Summer Days

I have no special reason to post this photo today. I simply like this view--it's the first non-woods view I see as I'm driving off the mountain. I've posted the same view in early spring when it was covered by a dusting of snow. So, since it's mid-summer now I thoughtI'd post a summer version of it.

It's hot here, and consequently not much is going on. The critters spend about 23.5 hours a day sleeping and no more than 30 minutes doing other things.

I like this time of year at Roundtop. No one is around, and it's like living on an estate--one that I don't have to pay taxes on or mow or maintain. I get to wander all over and don't have to worry about running into other people. Even the wild animals usually ignore me--they're not stressed by the presence of anyone else or too much extraneous activity so they're pretty calm. It makes watching them even more interesting.

Almost Back to Normal

Flood waters are still receding and though everything is still wet, everything is no longer water-logged—except perhaps these turkey vultures who were out drying off on the fence along the road into Roundtop. And my walking shoes which took 3 days to dry out.

Last night several moths entered the house when I opened the door to walk the dogs after dark. The cats went wild. The bad cat was so fixated on watching the moths that he ran headlong into a wall. This morning he has a small bump above his right eye to prove it.

The first of the black raspberries are ripe. I’ve picked enough along the driveway to put on my cereal in the morning. Dog loves black raspberries. Last year I fed him one that I’d just picked, and now he tries to pick his own raspberries. Unfortunately, he picks the red un-ripe ones as well as the black ones.

No Rain Today!

It hasn’t rained for almost 24 hours, which makes me feel today as if I am on a different planet from the one I’ve been marooned on for the past 4-5 days. The basement, while not completely dry, is at least no longer deep in water. So my life is starting to feel a little more normal again.

The local streams and rivers are a different story. The water under the bridge I cross to come to work is nearly up to the bottom of the bridge. Debris that can no longer pass under it is banging up against the side. The Susquehanna River was within a few feet of flood stage this morning when I crossed it. This normally sleepy river is a raging torrent right now, filled with trees and other flotsam.

I saw a coyote yesterday evening—the first I’ve seen all year. It bolted across the road in front of me, visible only in the moment it was in the open space of the road.

Dog and Baby Dog seemed surprised this morning at the absence of rain and didn’t know what to do with themselves without it. Baby Dog was scared by a rock in the middle of the driveway. She acted as though it was a Big Hairy Monster and barked at it. I thought, at first, that she must be looking at something other than this fist-sized rock, at something I couldn’t see. It was a mild-mannered looking rock that just happened to be standing up on an edge. When I kicked it over, she pretended she hadn’t been scared at all and tried to play with it, even picking it up in her mouth and carrying it around for a while.

More Rain

More rain overnight—another 3-4 inches. I think I’m going to give up trying to count the inches. I know I’m closing in on 13-15 inches of it since Saturday night. I’ve had to borrow a sump pump from Ski Roundtop as mine gave up the ghost in last night’s downpour.

I now have weeds taller than my head out behind the cabin. I’ve been in real jungles and believe me when I say the area behind the cabin is no different. At the moment it is not raining, and every minute without it is a minute to the good, at this point.

Even the dogs, who typically ignore weather either good or bad, seem affected. Baby Dog won’t go into the woods anymore. She just squats in the middle of the lane and hurries back into the house. They’ve even given up playing in the stream rushing down the mountain that used to be my road.

Surprisingly, the Susquehanna River doesn’t yet look that terrible, as it won’t be above flood stage for another day or so. The Yellow Breeches Creek, the largest creek in the area, went from being not quite bank full last evening to being double its normal width and nearly reaching the underside of the bridge this morning. The Yellow Breeches, pronounced locally as Yella Breches (it’s not quite pronounced as britches) comes by its name honestly. It is yellow and muddy right now.

If this is global warming, I want no more of it. If it’s not global warming, I want no more of it.

Power Back!

Being without power has made me realize that even in a cabin in the woods, there’s not much I can do without it. I don’t live “off the grid,” so I’m nearly as dependent on electricity as someone who lives in the suburbs.

