Brood is complete!

My new brood of chickens is now complete. I have my “old” chicks, which are now a bit more than a week old. Last night the new black chicks arrived. You can see the size difference. That’s how much the old babies grew in the last week. After seeing the new chicks and the old chicks together, I can also see how the old chicks are also stronger and more active than the newer little ones.

The new babies are still just a few days old and are still essentially pretty clueless about everything. They have learned how to drink water and eat food but that’s about the extent of their knowledge at the moment.

The newer babies are black, sex-linked chicks, which means they are a cross between a Rhode Island Red rooster and a Barred Rock hen. All my chickens do or will lay brown eggs. The color of a chicken’s egg shell is determined by the color of the chicken’s ear. Brown chickens tend to be larger than the white chickens raised by commercial growers, so the eggs are usually bigger, too. My old chickens lay jumbo sized eggs, so I can make a one-egg omelet that’s only slightly smaller than a two-egg omelet from a commercially grown white hen.

So far all the babies are doing well. The old babies weren’t thrilled with the arrival of the new babies, but that only lasted for 5-10 minutes. Soon, they were all getting along just fine.

Aurora Borealis??

Be on the lookout!

There a decent chance for aurora borealis tonight and especially tomrrow night in the lower 48.  On the nights of April 23-24, northern lights were spotted in more than a dozen states, including Colorado, Illinois, Iowa, Minnesota, Michigan, Nebraska, Kansas, Wisconsin and both Dakotas.

Not a Snowtober

Roundtop Mountain didn’t get another “Snowtober” from the April nor’easter that pummeled the mid-Atlantic states over the weekend and yesterday. The storm produced about two inches of rain here, which was much needed, and I did see some brief snowflakes and a bit of sleet. The temperature stayed at 36 degrees all day, which was close enough to a snow-producing temperature to be a bit worrisome. Just an hour or two drive’s west of me the temperature was colder and those folks got a late-April snowstorm, about a foot’s worth. I’m glad this one missed me!

As it was, the day felt chilly and damp, with a cutting breeze. The rain drops stung like little bees on my face, but after the too-warm winter and few spring rains, even that seemed welcome. Indicative of how dry it has been here, those two inches of rain pretty much all soaked into the ground. Water wasn’t flowing down the gutters or ditches, and I didn’t even see puddles backing up around the storm drains.

A storm the size of this one pretty much put a halt to migration anywhere on the east coast. From what I can make of the migration maps this season, not much of the migration is taking the eastern route this year anyway. The show all seems to be in the central states, which probably explains why I haven’t found a single warbler yet this year at Roundtop. There’s still time for something to show up, but I’ve never had a year that’s waited this late before any arrived. That’s just one more thing to add to the already long list of weird things for 2012. At this rate, that list will be a tome by the end of the year.

A new brood

the new babies

My household size has grown by three this week. I’ve added three new baby chickens to eventually replace my aging hens. These are Rhode Island Red chicks, and I’m scheduled to get three black sexlink chicks to add to this brood before too long.

So far the new babies are doing well. They were only a day or so old when I took this photo. They still aren’t a week old but I can already tell they’ve grown. Baby chicks are very fragile, so I’m not counting on all three surviving. I hope they will, of course, but it wouldn’t be a surprise to lose one at some point.

I’m down to four chickens from my original group of eight, who are now three years old. I lost one or so to sickness and two to predators. The rest are doing well and still laying pretty well, if not with the vigor they did two years ago. But the time has come to replenish my flock, and I hope these three will be the start of that.

When I got my first batch of chickens, I really knew nothing about raising chickens. I only knew I wanted fresh eggs. Since then I’ve had a lot of fresh eggs and learned a bit about raising chickens. Hand-raised chickens are sweet little souls, gentle and friendly. The eggs are so good I never want to go back to store-bought eggs.

For now the little babies are in my bedroom, warm under a brood lamp and learning how to be little chickens. They won’t be able to go outside and join the others until around mid-June. It will be August or September before they start to lay their first pullet eggs. It’s a long process from chick to fresh eggs, and getting the new babies is only the first step.

Shades of Purple

Wild Geranium

The first wild geraniums are in bloom on Roundtop Mtn. today. So far I haven’t seen any others. Every few or several years, the forest seems full of these lovely little purple flowers. Then after that, several more years will pass with fewer numbers of them. It’s too soon to know how many will bloom this year, though it’s probably still a year or so too soon for them to produce another banner crop.

