Chaos

Dogs are like kids. They know when you are tied up with something and won’t be able to tell them not to do something else, so that’s when they wisely decide to use these times to get into things. I’m well aware of this example of canine intelligence, so last night I planned ahead. Or so I thought….

I knew I was going to be stuck on the phone in a conference call for an hour last evening, so I decided to leash the dogs in the cabin so they couldn’t run around and get into trouble while I was leashed to the phone. Dog is leashed to the sofa, and Baby Dog is leashed to the stairs. All starts off well, and the conference call has been going for about half an hour or so when the barking starts.

Baby Dog is looking out the front door and has discovered a raccoon on the front deck. In her self-appointed role as The Enforcer, this is a major infraction of activities she considers allowable. So she uses her loud and angry voice to announce the infraction. Dog, who can’t see any of this, nonetheless considers Baby Dog’s angry barking Important and joins in. From his point of view, I seem to be ignoring Baby Dog’s announcement of Trouble (maybe I can’t hear her?!?) so adding his voice to hers may help promote my action. Dutifully, phone still to ear, I now go to the front door and see the raccoon for myself. I open the door and it scuffles away. That should be the end of the story.

But this result isn’t good enough for Baby Dog. She thinks I should be doing something more. She begins to howl—loudly. In moments, Dog starts howling too. Noses in the air, yodeling howls echo and bounce off the four walls. I mean, I might as well have a pack of wolves in the cabin. I know everyone else on the conference call can hear this. Heck, my grandmother in heaven can hear this. Since I can’t take the phone outside, I figure the only way to dull the noise is to go into the bathroom and close the door, hoping that will block the sound.

As soon as I close the door, the howling falters and then stops, perhaps in wonderment at the closed door, perhaps in realization the raccoon has indeed vacated the premises. There’s never a dull moment here, even when I’m inside the cabin and not out in the woods.

Wood Thrush Rescue, 1-0

Yesterday morning, I was upstairs at the computer when I heard a thud downstairs. I immediately yelled down to Baby Dog, since she is the cause of about 90% of my household thuds. Silence. The silence worried me. Usually when Baby Dog makes thud noises, barking follows. So I yell down to Ben, the cat who should have been named Total Destruction. Ben accounts for most of the remaining 10% of thud noises. More silence, which was also unusual, since Ben doesn’t normally stop whatever he’s doing when I yell at him.

So, I’m forced to go downstairs where I see all of the animals looking at the front door. So, since I’m no slouch in the brain department, that’s where I go. Before my story goes any further, some explanation is needed. My storm door currently is missing the glass/screen part of it, so there’s this big open area where that should be. My front door is mostly glass, with a curtain. So I open the front door and in the space between the main door and the storm door is a wood thrush that has apparently stunned itself by flying into the glass front door (despite the curtain that’s supposed to eliminate the reflection).

I pick up the wood thrush, holding it gently in my palm. Although these are decently-sized birds, they weigh almost nothing. Their legs are the size of toothpicks. Isn’t it amazing that these things fly from South America each year to nest in our eastern forests? This bird was an adult. Up close, the bird is even more beautiful than when I see them in the forest. It has large dark spots on its breast, and its back is this wonderful cinnamon color.

For a moment I consider running for the camera, but then I decide the poor bird has already had enough trauma for the day. It doesn’t need me holding it for an additional minute or two while I fiddle with the camera.

So I head outside, looking for a limb that’s in a safe spot to put it on. Although the bird looks fine, I want to make sure it can still perch. Birds who are so stunned that they can’t perch are really injured, and may well die even if they are in a safe spot, though some will still recover. If the bird can perch, even if it doesn’t move for a while, it has a decent chance. So I try to place the bird on my finger to see how it is, and it flies off, landing in a small tree perhaps 15-20 feet away. It is immediately joined by a second thrush, and the two fly off together in another few seconds. Rescue complete!

All told, the bird was in my hand for no more than 10-20 seconds, I’d guess, but what a magical few seconds that was. Those seconds stay with me all day, a gift of the forest.

Morning Walk

Three days of storms have finally cleared out, and the result is one of the prettiest mornings in weeks. The humidity is low, the foliage sparkes with dew. So Dog, Baby Dog and I went for a long walk as soon as the sun was up.

We headed down the mountain, towards the paintball field. I was going to skirt this area when I heard an odd noise. It was the sound made when someone is dumping something out of a metal pail and hitting it against wood to get out whatever is stuck to the bottom. Except it was just one bump at a time, and then another bump a few seconds later. Since it was only 6:00 a.m., the paintball people weren't supposed to be here.

We walked a little closer, and I didn't see anything, except the sound seemed to be coming from the paintball truck which was backed up against the building. Is someone stuck inside? I wondered. Maybe they're banging on it trying to get out? That thought didn't make much sense, even to me, so I kept walking.

We were almost to the truck when another thought hit me. Some convict escaped a few days ago, not more than 15 miles from here and maybe...But before I could take that hysterical thought any further, a crow flew out from behind the truck. And the banging stopped.

Obviously, the crow was making the sound. But how? The dogs and I walked over to the back of the truck. This adventure was of no interest to them. I looked at the back of the truck and for a few seconds, I couldn't figure it out either. Then I found it. There was a metal chain running along the back of the truck, and the crow must have been fiddling with that and causing it to bump against the back of the truck.

Crows are smart birds, but I will never know what this one was trying to accomplish. The chain was painted, so it wasn't shiny. Crows are notorious for their preference of shiny things like foil, or soda can tops, and their nests are often lined with such riches. Perhaps it saw itself in the reflection of the glass and was sitting on the chain while attrached to that. Who knows? Another mystery.

Turtle Rescue. Score: 1-1

Last night as I was driving home from work and almost at Roundtop, I crested the last hill and saw a turtle in the road. I should have a bumper sticker, “I brake for turtles” because I always do. So I stopped the car in the middle of the road, turned on my flashers and got out. A young snapping turtle, about 6 inches long, was in the middle of the lane.

So this is a problem. A snapping turtle, even a small one, isn’t something I really want to pick up. For a moment I try to remember if picking one up by the tail is the right way to pick it up or exactly the wrong thing. I have a vision of driving myself to the emergency room to remove a turtle from my hand or finger and decide I don’t have time in my evening’s agenda for such an event. So, in the end, since I can’t remember about the tail thing, I decide against the possibility of a wrong guess. I decide the best course of action is to move it with a stick.

Do you think I could find a freakin’ stick?!? The forest is on both sides of the road, I’m parked in the middle of the road with my flashers on. Fortunately, no cars came by. This is yet another joy of living off the beaten path. But one could come by at any moment. So I’m hunting for a stick in the middle of a forest that apparently has no sticks. Eventually I find this pathetic little stick that’s about 16” long, no more than half an inch thick and has a large curve in it starting about halfway down. It’s obviously not ideal, but it’s the only thing I have.

So now I approach the turtle, half expecting the stick to bend/break when it encounters the snapping turtle. I try to push the turtle off the road. The stick doesn’t break, but the turtle is only pushed an inch or so, and he’s not amused. He snaps and whirls around with a kind of a little hop. By pushing him in the same spot, he snaps and whirls in the same way, so I manage to move him a few inches at a time towards the edge of the road. Eventually, this strategy works. The turtle is in the grass at the edge of the road, and I haven’t been bitten. So I get in the car and head to the cabin.

Sadly, this effort was for naught. This morning as I was driving to work, I saw the turtle, flattened, in the road, perhaps 50 yards further from where I got him off the road.
But even this story has a happier ending. A few miles further down the road, just before a dangerous intersection, I see another turtle in the road. This one is a box turtle, and I am able to rescue it without a stick and find a fairly suitable spot for it where it’s not likely to wander into the road again. And still, no cars came by.

Baby Dog

Baby Dog’s adolescence gave me a respite today, as well as a hint of the adult dog she will eventually be. This morning she was a perfect puppy. She walked nicely and didn’t pull. She remembered her name and followed assorted doggie instructions. I know it won’t last. It probably won’t even last through the day. By the time I get home tonight, she will likely be a holy terror, rocketing around the driveway as though she’d been cooped up for weeks. That’s how puppy adolescence goes. One moment they’re the perfect puppy, the next they’re the puppy from hell. And I never know which it’s going to be. Neither does she.

Last evening she was excited by the smell of raccoon on the deck and was ready to head off into the woods after it. Heck, even I could smell that raccoon. Night before last, she didn’t even bark at the thunder. This morning she watched a squirrel leap into the large beech tree in the front forest and didn’t go into attack mode.

She has learned how to open her crate. This morning she sneaked up the stairs when I was feeding Smokey, the foster kitty, and was so quiet that I tripped over her when I turned around. She thought this was hilarious.

What's Not Happening at the Cabin

After nearly a week of non-cabin, non-dog postings, you’re probably wondering what’s going on around the cabin. Here’s a bit about what’s not happening…

I haven’t seen any of the three red fox kits for about a week. In some ways, this might be good news. I haven’t seen any killed on the road, which considering that they were playing in it on at least two occasions is something of a miracle. Perhaps they’ve moved to a different den or perhaps they are learning the ropes of being a fox in the woods.

