Blooms arrive! Birds, too

The first of the new spring wildflowers are out! Coltsfoot is up and blooming here on Roundtop Mountain. The only other blooms I found this weekend were two tiny spring beauties. Bloodroot is almost blooming and likely will appear today for the first of its one- or two-day annual extravaganza.

But yesterday was the day for the coltsfoot to appear, urged by the warm temperatures and the sun. Winter ended abruptly this year, replaced by a warm March. And though it feels to me as though it has been warm enough for long enough that the early blooms should have appeared before this, the reality is that they are blooming pretty much on time. In 2008 the first coltsfoot appeared on April 6 and in 2007 it was April 17, but that year a late cold snap likely affected them. In 2009 I didn’t record the date, but the blooms typically arrive the first week of April.

Coltsfoot is the earliest of the blooms I see here on the mountain. For years, I thought they were dandelions and didn’t pay much attention to them. Eventually I realized they had no dandelion leaves and that’s when I found out that are not dandelions at all. Coltsfoot isn’t native to this hemisphere, being among the huge number of plants brought over from Europe for their medicinal purposes.

On Saturday morning I left the mountain, dropped down about 650 feet in altitude and went to Pinchot State Park where I saw many more blooms. My best guess is that 650 feet in altitude equates to about a week’s difference between what I see on the mountain and what is happening down in the valley.

The good weather prompted large numbers of birds to fly north, starting on Friday. New arrivals on the mountain are eastern towhees, brown-headed cowbirds and chipping sparrows. Expect to see a lot of wildflower photos here at Roundtop Ruminations this week. Flowers are much better at sitting still than the birds!

In the moment

Looking towards the future or examining the past gets in the way of too many of my present  moments. Here on the mountain, where I am surrounded by beauty, I am often jolted out of my plans and reflections by some stunning moment of light or beauty or simply by nature’s complexity. I wish I didn’t need the jolt so often, though I’m glad I at least wake up when I get the jolt. Living without ever getting jolted by these amazing moments would be nightmarish.

For me, part of the difficulty of remaining in the moment has to do with forecasts. When a big storm is moving across the county, I know about it days before it arrives. When radar shows a huge migration lift-off up the east coast of the U.S., as it did last evening, I know the spring songbirds are coming. It’s difficult for me to stay in the moment when I know I’m about to get 2 feet or snow or when I know the raptors and songbirds will arrive tonight or tomorrow.

I’m not saying forecasts are a bad thing or that I wouldn’t want to know the storm is about to arrive. I’m just saying that forecasts feed into spending time planning for the future to the detriment of enjoying and appreciating the present moment. I can’t say that I know how to reconcile the very real benefit of a forecast with staying in and enjoying the present moment. I guess I’ll have to work on that. Some days  I don't seem to be making a lot of progress. 

But just so you know—the spring songbirds are on their way.

Sun!

After what feels like forever, the sun is out this morning and the temperature is climbing toward warm. The dogs are bouncy and full of energy, the chickens are trying to forage further afield and the raccoons are busier than ever. Everywhere I turn, everyone and everything showed more energy in the last 24 hours than I saw all winter long.

I’m starting to see signs of growth on the forest floor—the bloodroot is just tipping above ground, but most everything else is just an undecipherable leaf or two. I study the tiny leaves hoping I can figure out what they may turn out to be, but I usually give up. It’s too soon, if tantalizing.

I’ve also reached the point in the season where I need to clear up around the cabin. “Things” that made for interesting bumps in the snow now show themselves for the junk they really are. The stone walkway I’ve been very slowly building needs cleaned up and readied for more work. The juniper bush that I’ve let grow into a natural state is threatening to take over my driveway and certainly needs trimmed back. The unending war against multiflora rose needs to be engaged yet again. I know this war is unwinnable but the battle needs fought, and besides, I want to walk through my back forest without leather chaps. Perhaps this year.

Isn’t it amazing, what a little bit of sunshine can do?

Morning drama

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bright spots in the gloom

Weather and birds are funny and don’t always do what you might expect. After a balmy week, the temperature on Saturday morning was a chilly 20 degrees and the day was overcast and gloomy. Sunday proved to be a bit warmer but was still as gloomy, so my expectations for a Sunday morning birding run were not high. But the time of year is right, despite questionable weather, and I added 7 species to my 2010 list—blue-winged teal, great egret, double-crested cormorant, pied-billed grebe, tree swallows, rough-winged swallows and the first butterbutts of the season.

Butterbutts are a birder’s slang term for yellow-rumped warblers, which are usually the first warbler to appear in the spring. In this area of the hemisphere, they are the Myrtle race or subspecies of yellow-rumpeds. For some time, the two were thought to be a separate species, but not all that many years ago they were lumped in with the western birds and are, for the moment at least, considered a single species.

Mud and rain are still the dominant barriers to deep woods forays and better photographs around my cabin. I did manage to get my car into and out of a muddy two-lane access road on Sunday morning, but I was a bit lucky on the getting out part.

This morning the fog was so dense that I couldn’t see where I was walking, with or without my headlamp. Dog uncharacteristically hung back, too. I don’t think he could see any better. We are both hoping for improving weather, though we aren’t likely to see any before late on Tuesday.