2012 is producing a banner crop of wild violets, at least around my part of the forest. These deep purple flowers are everywhere. Don’t tell the other flowers, but I think the wild violets are my favorite—at least this year.

Rain is forecast for this weekend and into Monday, lots of it. Inches of it. Though no one wants rain on a weekend, my region is so dry right now that I’m not going to mind. Without any snow this past winter and few April showers this spring, the local rivers are already nearly as low as August. The soggy weather will likely put a damper on my hiking, birdwatching and photography—the three outdoor things I enjoy the most—but I’ll deal with it. The rain is much needed and will be welcome.

Wild violets

Losing the view

North of Carolyn's cabin

 Suddenly, the trees are leafing out, and I am losing the views through the forest. Today’s first photo was taken at the cabin this morning and looking to the north. I have already lost a view of the pond on the far side of the distant trees. Yes, there is a pond back there.

The sprouting understory is hiding a view of a dirt road and several large trees that have rested on the forest floor for some years now. In another several days or perhaps a week, the tree canopy will be so full that I won’t be able to see the sky.

My view to the western mountains was gone last night when I got home to the cabin. Oh, I can still see a broken outline of it, but that’s mostly because I know where to look. Ah, winter, where were you? Summer, you’ve come too soon.

The good news for me is that I had a bit of rain yesterday. Not enough to get truly excited about, but when the rivers are already down 75% from where they should be at this time of year, even .1 inch is noteworthy.

Last evening near sunset, ahead of the rain but after the sky was already overcast, I was returning to the cabin when the sky turned the shade of a spring rose in bloom. I was hoping to reach someplace where the foreground would be reasonably interesting before I took a photo, but when the color started to fade, I simply stopped along the road where I was and took a shot of it. Color like that shouldn’t be forgotten, even if the foreground is forgettable.

Lisburn Rd. near Wellsville, Warrington Township, York  County, Pennsylvania

Dogwood days

Dogwood are now in full bloom on Roundtop. Today, unfortunately, is cloudy so you can’t see the full effect of half a dozen or so blooming dogwood trees. Still, even a gray morning can’t completely obscure their beauty.

Spring has reached that point where the grass is such a bright green it almost hurts the eye to look at it. Once the shade begins to fade and darken, I lose interest. This intense shade doesn’t last very long.

For the past few mornings, a herd of 8 deer have walked past the cabin, just before sunrise, a few feet from a door or a window. They move slowly, tasting their way through the forest. They are quiet, with only an occasional footfall to give them away. Mostly, they ignore me even when I am outside. Sometimes one will look up and watch me for a few seconds to make sure I’m not doing anything they consider dangerous.

If Baby Dog hears or sees them she launches into a frenzied warning. She can’t ignore them, for some reason, though the deer are starting to almost ignore her. She makes them nervous, though, and they usually move a little bit quicker past the door. Sometimes one of the younger ones will flick its tail, but none of them do more than that. Perhaps that’s what frustrates Baby Dog so. She’s barking with that deep-throated warning for all she’s worth, and the deer can barely be bothered. I expect she’d be happier if her warning scattered them like dry leaves in a sudden breeze.

Passing me by?

Sunset with redbud in foreground

After a week or so of relatively normal temperatures, yesterday the temperature rose to a near-record point for the date. With that, the leaves at Roundtop, literally overnight, burst open. Oh my gosh, it’s almost summer.

As if to prove that, this morning I heard the first red-eyed vireo of the spring, and just as in other springs, trying to find that bird in the upper reaches of the oak canopy proved impossible. It doesn’t help that the birds are nearly the same shade as that of the leaves when the first rays of the morning sun turns them a bright yellowy-green. So this morning I had to be content with the vireo’s sharp, brilliant song emanating from somewhere high above my head.

Sometimes the internet is both a blessing and a curse. It is with growing envy that I am reading reports of outstanding migration flights into the central part of the U.S. It is with even more envy that I read about some 35,000 broad-winged hawks passing over Braddock Bay near Rochester NY yesterday. Here at Roundtop, I’m still hoping for warblers to arrive and perhaps to see a few raptors pass overhead. Right now the migration is feeling nearly non-existent, one invisible red-eyed vireo not withstanding.

I’m ready for those migration floodgates to open. I’m just starting to worry that they are passing me by this year.

Redbud and dogwood

Dogwood and Redbud

Scouting around the mountain this weekend, I did find a spot where both redbud and dogwood trees are blooming more or less side by side. This dogwood tree is even more spindly than the redbud and isn’t nearly as attractive. Perhaps, now that I know where they are, if I keep an eye on them over the next 10 years or so, the dogwood tree will catch up to the redbud and be just as lush. For now, this is the best I can do.