I haven’t seen any new fawns yet this year, but this morning I heard and briefly saw a doe in the woods next to the house. Since this isn’t a spot where I normally see deer—they rather sensibly prefer the grass of the slopes—I would not be surprised to learn she has dropped and hidden a fawn in there somewhere.

The dogs are fine, except Baby Dog is now a puppy adolescent. This means that half the time she doesn’t hear what I’m saying and the other half she doesn’t care. This is the one phase of dog raising that I could do without.

Dog is also fine and is becoming dignified in his middle age. It is beneath him to notice the antics of Baby Dog (or so he would have you believe).

And Now For Something Completely Different: Part 3

This was a display of different kinds of lighting that were used before electric lamps. The large iron basket in the center is a crescette (not sure of spelling) that was kind of a street lamp. People would fill them with wood knots and burn them. Often they were placed fairly high so the light would spread more.

They could be carried by two people. There's other kinds of candle making stuff, whale oil lamps, wick snippers and other kinds of interesting things here too.

Here's a display of some of the gear a rifleman needed to carry. The curly maple stock on the rifle was just beautiful. He also carried black powder, rifle balls, patches and other stuff, all laid out on his bearskin.

So that's enough of the history lesson. tomorrow my blog will return to its usual topic of what the dogs are up to and what's going on in the woods around the cabin.

And Now, For Something Completely Different, Part 2

The last time I was in Dill Tavern was just before winter. At that point, the interior was pretty much completed but the tavern wasn't furnished. This past weekend when I was inside, it was partly furnished and really starting to look like a tavern again.

This is the main room, to the left of the door when you enter the tavern. Originally, I dont think this was part of the tavern, but was the tavern owner's living area. Later, as the tavern was expanded, I think it was one of the common areas. The pictures above the mantle are photo-shopped images of how the tavern would have looked at various stages of its building. The one of the far left is the original building. Sometime arond or a little after 1800 the size of the tavern was nearly doubled. And then before the Civil War, another addition went on.

And yes, it was cool enough on Saturday morning that a fire in the fireplace felt really nice.

The tavern common room and the kitchen are also largely completed. The upstairs was still closed off, so I don't think that's done yet.

Don't you just love this clock? It's placed along the wall at the far side of the window you can just see on the right of the first picture. I did take a picture of the winder and the clock, but there was too much light outside and the inside came out too dark. As the clock works, the phases of the moon are shown or hidden to match what's going on outside. I haven't seen the other artwork on it--I think there's a sun too.


The picture on the left is of the tavern's dining room. It's a narrow room, with a fireplace to the right of the table. In the early days of the tavern, people who stayed overnight didn't have rooms or beds upstairs. They just removed the table, placed the chairs along the far side of the room, and everyone slept in this room with their feet closest to the fire. I don't know what they charged for this arrangement. At least they didn't drink and drive, but it still leaves a lot to be desired.

The chairs are new, made by a craftsman who's reproducing the styles of older furniture. They are amazingly comfortable, as the bottoms are rounded and not flat, so your butt fits right into them.

The last picture is taken from inside the dining room and looking into the kitchen. There's a pass-through so food could be passed from the kitchen into the tavern common room, so the lady of the tavern didn't have to associate with whatever riff-raff walked in through the front door. It was also a way to keep the pints and quarts of ale separate from the drinkers until they'd actually paid for their drinks.

Apparently the historical society has since learned that this pass through was originally at the opposite end of the room, so they are going to move it down there at some point.

Tomorrow: I have a few more pictures of the festivities, and then it will be back to the what's going on around the cabin and the dogs' latest antics!

And Now, For Something Completely Different, Part I

This past weekend my hometown historical society had its annual spring event, and for the first time, the inside of the town's Revolutionary era Dill Tavern is now furnished. Renovations are still going on, but the building finally looks like a tavern again. This splendid old place spent way too many years in terrible disrepair, under the ownership of a variety of people, most of whom wanted to sell it to developers who wanted to knock it down.

The historical society tried for years to buy this old taven, without success, but through a long and amazing series of events and huge and unexpected donations of cash, they finally were able to purchase it. Since then this small local group has put every dollar they can find into the place. All kinds of craftsmen and workers have volunteered and put their time and effort into it. It's taken years to get to this point, and now a little celebration is in order.

A group of Revolutionary War reenacters were invited, and they set up camp in the tavern yard. Fortunately the weather was good for the encampment. The kids seemed to like this part a lot and weren't shy about talking with the reenacters.

Some of the tents were very well appointed, with trunks and clocks and beds, etc. This isn't my usual style of camping, which involves freeze-dried food and a large backpack. Of course, they don't carry their gear themselves. They have horses for that.

Yes, that's a young girl napping on a cot in her tent. This tent has almost all the amenities of my cabin, with a better clock. And a nice trunk, as well. Anyway, it looks pretty comfortable. She has more clothes than I take when I go camping too.

The tavern records that survive don't include the time that George Washington was wandering around the countryside, but we do know that George spent a night in a tavern up the road and several days later spent a night in a tavern down the road, and that Dill Tavern was then the only place in between, so it's not a big stretch to guess that the father of the country might have spent the night in between here.

The weekend included a lot of activites, displays and good food. Tomorrow I'll post some pictures from the inside of the tavern and the exhibitors who attended. Unless something really exciting happens at the cabin, which so far this week has been unusually quiet.


This man was cooking something on his little fire that smelled really good. His tent didn't have a cot or a trunk a clock, just some wool blankets on the ground. I don't think his wood chair is regulation Revolutionary War era either, but I doubt that many people noticed.

Tomorrow: the inside of the tavern

Quiet Days

It's been quiet around the cabin this week (so far!). The baby geese are growing. The baby bluebirds are doing fine.

The giant raccoon who occasionally hangs out on the front deck, eating the outdoor cat food showed up a couple of times. Even the outdoor cats are so relaxed around it that they don't move away when the raccoon shows up.

My photo today looks like dandelion, but it isn't. It's a coldsfoot plant, the taller dandelion lookalike that doesn't have leaves at the base.

This morning I had a nice up close view of two wood thrush. I think they were busy investigating what Dog was up to and didn't realize they they were almost within arm's reach of me. I'm happy anytime I can see a bird like that without binoculars.

But other than these little mini-adventures, it's been kind of quiet--not sure why. It certainly won't last.

Spring at Roundtop

The obsessive titmouse is back, happily trying to attract the “mate” he thinks he sees in his reflection in the upstairs window. At least I think that’s what he’s trying to do, as he isn’t acting aggressively as though he’s trying to drive away a competitor.

A Baltimore oriole has been singing all over Roundtop as well. It flits from treetop to treetop, singing away.

The local Canada geese have 3 tiny babies. The little ones hatched on Friday on the small pond at the entrance to Roundtop. On Sunday morning, the trio was marched over to the larger snowmaking pond, the one in this photo. Usually, I walk around this pond with Dog and/or Baby Dog is the mornings before work. Now, I’ve rerouted my morning walk so Dog won’t scare them. Geese usually move their young from their nest within a few days of hatching. I’ve always assumed they do it as a safety precaution against predators. At my parents' farm, the baby geese are often marched from their pond, through the woods and over to a neighboring pond that’s nearly half a mile away. I’ve always wondered how such tiny goslings are able to make that trek. I picture them falling off downed trees and stumbling over twigs. At least this pond isn’t that far away from the small pond.

...Now You Don't

Here's the same twig on the redbud tree a week or so later than the picture in yesterday's post. Now it just looks like an unpretty, stringy, maybe even sickly, tree. Redbud is glorious, but only for a very few days.

Around the cabin: fledgling bluebirds! And the obsessive titmouse is still at the upstairs window. I hadn't seen it all week but yesterday it was back, though not quite as obsessive as the week before. This time it only spent an hour or so at the window, instead of the entire day.

Now You See it...

I wanted to show how the red buds of the redbud tree slowly disappear. I've already posted some pictures of the redbud in its full glory. In this picture, you can start to see the leaves poking through the blossoms. Tommorow, I'll post how this same branch looks today.

Around the cabin: at the bottom of the lane the gravel road widens into a big gavel area. A family of killdeer nested there and now two miniature killdeer are running around down there. Dog and I were out walking last evening when one of the killdeer went into the "old broken wing trick." The bird fluttered around piteously, trying to make us believe it was hurt and ripe for being someone's prey. Anytime a killdeer pulls this stunt, it means that a baby killdeer is nearby. It's kind of like when the magician wants you to look in one place while he's doing something with the other hand. Dog, naturally, was ready to get the flopping killdeer. But I knew that to look elsewhere, and that's when I saw the babies being spirited away by mama. I think those little legs moved faster than anything I've ever seen.

Yard Bird Results are In!

April results are in! I’m #5 in my category for Pennsylvania’s yard bird contest! That’s one slot better than in March. I’ve been surprised each month, so far, when these results are posted by how well and how high in the standings I am. I’m currently only 2 species behind the #4 slot, but the top 3 slots are waay out of reach. The guy in the #1 slot has 105 species to my 57. For all 5 categories combined, I’m in the 21st slot, which still isn’t bad. My own category, category 3, is the slot with the most participants. The categories are all based on the size of your “yard.”