Food: I couldn’t open the refrigerator door unless I wanted to let the cold air out, so I had to use the contents of my emergency kit, which wasn’t particularly exciting stuff.

Cooking: the backpacking stove is handy but since I can’t use it inside and it was raining buckets outside and electricity was working just 3-4 miles away, going out to eat was far easier. Plus, the selection of food was much better.

Cleaning: The broom only works on non-carpeted areas. I couldn’t even iron.

Water: The pump doesn’t work without electric, though I had water in my emergency kit. With nearly 10” of rain (Yes, you read that right) falling since Saturday night there was also plenty outside. I have one of those backpacking showers but this isn’t ideal for hair washing. I also limited dishwashing as without firing up the backpacking stove I couldn’t heat water.

Light: I have battery-powered camp lanterns and oil lanterns but neither provides the level of light that an electric light does—especially when daylight is nearly as dark as night. The headlamp is the best thing to use for reading.

Entertainment: No TV, no computer. Bored dogs get into trouble quickly. The cats slept. I read a lot.

Bottom line: I’m awfully glad the electricity is back on.

Other news: The lane is completely washed out. Water raced down the mountain, digging foot-deep channels in the road. Four wheel drive is needed right now to get in and out. The ground is so soaked that trees are starting to fall. I actually saw one (small) behind the cabin fall this morning when I was out walking the dogs. On my drive to work, I saw a larger one had fallen on a power line and was blocking one lane of the road. But this was another power company, so this time I wasn’t affected.

No Power, No Blog

I've been without power for the past 18 hours or so, so I haven't been able to blog. This area got in the neighborhood of 6" of rain in the past 24 hours--the worst rain event I remember since Hurricane Agnes in the 1970's. My rain gauge overflowed at 5", and I didn't bother to go outside to updump it. I'll post more in a bit.

J. J. Audubon

I am reading the personal journals of John James Audubon, a gift from a friend, and I am struck by two things. Even though I knew Audubon shot the birds he drew so his drawings would be accurate, I did not realize how many birds he shot. Day and day out, his journals chronicle each one--fish hawks (ospreys), hermit thrush, 17 turkey, warblers, thrushes. Hardly a day goes by without killing 10-20 birds of as many species as he could find that day. The numbers are simply huge. Audubon also chronicles the contents of the birds' stomachs. So he's learning what the birds eat as well.

The second thing is that weather in 1820 seems quite a bit cooler than today. In mid-October of 1820, Audubon was on a boat on the river separating Ohio and Kentucky. He's already talking about heavy frosts--not one heavy frost, but cold weather day in and day out.

I remember October's weather as being more variable here when I was younger, but heavy and continual frosts probably didn't settle in until the end of the month or early November.

At any rate, a lot of things have changed in 186 years.

Summer Storm, etc.

This morning Dog was fooled by the "old broken wing trick" displayed by a killdeer. We were walking in Roundtop's north parking lot, which is stone-covered and so prime territory for killdeer. When I first saw the bird it was upside down, belly in the air, flapping weakly as though it was on its very last leg. Dog has always had a thing for killdeer, since back when he was a puppy, so it is no surprise he thought he was (finally!) about to get one. After a few seconds I saw a tiny killdeer very near to where we were walking, and had to pull Dog away so the tiny baby, which Dog never saw, could escape.

Last night was a severe and slow-moving thunderstorm, with lots of rain and sustained lightning. I started hearing the storm just before dark, and because it was so slow-moving, the lightning storm seemed to go on forever. I couldn't see bolts of lightning in the sky--the thick leaf cover hides that from me. But the woods would suddenly burst into brightness with multiple bursts keeping the woods light for a second or two at a time. Then it would darken again. Some of the bolts weren't as strong and then the lightning only brightened a few trees or sometimes looked like someone turning on a flashlight for a few seconds deeper in the woods. Then it would be dark again.