Reflected

Spring is taking a pause at Roundtop this week. I’m not surprised, perhaps I’m even a bit relieved. Sustained warm weather in March, however much I appreciated a few days of it, simply isn’t normal. This past February was the snowiest on record in this area, and that was followed by what is shaping up to be the fifth warmest March ever. No wonder the change was so noticeable, and no wonder spring is taking a breather.

The pace of migration has slowed, too. Now that the snow geese and tundra swans, who are always desperate to reach their northern breeding grounds, are though, it will probably be a while before much else arrives. I do expect the towhees before long, but the insect-eating birds are probably the better part of a month away from reaching my cabin.

Last evening I was out peering at the tiny shoots of green that are starting to appear on the forest floor. At this stage—barely visible—I can’t identify much. So perhaps that’s why I didn’t notice the commotion around me until I was forced to. Suddenly, one of my chickens darted by me, a worm in her mouth, followed by 3 or 4 of the rest of the flock in hot pursuit. One had found the worm, which must be like lobster to chickens, and the others were hell-bent on stealing it from her. They raced around, soon squawking and flying. It looked like football or rugby or some very serious contact sport, but eventually the finder of the worm beat out her pursuers and gobbled the delicacy herself. Maybe I’ll get back to trying to identify plants tonight—or maybe I’ll just let the chickens out again.

Fun with spring

Spring is such fun! I wander around the forest, poking my nose here and there looking for whatever I can see, watching the morning to evening progress of the growing dog-toothed violet leaves. It’s a treat to be outside without four layers of clothing, to see daylight after my evening meal, to sit outside on the deck and watch the sun set.

You’d think I’d be used to this by now. I’ve seen more than half a century’s worth of springs, but sometimes I think I enjoy them more with each passing year. Spring doesn’t seem “old hat” to me, that’s for sure.

This spring almost appeared out of nowhere. Ten days ago winter’s grip was still tight, with more than a foot of snow on the ground. Perhaps it’s the sudden change of seasons this year that makes this spring seem extra sweet. Most years spring arrives more slowly. Sometimes the transition from winter to spring takes only baby steps or takes as many steps backwards as it makes forward for weeks on end. Not this year.

Last evening, I heard several rumbles of thunder and even that seemed novel. The rumbles didn’t turn into a storm. Still, everywhere I turn it’s something new again. And that’s what makes spring so much fun!

Morning light

After a cold and snowy winter, I certainly couldn’t have imagined that the snow would be gone by mid-March nor could I have predicted several days with temperatures nearing 70. But that’s what happened, and though a storm will soon bring the warm weather to an end, I certainly appreciated this spate of glorious weather, however brief.

Signs of spring are appearing daily around the cabin. The multi-colored leaves of the trout lily (aka dog-toothed violet or yellow violet) are pushing their way up through the decaying leaves. Yesterday three golden-crowned kinglets flitted through my back forest. The eastern phoebe that arrived last week has settled in, tame enough to land near me when I sit outside.

I haven’t yet found any coltsfoot, the yellow dandelion-look-alike flower that appears even before its leaves. That seems a bit odd but that’s spring. The season arrives in fits and starts and each year is a bit different. Certain things are similar, but nothing is ever the same with a season. I haven’t heard any towhees yet, which is also a bit odd, nor have I found any tree swallows either. Those will come, I’m sure.

My photo today is a female bluebird. The bluebirds are active again and right now they are more common than robins in my area. This one was with her more brightly colored mate as the two worked their way around the edge of Pinchot lake. When the early morning sun peeked through the trees and reached her perch, I thought she was every bit as pretty with her more delicate shades.

Still

The forest is still too wet and soggy to do much walking through it. Just when I think the footing will be okay, I sink in mud. For the moment, I am staying to areas I’ve already found to be solid ground underneath, though each day I can venture a bit further.

Despite three days of 60 degree weather, I have yet to find any signs of new growth around the cabin. Not even coltsfoot, that dandelion look-alike, has yet made an appearance. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow. That event can’t be far off.

The first phoebe appears to be settling in at the cabin, its haunting call carries through the woods late in the evening and early in the morning. The last note lingers like a sweet perfume, hanging in the air.

I know towhees can’t be far behind, nor the blue-gray gnatcatchers nor the kinglets. The first spring arrivals appear slowly, one after the other, but before long the arrivals come in pairs or groups and are soon almost too many to count. Those days aren’t here yet, and the woods still feels calm and quiet.

The hectic pace of May is fun, but I enjoy the quiet of these days, too. I sit on the deck and little happens to catch my eye or distract me. The woods are still and silent, the air calm. The days are warm, but the evenings turn chilly quickly. Perhaps a Red-tailed Hawk will soar over the treetops before it is too dark to see. Perhaps not. The quiet alone is enjoyment enough.

One season ends, another begins

Last night I heard the whistle of a flock of tundra swans heading north in a moonless sky over Roundtop. Their direction followed the north star as surely as if they were tied to it. This morning, the first eastern phoebe called from somewhere within the tangle of my side forest. One season ends, another begins.

Since the rain cleared, the days have been warm, the skies clear and bird migration is exploding. Hawkwatches report the first decent migration days of the season. Songbirds arrive, too. Many just pass through on their way to somewhere else, but all are on the wing now. The wind is calm and the weather is ideal for moving north.

On the ground, the earth has unfrozen and is loosening up, but I have yet to discover any sign of new green anything. A couple of spots seem promising. The small bits of grass on roadbanks or along edges no longer look withered or fully brown. But when I inspect them up close, I don’t seen signs of new growth, either. That can’t be far away, but I can’t see it just yet.