I don’t have much hope that I will stay as high as I am. My May birding around the cabin hasn’t been the best by a long shot. I’ve only had a few warbler species, where I typically have more than a dozen species. I haven’t had the thrush species I usually get either. So, I’m not expecting to hold my place this next month. But, I still have fall migration coming up to improve my standings. Since I’m so close to the fourth spot, I’d like to at least reach that point. And even if I can’t improve my standing higher than #4 in category 3, I might be able to improve my overall standing in the combined categories. This has been a fun activity!

What's a girl to do?

It's raining again today, so I thought a picture of wet leaves would be appropropriate. And my mood kind of matches the dreary weather.

It’s funny to me that this past winter was a warm one, followed by a cold spring, but that’s what’s happened. For some reason, I can’t wrap my mind around the reality of this. It seems as though a warm winter would be followed by warm spring (or at least a normal one). But that is not the case this year.

The temperatures were warm for one week, and that prompted me to pack away my heaviest winter clothing and unpack my warmer weather clothing. But today I’m still wearing sweaters and many of the same clothes I did in the winter, which I am by now sick to death of. I used to think that I had fewer summer clothes than any other season, but I’m starting to feel that it’s my in-between wardrobe that’s lacking.

The problem is I can’t yet pack away the last of the winter clothing, and though I have my summer clothing unpacked, it isn’t warm enough to wear them. So I suddenly seem to have tons of unpacked clothing, most of which I can’t wear at the moment. I really don’t have enough room in the cabin to have two unpacked seasonal wardrobes, but that’s what I have. I’m ready for a change.

Scent of the Forest

The much needed rain I’ve had the past few days has released the scent of the forest so strongly that this morning it felt as though I was suddenly in some exotic and unknown landscape. Just walking from one end of the lane to the other brought me dozens of different scents, some identifiable, some not. In an instant the forest feels different from the one where I live every day.

Spring in the forest is such a heady smell, and each forest has its own notes. Each plant species, each tree species has its own distinctive scent. It is a lot more complicated than just a northern forest of conifers smelling differently than a southern forest. We are all aware of that distinction.

Within the same region, each patch of forest has its own tones. Even when an area has similar species, each patch will have more or fewer of some of its plant species. Just a short distance away, the mix may be slightly different. One forest area could be a little wetter, another a little higher, and each little change subtly affects the species and the numbers of those species that grow there. That change to the mix affects the scent that forest exudes.

It is times like this morning when I wish my sense of smell was as strong as a dog’s, so I could see if I could learn to pinpoint my location just by the mix of scents. How finely could I pinpoint it if I was dropped blindfolded in different parts of the woods? Could I tell the forest in my parents’ woods from the forest in front of the cabin? Could I tell the difference in the forest in front of my cabin from the forest on the other side of the new pond?

Since humans’ sense of smell is more limited than other animals, I am surprised that when I think of certain places, it is the scent of them that I remember most clearly. Sometimes, I will get a whiff of something and it will bring back some memory of something I’d thought I’d forgotten. And that memory will be so strong that for an instant it is as though I am back in that other place. For me, smells recreate the memory of other places and times more intensely than sights and sounds do, even though those senses are our more acute ones.

This morning, the scent of the spring forest is one that will stay with me.

Fox Kits Again

I’ve been seeing the little fox kits again. On Sunday, I took a walk around Roundtop—it was pretty muddy down in the forest, so I didn’t go too far there. As I was walking down a hill, I saw one of the kits step out to the edge of the road and sniff something along the edge. Then it saw me walking towards it, looked at me but didn’t run away. I kept walking, wondering how close I would get before it took off. Then I heard a car start to head up the mountain, and so did the fox kit. That’s when it left. So at least it has enough sense to be road wary.

Last evening I saw all three of them again. They were out bouncing around and having a good time. I’ve also figured out where their den is. It’s only 7-8 feet off the public road.

This weekend, when I told my dad about the fox kits, he told me that when he was a teenager he had a red fox as a pet. He got it when it was only about the size of these little ones. It lived in the house and “denned” underneath the family’s wood stove. When he went outside it would follow along. He said he had it for about two years, maybe a little longer. Then, he left for the army and gave it away to a neighboring farmer, but never asked, when he returned two years later, what had happened to the fox.

Obsessive Titmouse

I’ve been visited by an obsessive tufted titmouse all weekend. At first it was cute to see the thing sitting on my window sill. It was bouncing up and down moving from window to window to twig. The Old Cat, who is one-eyed and doesn’t notice much of anything, was interested enough to watch it and twitch his tail.

It was overcast, and I was surprised the titmouse could see a reflection in the window (and I assumed that’s why it was so fascinated with the location). It didn’t peck at the glass but it would twitter, chitter and be at the same spot constantly.

At first it scolded the reflection. Next it just seemed profoundly interested in it. Then it started singing to its reflection. If you’ve ever though a titmouse has a kind of muted song, think again. From 4 feet away, with the window slightly open, titmice are loud! Even The Old Cat eventually got tired of it and went back to sleep.

Eventually, I thought the thing must have business elsewhere that was more important than spending 100% of its day looking at its reflection in the window, so I closed the curtain. This has not stopped the titmouse (or apparently the reflection). The titmouse was at the window all day on Saturday and first thing on Sunday, almost before it was light outside, it showed up again. The only thing that stopped it momentarily was a heavy rain shower on Sunday afternoon. I’m almost glad to be at work today.

Random Acts of Spring

I have no reason to post this picture today other than I was going through some pictures I took a week or two ago and decided I liked it. It was taken at my parents farm.

Up at my cabin, the latest summer resident has arrived. I've been hearing 2-3 Eastern wood pewees all morning. A few other summer residents should be here, but I haven't seen them yet. No hummingbirds, no indigo bunting, no scarlet tanager. So I need to actively look for those several.

An Eastern phoebe perched, momentarily on the open window frame of my crank-out windows. I was about 5 feet from it, sitting at my computer. But The Bad Cat was sitting on the computer at the window and nearly had a heart attack in his joy at the sight. It's the first time I ever really saw a creature tremble with excitement.

Finally rain arrived in the form of a gullywasher that dropped 1.5 inches in about 2 hours. It also came complete with a tornado warning (but fortunately no tornados). And with the rain the forest is now in its full glory, which means I am living in my green box again. It's a good thing I have birds to look at in the trees.

Dogs Can't Multitask

Baby Dog and I have been taking our evening walks up on the bunny slopes this week. Although I knew it before, the walks this week have just confirmed to me that a dog doesn’t multitask well. If Baby Dog has a stick in her mouth, she can’t hear a word I’m saying. All her brain cells are used up just to hold that stick in her mouth and prance around looking cute while it’s there. Once the stick is out of her mouth, she remembers her name and a small assortment of duties, like “sit,” “down,” etc.

Other things also interfere with her ability to listen, even when there isn’t a stick in her mouth. A groundhog lives along the edge of the slope, and whenever we get semi-close to its hole, Baby Dog’s attention is completely and totally focused on that spot. She is determined to chase that groundhog, though the thing never gets more than 10 feet from its hole and disappears down it the instant we appear on the horizon. Still, the mere possibility that she might see it and chase it is an adrenaline high to her.

Spring Woods

Last evening as I was walking Baby Dog just before dusk, I looked up into the tree at the end of the lane and saw two black vultures sitting side by side. They’d obviously settled in for the evening and seemed very calm. So we kept walking… and walking…. We eventually walked right underneath the tree they were sitting on, and they barely noticed us. Baby Dog never noticed them at all.

I have been trying, for what feels like weeks, to take a longer hike down to the bottom of the mountain to see how things are looking down there this spring. And so far, I haven’t managed it. How can the time slip away like that? One of my expectations when I first moved to the woods years ago is that I would spend lots of time exploring deep in the woods. I wouldn’t be caught up in the hustle and bustle of town or city life. Plus, I wouldn’t have to waste time driving to the woods, since I was already there. That expectation is not exactly the reality.

I’m grateful that I live in the woods and get to see nature on a daily basis. Trying to find more time to spend in them is still difficult. The house needs cleaned (and believe me when I say I rarely do this). The dogs need walked. Groceries need to be bought. The bills need paid. Weekends still get eaten up with errands and chores. In other words, there’s still a daily life that must go on that limits my play time. That’s a reality I will never get used to, I think. The truth is, I live for weekends and days off just like I did before I moved to the woods. There’s never enough time to do half what I want to do. Time just slips away, like winter turns into spring and spring into summer.

Little Red Foxes

I have twice seen several red fox kits right where I turn off the public road to reach the cabin. Last week I saw two. Yesterday I saw 3 of them. Like kids, they are oblivious to the dangers of the road. One of them was carrying something in its mouth—a leaf, a piece of paper, who knows? The other two were chasing the first, and all were having a great time. They acted like 13 year olds out alone at the mall for the first time. In other words, they acted like they thought they were really cool. These cute little kits are too young to be cautious of the road but big enough to get out of the den on their own and into trouble.

Spring Beauty

This has been an odd spring so far. It's been beautiful! Cloudless skies, few bugs, low humidity where I can see for miles. And that's the bad news. Really. The area has had almost no rain. Currently, we are almost 4 inches below normal for the year, and this is after a winter with almost no snow.