And then I saw a lightning bug flash, itself a little mini-burst of lightning. Then real lightning would flash again and in the interim before the next flash, more lightning bugs, some very close, some deeper in the woods. I don't ever remember seeing lightning and lightning bugs in such a tandem operation before. It was a little symphony of light, the smaller one echoing the sky's drama with grace notes of its own.

Woods

Summer solstice has passed, and the days will start to grow shorter, though it will be a long time before they feel shorter.

This picture was taken in the early morning along an old woods road that winds along the edge of the mountain. It makes a good footpath for me and the dogs. The undergrowth is a bit too dense to make bushwhacking enjoyable.

I enjoy my early morning walks in daylight. I get up early to take a solo walk. Then I walk the dogs. I've learned that just walking the dogs doesn't constitute exercise for me. They stop and sniff and play, and I spend more time keeping an eye on them than anything. So a solo walk is a bit of time just for me. Rolling out of bed when there's at least a little light in the sky is a lot easier than when it's dark outside. Most of the time, I'm already awakening anyway as the sky fades from dark to light.

Summer Days

In every way, I can feel that summer has arrived on the mountain. The temperature and humidity are just a small part of it. Evening brings cooling temperatures and legions of lightning bugs, blinking like miniature flashes of lightning throughout the darkened woods.

Birds of many species fly until it is too dark for me to see—unlike in winter when the last half-hour of semi-daylight is already a quiet time. Now, chimney swifts fly until I can barely see them, recognizing them only by their distinctive “flying cigar” silhouettes. Wood thrush and ovenbirds call long after the sun has set. Phoebes and, especially, pewees will even call after dark, a soft and haunting coda to the day.

The air smells warm and carries the lush scent of the summer forest, so different than the fresh earthy scent of spring. Summer’s scent is rich and heady, almost like an expensive perfume applied just a tad too heavily. The dogs point their noses into the air and sniff, and would no doubt be able to tell me many secrets, if only they could.

The wind, when it blows, is usually from the south or southwest. In winter the prevailing wind is most often from the north or northwest. As often as not, the trees are still, and flags hang limply, as though moving is simply too great an effort, even for them.

Moving becomes an effort for the animals too. Dog and Baby Dog loll around, obstacles to be stepped over and tripped on. Forest animals are hardly better and seem reluctant to startle. The groundhog that lives at the foot of the lane watches warily as I walk past—but doesn’t dart down his hole. Rabbits bounce easily ahead of me, then hunker by the side of the lane, perhaps in hopes that I won’t walk closer so they can continue whatever adventure they were pursuing.

It’s a quiet time in many ways. The last migration is over and the next is not yet near. The territorial disputes are settled. Night closes in and the day ends.

And Now in Local News...

Last evening I had a close encounter with a pileated woodpecker, the smaller and less white version of the Ivory-billed woodpecker. I was out walking Dog before it got too dark to see and had just turned into my driveway when a large, crow-sized bird flew just a few feet past my right shoulder and landed in a tree about 15 feet away and about 10 feet up. The sighting is odd for a couple of reasons. Pileated woodpeckers are usually kind of shy and are most often seen flying away from me. This one, a female, flew right by me and then landed close to where I was standing. Dog was even closer. The bird didn’t act shy. I don’t know if she had a nest nearby or was just unconcerned. She looked down at us, as though surprised to find us there. Eventually, she flew to the next tree and then flew past the cabin and deeper into the woods. I think it was my closest non-binoculared view ever of a pileated.

I also saw a brood of 11-12 tiny wild turkey—the first brood I’ve seen at Roundtop. They ran across the road in front of me, half going across the road with mom, the other half staying on the other side. I heard them peeping and mom clucking. I just hope they all got back together again after I passed. For several years a tom turkey has been strutting his stuff and calling on the mountain. He’s kind of a weird bird. I’ve seen him up in the north parking lot strutting around, tail all fanned out, with no one and nothing around. I’ve seen him display his tail when a car drives by. This spring I heard him gobbling all over the mountain, but this is the first evidence I’ve seen that he’s gotten lucky.