A few moths flutter outside my windows, though I can’t tell you which kinds. They are difficult enough to identify without seeing them only from the underside. Spring peepers are going full throttle down off the mountain. Up where I live, they still seem to be warming up and haven’t yet begun the big performance.

Seasons change in little steps, one thing at a time. The juncos are still here and some will remain for at least another month. They disappear slowly, or so it seems to me. By mid-April I will still have a few, though I might not see them every day. And then one day of not seeing them will stretch into three or five, and they will be gone again. One season ends, another begins.

Fungus weather

Tomorrow will be the day. Tomorrow will be sunny and warm, and a few hours of that will be all that’s needed for the first “new green” something to appear. Yesterday the rain finally stopped, except for an evening shower that I ignored. Still, the gloomy overcast remained all day, dark enough so that the entire afternoon seemed like a long twilight.

Last evening I wandered around the cabin, hoping to find something that was “new green.” It didn’t happen. I carefully examined the patches of moss but even the moss has the look of something that’s been through a rough spell. Being covered by four feet of snow can do that, even to the best moss.

It is still soggy here and still squishy, though I don’t seem to be slurping when I walk in the woods anymore. I’m calling that progress.

I half-expected to hear a phoebe this morning but that didn’t happen either. The time is right, and a full day of sunshine to fly north might be enough to bring them. I think tomorrow will be the day for that, too.

It's a soggy mess

The only thing soggier than the forest around me right now would be quicksand. Without the Wellies, I couldn’t get around at all. Even with Wellies, it’s not a lot of fun. I squish and slurp through the decaying leaves, sometimes sinking in mud up to my shins, though still protected by the Wellies.

Maybe I’m imagining it, but I don’t think the animals much like it either. This morning, the group of 7 deer that tiptoed across my back forest just before this rain started watched Dog and me from the safety of a small hillock. They wouldn’t move off their high ground, even when we got closer than I expected to get. A rabbit huddled under a bush and wouldn’t move, even as we walked by. Dog pretended not to notice.

I haven’t had phone service since the rain began, though I can’t say that I’ve missed it too much. I lost power for a while too, but this time of year that wasn’t bad for a few hours. The streams and low spots are all flooded.

My plan is to stay hunkered down until the mud clears past the point of sogginess. This weather is nothing a dozen cups of tea and a warm blanket won’t cure. And once the storm is finally over, whenever that is, spring will be here in earnest. I wouldn’t be surprised if spring exploded all at once like fireworks. I am ready for that.

My photo today was taken at Pinchot lake during a momentary break in the rain. It was the brightest moment of the weekend, and as you can see, it still wasn’t bright.

A few snow geese

I know video files are huge, and I apologize ahead of time to my fellow dial-up users. So with that in mind, I've kept this video clip very short. Still, if you'd like to hear and see a few seconds of tens of thousands of snow geese, here you go. Enjoy!

Migration really underway

Last night I could smell the rain that is to come. Four days of it are predicted. Flocks of Canada geese were moving, honking and honking and honking as they headed north. They were the last thing I saw and heard before I went to bed and nearly the first again when I got up this morning. The geese know that rain is coming, I am sure, so they are moving to try and get ahead of the storm or at least to get in one more full day of flight before the rains begin.

This week’s temperatures have decimated the snow. Even here on the mountain I am down to some extended patches of it, but patches nonetheless. At dusk last evening, Baby Dog set up such a cry that I thought the cabin must surely be under attack by wolves. Instead, I saw 7 deer, delicately wending their way around the patches. They were led by a doe, and following behind her in single file were smaller deer and two more doe. They weren’t skin and bones but they were thin, the smaller deer almost tiny, no doubt fawns from last season. The lead doe tiptoed carefully, as though through a mine field, as she stepped carefully through my back forest. I think she was leading them out of their winter yard and towards someplace with some fresher grazing.

This past weekend, in addition to my trip to Middle Creek, I found some interesting migrants at Pinchot lake. I found two young bad eagles were harassing the waterfowl. I never did decide if the eagles were serious but inept in their swoops on the geese and ducks or if chasing them was simply youthful hijinks on a beautiful day. In any event, the ducks did not appear to be in serious jeopardy but the eagles sure got them moving around and quacking.

My second not so great photo today is of a duck I am calling a female greater scaup because of its nicely rounded head. Although lesser scaup are the more common species inland, they have kind of a pointed head or at least a bump on the back. This one doesn’t, so I’m calling her a greater scaup. Feel free to disagree.

Migration underway!

Waterfowl migration is underway! Snow geese are amassing at Lancaster County’s Middle Creek Wildlife Management Area, as are tundra swans. I managed a too-short trip to Middle Creek on Sunday morning and guess that well over 50,000 snow geese are currently on the site.

For me, this kind of waterfowl migration is one of the wonders of this world. I think there are more than the traditional 7, but I would still rank this in the top 2 or 3. The sound that so many geese make is deafening, so it’s a good thing they aren’t always calling. But when they do start calling, I know another flock is coming in to join the thousands already there. The geese can hear their fellows before I can, but it usually doesn’t take longer than 30 seconds or so before I can hear and see the new arrivals coming, too.