Isn't it funny how nature is almost always a double-edged sword? Beautiful spring weather means no rain. Good road conditions during the winter translates into no snow. No bugs means no birds or bats.

I am seeing a few new spring migrants. I had a black-throated blue warbler just a few feet from my nose when was typing at my computer a few minutes ago. It flitted by the greenery outside my window, oblivious to my presence. I've heard the first of the great-crested flycatchers this season. And a very distant cuckoo.

So far the only resident who hasn't yet arrived is the eastern wood pewee, and they are always the last to show up.

Yesterday, I was momentarily surrounded by 3 madly circling wood thrush. If those birds had had ropes in their beaks, I'd have been trussed up better than the good guy on a bad cop show. I think it was 2 males argueing over a female, but for a few seconds it was pandemonium, and I was in the center of it.

Bleeding Hearts

I’m a huge proponent of keeping native plantlife around the cabin. I don’t do lawns, because in addition to all their work, a lawn is pretty much a sterile environment that isn’t wildlife friendly. In fact, the main reason why I bought the cabin is because it doesn’t have a lawn.

I have native violets at the deck stairs, Spring Beauty lining the driveway (as well as poison ivy, unfortunately). The front forest includes wild raspberry bushes, a couple of beech trees, sassafras trees, tulip poplars, mayapples, the occasional Indian pipes, etc. The back forest is mostly mature oak and hickory trees that tower over the cabin.

I have one exception to my rule. And that is a small wild bleeding heart shrub that I planted several years ago. I love bleeding heart. Wild bleeding heart is native to the Appalachians, but mine was purchased at a nursery and planted in the front forest. It didn’t spring up here naturally, so I feel a bit guilty about having it, but only a bit.

Have you ever pulled apart a flower of the bleeding heart and noticed the different things contained in each one? You get a pair of pink rabbits, a pair of old-fashioned (bootless) ice skates, a pair of ballet slippers and a baseball bat. My grandmother first showed me how to delicately pull the flowers apart to reveal the small treasures within each one. As a young girl, I was thrilled and fascinated, and I’m sure this is where my love of the plant comes from.

More Arrivals

New arrivals: Rose-breasted grosbeak and a willow flycatcher—both seen and heard.

I’m not getting many wood warblers so far, unlike other years. The yellow-rumps and black-throated greens are around in good numbers. Ovenbirds and wood thrush are so common that the woods are loud right now. That is not a complaint. I’m not joking when I say I can stand on my front deck and hear 6 different wood thrush within 50 feet of the front door. The ovenbirds aren’t quite that common, but they’re not far behind. This morning, I had 3 singing black-throated green warblers and several more signing yellow-rumps, plus assorted females of both species. But not even a single warbler of another species.

I should be happier, I think, that I have the species I do. I heard—again!—this morning how black-throated green warblers and ovenbirds are becoming uncommon due to deforestation and perhaps the early arrival of spring caused by global warming. Neither species is uncommon at my spot, though springs do come earlier each year.

I also notice that the leaves fall later in the autumn than before. I can see the change in just the past 10-12 years. I became aware of when they fell because for years I could only get satellite TV reception in the winter. Now I don’t even get it all as the trees near the cabin are taller and thicker, even though they are all mature oak trees more than 100 years old. At any rate, I used to get my reception back shortly after the 25th of October, then it fell to the end of October. Then the last few years that I could get reception, the leaves didn’t fall until early November.

Baby Dog misbehaved last night. A couple with their four dogs was walking out on the slopes at the same time I was starting my walk with Baby Dog. The instant she saw them, you’d have thought she was an attack dog. She puffs herself up like a big dog (and her hair is longer on her neck and shoulders so this is really impressive). And would she shut up? No! So I corrected her and took her back to the cabin.

Spring Colors

The redbud is already starting to fade. The ends of the branches are leafing out, so the pink buds will soon be gone.

This morning I had several black-throated green warblers singing and darting about in the trees over the driveway. A small army of yellow-rumped warblers was also in evidence, though none of the other 18 or so species of warblers I'd like to find.

It feels like fewer warblers arrive with every passing year. I can remember years when the trees were alive with them. I hardly knew where to look next. Years ago I used to work swing shift, and one morning after coming home from the night shift, I pulled in to my driveway only to be surrounded by 20 or more chestnut-sided warblers. Those little guys were all over the place and seemed more than a little put out that I was trying to drive into my driveway. They were on either side of the drive, over the drive, everywhere. I don't know that I've had even one since then.

Another time, I had redstarts--a beautiful black and red warbler--a dozen or more of them. People always talk about how the warblers are being pushed out by deforestation in their South American wintering grounds. And that is true. But they are just as pushed up here on their nesting grounds, and saving the rainforest won't help if we don't also save our eastern forests.

Bat in Stovepipe

The new roof is on and looks fine. Now, I shouldn't have to worry about shingles blowing into the driveway anymore--or roof leaks.

Two nights ago as I was sitting in the living room, I heard this faint scratching sound in the stovepipe of my fireplace. I knocked on the pipe. The sound stopped. But soon started again. I opened the damper and a bit of soot and a few dead leaves fell into the fireplace. I cleaned up the mess and forgot about it.

Then last night I heard the noise again. This time I figured a bird had flown into the pipe (this has happened once or twice before). So I opened the damper and a small bat fell into the fireplace. I quickly got a towel, gathered it up before it could recover itself and placed it outside. The poor bat has been in there for two days without food, but this morning the bat was gone, so I hope it was strong enough to feed and find a new place to hang out.

New Roof

Last night as I was pulling into my driveway, I got a call on the cell phone. “Can we come tomorrow and do your roof?” So tonight when I get home from work I will have a new roof on the cabin. I hope it will look okay. I couldn’t exactly match the color of the old shingles and the new shade will be a warmer brown.

I had to leave Dog and Baby Dog in the cabin, so Dog, especially, won’t eat the roofers. I’m sure that the moment the roofers arrived, Dog started barking up a storm, with Baby Dog’s voice added to the chorus. They’ll probably keep it up until the roofers leave.

The photo is another blooming redbud tree. This morning, I just started to see the leaves pushing through the red buds, so it won't be long before the color is gone.

Redbud and Dogwood

I took this photo last weekend looking up the lane as the road winds up the mountain and towards the cabin. The redbud and dogwood are in color right now and really pretty. In another week, perhaps less, the redbud will fade and turn into nothing more than a stunted-looking tangle of a tree.

This morning, I had the first good sighting of a warbler. A yellow-rumped warbler was singing right outside my bedroom window, much to the enjoyment of The Bad Cat, who looked like a frozen drooling statue with his nose pressed against the window. My hearing has never been very good, but even I can recognize the song of the yellow-rump, primarily because it’s just a little twitter, not unlike a singing junco. I had the window open a few inches, so the bird was really only 6-8 feet away from my ear.

I had a light frost last night and perhaps will again tonight, though the temperature warms well into the 50’s quickly enough in the morning.

Unlike most springs, this one really has been pretty and not too muddy, though that has been at the expense of the water table. Two inches of rain over 2 days last weekend wasn’t enough to make up for the water deficit. It has been enough to make everything pretty.

Trail Journals and Black Vultures

If you’re interested in hiking, here’s a neat site where people who are long-distance hiking post their trail journals and pictures of their hikes (www.trailjournals.com ).

Many of these hikers are using a device called pocketmail, which has a miniature keyboard and allows them to post reports about their hiking day from the trail as long as they are in cell phone range. Most of the hikers are on the Appalachian Trail, but a few are on other trails, mostly the Pacific Crest Trail. It’s really neat to read the trail journals in nearly real time. I’ve found a few favorites (like Bluebird, Flat Rocks. Stumpknocker and Overflow) and look for their journals regularly. Sometimes they’re out of posting range, but many are updated several times a week.

Years ago when I was long-distance backpacking, the only time anyone knew where I was was when they got a phone call from me every 7-10 days. My family had a map showing my planned route along the North Country Trail but that was it. Boy, have things changed! So now, in addition to a digital camera, I’ve added pocketmail to my wish list!

This morning I had a great, up close visit with a black vulture. I find these vultures so much prettier and more interesting than turkey vultures. They even fly nicely, unlike turkey vultures who fly as though they are only minimally airborne and are constantly in danger of falling out of the sky.

Since I live about half a mile off the public road system, I don’t have garbage pickup. Ski Roundtop doesn’t want me leaving my garbage at their front gate—the closest public road—so they asked me to put my garbage in their dumpster. Naturally, this is fine with me. The dumpster is also about half a mile from the cabin, so I have to drive my garbage over there. They’ve placed their dumpster at the bottom of their maintenance area with a little driveway that goes up and alongside it that’s even with the top of the dumpster. So I drive up and back around but before I open the car door, I see a black vulture in my side view mirror. It’s just sitting on the edge of the dumpster. Carefully, I open the car door so I can see the real bird, not just its reflection in my mirror. It just sits there. I don’t move. By now the bird is eyeing me warily. Eventually, it gets antsy and takes off, flashing its white wing patches as it glides over the maintenance lot and into the air.

