along the edge of a larger, two-track dirt road that somehow survived the summer to appear again this spring. I walked this path many times last year without ever finding a maidenhair fern, so to come across so many on this foray was a thrill.

Bird song followed me as I walked—indigo bunting, wood thrush, ovenbirds, Baltimore orioles, mostly. I startled a red fox not far from the edge of the path. The fox skittered away uphill but didn’t go far, crouching to hide not more than 25 feet from where first I saw it. I suspect a den was nearby but I didn’t stop to look for it or further disturb the fox.

Like most good walks in the forest, this one was fairly uneventful. The evening was sunny, the path was straight. What more could anyone want?

Summer noise, summer light

Summer is a lot noisier than winter. I was reminded of that last evening as I sat out on the steps. Bees buzz, dozens of birds call or sing. The slightest breeze rustles millions of leaves. Forest sounds are a constant backdrop in the summer.

Winter by comparison is often silent. A few birds remain but unless I disturb a blue jay or a crow, they tend to keep to themselves. The trees are nearly silent, too. It takes a fair wind for the trees themselves to creak. The leaves are long gone by then, of course.

It’s hard to imagine a noisy winter or a silent summer. I can’t make the switch, even when I try. And last night was noisier than most.

One of the red fox was back, barking and close enough to my chicken pen to start them off making as much noise as they could, and that started the dogs howling like wolves. Soon the blue jays joined in. Eventually I had to go over by the chickens and look large and threatening so the fox would leave the area and the chickens would calm down.

Summer is a lot noisier than winter.

Since the sky is clear again, I can get out and enjoy the morning light as the sun's first rays clear the hills to the east.  The light seems novel after weeks of rain and overcast.  This year April didn't have showers but May is sure making up for that. 

Morning drama

Though the sky remains overcast, the clouds broke long enough in the pre-dawn minutes to let me see the setting of the nearly-full moon behind the western mountains. The actual moonset was far prettier than my attempt to photograph it. And even as I was setting up the camera, I suspected that would be the case. The morning was still quite dark, and I kept hoping the moonset would hold on another minute or two so the light would have time to improve, if ever so slightly. That didn’t happen.

But as I was standing outside on my back deck, an interesting non-photographic event unfolded. It started when I heard one of the foxes barking. The fox was close, just up the mountain from my cabin. Fox barks aren’t very loud—they sound a bit like a dog with laryngitis—more effort than vocalization.

I’ve been told that foxes bark to communicate with their mates. The mate may be watching the kids in the den or hunting on her own, and the barks are simply a way of saying, “I’ve over here.” The second fox usually replies to report its own position. Perhaps the hunting fox needs the call to find the den again. Perhaps it’s just a “honey, I’m on my way home” announcement, minus the cell phone. In any event, this morning I never heard a second fox. After the first few barks, I could tell the fox was getting closer and eventually I knew it couldn’t be more than about 30 yards or so up the hill from my cabin.

I stood stock still, scanning the too-dark woods, hoping to catch a glimpse. The fox kept barking but didn’t get any closer. Then several seconds went by without more barking, and several more seconds. And then from near where I expected to see the fox, I saw a dark blob coming down one of the taller oak trees on the hill. Now, red fox aren’t supposed to climb trees and besides, this tall tree went straight up for some feet before branching. But something was coming down that tree.

By now, the moon had set, but the soon-to-be sunrise was brightening the sky from dead black to charcoal. And then I realized what was coming down the tree. It was a raccoon. Likely it was the same one that Baby Dog saw in the bird feeder at 3:14 a.m. (I checked), prompting her howl of outrage, followed by her immediate removal from a place where she could see said raccoon to one where she could not and I could go back to sleep.

Fox and raccoons frequently share the same territory, and they also avoid each other when possible. I think raccoon scurried up the tree to avoid the fox, and perhaps the fox left its barking spot because of the raccoon as well. But one thing I was sure of—when the raccoon came down the tree, the fox was gone for this night.

How we saw the fox

This past week and for nearly every week until the end of July, I will be spending my Thursdays walking in the woods with a too-large bunch of varying kids to hopefully help them connect with nature. Heaven knows, if the first batch is any indication, they need it. This past Thursday we saw lots of .25 inch tree frogs, regular frogs, assorted toads, a few water snakes, lots of butterflies and an assortment of bugs, most of which I couldn’t identify. We also got to taste a few wild raspberries and suck the honey out of honeysuckle.

The kids are enthusiastic enough, as long as they can see something they deem exciting. Hearing birds is not exciting, in their minds, no matter how uncommon the species. Finding a teeny, tiny bright green bug that I have no idea what it was qualifies as sort-of exciting, at least to the kid finding it. Eating almost ripe raspberries was a pretty big deal, as was the honey suckle. Catching and holding a frog or a toad is a huge deal. If they couldn’t see it or touch it, they weren’t interested. And boy, we’d better see or tough something almost every few minutes or they were soon bored. Fortunately, seeing the fox was pretty exciting, even to teenagers.