This year, the ice and snow cover have delayed this migration spectacle. In an average year, the geese and swans are moving north around the end of February. A weekend ago, only about 2500 geese were at the site. Yesterday it was roughly 50,000. Tomorrow it may well be 100,000. Because the arrival is later this year, I don’t think it will be spread out over as many days as usual, but that will mean more geese at once at Middle Creek. The photo shows only a very small portion of the geese.  But even if I'd had a wide-angle lens, it wouldn't begin to capture the whole span of snow geese.

In a normal year, this upcoming weekend would be spectacular, too. This year I am not sure of that, and the forecast for rainy weather ahead may also play a part. But if you can make the trip, either this year or in some future year, don’t miss it. Once you’ve seen it, you’ll want to come back every year to see it again. I’ve been coming for more than 20 years now, and I never get tired of this amazing spectacle.

Early March

This morning when I took this photo, the sky was overcast and the sun was just starting to peek between the trees and rise above the horizon. The first blush of the day’s colors begins to tint the clouds. Few birds were yet stirring, and despite the time of year, the landscape still looks wintry and cold.

It was a surprise, then, when I first heard and then saw the season’s first killdeer, screaming and circling over the stone parking lot, which is bare of snow only because it has been plowed. March 5 is by no means my earliest record for killdeer. I’ve had them as early as the second week of February. But those sightings were not in years when I had the kind of snow cover you see in today’s photo.

Killdeer are frequently spotted through much of the winter in the southern part of my county or sometimes along the edge of the county where the Susquehanna River runs. Pennsylvania sits in what the range maps consider the summer-breeding range for the species. I am on the southern edge of that range, though, with everything to the south considered the year-round range for killdeer. As York County, where I live, is also along the southern border of Pennsylvania, it’s no surprise that killdeer can sometimes be found here throughout a mild winter. Killdeer don’t read fieldguides, of course, so they don’t pay much attention to range maps.

Still, finding a killdeer in January would be a good bird and worthy of note then, if not in any other month. And, Roundtop Mountain isn’t along the Susquehanna or one of the large lakes in the southern part of the county where such a sighting might be possible. The mountain hasn’t ever qualified as a good winter habitat for killdeer, even if you might find them nearby elsewhere. Even so, none of the birders I know would consider killdeer to be a harbinger of spring, but I think today I will. Happy Friday.

Changing patterns

This week I’ve discovered the feeder birds that only last week spent every daylight moment haunting my deck are disappearing. This likely means they are finding their own food again, which is good for them if not for my enjoyment of watching them. I’m sure they will return should bad weather appear on the horizon, but I’m a little surprised this is happening already.  After all, I still have quite a bit of snow, though the roads and the road edges are bare.

Where I once had 30 juncos, I now see but 5 or 6 in a morning. Perhaps the cardinals will show up, perhaps not. The blue jays seem undeterred, but I haven’t seen the Carolina wrens all week. This decrease in the number of birds happens every year. Some people say that never happens where they live, but it happens at my cabin every year. Perhaps it is because natural food is so readily available once they can find open ground that they simply don’t need a feeder after the winter breaks.

I miss them when they aren’t congregating on my deck for breakfast. I still find them in the woods, of course, but it’s not the same as having them just over my shoulder for most of the day.

For a few years, I tried to keep my feeders open all year, but the seed molds once the weather gets hot. I’ve never been able to entice orioles or the like with fruit, either. Apparently, they don’t need my offerings in summer. Later on, still several weeks away, I will take the feeders down entirely. Occasionally in the warmer seasons, a titmouse or a chickadee will show up on the deck, not so much looking for food as it appears to be checking to see if the equipment is still there, perhaps wanting to assure itself that come winter, the feeders will be back where they belong.

Awakenings

Wildlife around the cabin seems to be picking up, if still very slightly. Last evening I saw several deer stepping carefully through the snow, avoiding the deepest spots. This morning a rabbit bounced in front of Dog and me on our morning walk.

It’s just a little change, but a welcome one from the blanket of calm white that covers the forest and the fields. They were among the first signs that winter’s long slumber is soon ending or at least easing. The days of deep sleep are over, though it is too early to get up and get going.

The deer are out of their winter holdings, no longer confined to one small space. The rabbits can move more or less freely again. The bluebirds are singing again. The cardinals have sung all winter—nothing seems to slow them down too much. Their songs are more sustained, though, perhaps even more urgent.

It is still too soon for thousands of snow geese to head north, but that grows closer too. Perhaps this weekend, certainly by the next, the ice will be open enough for them to race north as far as open water permits. They will cover the fields and the lakes and skies for a day or a few days.

When that happens, whatever the date, spring will have arrived.

Lovely winter days

The weather right now suits me perfectly. The days warm to near 40. The nights are only several degrees below freezing. Snow showers fall nearly every day. The frigid, blustery nights of midwinter have eased. Daylight lasts, if weakly, into the evening again. I love this. I’d be happy to have a month of weather like this.

This morning I heard a pair of great horned owls calling way down at the bottom of the mountain. They were so far away that I had to stop and listen and hope they would call again for me to be sure I heard them. This is the first I’ve heard them this year. I’m sure that hearing them now is a function of how the morning sky is paling at the time I always walk the dogs. They have likely always called when the stars are beginning to disappear and the eastern sky is just turning from black to charcoal, but it is only now that event corresponds to my own morning walks.