The photo was taken by Bob Fisher, a young guy I knew years ago at Hawk Mountain. He was really more of a friend of a friend but was always a good photographer. Another of his photos is currently on the cover of the latest issue of Hawk Migration Studies, the journal of the Hawk Migration Association of North America. You can see more of his photos at http://www.pbase.com/rjfisher/texas_photo_safari

After the Rain

I took this picture in the backyard of my parents' farm on Easter Sunday, looking down towards their orchard.

This Sunday morning I was awakened by the singing of a Carolina wren. The bird was no more than 5 feet from my ear, and it was louder than my week day alarm clock. My bed is right next to my bedroom window, and the little singer was on the edge of a branch that nearly touches the window. The cats soon leapt onto the bed and pasted their little noses right on the window glass. After a few seconds of that my alarm clock flew away.

I’ve found some new species this weekend—wood thrush calling further down the mountain, barn swallows skittering around the old pond, a yellow-rumped warbler flitting from branch to branch, a zebra swallowtail.

The 2 inches of rain I got this weekend was all that the leaves needed to burst open. The summer canopy is filling in.

The redbud is currently having its annual moment of glory. And it is barely longer than a moment. The trees of the redbud are spindly and almost more like a stunted shrub than a tree. When the red buds are in their glory, that spindliness takes on an exotic, zen-like quality. But those little red buds soon open into leaves that are nothing special. The tree itself loses its appeal and instead looks like a tangled mess of edge growth, with no hint of its spring beauty.

The dogwood is also in bloom, though much diminished from a few years ago. A fungus that is sweeping the east coast is killing the trees, though a few still remain. At least for this year.

Flute Section Arrives

Last evening I heard the first flutey call of a wood thrush. It wasn't close--down in the valley somewhere. I had to stop and wait for the sound to repeat to be sure, and then I heard it again. It's one of those quintessential sounds that says "forest" to me. In another week or so, my woods will be full of their songs and that of the ovenbird.

When the trees are bare, I have a great view of the mountains to my west. In the summer, I have no view, but instead I have a symphony. I can sit out on the back deck with Dog and Baby Dog and just listen to all the calls I hear and identify the birds, frogs and others who sing them.

Right now it is raining--finally. This area is inches low in precipitation this year. And this rain is all the trees needed for the leaves to burst open. In one day I went from having a slighly obscured view of the western mountain to one where I can only barely tell there's a mountain over there. By tomorrow, I wouldn't be surprised if even that was gone.

Birding News!

The March results from Pennsylvania’s backyard bird count are in. I’m tied for #6 in the state and only 2 species short of the #5 ranking! I moved up one notch from February. And this after what I thought was a slow March. So far my April is not bad, but not as good as I’d like it. I need one good weekend to get the numbers where they should be, and this weekend the forecast is for 2 days of much needed rain. So, I’m not expecting to make much if any progress on improving my ranking.

I know I’m already breaking my promise of not posting snow pictures for a while. But I just got this one from last week’s last snow of the season, so here it is. I took the photo looking north just at the point where my mountain ends and the valley begins. It was early morning, and I had just come out of the forest and could see my neighbor’s orchard.

Night Sky

The evening sky has been spectacular the past few evenings. The weather has been clear this week, with little humidity to mar the night sky. The lights from the ski resort are off and even the moon doesn’t rise until late. When I am walking the dogs for the last time, all I see is the black, black sky filled with thousands of stars.

Robert Frost wrote the poem “Starsplitter” about the constellation Orion and his first view of it as it makes its appearance in the east in the fall. He said:

“You know Orion always comes up sideways.
Throwing a leg up over our fence of mountains,
And rising on his hands, he looks in on me.”

Well, now Orion, having crossed the starfield, is about to toss his leg over the western mountains and disappear for a while. Every night when I’m out I look to see if Orion is still in one piece or if tonight will be the night he starts his long disappearing act. So far he’s still there.

Broadwings on the Mountain

Last evening as I drove onto the mountain from work, I saw two broad-winged hawks coming over the mountain, slowing losing altitude as they lost their thermal lift. They circled lazily in the dwindling heat of the day, glided low over the mountain and headed north. Broadwings should be moving through this area now, though it is likely still 4-5 days before the typical peak day of their spring migration.

Broadwings are one of the few hawks that flock together in what we call “kettles” as they migrate. I’ve seen kettles of thousands of birds, though rarely. I’ve more commonly seen kettles of 100 or several hundred. Even these numbers are nothing compared to the tens of thousands that funnel through Veracruz, Mexico, each fall. Broadwing migration is different in other ways too. Weather permitting, they migrate in a narrower time range than most other hawks.

In the fall, in this area, if you want to see kettles of broadwings, you will be most likely to find them in the biggest numbers on September 18. That doesn’t mean you will always find them on that date. Notice I did say weather permitting. Storms hold them up, move them east or west and occasionally hurry them along, but if you look at the most common date for peak migration for the past 50-60 years, September 18 is your best choice if you have to plan vacation weeks in advance. Of course, if you don’t have to plan your time off far in advance, you can always do what I do, which is to study weather reports and watch site reports from the further down the ridge and then take your best guess.

Spring migration is a different animal, though if pressed, I will vote for April 22 as the day most likely to be the season’s peak broadwing day.

Anyway, last night I saw two and was pleased with that since it was nearly 6 p.m. and thus late for these thermally-needy birds to still be flying.

Birds on the Mountain

Saturday dawned bright, beautiful, warm with thin high clouds and a bit of a breeze from the south. In other words, it was perfect spring migration weather. I finally (finally!) managed to steal a few hours to watch birds around the mountain.

So in the morning, I took Baby Dog, a chair and my binos down to the old snow-making pond where I had a good view of the southern sky and just sat around looking at whatever was around. In the space of less than 2 hours, I saw 30 species of birds and 3 species of butterflies.

The butterflies were a great spangled frittelary (I think! It was only a quick look), lots of cabbage whites, and a good many eastern blue butterflies. It was the first day of trout season, a fact down here that always corresponds to the arrival of this species.

Some interesting bird sightings: in the morning the black vultures were all flying around with their feet hanging down. What's the deal with that? I also saw a red-tailed hawk chasing or harassing a black vulture. That was quite an air show.

I finally saw the eastern towhee I've been hearing for a while now. Chipping sparrows are suddenly here in numbers, and swallows are also more numerous than just a few days ago.

In the early a.m. I heard a barred owl call--unusual for here where I usually hear great horned owls and screech owls.

I saw an osprey pass over low and heading towards the new pond. Later in the day I heard that broadwings were moving around Philadelphia, but didn't see any here. Yet.

I also saw a nice big hairy woodpecker, which I don't see as often as their smaller cousin, the downy. When you see one as well as I saw this one, it makes me realize just how different in size and posture they are from the downy. But at some distance the ID can be trickier. There's also the "bill trick" that's a good way to distinguish between the two species. Perhaps I'll explain that another day.

More spring arrivals

Every day, sometimes every few hours, brings new evidence of spring. Yesterday, I heard a turkey gobbling somewhere in the woods behind the new pond. Chipping sparrows have arrived. Last night tree frogs were so loud in one small area that the sound was almost deafening. This morning I saw a swallow, probably a rough-winged swallow, but it didn't hang around long enough for me to be sure. I have spring beauties lining the driveway and in bloom.

And yesterday, yesterday, I saw the first Eastern blue butterfly. These are lovely and tiny little things, almost a lilac blue that always seem to show up around the start of trout season. I can remember many opening days of trout season sitting along the bank of a creek somewhere, while little clouds of these things floated along.

Has anyone ever written a poem, Ode to a Blue Butterfly? It seems to me as though that's one that's long overdue.

More spring arrivals

Every day, sometimes every few hours brings new evidence of spring. Yesterday, I heard a turkey gobbling somewhere in the woods behind the new pond. Chipping sparrows have arrived. Last night tree frogs were so loud in one small area that it was almost deafening. This morning I saw a swallow, probably a rough-winged swallow, but it hang around long enough for me to be sure. I have spring beauties lining the driveway.

And yesterday, yesterday, I saw the first Eastern blue butterfly. These are lovely and tiny little things, almost a lilac blue that always seem to show up around the start of trout season. I can remember many opening days of trout season sitting along the bank of a creek somewhere, while little clouds of these things floated along.

Has anyone ever written a poem, Ode to a Blue Butterfly? It seems to me as though that's one that's long overdue.

Orchard View

As soon as I drive off the mountain, the first area of non-mountain that I reach is an apple orchard. I took this picture a week ago Saturday, looking over towards the next mountain range (Called Range End). It was kind of a pretty day, with the young orchard in the front freshly pruned. I don’t post too many non-mountain or non-dog photos, but I was feeling the urge to try something different.

Last Snow Photo (for a While)

I promise this will be my last picture of snow for a long time. I almost typed, “until next winter,” but I don’t feel I can make that extreme a commitment this morning. I took this picture last week when an early morning snow squall temporarily blanketed the mountain. The snow was gone within hours. I tried taking a picture of one of my escaped Easter flowers covered with snow, but it turns out the flower is white, so you can’t see the flower at all. In other words, the picture sucks.

I should have taken a vacation day today. The weather is warm, with a slight breeze from the south and high cirrus clouds moving in ahead of rain tonight. In other words, hawks are migrating! I’ve already seen an osprey heading north from my office window, and if I didn’t have a meeting this afternoon, I would be heading home at noon.