Deer are starting to drop their fawns, as well. My dad saw a tiny fawn stumble and wobble across the road in front of their farm this weekend. I’ve been seeing a few skinny doe standing around where I don’t expect to see deer. This morning Baby Dog and I saw one along Roundtop’s service road. So she probably has a fawn in that tangle somewhere too.

Goose Parade

I was walking down to the lodge the other day to get my mail when I came across this goose parade. The babies were being marched from one pond to the next, and they're about to enter this one. Yesterday, I counted a total of 19 geese.

It's been a quiet week at the cabin, pleasantly so. I heard a wood thrush sing this morning. They've been quieter for a few weeks because of nesting duties, so it was nice to be awakened by their song again.

In a few days, it will be summer solstice, and then the hours of daylight will slowly start to fade. I've been noticing that because of the surrounding mountains, my sunrise is about 30 minutes later than the the official sunrise times at the nearest city. Official sunrise is 5:37 right now, but I saw didn't see the sun breach the mountain to the east until just before 6:15 a.m. And sunset is about 30 minutes earlier as well. Sunset is officially supposed to be around 8:45 p.m., but I'm watching the sun drop below the western mountain around 8:15 p.m. It stays light for hours after the sun's disk has disappeared. Even at 10 p.m. I can't yet see but a few of the brightest stars.

Early Morning Dog

Dog never met a pond he didn't like. He doesn't seem to understand the idea that it's possible to take a drink from one without getting his entire body wet.

The baby geese that hang out here when Dog isn't around are getting large--they are the size of roasting chickens, at least. They are still down-covered, but their down is now almost the colors they will be when they are feathered. I counted 19 geese last night--7 babies and the rest adults.

Invisible

Something was going on at the mountain this morning, but I have no idea what it was. At dawn the crows were already cawing nervously, crisscrossing the area as though looking for some danger they could not find. The turkey vultures, who normally wait an hour or so after dawn to take to the skies (so the heat of the morning sun has a chance to create thermals) were already airborne. The white-breasted nuthatches, who have been silent with nesting duties the past few weeks, were noisy again.

I’ve learned to pay attention to what goes on in the forest. Just because I can’t sense or see something doesn’t mean it isn’t there. The forest animals can sense things that are invisible or imperceptible to me. Often, if I have time to stop and wait, I will find out what it is—a fox, perhaps, or a raptor. This morning, I suspect some kind of airborne threat, simply because the rabbit and local groundhogs behaved normally, unconcerned.

Once, I was up in the Adirondacks, already deep in the woods in the early morning, when the normal morning activity of the birds suddenly quieted and then stopped entirely. I sat down and waited and watched. After about 20 minutes of sitting, I saw a Cooper’s Hawk slip out of the pines and move deeper into the forest. Within a very few minutes, the forest birds were active again, going about their morning routines. The threat was gone, and they knew it. I hadn’t known the hawk was there, but the birds around me sensed or saw its presence and their reactions told me something was up.

Sometimes, I can sense a threat only to find out it isn’t really “here.” Several years ago, in mid-summer, I smelled smoke, wood smoke. Since I live in the woods, my first thought was a forest fire. I turned on the police scanner but heard nothing. The smell got worse, and with it my feeling of unease. Before long, I could see a haze in the air that I knew was wood smoke. I tried to pinpoint the location of the smell, to no avail. I hiked around the edge of the mountain and around the foot of it, trying to find the source of the smell. Finally, the smell faded, a bit, and I gave up my search, only partially satisfied by the results of my hike. Later that day I learned that smoke from forest fires in Canada was affecting our region.

This morning, I was reminded of that incident by the way the birds behaved. They knew something was going on but couldn’t locate the source of their unease. I could see their unease in the ways they behaved and that warned me. For me, today is a work day, and I couldn’t linger to try and find out what caused the birds’ distress. I’ll probably never know, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there.

Turtle!

I'm so disappointed in my photos of this snapping turtle. This thing was large! The shell was in the 12-14" range. The tail added another 4-6 inches, the head when extended must have added another 3-4." I was so afraid that it would move that I didn't even think to get anything in the background that would give an indication of its size. And I was cautious about getting too close to it, as well. These things have a nasty reputation, most of it well deserved.