How we saw the fox was pretty impressive, even to me, who sees and hears the local foxes regularly. Here’s how it happened. I was trying to convince the kids that when you’re walking in the woods, even on a trail, it’s important to regularly look behind you, especially when you come to a trail intersection, because things look different from the opposite direction. We’d just come to a T in the woods road and turned left. After walking another 15-20 feet, I made the kids stop and look behind them. They’d all just stopped and (amazingly) were all looking towards where the now-obscured trail intersection was when a fox trotted across the trail about 50 yards up the road. They all got to see it, which was pretty amazing since trying to herd teenagers and get them to do the same thing at the same time wasn’t something I managed most of the time. But that time it all worked out, and everyone saw the fox, and they thought it was pretty cool. I didn't get a photo, though--happened too fax

The weather has been extreme here on Roundtop and across much of the rest of the country, too. The sky is still unsettled and stormy-looking. Apparently, I’m soon to move from extreme rain and storms to extra hot. I’m not sure that’s going to be an improvement, though a day or so of warm and dry weather would be appreciated in my rainy forest right now.

News from the cabin

Last night I decided to make a run to get some chicken wire to cover the top of the chicken pen. The tarp is great for shade and to keep the girls dry, but I kept thinking that if a smart (and heavy) fox jumped on top of it, it may well give way. Hence, the chicken wire idea.

So I pick that up at the local feed store, figuring I’ll get an early start on Saturday morning to further securing the chicken pen. Later that evening, I take Dog outside for his final run of the night, and I no sooner open the door but that I hear one of the local foxes barking. The fox was close, somewhere around the end of the lane.

So I go back outside, now armed with my headlamp and what turns out to be the world’s dullest pair of wire cutters, to secure the chicken pen, all the while serenaded by the barking fox. The barking continued for well over half an hour, perhaps even 45 minutes. Sometimes it was a little closer, sometimes a bit further away. When a fox barks, it usually doesn’t mean, "Hey, over here! Free food." It’s more a "Where are you? I am here" call to the mate or kids so the separated foxes can reunite. Still, it’s not the kind of thing I want to hear that close to the chickens.

The girls, asleep in their domed litter box, seem unperturbed during the entire tarp-covering process. Eventually I get the wire cut and the tarp covered with chicken wire. I still need to do something more around the bottom of the pen, but I think I’m okay for now. When I went back inside, the fox was still barking.

My photo this Friday is the view from my cabin of the mountain to the west. Can’t see it? Neither can I. Hopefully it will still be there in the fall. Oh, and you can just see the edge of the chicken wire-covered pen in the lower, left-hand corner of the photo.

Now here’s another something I don’t see every day—an eastern kingbird on the ground. The kingbirds at Roundtop usually ply the air for insects over the grassy ski slopes. When they sit, it’s usually on a lift cable or fence railing. This one was actually bouncing around on the ground, which I’m sure is a first for me to observe.

Also this morning, one of the local foxes has now seen my chickens. This morning when Dog and I left the cabin for our walk, Dog’s nose suddenly went into the air. He started prancing on tiptoe—both a sure sign that he didn’t like something. I didn’t see anything, and since Dog’s attention may be caught be anything from a fox to a deer to a skunk, we continued on our way. It was only when we were coming back to the cabin that I knew what he had sensed.

At the end of our walk, we went over to the chicken pen. The girls were all out performing their morning dirt scratch when a bit of movement caught my eye. Perhaps 30 feet into the forest I saw the fox, quietly moving away. It stopped and stared for a bit before eventually disappearing into the woods.

I hope the chain link fence is enough to keep him out. The tarp that is tied down to the top of the 4’ fence may not survive a fox jumping on top of it, though I don’t know if a fox can or could do that. I am reasonably sure the fox can’t dig his way in. The earth is a hard-packed driveway, covered with a thick layer of stones. Nothing has grown in the spot, that’s for sure.

The chickens, I am reasonably sure, never saw the fox as they weren’t panicked. Even with a near-frost two nights ago, I have been sleeping with the bedroom window open so I can hear the chickens in case something tries to get at them at night. I’m not there during the day, though. Fox usually move primarily at the edges of daylight. I hope this one knows that.

A little fox

Last night I was driving back to the cabin, and as I approached Roundtop I reached an open area near the north parking lot. As I always do, I slowed down and looked around and on the other side of the now-locked entry road, I saw a red fox standing in the middle of the road, with a tiny something at the fox’s feet that didn’t reach above the adult fox's knees. I couldn't tell what the little blob was, but there was something in the adult’ fox’s posture that made me think it was a little fox-ling.

So I drove into the ski area, and headed up the access road from inside the area. I pulled out my camera, rolled down my window and hoped that the fox would still be there. At first, I didn’t see anything and I thought the fox had simply gone into the woods. But then, I saw the little one.

This is the tiniest fox I’ve ever seen. It’s not even red yet, it’s mostly brown-ish. I never did see mom, but I heard her barking and encouraging the little one to move, which it did. Now this isn’t the best fox photo I’ve ever taken, but as it was dusk, and I was inside the car, it’s not too bad. I didn’t linger. I didn’t want to upset the baby and/or mom so I turned around and headed back to the cabin.