Baby Dog and I walked around the new pond last night. It’s about half a mile around, as best I can estimate. The two Canada geese who have claimed it swam over to check us out and make sure we were not Up To No Good. They seemed to decide against us and starting making warning sounds. Baby Dog, who needs no excuses anyway, took this as a sign that they must be barked at, and that only confirmed their suspicions about our intentions.

Watching Daily Changes

This picture was taken on a cold and cloudy day not too long after Roundtop closed for the season. Today that same scene looks less cold, if not yet flushed with spring growth.

Spring is arriving, with one or two small changes each day. One day it might be a new bird species or a higher temperature or the sound of bullfrogs in the pond. Yesterday I saw the first butterfly of the season—a cabbage white with a tiny black spot on each wing. Today, I’ve seen a crow and a mourning dove carrying nesting material in their beaks.

It is in spring and fall where changes on the mountain are the most noticeable to me. Spring and fall change relentlessly, while summer and winter feel static. In mid-winter or even mid-summer, the days seem so much the same, with only a few degrees or a difference in cloud cover to tell one from the other.

Sometimes the middle of summer or winter feels a little like being in the middle of a rainstorm. I can see the storm coming. I can see it moving out, but when I’m in the middle of it I can’t see much at all. The ending of the storm could be moments or hours away, but either way it’s impossible to guess.

Watching the seasons change is one way I can deny that summer is soon here (It can’t be summer yet, the lightning bugs aren’t out yet!) or anticipate that fall will soon be here (the shorebirds are moving already!)

Near Sunset

I took this picture last week as I was coming home from work and driving into Roundtop shortly before sunset. I liked the long shadows and warm colors.

It’s funny, but after a mild winter, so far I’m having a fairly cold spring. For some reason, it seems to me these two shouldn’t go together. Yesterday morning I had ice in the cats’ water dish—and not just skim ice either. Yet by afternoon the temperature was warm enough that I could sit on the ground in the sun with Baby Dog and watch the world go by.

Although Roundtop is closed now, you’d be surprised how many people still are wandering around. My neighbor Wes and his dog Molly were walking the slopes, following the snow edges and scavenging for cash and items lost. Two motorcyclists pulled into the parking lot, then stood around chatting for more than half an hour. A family in a van pulled in and then proceeded to go hiking up on the slopes. A large group was playing paintball. People fairly frequently drove in, drove slowly around the ponds and then drove out again. I guess the high price of gasoline isn’t high enough to deter Sunday drivers on the first really nice Sunday of spring.

Baby Dog, the goofball

Baby Dog as she looked last week. Her tail now curls in a 360o circle. You can see that her tongue is mostly black (but it has a few pink spots).

Yesterday (Friday) was a big hawk migration day in this area. I saw 2 Cooper's hawks and 3 sharp-shinned hawks from my office window during the day. On the drive home I saw a Cooper's hawk sitting atop a light pole overlooking one of the 4-laned highways. Today, I saw 4 redtailed hawks and a probable broadwing. IT rained until early afternoon, so these might have been local birds or travelers that sat down to wait out the rain.

First bloom of spring

Here is the first bloom of spring, even beating the escaped Easter flowers. It looks like a dandilion, but without leaves. I thnk it's called Coltsfoot.

(Probably the) Last Snow

It snowed this morning. When I first went out on the deck this morning, I saw a few little plops of snow that looked more like paste or bird droppings than anything. I had to touch one to make sure it was snow.

When Dog and I were the farthest from the cabin as we usually get on our morning walks, another snow squall started. First, I heard thunder and saw the woods light up from a flash of lightning. For a few minutes the snow produced a mini whiteout. By the time I got back to the cabin my black raincoat was white and my hair was soaked. Dog looked like a powdered doughnut until he shook himself and miraculously returned to his usual appearance. Baby Dog was thrilled and raced along, skidding like the kid she is.

I took some pictures, including one of one of the Easter flowers hanging sadly and covered in snow. I expect this will be the last snow of this season. It was a short but intense final gasp of winter. At work in the valley, the snow is already gone.

First Thunderstorm of the Season

Last evening, the first real thunderstorm of the season rattled the woods. Dog was scared and sat on my foot through the entire event. He’s been this way since he was unexpectedly caught outside on the back deck during a real doozy last year. That remains the only time I’ve ever seen him in his doghouse. Baby Dog, still new to thunderstorms, barked at the thunder. She wasn’t using her scared bark. She was using her “I’m-announcing-an-intruder” bark. I think it’s going to be a long season.

Before the storm, I walked the dogs and then took my own evening walk, the first I’ve been able to do after work since the time change. I watched the clouds thicken, lower and grow grumpy-looking. I kept my walk close to the cabin, not wanting to get caught far from it when the storm hit. I spent more time watching the clouds than I did observing the sights of early spring around me, I’m afraid. Still, the walk felt good and reminded me of other walks in other years and made me look forward to more in the future. I guess spring is good for something after all.

The storm hit near sunset, turning the forest light a sickly shade of yellow. At first, I thought that’s what was happening—sunset through an overcast sky. It only took a second before I realized the storm was on its way. The rain hit first, pelting the window so hard I never did figure out if it was rain or small hail. In the end, the storm turned out to be no worse than average, despite the destruction and death it caused in Tennessee and the tornado watch in the northern counties. It is another sign of spring, as sure as the new growth and the tree buds and the arrival of summer migrants.

Time Change

This was my first morning of fully dealing with the time change. I woke up to complete darkness and only with a struggle did I roll out of bed. When I walked the dogs, it was still completely dark, with not even a hit of color in the east.

I fully enjoy having more daylight in the evenings but I don’t much care for the weekend of the time change. I have trouble dealing with the fact that my weekend is a full hour shorter because of it. I’m of the view that weekends are far too short as they normally are without chopping an hour off of them. Of course the fall time change is a wonderful thing (but that’s another story).

The buds of the lower and mid-forest story are starting to come out. I’ve found two bushes in my front forest with tiny leaves on them. I’m also starting to see low-level growth on the forest floor, but so far nothing is yet advanced enough for me to be able to identify it. The upper story trees are still bare, without noticeable swelling to the twig ends but that will soon change.

The escaped Easter plants that sporadically dot the area around my cabin are up several inches, some even have flower buds. I think one will be daffodils, the other hyacinth. Both look extremely out of place in the middle of the forest.

The weather is still being difficult. The weekend was warm, with temperatures nearing 70ºF, even on the mountain. Tomorrow the prediction is for snow. I’m guessing the escaped Easter flowers won’t be thrilled with that.

Spring is springing

I saw a few leaf buds on an unidentified shrub this morning. That is the first sign of new growth I’ve seen—as long you don’t count the non-native growth like an old Easter hyacinth or the first growth of the bleeding heart bush that I planted a few years ago.

Off the mountain, lots of new growth is visible—grass is greening up, daffodils are in bloom, etc. But here on the mountain the new growth is slower. It has also been untypically dry for a spring so far. I think it’s been 3 weeks since any rain and/or snow has fallen. Perhaps that’s why so little new growth is poking through.

The sun was just breaking the horizon when I walked Dog and Baby Dog this morning. That’s the last I’ll see it in the morning for a while. In another day the time will change, and my morning walks will take place in a murky shade of near night again for a month or so.

The local geese and mallards are readying their nests. A new migrant arrived yesterday—tree swallow. That’s at least a week early for them. I don’t think I’ve ever had them before the first of April before, and most commonly not until the start of the second week of the new month.

I’ve heard reports from other birders of early migration as well—rough-winged swallows, a palm warbler, etc. I don’t know if it means anything or if the lack of rain on the east coast has simply allowed birds to move without stopover days.

Anyway, it’s the weekend, so I hope I’ll get to see more arrivers now that I have more time to look.

Sometimes it takes a cat

This morning I was eating breakfast and was joined at the table by one of my cats, the one who should be named Total Destruction. He was on the far side of the table, looking out the kitchen window, not vulturing over my breakfast, so I let him stay. All of a sudden he sits up like a prairie dog, still looking out the window and continues to hold this position, all the while looking very interested in something.

I try to follow his line of sight, but don’t see anything other than a few fluttering leaves. A few seconds later I see two young deer running around the mountain at full speed, dashing here, there and all over in play. Both deer were small, probably last year’s fawns. They are out in a section of open ground that is part of an abandoned ski slope. I don’t know that anything prompted the antics, other than normal young animal hi-jinks. They were a good 50-75 yards from the cabin, when Total Destruction spied them. Sometimes it takes a cat to point out what’s going on around the neighborhood. I’ve seen lots of things because they saw them first and then I noticed their interest. Raccoons and possums are probably the most typical sightings that turn them on, but several times it was a fox and later her kits in a den near the cabin that provided entertainment for them and for me.

Starting the Day

I am enjoying the last few days, for a while at least, of daylight in the morning. This weekend the country “springs forward” to start daylight savings time. It will be great to have more light after I get home from work (sunset is now just before 6:30 p.m.), but it means my early morning walks with the dogs will be dark ones again for a while. For the past week or so, I have been waking up gently before the alarm’s ring while the day gradually lightens. Night starts to pale shortly after 5 a.m.here, though actual sunrise isn’t until I’m about to leave the house for work.