The weather certainly isn’t spring-like, but it feels as though the worst of winter has passed. The days grow a bit warmer, the days lengthen. I feel as though I’ve gotten through the worst of it for this season, so now I can enjoy what’s left of the winter.

Snow-covered

February 2010 is now officially the snowiest February on record in my area. With 42 “official” inches in the bucket for the month, snowfall for the winter is already well above average. Some of last week’s snow has melted, but when I stepped off a road and into the snow this weekend, it still reached my knees.

The snowcover and colder than average temperatures are affecting the return of migrating waterfowl, too. The last week of February is usually prime time to see tens of thousands of snow geese, Tundra swans and Canada geese, among others, at Middle Creek Wildlife Management Area in Lancaster County. This year, not yet. Ice still covers all ponds and lakes.

I made a short trip to Pinchot State Park this weekend and found minimal open water, inhabited by exactly 6 mallards and 4 ring-billed gulls standing on the ice. Four common mergansers flew over and circled but decided they weren’t going to try a landing in the circus rink-sized puddle of open water on the lake.

Next weekend should see an improvement in the numbers of waterfowl and the amount of open water, as the temperature will at least touch the 40-degree mark during most days this week I hope so, as I am longing for something a little different to look at or do in the woods around the cabin.

My photos today are of an old cemetery near the lake. The veterans buried here are from the Revolution or the War of 1812. The red headstones are typical of that time period, though the dates are getting ever harder to read. No was buried here after 1850, as I recall, though snow still kept me from going inside the stone walls to check for sure.

Banshees and demons

Last night the wind howled and screamed across the mountain like a demented banshee. The wind woke me up more than once. The dogs were restless, too. Baby Dog saw two raccoons in the bird feeders, and you’d have thought we were being attacked by blood-eyed demons.

I haven’t gotten much new snow from this latest big nor’easter, but with these winds the roads are closing down left and right. Half an hour after a plow goes through, a road is closed again.

I almost didn't make it through the drift up ahead in this shot.  I saw it ahead and nearly took the side road to the right to avoid it, only to think about where the side road went and decided that could prove worse further along.  So I gunned the car and made it through. It was actually two drifts, one along the right side of the road and a second along the left side. I plunged through the middle where it was marginally less drifted and kept going.  That was the worst of my morning commute, thank heaven.  

Frosting

So far it’s a pretty little snow.

The forest looks sprinkled, each tiny twig or fir needle highlighted with sparkling white. Last week’s snows were already fading to dingy white, but this new storm makes it all new again.

The forest is silent with falling snow, for the moment the expected hurricane winds not yet rising and everything is still.

This morning for the first time since the last snow, I saw rabbit tracks. Dog plunged his nose into them and was ready to follow the trail, vastly disappointed when our path diverged from the rabbit’s.

For now it’s a pretty little snow. Perhaps it will stay that way. Perhaps not. I will focus on the “now” and see where that path takes me.

Second verse, much like the first

It’s a good thing that perhaps two feet of the nearly four feet of snow has melted in the past week. Tonight, another foot will fall—or so the forecasters say. I’m not sure I believe them. Every time I listen to a different forecast I hear a different amount. My favorite was 2-12 inches. Now isn’t that a useful prediction? Two inches doesn’t even bother my snow-hating chickens but 12 inches is fairly major.

And it’s the 50 mph winds that are likely to be worse than whatever amount of snow actually does fall. Sounds like another blizzard with whiteout conditions to me. So tonight I will be battening down the hatches again.

I discovered that it’s hard to show just how deep the snow is when I take photos in the forest. Snow around the base of a tree looks pretty much the same whether it’s 6 inches deep or 3 feet. The tree just doesn’t look any different in the photos. Now, if I cut that same tree down, in the spring you would see that what looked like the base of the tree today was really about 3 feet above the base. But since I don’t plan to cut down any of the trees, you really won’t know that. I suppose I could tie a ribbon around the trees, but really, what’s the point? So just take my word for it that the photos don’t look any different.

Tomorrow the snow should be pretty and brightly white again. I guess that’s the bright side. Oh, and my girl scout cookies were just delivered, so I’ll have plenty of sustenance to see me through the next storm.

A day at the spa

The morning is gloomy around the cabin. Overnight I had rain, snow, sleet and freezing rain all at the same time. Fortunately, I didn’t have much of any of that. As it is also foggy, getting a photo this morning was out of the question, so I will change tack and go for something completely different with this blog post.

On Sunday, I let the chickens out, knowing they don’t like snow. I figured the snow would keep them fairly well corralled where they couldn’t wander too far. So when I went back to pen them up after a few hours, I was surprised when I couldn’t find all of them. It wasn’t long before I heard them. They managed to find the only non-snowy area around, which is under the cabin.

There they were in the dirt, having a dust bath. They looked as though they were having a wonderful time, all bunched together in one little dirt patch, rolling on their backs and flapping their wings. I think they thought they were in chicken heaven, or at least the chicken equivalent of a day spa. I couldn’t tell where one chicken started and another ended. They were having such a good time I hated to end it, but I did.

This is my first winter with chickens, and I was worried about how they’d do out in their unheated, drafty, cobbled together chicken pen with a rabbit hutch for a nest box. They seem to be doing just fine, and even laid eggs through the winter, when I was told they would not. They even laid eggs through the blizzard. So they deserved their day at the spa—and an extra helping of blueberries.