This isn't the snapping turtle that I rescued from the road last week. That one was a baby compared to this one. Here's how I found this one: Baby Dog and I were out for our early morning walk when I saw what I thought was one of the outdoor cats that hang around Roundtop in the center of the mountain's dirt service road. But it didn’t look quite right. So I got a little closer and then thought ah, there’s 2 cats there. But it still didn’t look quite right. So I got a little closer, and now I realized it was a turtle walking, not crawling, but walking up on its legs. The bottom of its shell was a good 5-6" above the ground. It was those back legs that I took for cats.

So I quickly rushed back to the cabin with Baby Dog, grabbed the camera and went back to look for the turtle. Much to my amazement (but, duh! It’s a turtle!) it was still there. As soon as it saw me, it came down off its legs, with the bottom of its shell resting on the ground, and suddenly it didn’t look nearly so big. Who know where it was going, but it was on a mission to somewhere.

New Bird Species

I had a new bird species at the cabin on Saturday morning. It was a northern waterthrush that perched momentarily on the deck railing, giving its "chink" call. A waterthrush looks like a brown, not cinnamon, wood thrush with an eye stripe. These birds like bogs and water and lots of cover. The fact that the area behind the cabin is dense enough to attract a waterthrush made me wonder if I need to weed whack out there or something. It was only a momentary thought. But I guess it is more jungly than I though--I don't go out that way in summer. I have a nice winter trail out the back of the cabin, and I did notice that the area seemed pretty dense out there this spring, but I never thought it was dense enough for waterthrush.

Surprises

Every now and again, things happen that are unexpected. Really unexpected. My latest sightings were both unexpected in small ways. I mean, don’t expect to read that I suddenly have wild elephants or pterodactyls in the forest. Nonetheless, what I saw was a surprise.

Surprise #1: This morning it’s just after dawn, and I’m walking the dogs. It’s mostly clear out, some clouds in the east. At the end of our walk, I turn around to go back to the cabin and there in front of me, in the western sky, is a beautiful rainbow. It’s the first I’ve seen this year. It was also the first rainbow I’ve ever seen so soon after dawn, with the sun just above the horizon, so its arc was almost as pointed as a McDonald’s arch. Apparently, the water in the clouds on the eastern horizon was enough to produce this lovely sight, but who would’ve guessed?

Surprise #2: This morning I’d just started my drive to work. I was still well before reaching open farmland and still surrounded by forest when a black rabbit casually hops across the road in front of me. I do a double take and stop the car. Yes, it really was a black rabbit. Obviously, it was someone’s escaped or released pet, but still, this isn’t an everyday occurrence. If the thing escaped, it’s at least a mile from the nearest house (and I’ve never seen a rabbit cage there). It seemed happy enough and even reasonably wary.

Not a surprise: Baby Dog has put herself on stakeout duty at the front door in the evening to watch for the raccoon. She stands with her nose to the glass, at attention and she waits. Seeing the raccoon seems to be the high point of her day, and she has enormous patience when waiting for it to show up. When the raccoon does appear, she jumps into action, barking and jumping, trying to scare it away. It is not particularly scared by her, though instead of going directly to the dish, as it did before, it now more cautiously stays on the last step and stretches a paw into the dish.

Feline Residents

"But, Mom, you promised we'd go birding!"

This picture has nothing to do with the cabin, but it's a good picture of my Maine Coon cat Ben, who should have been named Total Destruction for the havoc he wreaks around the place. When I saw him resting this way, I just had to take a picture (and was surprised that he didn't move until I ran and got the camera).

The next picture is of Smokey, my one-eyed foster
kitty, also a Maine coon cat. Smokey is a sweet old boy who loves to sit on my lap. He has taken over the upstairs bedroom but won't leave it to explore other rooms, even though the door is left open. And just as funny, my cats now won't go into the upstairs bedroom.

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.