The early morning light also wakes the dogs, and they usually make it almost impossible for me to stay abed until the time when alarm would go off. They think the growing light is reason to wake up and start playing. They bounce and snort and show their teeth, play bowing next to the bed, bumping into the bookcase and the dresser, knocking things in all directions. Baby Dog is usually the instigator of this, though Dog never says no to participating in the fun. Baby Dog apparently thinks that greeting the new day means she has to act as though she hasn’t seen Dog in years and has to make up for lost time. Two dogs that have been separated for months couldn’t be more enthusiastic when they first see each other than my two.

Waiting Season

I'm naming the current time of year as Waiting Season. Winter, such as it was this year, is over, but nothing much has started yet to replace it. I have no signs of spring greenery, unless I count the two-inch high leaves from an Easter flower of 15+ years ago. The migration of spring birds is still pretty early in the process. I haven't seen any baby animals yet. So basically, it's an overcast sky, chilly, breezy and leafless trees in a quiet forest. Not the most exciting of seasons.

So it was kind of shock when I drove off the mountain yesterday and down into the warmer valley where the lawns are greening and daffodils are blooming. Weird.

The Bad Cat

I haven’t taken many pictures lately. Last weekend, the post-snow melt, pre-new growth woods with overcast sky simply didn’t present itself as a particularly good photo opportunity. So I am posting a picture of The Bad Cat, taken during the fall, ensconced atop my bill box for no good reason other than that he knew I wanted to open it. With luck, this weekend will present more photo opportunities.

Sun Pillar

I saw a sun pillar this morning just after 6 a.m. It lasted about 5-10 seconds, just as the sun was rising and disappearing behind heavy cloud cover. The sun turned the clouds into a shade of mauve, and the pillar shone like a golden beacon into the morning sky. If you don’t know what a sun pillar is, here’s a link to a nice picture. (www.spaceweather.com/swpod2006/21mar06/clark1.jpg). In fact my own sighting was very similar to how this picture looks, (though the sky was not as dark) as one of the snowmaking ponds was in the front of my view, and trees line the back of that pond. The Spaceweather site is one I frequent, as they always have interesting information about what’s going on in the sky at the moment.

Last night, after dark, I was cleaning up the evening dishes when Baby Dog starting barking, just a yip or two at first, but she wouldn’t stop and was soon joined in sympathy barks by Dog. Eventually, I was forced to look out the front door, as I’ve learned they won’t stop barking when they think they hear something until I do my duty as mistress of the cabin and make sure there are No Evil Monsters out there. I looked out, didn’t see anything and went back to work. The barking stopped momentarily, then got worse, and this time when I looked out the front of the cabin door, I saw a huge raccoon gobbling up the last of the food I put out for the semi-feral cats. This raccoon was a beauty with gorgeous fur and tail, and in size it was the mother of all raccoons. The raccoon was snaking its paws into the body of the cat feeder, reaching up inside it and pulling out the cat food, piece by piece. At one point, one of the wild cats jumped up on the deck, saw the raccoon and froze. It stayed that way for a few moments and then fled into the night.

Morning Symphony

I woke up early this morning because the night starts to lift shortly after 5 a.m. now. Morning's increasing light wakes me up gradually, which is far more pleasant than the alarm. Of course, I could sleep longer if I closed the curtains, but then I couldn’t watch the woods from my bed as I’m falling asleep each night. This morning, instead of just lieing in bed and waiting for the alarm to go off, as I usually do, I got up and decided to take the dogs for longer walks instead.

Dog and I went down the mountain to the pond and walked around it. Spring’s dawn chorus is already starting to be fairly impressive, though still far from the near-deafening crescendo of sound that is late April or early May. This morning’s chorus started with the sound of a lone eastern phoebe. That bird just entered the spring’s chorus for the first time last weekend, one of the very earliest migrants. The phoebe is early in other ways, too, often starting its call when the night is just a few shades paler than fully dark. The phoebe was joined not much later in the morning by the cardinals, bluebirds and robins. Calling crows, a screaming killdeer and the distant honk of geese add their voices.

The mockingbirds provide jazz riffs—you never know whose song is going to come of those beaks. I’ve found that listening to what songs they’re singing at the moment pretty much tells you what other species of birds are around. It was the mockingbird who first alerted me to the newly arrived presence of the phoebe. The mocker has been singing robin and blue jay and bluebird songs for weeks, but suddenly the phoebe’s voice was added to the repertoire, a sure sign that the noisy gray bird had heard the call recently. Later that same morning I heard the song from the real deal, not the faux trickster.

A few minute later, the morning’s second act starts—the song sparrow and the twittering juncos, punctuated by the occasional percussive staccato of the flickers hammering territory on dead trees and transformer boxes (love that hollow sound!).

The walk and daily morning performance were just what I needed, far better than a few extra minutes of coziness in bed.

Closed for the Season

The first day of spring greeted me with snow flurries this morning. Winter’s north wind still blows, though not with the meaness of just a week or so ago. Ski Roundtop is now officially closed for the season, ending yesterday afternoon with its traditional pond skimming—an event where skiers, often in swim suits, ski down a slope and across a pond of water. If they hit it just right (and aren’t too heavy) they might make it across the water, but usually they don’t.

I don’t particularly care for spring. For one thing it means winter is over. For another, spring is a season that apparently has a great press agent, always promising warm weather, gentle breezes, baby animals, etc. The hype for this season is so much nicer than the reality. The reality is usually a cold rain, and this brings up my own personal nickname for spring: mud season. There’s not much fun going down the mountain to walk along the stream in the valley when every step I take creates giant sucking noises. I think I stopped liking spring about the first time I ruined a decent pair of boots and came home with muddy feet.

Pretty Smart!

This morning, perhaps because the weather has turned cool again, I had quite a crowd at my bird feeder. It was just the usual suspects: cardinals, juncos, blue jays, titmice, chickadees, downy woodpeckers, nuthatch, etc. But they were all there at once and created quite a crowd. Suddenly of the blue jays, a notorious mimic, gave a perfect red-tailed hawk scream, and the others birds scattered. This left the blue jay with the feeder all to himself, where it took full advantage to eat all the peanuts. I don't know if the bird had a clue what the effect of the red-tailed hawk scream would be to the rest of the birds at the feeder, but jays are smart, and if the bird didn't know before, I'm guessing it will know in the future!

Scavenging

Last evening I started one of my favorite post-ski season activities—looking for things, usually money, that people drop on the slopes. I follow the edges of the melting snow pack on the ski slopes and see what I can find. Last year I found about $30 in cash, mostly quarters. My best find was a pretty hand-crocheted scarf in spring colors. I still have it. It dried out pretty nice.

I’m pretty much a piker when it comes to finding stuff on the slopes. There’s a guy with a metal detector that I see every year. He slowly works his way back and forth across every slope. It takes him days. My neighbor down the mountain says he found over $100 in coins last year, but he gets off work earlier than I do and since he works at Roundtop he can scavenge on his lunch hour. Plus he now has a metal detector too.

Still, there’s a lot of stuff, some of it decent stuff, to be found. There are always rumors of lost rings, Rolex watches, etc., but I don’t know of anyone who’s ever found anything that good. My neighbor has already found several strands of prettily painted beaded necklaces hanging on a tree. And (yet another) pair of gloves, which he gave to me. Nice ones, too. Gore-tex fleece. One less pair to add to the hundreds of pairs lost this year on the slopes. I’m not exaggerating. One of my duties during the season is to search the lost and found when people report they’ve lost something. That stuff all gets donated to a local shelter.

So last night the light was fading because I didn’t get home until late, and I wasn’t having any luck finding something. I sort of suspect this won’t be a good a year for finding stuff since the season ended early, and the warm weather in January kept a lot of people away. But I was determined not to quit until I found something. And then I saw it. A dime. Not an auspicious way to start the scavenging season, but at least it is a start.

Random Notes

I don’t ever remember a winter (or any season) that was so constantly windy as this one has been. One was more than enough, thanks.

I found the first sign of spring greenery yesterday. Before I moved to the cabin, the previous owner planted a small number of Easter flowers at the edge of the driveway—crocus, hyacinth, etc. After all these years, those spring bulbs are still coming up. One of them is now about 1 inch above ground. So far I haven’t seen any signs of life from the native flora.

Baby Dog is probably too old to be called Baby Dog anymore. Maybe I should call her Girl Dog.

So what's the deal with the weather?

Weather here is psychotic. Monday the temperature neared 80ºF, followed by a big windstorm. Last night I followed my moon shadow down the lane, buffeted by heavy winds. My shadow and I looked drunk as the wind staggered us or suddenly eased. This morning I had snow flurries—a 45º change in temperature from the day before. Friday, several inches of snow are predicted. Even for March, this is unusually bipolar.

March Magic

What's the best thing about living in the woods? Every day, something magical happens.

Last night I heard spring peepers, not a lot yet, but some. Today was so warm that I was outside during the day in a t-shirt, cleaning leaves off the decks that didn't finish falling until about one day before the first snow. After dark it was still warm, so I sat out on my front deck in a long-sleeved t-shirt and was comfortable, enjoying the evening. Even the moths were out. The only light in the woods is my porch light, a 100-watt bulb in a lamp.