Snow and shadows

Snow is still hanging around Roundtop even though the weekend temperatures inched above freezing in the afternoons.  A fair amount of the snow has melted.  I think it's because the snow was of the light and fluffy variety.  That water-laden concrete snow doesn't usually melt so fast.

Sunday was a very pretty day with a perfectly blue sapphire winter sky.  Clear skies are something of a rarity this winter, which is itself  unusual for this area.  Winter is often quite a  pretty season here; many days in a row of sunshine are common.  Not so this winter. 

So when the sun cooperates and the clouds disappear, I have to take advantage of it and get outside with my camera. Normally, noontime is not the best hour of the day to take photos, but in winter, when the sun isn't so high in the sky and the sunlight itself is weaker, I find it a good time.  Even at noon, I see shadows playing across the snow.

And since there's not too much to see in my woods right now except snow (and shadows), it's a good thing the combination makes for some interesting photos. 

These may be the last "good" snow photos I post for a while.  Rain and sleet and snow and freezing rain are all predicted for the next 24-36 hours, which will reduce the snow quite a lot.  I hope that combination doesn't cause flooding, but it sure might.  When I wasn't taking photos this weekend, I was digging out my basement drain so the water will have someplace to go, just in case.

My last photo today shows just how nicely snow covers up things and makes them look different than they would otherwise.  There's a good-sized boulder under this round bump.  I like it when snow covers up things I should have brought in for the winter but didn't.  The nieghbors will never know--at least not until the snow melts. 

Ice-zilla

The two big snowstorms that are still blanketing my area have prompted a lot of nicknames—snowzilla, snowpocalypse, snowmageddon—are the ones I’ve heard most frequently. Today, I bring you ice-zilla, the monster icicle currently hanging from the roof of my cabin. It is fully half the height of the cabin, one full story of ice.

As the temperature today is supposed to inch above freezing this afternoon, this morning might be its last hurrah. That remains to be seen when I get home tonight. As long as I’m not underneath this icy spear when it falls, that’s fine with me. If it survives to grow any longer, I’ll keep you posted on that, too.

Snowy morning view

The three plus feet of snow I have on the ground at the cabin is compressing a bit. I don’t really think it’s melting—the temperature has rarely reached 32, nor has the sun been out. But it’s not quite as deep as was a few days ago. In a way that makes shoveling it more difficult because the same size scoop of snow now weighs more than before.

The birds have found a few bare spots where the snow plows scraped down to the ground. They gather around those tiny patches searching for grit. I have been looking for animal tracks in the snow and haven’t yet found many. I’ve found deer tracks and bird tracks but no sign of mouse, rabbit, fox or anything else in that size range. I suspect most of the smaller animals are burrowed in or hunkered down. The squirrels bound from tree limb to tree limb—I haven’t seen their feet touch the ground, well, the snow, since the storms hit.

In other words, not much is going on around the woods at the moment. Even what’s not covered in snow isn’t out playing in the snow just yet. I wonder how long that will last?

Snow days

I have a feeling this blog is going to seem like a broken record for while. Snow dominates my nearly every thought and action, and I expect that will continue until there’s quite a bit less of it than I have right now. Forget snowshoeing or skiing, shoveling is my only outdoor activity.

The basics of shoveling are done, of course, but I’m still working on making a path around the house, clearing a door to the cellar. Eventually, I will work on clearing a path to the cellar’s drainpipe. Last night I had a bit more snow but not enough to create more problems.

The weather forecast suggests this snow is in little danger of melting for the next week or so, but I’m already trying to look ahead to that and just how this snow will melt. My hope is that it will melt slowly. Very slowly. If it doesn’t, flooding is a sure thing both at the cabin and in the nearby streams. My basement floods in most springs, even those with far less snow than I have at the moment. So I’m trying to open up the drains, gain access to the cellar—which is likely still some days ahead—and do whatever I can do to at least direct the future flow of water and mitigate potential problems.

I am still limited by the sheer amount of snow, but I work on it a bit at a time. Sometimes I make some progress only to have the winds drift it right back again. At the moment, there is no end to it and no end in sight. I just keep going, some days faster and more productive than others.

Snow news

Snow continues to dominate my own personal headlines here on Roundtop Mtn. Not much has melted, and shoveling continues, though at a slower pace. I’m tired of shoveling. Tonight, more snow, if not a large amount. I’m trying to decide if several inches of new snow will mean nothing or if it will be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. At this point, I can’t decide.

Today, I am posting some more snow photos. Snow photos are all I have and are all I am likely to have for some time.

Apparently, I was lucky to get off the mountain on Thursday afternoon. My brother lives two townships over. Unlike me, he lives in a good-sized development, so isolation from a population center doesn’t apply to him. However, apparently the township snow plow(s) broke, and his end of the township wasn’t plowed out until late on Friday. Believe me, it’s a first for me to be plowed out before he is.

The snow is still drifting and sometimes comes close to closing the roads again. It’s not as bad as it was on Thursday and Friday but even yesterday drifting sometimes reduced the roads to a single lane. The second photo is my back deck.  The snow is nearly up to the railing on the left, and the stairs have disappeared.

I still haven’t seen any new bird species at my feeders. At this point, I’m going to assume new species will not be found at my feeders this winter. I am seeing some new configurations of the usual species, though. It is rare for me to have mourning doves at my feeders, though when the weather gets bad, I often have a pair of them. That pattern continued until yesterday when 5 showed up—a record. The male northern cardinal has been singing all winter—even the snowstorms haven’t slowed him down. This morning he was answered by one of the Carolina wrens, and they echoed each other back and forth for a bit.