The photo today also shows the current state of leaf development at Roundtop. It’s far more pronounced than it should be in mid-April. Cooler weather after the record-breaking temperatures of March did slow down the progress somewhat, but today is another near-record breaking day of heat that will likely get the leaves bursting again.

I still have something of a view around the cabin, but it’s lessening a little each day. In another week, perhaps two, it will be gone until November.  For now, I'm enjoying my last views of the open canopy around the cabin.  Soon, I'll have to walk out to the lane just to see what the weather is doing.  Losing my view of the sky always takes some getting used to. I'm not there yet. 

Buffleheads

Buffleheads - female and male

Wednesday evening as I returned to the cabin, I found a pair of buffleheads on the old snowmaking pond at Roundtop. These small, diving ducks are common in winter on the bigger lakes and rivers in my area, but finding them on a small snowmaking pond is not. Once, last fall, I had a single male bird on one of the ponds, but this marked the first time I’d ever seen a female of the species here.

No more than an hour before I saw the birds, my area had a brief, intense, rain/snow/sleet/hail event (take your pick). I suspect these birds were migrating north when the storm hit, and the poor weather forced them down out of the sky.

I raced back to the cabin, grabbed the camera’s not-very-long lens and drove back to the pond to try for a photo. The photos aren’t the best as, compounding the lens issue, the buffleheads kept swimming to the opposite side of the pond to put some distance between us. That said, a car still makes a good blind from which to photograph birds or animals. If I hadn’t been in a car, the birds likely would have flown the moment I appeared at the bottom of the lane.

I took a few photos and then left the birds alone. They were gone this morning, as I suspected they would be. The weather had cleared, and they are likely on their way north again.

Dogwood blooms

Eastern dogwood in bloom

As anticipated, the dogwood is starting to bloom in the forest at Roundtop. The showy white blossoms, often tinged with a deep pink, are appearing all over the mountain. Dogwood is one of those blooming trees you have to see to believe. They are so beautiful that they don’t seem real.

Roundtop is a forest filled with oak, beech and hickory trees, the kind of forest that produces nuts—acorns, hickory nuts, etc. And then spring arrives and along the forest edges appears this wild proliferation of blooms. For a little while it simply doesn’t look like the same forest.

So far, the dogwood trees here on Roundtop appear to be healthy. A fungus has damaged or killed many trees elsewhere. I look at the leaves and the twigs here on the mountain for signs up of it, and so far I haven’t found any.  I hope I never do.

Redbud now, dogwood soon

The redbud trees around my cabin will soon fade out of their perfect pink and turn into spindly green-leafed trees, completing one of the few of nature’s transitions that goes from swan to ugly duckling (or, more accurately, to ugly cygnet). Today, they are still near their peak, but I’m already finding small, green leaves on the tips of the branches instead of their astonishing pink buds. So before they fade away for another year, I simply had to post a few more photos of them.

The first photo is along the road up to my cabin. The tree in the foreground stands at the base of the lane and is the first thing I see when I head up the road. The second photo isn’t as good but does show how that pink color is all through the forest right now. I can easily see 8-10 redbud trees in a small area at the bottom of the lane, and the pink just fills the forest.

This morning I also discovered that the flowering dogwood trees are beginning to flower. The flowers are not quite fully open, but the first of them should be out by tomorrow morning, so I will post a photo or two of them then.

This year I won’t have redbud and dogwood blooming at the same time. That doesn’t happen every year anyway. The dogwood typically follows the redbud by a few days or a week, but in some years when the weather is just so, I can find both blooming at the same time.

A few years ago the single dogwood tree at the bottom of my lane fell over. It chose to grow along the edge of the lane, roots exposed along the bank. Inevitably, that resulted in the tree losing its grip on the earth, and it fell over of its own accord. Dogwood trees are gorgeous but aren’t very strong. Since then no new dogwood trees have appeared in this spot to take its place. While I’ve looked elsewhere on the mountain to find redbud and dogwood growing side by side in hopes of eventually taking a photo showing a pink and white forest, I haven’t yet found them close enough for that. Maybe next year. I’ll keep looking.

Friends Meeting House

Warrington Friends Meeting House, just outside Wellsville, Pennsylvania

Last evening I ventured off the mountain for a meeting and took a different route than I usually do. That took me past the Warrington Friends Meeting House. The meetinghouse was built well before the American Revolution and is still used for Sunday services by local Quakers today.