My neighbor from further up the mountain was out for an evening walk on our dirt road and headed into my lane when he saw me sitting on the deck, under the light. We chatted for a bit, mostly about what animals we've seen lately. While we're sitting on the deck we hear the sound of a huge flock of Canada geese go by overhead. I didn't see a single bird, but I know how much noise a few thousand geese can make, and this group must have numbered in that range.

Several minutes later we hear the sound of snow geese. The sound gets closer and closer. Suddenly the geese appear, just over the tops of the trees, a flock of 75 or so, lit up underneath by my single light bulb. The lighting effect on the geese looks otherwordly. The white breasts of the birds glowed as they passed overhead, so close we could hear the sound of their wings over the honks as they headed north, soon passing out of the range of my light and into the dark.

Night Shot

Okay, so it's not the best night picture you've ever seen, but it's the first one I've ever taken, and so I'm pleased that it turned out at all. I took this at dawn last week on one of my early morning walks. The bright "star" on the left is actually one of the big planets, but I forget if it's Jupiter or Saturn.

Random News

“One swallow does not make a summer, but one skein of geese, clearing the murk of a March thaw, is the spring.” - Aldo Leopold, A Sand Country Almanac

I stepped out of the cabin just after dawn this morning to be greeted by the sounds of hundreds of Canada geese, high overhead, coursing north. And with apologies to Aldo, this March thaw is more like a rapid boil, with the March murk more like muddy than anything. Today the local temperature is to be in the mid-60’s! The overnight “low” matched the daytime high of just 3-4 days ago.

Last night I played with Dog and threw a snowball at him, mostly because it’s probably the last time I’ll be able to do that. (He loves snowballs). I expect today’s temperature will eliminate the last of my snow.

The results of the February yard bird listing competition for Pennsylvania are in, and I’m tied for #7 in my category! This is so hilarious, and I’m so surprised. I had a measly 7 species to add to the list for February. I have little hope of improving my ranking. The person in the number 1 slot in my category has 19 more species than I do. Counting all categories, including the unlimited acreage category, I’m listed at #23.

The ideal “yard” for this competition would include woods (which I have) and an active pond where lots of waterfowl stop (which I don’t have). The ponds at Roundtop get a few birds that I can sometimes count because they fly over the cabin or I can hear/see the waterfowl from the cabin, but they aren’t active waterfowl stops. Pinchot Lake, which is several hundred acres or so, is just 2 miles away, so the waterfowl much prefer to stop there than on the little ponds at Roundtop.

My real Baby Dog is now back! No more stitches, no more conehead! Just one wild little border chow (I've decided she's part border collie and part chow, hence she's a border chow). She also has wonky ears, which I hadn't noticed before. One stands up more than the other.

Spring News

Spring is arriving, one small change at a time. Last night, as I walked the dogs for the last time, I heard the sound of hundreds of Canada geese, flying somewhere in or above the cloud cover, and heading north. “Geese!” I said to Dog who looked around (but not up) excitedly, no doubt thinking the birds were on the pond.

Once, when Dog and I were walking around the pond, a small flock of geese landed on it. Dog, in his excitement, broke away from me and jumped into the pond, swimming towards them. The geese swam to the other end of the pond, chased by a swimming dog, who stayed with them until he tired. Fortunately, he was able to make the shoreline before he gave out completely. But the word “geese” still gets his attention.

This morning I saw a single wild turkey in the overflow parking field at Roundtop. It was a large male, though alone and without a harem. It’s the first I’ve seen at Roundtop in 2006. At my parents’ farm, however, this has been a banner winter for turkey. They have about 30 that parade back and/or forth across the road almost daily. That group has one large tom and several younger toms with it. This past weekend the big tom was strutting his stuff, fanning his tail and exceedingly proud of his very large harem. When the birds are in their upper yard, they just about cover it. My parents often comment that many people drive by without even noticing that 30 turkeys are in the yard just a few feet from the road. They’re so busy talking on their cell phones or looking down the road that they don’t notice anything else.

Tonight, Baby Dog finally gets her stitches out! I think she’s forgotten (or pretends she has forgotten) just about everything she was taught before the cone went on two weeks ago. I think tomorrow we will have a play day to try and rid her of some of her excess energy. Then on Saturday, the lessons in civilizing behavior will begin again.

Raccoons are awake and out

Last night I talking on the phone and realized I hadn't turned on the porch light, so I walked over and flipped the switch. When I did I saw the hugest raccoon ever on the front deck eating the cat food. I mean this thing was twice the size of my 13 lb Maine Coon cat, so I'm guessing it was well over 20 lbs.

Since the raccoon is obviously awake and out of its den, I suppose I'm forced to admit that spring is here. I haven't seen any signs of new greenery yet, but with the temperatures due to reach the 60's this weekend, that can't be far behind. The 60's are waaay too warm for March, and I am not ready for this.

In good news: The conehead is removed tomorrow. I've discovered that it's just about impossible to train a dog who's wearing a cone. She can't see, she doesn't hear well with it on. I suspect that after 2 weeks of the cone, I will be back at square one with her training. Wait a minute. That's not good news! Oh well, at least the weekend is coming up, so I'll have some time to work with her.

Still Life with Snow

Despite my best intentions, my own life this weekend wasn't a still one, so I'm only now updating the blog. That said, I hope you enjoy this shot I took during the snow last week. I don't know what I was expecting, but I kind of like the way it turned out.

This past weekend at Roundtop might well have been the last great weekend of skiing for the winter. The snow was wonderful. Next weekend, however, the temperatures are predicted to be near 70o, amazing considering it was 15o at the house the other morning. The warm temperatures should ensure a great turnout for the bikini and speedo race during Roundtop's Springfest but is not the best thing in the world for keeping the snow on the ground.

My natural snow is already gone, except for a few patches. I'm starting to see signs of spring--a big flock of common grackles just showed up this morning. The dawn chorus of birds is also gearing up, even if it's only the opening bars and still only the winter residents. I've heard reports around the state of a few eastern phoebes, a better predictor of spring that the cliche'd robin, but none have arrived here yet. So, even though I don't like to admit it, I suppose I have little choice but to accept that spring is already making an appearance.

Conehead

The conehead. A photo of the conehead is as she appeared the day after I brought her home from the vet's. She still wasn’t feeling too great at this point. Today, she is banging around the house, driving me nuts. I will be so happy when the cone and her stitches are gone. I haven’t really be able to continue her training while she’s wearing the cone, so I’m sure it will be like starting all over again. With the cone on, she can only see directly in front of her, and she doesn’t seem to hear too well either. So she can’t see me while I’m trying to work on walking nicely. She has a long way to go on that one, even without the cone.

For a while, I was leaving her out of the crate, but leashed, when I was at work, as she barely fits in the kennel with the cone. But when I came home yesterday, I discovered that she had chewed the doorframe into my bedroom and clawed the wall, so now she is stuffed into the crate. And I have will have to sand and re-stain the door frame and plug up the depression she made in the wall, a project that will have to wait until my next paycheck.

One Degree from Disaster (and sniffing into the wind)

The forecast sounded ominous—the dreaded freezing rain and sleet for the commuting hours. Last night just before bed I went outside, without the dogs for once, to check the sky and sniff the air. The sky was only partially overcast, but more overcast than just a few hours before, so I could tell that the weather system was progressing.

Sniffing into the wind, I could scent the rawness of the air, almost taste the ice. Now, I’m going to tell you something kind of disgusting, but it’s a guaranteed way of improving your ability to smell or scent something. Human noses aren’t very good, but I think they’re better than we give ourselves credit for. We’re so used to being told how poor our ability to scent is, compared with virtually all other animals, that we tend to ignore what we are capable of.

I’ve learned to scent deer and bear as well as raccoons (and dogs and cats and other things). It helps a lot if the first time you scent them the aroma is particularly intense.

Have you ever wondered why animals with good scenting ability have moist noses? Because it improves even their already keen ability to scent. For a human, having a moist nose also improves your ability to scent, though of course you’ll never be anywhere near as good as a dog.

To me, bears smell like something rotten with an undertone of musk. Alaskan black bears smell like rotten fish. Pennsylvania black bears also smell rotten, but the scent is a bit more like rotten fruit. Raccoons have a similar smell but it’s more pungent. Deer smell musky. Find a spot where deer hang out, preferably in a little hollow that will hold the scent in place. Then choose a warm humid day with no breeze and go sniff.

So, that being said, here’s how I do it. Moisten the outside of your nostrils with spit, and while it’s still wet, scent into the wind. I think this at least doubles whatever scenting ability humans have without the moisture. You’ll be surprised at how many odors you can scent and then later learn to identify.

So there I was last night, sniffing into the wind and knowing the storm is on its way. This morning, ice against the window woke me up around 5 a.m.

This first shower of sleet and freezing rain didn’t last long, so the ice buildup wasn’t severe. Fortunately, although the sky continued to look threatening, nothing much fell out of it. I drove to work this morning, my eye on the outside temperature as displayed inside the truck. It stayed at 33ºF the entire drive in. Where I am, I was one degree from disaster. I expect the folks just 10-15 miles north of me weren’t so lucky. If I ever learn to tell the temperature by sniffing, I’ll let you know.