Yesterday, a female house finch put on a pathetic performance. My tube feeder has a higher and lower set of feeding perches and was empty down to the higher set of perches. The chickadees were able to sit on the top perch and dip down into the tube for a snack. The female house finch couldn’t fit herself on that perch and eat too, which frustrated her no end. She’d go to that perch, try to feed, eventually give up and return to the branch above it. After a few minutes she’d try the same thing again, apparently not smart enough to go to the lower perch where she could easily reach the food. I watched this for four or five attempts, then simply couldn’t stand it any longer and went outside to fill that feeder.

It wasn't pretty

I knew it wasn’t going to be pretty and it wasn’t. Another 20 inches of snow fell on Wednesday on top of the 25-27 inches I’d gotten three days before. The wind blew at 30-40 mph, and most of Wednesday afternoon was a total whiteout. I didn’t lose power, amazingly, so that was a good thing.

The governor closed all the roads, including the interstates, even going so far as to plow the on-ramps shut to keep people off the roads.

When the snow finally stopped, well, there was a lot of snow. How much snow is there? Whenever an experienced driver can get his front-end loader stuck in it, you know there’s a lot of snow. That’s what today’s photo is. Good neighbor Larry getting the front-end loader stuck in my driveway.

But it could have been worse. Even the chickens did okay and my little angels continued to lay eggs during the blizzard. I guess you can’t keep a good chicken down. Baby Dog is still having trouble figuring out how to do her business in this much snow. She bounded into the snow on Thursday and immediately sunk over her head. It was hysterical watching her trying to extricate herself. Dog has figured out that if he “swims” in the snow he can get around well enough.

The roads are still drifting shut periodically, which is why the kids are still off school. The roads are in good shape if they aren’t drifting closed. The snow piles are huge. In today’s second photo, the undrifted snow is nearly deeper than my snow shovel. At least, I think that’s undrifted snow. You can’t really tell.

The birds fed like crazy throughout the storm. I had over 30 juncos on the deck at one point. I still haven’t seen any unusual species, but the Carolina wrens, or at least one of them, made it through this storm, too.

I ready to not have any new snow for a while—at least a week without new snow would be nice.

It ain't gonna be pretty

Unlike the pretty Northern cardinal in today’s photos, I won’t be able to say the snow I’m going to get later today will be pretty. On top of my 2+ feet of snow, I will likely get another 18 inches of snow tonight, followed by heavy winds. Yet another nor’easter will hit my area, and I’m really not looking forward this round.

Four feet of snow plus winds usually doesn’t equal electricity around here. So keep your fingers crossed for me on this one.

The cliché of the day is “where are we going to put it?” After 2 feet of snow, great piles of the stuff are all over the place even now, sometimes so high they impede traffic when you can’t see around a corner or an intersection. Already, high banks of snow surround me when I drive, making it feel as though I’m in a canyon.

Basically, no has yet offered a good answer to where this new snow is going to go. I’m not sure I can shovel something four feet high, so the next few days should be interesting, but perhaps not in a good way. In any event, it would be a good bet not to expect any more posts from me for a few days.

Lots of snow and more to come

It snowed this weekend, but probably everyone in the country has heard about that by now. What you might not have heard yet is that the forecast calls for another 6-12 inches of snow tomorrow night. I have no idea where I will put that snow. I do know that after a meeting tonight, no matter what time it is, I will be out on my back deck tossing more of what I already have off to make room for more.

I probably had 25-27 inches of snow. It’s hard to tell exactly how much because it blew around a fair bit. The good news is that it was a lovely, light and fluffy snow. I’ve had snows of fewer inches that actually caused more problems because it was of the “concrete” snow type. Those snows are so heavy that they can’t be plowed and have to be cut into pieces and hauled away in dump trucks. Those are the kind that really bring down power lines. This wasn’t one of those.

Good neighbor Larry plowed me out with a front end loader and Roundtop’s snowcat on Saturday. Even the snowcat couldn’t make it up to neighbor Peter’s house, and he still isn’t plowed out. What’s a snowcat? Remember the movie “The Shining” and that big thing that picked up the family? That’s a snowcat.

Yesterday was a beautiful but cold and breezy day. I took a lot of photos outside and after I drove off the mountain. Because the snow was so fluffy and because the road crews did a good job and because the roads were treated before the snow, driving on Sunday wasn’t too bad overall. Some roads weren’t plowed at all when I was out, and I’m told the local cities aren’t in great shape, but where I was, it was fine.

Oh, the Carolina wren finally showed up, so it made it through this storm. I didn’t get any unusual birds at my feeders, though I did have two species that I don’t usually get at the feeders. I had a starling for the first time ever in 20 years and a flicker, which is unusual because they usually leave the mountain in winter, doing a vertical migration down off the hill.

So this snow is over, if not yet done with. I’m not looking forward to Tuesday’s snow, though. Stay tuned for that one.

Blizzard!

No photos until I get back to hi-speed internet.  I am currently almost at 2 feet of snow.  It is hard to measure accurately because the snow is blowing and drifting. Even the ski resort is closed because we're in a state of emergency and no one is allowed on the roads. 