West of the Susquehanna River, as York County is, not many buildings from before the Revolution are still standing. Not that many people lived here then, either, and most of those who did lived to the south in the city of York. In northern York County where I live, the land was still largely wild and shared with Native Americans. This area was still only partly settled in 1740-50, mostly by a few farmers.

Quakers were a predominant religion here then, not a surprise when you know that Sir William Penn, himself a convert, obtained a land grant from King Charles II and established a Quaker government here. Also nearby is a road named Quaker Race, which was so named because after meetings in this building, local young Quakers would race their horses and buggies along it. It’s a long, straight and flat section of road, and even in those days young men liked to go fast.

Today, the meeting house is a fine old building, well maintained, built from native field stones. It is on the national historic register and has certainly seen a lot of change and a lot of history over the past 260 years or so.

Moonset and sunset

 Spring is well along now on Roundtop Mtn. I won’t have many more days before I lose the view to the west and will once again spend the next six months encased in the “green box” of foliage that covers my cabin.

I miss the open views of winter, though I appreciate that the dense canopy of foliage is the only thing that stands between me and the need for an air conditioner. Those layers of thin, green leaves prevent the sun from penetrating down to my cabin. The thermometer in my car shows a drop of 5-10 degrees as soon I drive under the cover of the forest.

Usually each summer has a week or so that has me questioning my lack of air conditioning, but then the humidity clears or the temperature drops, and I wouldn’t need the thing for another year anyway, so I do without. I suspect that choice will change once I retire and spend entire days in the cabin, instead of just my non-working hours, but that’s a topic for another year.

Both of today’s photos were taken off the back deck of my cabin and show nearly the exact same views. The only difference is that the sun sets on the north side of Nell’s Hill and the moon sets on the south side of it. In the sunset photo, you might be able to see a few of the always spindly redbud trees just beneath the sun itself. In the moonset photo you can see the lights from the porch of my nearest neighbor to the west, which is about a mile away through the forest.

Soon my neighbor’s lights will disappear, as will the entire view of Nell’s Hill. It will be Halloween or later before they both reappear. I always look forward to that.

Life in the woods

Roundtop is in the middle of a weeklong spate of nice weather—sunny, mild and windless. The evenings are cool, but that’s to be expected. If this weather continues for more than another week or so I will start to fret about the lack of rain, but I don’t need to worry about that just yet.

The comfortable weather makes working on the ever-growing underbrush that surrounds my cabin a comfortable chore before I start dinner in the evenings. The dogs help by walking alongside of me as I struggle with another armload. I take the brush down my driveway, across the lane and drop it in the woods over there. Just when I think I’m making some headway, the forest grows some more overnight, and I’m back to where I started again. The dogs don’t seem to mind that at all. They think following me back and forth is part of their job, and they are happy to have a job.

Baby Dog tends to take having a job too seriously, though, especially on nights with a full or nearly full moon, as last night was. The light from a full moon is bright, and I know she can see better under one. I don’t always know what she sees, but whatever she thinks she sees, to her it’s something that shouldn’t be there. Usually, the something is utterly harmless and has every right to be there. Sometimes it’s an opossum and most often it’s deer, but to her it doesn’t matter. It requires enraged barking, and that wakes me up.

And then I remember that it’s another full moon, and I had the same problem last time. Full moon equals Baby Dog barking at all hours of the night. And that equals me not getting any sleep. The objects of her barking are completely oblivious to her outrage, which only makes her bark even louder. How dare those deer ignore me, she seems to say. Tonight I will have to find someplace for her to sleep where she can’t see the outdoors. It’s the only way I’ll be able to get any sleep until the moon is small again. Such is life in the woods.

Flat



Appalachian April (Roundtop Mtn. version)

Last night, as I was trying to go to sleep, one of the local red foxes started barking not far from the cabin. He or she was trying to locate its mate, and their hoarse barks that carry over long distances are how they do that. The pair don’t always hunt together, and even when they do they can get separated, so the barking is simply how they reestablish contact. The sound is a common occurrence at the cabin. However, whenever the foxes bark, so do Dog and Baby Dog.

I don’t know if my two dogs view the fox’s barking as coming from a fellow canine or not. Certainly, they see the barking as a dangerous interloper caused by a creature that is too close to the cabin for their comfort. And so they bark.