I’m sorry for the light blogging lately. I’ve been harboring a cold and haven’t been out all that much. I think I’ve turned the corner on this one, now, though, so I’m planning to resume usual blogging schedule.

A few tracks

I had a tiny bit of snow from that big nor’easter that rolled up the east coast the other night. So I’ve had some nice fresh snow to look at the tracks of the animals that I share the forest with. Partly because I’ve been holed up in the cabin to avoid the ice that has covered the ground for the past week or so, I haven’t been out as much as I usually am. The animals, too, hole up somewhat so we are more likely to miss seeing each other than is normal. But they’re still around.

The fresh snow is great for seeing the tracks they make and reassure me that the animals are still around and doing okay. This first set is the red fox, who routinely travels down the lane. This one is moving at a nice comfortable pace, likely that easy-going trot they use most of the time.

Snow isn’t the best medium for observing tracks, and powdery snow isn’t even the best of that. The slightest bit of wind or sun will start to deform the shape of the track. The track furthest on the left is the one where you can most clearly see the shape of the fox’s footprint, especially the two claws at the top of the track.

The next two tracks are both rabbits, the first is one where the rabbit is just hopping along the way rabbits do. In the second photo the front and back feet are spaced further apart, which means the rabbit was moving faster than in the first set. The rabbit tracks are also in the lane up the mountain, quite close to the fox tracks, and I have to wonder if the rabbit bolted to avoid the fox (whose visible tracks don’t show that it speeded up).

I saw other tracks too—deer, raccoon and a mouse or vole I couldn’t identify. It doesn’t take much snow for mouse tracks to be hard for me to identify. Half an inch or so and their little bellies and feet are dragging through the snow, deforming their own tracks as they move along.

In any event, a quick walk around the cabin tells me a lot about which residents are around and awake and what they’re doing while I’m inside staying warm during the long, dark evenings.

Outdated (and a tale from the woods)

My snow photographs that I took on Sunday are outdated already. Last night I had almost half an inch of rain, so this morning the snow is gone. I am not surprised, really. This is November, after all. November is perhaps the most variable month of the year here. In the space of 24 hours I went from a morning low of 18 degrees to a temperature in the mid-40’s.

I’d love to be posting a photo of the red fox that was sniffing around just 10-15 feet from the end of my back deck. But I was afraid if I moved to go get the camera that it would run off. At the time I was watching my bird feeders, where the activity is finally picking up, when the fox trotted into what would be my back yard if I had a yard instead of a forest.

The fox nosed around, calmly checking out the territory with the aura of an animal who’d been there before. It casually looked under leaves, poked around sticks and branches. A couple of times it stopped and looked right towards me, and we made eye contact through the picture window. That didn’t bother it. It would just check every several seconds to make sure I wasn’t doing anything it didn’t like. Then it would go back to checking out the territory.

At the time, it was perhaps 10-15 minutes before sunset. The sky was cloudy and already darkening but still light enough for me to watch the fox for several minutes. I wondered what it was up to. Then I remembered I had tossed a few apples that were past the point where I wanted to eat them out into the back woods for the local deer. After watching the fox, I’m thinking the deer never got them.

The fox continued its activity, and eventually it got so close that I couldn’t see it any longer. I think it trotted under the cabin (which is raised several feet off the ground), taking the short cut back in the direction it came from. My guess is that it had one more stop before reaching its den. I’ve also seen it by my neighbor’s carport, where he keeps (and uses) his grill. I wonder if he knows??

A new season

This morning’s photo isn’t the last flower of summer, on this, the first day of autumn, but in a field that only a month ago was filled with brown-eyed susans, it is now the last one blooming. The days and nights are cooler. The cabin is filled with plants again, and only my very large fig tree remains outside. Bringing that in is a major project, and I just ran out of time this weekend.

I continue to see and be followed regularly by one of the red foxes. I’ve figured out that walking with a dog is what makes the fox less wary. Yesterday, the fox came within 20 feet of us in the early pre-dawn almost-light. The fox sometimes sat down and watched us, once even lay down under a tree for a few seconds. Then it padded behind us, sniffing at Dog’s footprints. So far, it’s been only Dog and not Baby Dog that brings out this behavior in the foxes. Perhaps it’s because Dog strains so much against the leash that he gasps for air, which sounds a little bit like a fox’s bark. Perhaps it’s because he looks like a very large fox himself with his bushy tail, pointed ears and fawn color. Perhaps it’s a gender thing, as he’s male. Perhaps it’s because Baby Dog barks, and the fox doesn’t like that. I don’t know.

In any event, I have decided that for the safety of all concerned, I will not walk Dog in the mornings for a while. I will walk him in the evenings when it is still light and the fox will not be out and around. Dog may enjoy a daylight walk more anyway, and I can sleep a bit later. On some level I will miss the close encounters with a fox, but it’s for the best