I shoveled last night right before bed--had everything clear with about 6-8 inches of snow.  This morning, I had to force open my front door, half inch at a time until I could squeeze out.  The snow is past Dog's belly and is halfway to the top of his back.  Baby Dog looked like she was swimming in the snow.

For now we are all safe and sound.  Good neighbor Larry cleaned out my driveway and the lane with a front-end loader but at this rate, he may need to do it again once the snow finally stops.

No sign of the Carolina wrens this morning. I wouldn't be surprised if they don't make it.  All the other birds are feeding like crazy.

I'll check in later if I get the chance. 

No photo Friday

I have no photo today, though I feel that’s kind of appropriate. I am in the calm before the unknown of the storm ahead. It’s a cliché but one that is true—at least as it pertains to weather. I make no claims for the accuracy of the phrase’s non-weather uses.

This evening’s weather, the storm ahead, like anything that will happen in the future, is an unknown. That’s always a truth, of course, but it seems a bit more pointed on some days than others. At the moment, it looks as though a right blizzard will keep me at my cabin throughout the weekend. The forecast calls for a low end of about a foot of snow and a high end of about two feet of snow. A foot of snow is an amount that can be dealt with. Two feet will be a nuisance. When the snow ends, the wind begins and that may well be the worse part of this storm.

In any event, I am currently in the hours of calm before this storm. I have prepared by assuring I have enough supplies for me and the dogs, cats, wild birds and chickens. The snow shovels stand like sentinels on the front deck. We should all be cozy, if housebound, for a bit.

I am starting to reach an age where I no longer have a joy of shoveling. Many’s the time I’ve shoveled my entire driveway every two hours throughout the night to “keep ahead” of the snow. It’s much easier to shovel 2-3 inches at a time than 15, and I used to take pleasure in how easily and quickly I could clear the snow with what felt like minimal effort. Lately, I’ve found that regimen nearly as tiring as waiting until the storm is over to do anything. Perhaps it’s the lack of sleep, perhaps it’s the extended hours of exertion, I can’t say.

For this storm, especially if the snowfall reaches toward that 2-foot mark, I’ll be happy just to keep a path open to the chickens. After that, we’ll see.

Next blog post: Expect snow pictures!

Snow art

When I woke up this morning, the snow that fell on the mountain last night was still clinging to every branch and twig in the forest. I love it when it looks like this. It never lasts long, especially when the snow is as light and fluffy as this one was. But for a few minutes or an hour, every tiny surface is outlined in white.

Often, it doesn’t even take a breeze, not even the barest hint of a breeze, to knock the snow off the surfaces. This morning as I was walking Dog, the air was as still as could be, yet clumps of snow still fell onto us. Even as light as the snow is, gravity soon wins. A snowflake will shift position, and all the other snowflakes on that twig will lose their balance and fall in a clump to the ground.

I even found a snowsnake—at least that’s what I call them. When the snow clings to a branch and then slowly starts to fall, for a little while it can twist into interesting shapes. Sometimes the snowsnake will freeze in place and last for a little while, but that’s not very common. In a way, this one reminds me of one of those balloon horses, more than a snake.

So the mountain is snow-covered again and will likely remain so for a while. This snow will compress before long—gravity again, even when the temperature stays below freezing and the sun doesn’t come out. The main reason the mountain is liable to stay snow-covered, though, is because of another storm heading this way for Friday. That one looks like it might go a foot or so. I’ve got the snowshoes ready for that one.

Snow is coming

 Since last week’s rain, my winter forest has been largely devoid of snow. I can still find a small patch or two of it here and there, but the landscape looks more like November than February at this hour. I say “this hour” because it looks as though that will soon change.

The sky looks heavy with snow and grows ever darker. The coming storm will not be a large one, but even a few inches of snow will make the woods look like winter again. Right now it doesn’t look as though I will get a snow day tomorrow, but I might get a snow delay for a few hours. The weekend looks to bring even more snow, so the bare woods in today’s photo will soon be a thing that is so last week.

The feeder birds have already emptied my feeders once today. They can feel the snow coming, and want to stock up before it does. I can smell the snow already and know it can’t be long from falling now.  Winter is about to reappear on the mountain. 

The ice sang to me

The past weekend started out very cold. On Saturday the temperature never got above 15 degrees, with snow squalls and a bone-chilling rawness to the air. So on Sunday when the sun came out, and temperature went above 20 degrees, it was time to come out of my burrow and go for a walk.

I decided to visit Pinchot State Park, just a few miles from Roundtop. It’s a small change in scenery, as the forest looks much the same as Roundtop’s forest. Pinchot has a nice, big lake, though, and I wanted at least a little change from my own woods.

The warmer air felt wonderful, the sun even better. By noontime, the air temperature was nearing the mid-20’s, and the ice began to sing. It sounded like whales singing, with whistles and long groans, a few pops, the occasional snapping of a whip. But mostly it was low, deep groans, as the sun did its work.

It was enough to worry the small group of ice fishermen spread out on the lake. Some headed for the shore, most moved closer to the shore, a few dug new holes, rechecking the depth of the ice to assure it was still okay. They all seemed more nervous once the singing started.

I thought it was a beautiful sound, music to accompany my walk. The sound followed me even when I wasn’t next to the lake. I could always hear it in the distance. Up close, the sound reverberated all around me, an unexpected symphony.

I stayed longer than I’d planned. The concert went on an on, and I didn’t want to leave.