Later on during the night, I was awakened on two separate occasions, hours apart, by single, bright flashes of lightning, each followed by a single rumble of thunder. This morning, nothing was left of the mini-thunderstorms except for a partially cloudy sky. The cloud cover was the kind that made me think the sunrise might be especially nice or at least create an attractive light for a morning photograph. A good sunrise needs some clouds to make it interesting. To my disappointment, the clouds did not produce a pretty sunrise, and indeed the light stayed flat all during the early morning.

So at the last second I headed into the woods to see what else I could find to photograph. The forest is pretty in the early spring, though the flat morning light didn’t help it very much. The trees are starting to look fuzzy, and the understory is already somewhat leafed out. The redbud trees are still red, though the white dogwood flowers haven’t yet arrived.

I did find a few small plants of our native wild violet, a delicate flower that seems more pansy-like than a relative of the houseplant violet. In this area the deep purple flower is the most common shade. Violets like moisture, and don't mind a few stones, either. The plant is native throughout most of North America, though the color varies from purple to yellow to white, depending on the region.

It’s a shame the light wasn’t more cooperative this morning, but that’s how it goes sometimes. If I only took photos when the light was just so, I’d take precious few of them. I have to take the bad light with the good light. Nature keeps her own agenda in all things.

Between night and day

At 6 a.m. the sky above Roundtop is just beginning to show signs of the coming dawn. The black of night is fading to a steel blue in the east, with the barest hint of orange along the horizon. To the west the sky is still midnight black, and I can see the fading of the night move across the sky little by little. It is still dark enough for the great horned owls to call each other from somewhere up on the forested knoll, but it is already light enough for the first robins to sing and the phoebe to call.

This is the time that Baby Dog and I go for our morning walk, in this edge between dark and light, between morning and night. Twilight is neither fully day nor fully night. It is a time when both exist and neither.

It is still night when we begin our walk but already morning by the time we return to the cabin. In another week at this time, the day will already dominate this hour, but for now, during this week, day and night are equal partners. And because both occupy the same time, I sometimes find it difficult to identify the sounds I hear. Is it a night sound? Or a bird from the day? Unlike the owls, I can’t always tell. Perhaps that is why twilight is more mysterious than other times. I just don’t know what I will hear, nor do I always know from which realm the sound emanates.

Baby Dog is unconcerned either way. A sound in the woods is something to bark at, regardless of the hour. Behind us, six deer gallop across a stone parking lot, hooves clattering, only their white tails visible. They run from night into the day and just that quickly, it is dawn.

Online free weekend

I spent my weekend free of online distractions, filling it instead not with music or some other distraction, but with the natural sounds and sights of the forest around me for company. Now that spring is here, the woods are getting noisier again and are a far cry from the silence of winter, even one in which that season never fully arrived.

The pileated woodpeckers are still screaming around my cabin, screaming at everything in sight, whether vulture or dog or blue jay or me. Nothing gets by them and everything is cause for alarm. I have seen them in two different nest holes. Perhaps the female hasn’t yet decided which she prefers. Her mate proves his devotion and protection capabilities for his future family by his near-constant alarm calls.

I’d rather be distracted by the pileated woodpeckers than by news that isn’t very newsworthy, weather news that doesn’t show anything severe or by music that hides the sound of these everyday woodland dramas. I also stopped reading my newspaper during and after breakfast so I can watch what’s going on in the woods outside my door. It’s one thing to bury my nose in the paper during winter when it’s too dark to see past the back deck, but now that the mornings are light again, the news of the woods is a lot more pertinent to my daily life than the latest goings on half a world away.

Distractions, unfortunately, are a part of life, especially modern life. And yet today I find myself resisting the pull of the technology. Something that takes my attention away from what is happening around me is something that serves to separate me from my own senses. Television or telephones or computers are like a shield that prevents me from fully experiencing the life around me. Even important information and beautiful music draw me away from that, making everything that’s at hand less noticeable. It’s not just cellphones that distract.

This morning before the sun was well up, the vultures were coursing through the air behind the cabin. Some are likely migrants taking advantage of the strong breeze. Others are certainly local birds, perhaps kept from foraging by rain that kept the air heavy during much of the weekend. The breeze was just right for these big birds, strong enough to help them move around, but not so strong as to make fighting it difficult.

Juncos are still in my woods. The warm spring is not yet urging them to head northwards. They are twittering their spring songs, though, so the trip north can’t be far away for them. Also singing now are titmice and chickadees, towhees and cardinals, to name a few. I looked for warblers this weekend on the mountain but didn’t find any. I wasn’t really surprised by that, even if it didn’t stop me from looking.

The leaves are peeking out a little more each day. It is early for that to happen. The cooler weather of the weekend does seem to have slowed that progression down a little bit for the moment. Warmer weather at midweek will likely speed the process up again.

The only way I know of to keep in touch with my own senses is to use them, to feel the air and see the wildlife and notice how the rising sun slowly uncovers the mountain each morning. Those things are real and are in front of me. I never want distractions or entertainment to get in the way of that.

What replaces "yard" work at the cabin

"Bouquet" of rue anemone

This week I’ve spent some time each evening dragging around giant branches, tops of trees and cutting back the multiflora rose that’s not-so-slowly taking over the area behind the cabin. This spring the clean-up is worse than usual. The remnants from Snowtober still litter the woods, and not just around my cabin.

Those downed treetops have dried a bit, and I’m now able to drag them around a lot easier than I could shortly after the event. They are still large and heavy. One that looks like at least half of a tree, keeps getting lodged between other living trees as I try to drag it away from the side of the cabin. I moved it another 10-15 feet before it got stuck. I think I’m going to need a chain saw to move it any further. Or perhaps I’ll just sharpen the hatchet and try that. At least that 20-foot monster is no longer up against the cabin.

Cutting back the multiflora rose, that gorgeous invasive and thorny bush, is an ongoing issue. This year, I saw the start of the growth and moved in quickly. Then in 24 hours the size of the patch doubled. Last night when I wore out after dragging limbs and treetops around, I worked on that for a while.

The forest still comes right up to the doors and decks of the cabin, but I have to keep working with the brush to keep the forest from covering the cabin. As it is, last year I got behind in my brush clearing when the rains of April went on and on, and I never did catch up. It was a jungle back there, and I couldn’t even walk through it. This year, I’m trying to prevent that from happening. We’ll see if I’m successful or not. So far I’m almost holding my own against it.

March or May?

The redbud tree starting to leaf out. Although redbuds are not a flowering tree, the appearance of their red leaf buds sure looks like a flower more than it looks like just a leaf.

Redbuds tend to have a weak and wild growth pattern. They never get very large. They nearly always look twisted, as though the small branches were damaged by something that stunted their growth. That’s just how they grow. When you see the trees in their red bud phase, that twisty, growth pattern looks pretty and exotic. When the trees finally leaf out and are all green, the trees look like something that should be cut or culled because you know that tree is never going to amount to anything. I’m guessing that more than a few of these trees have met their end that way. Someone simply didn’t know that those gorgeous red buds in the spring really come from that awful stunted-looking mass of twisted branches.

Here on Roundtop this year’s appearance of the redbud is a good 30 days ahead of their normal appearance. The local redbud are still a day or so from their peak size and color, but even that won’t make much of a dent in those 30 days. Oddly the dogwood, which often bloom at the same time as the redbud, don’t appear nearly as far along or ready to bloom. Of course, the dogwood really is a flowering tree.

When the redbud and dogwood are both at their peak at the same time, the forest here at Roundtop is simply gorgeous, a riot of white and bright pink along the edges of roads and trails. It doesn’t look as though that will happen this year. Chalk that one up to another difference caused by the atypically warm and early weather this year.

One quiet evening

Gilbert Rd. bridge, Monaghan Twp. York County Pennsylvania

Unless this chilly air lasts for more than a day, I’m not going to turn my heat back on. This morning I was up and about in the cabin and as I was sitting down to breakfast, I glanced at the thermometer on the kitchen table. It was 59 degrees and I hadn’t even noticed. If I don’t notice it, I’m not going to turn the heat back on.

Around the cabin I’m starting to hear, though I haven’t yet seen, a few more early arriving bird species. The towhee has returned. Last night a belted kingfisher rattled its way over the trees, en route from one pond to another. The chipping sparrows are twittering, too. I’m expecting blue-gray gnatcatchers momentarily, if I don’t miss them this year. They are never numerous at Roundtop and always show up when I least expect it. I’m trying not to expect them, but I am anyway.

Baby Dog and I walked over to one of the ponds last evening and found a good spot to sit down and enjoy the sun and the view. Twenty-three Canada geese wandered over slowly and warily, all in the water but gathered in front of us. A few of them made that “I’m keeping my eyes on you” sound that’s just a single low note, drawn out a bit. If I make a “wrong” move that warning note turns into a honk of alarm and the group will scatter. The geese are curious about Baby Dog—I think that’s what makes them draw near—but they aren’t about to put up with any funny business.

For the moment, the pace of the spring explosion is slowing. I find that a relief after the speed of last week. It’s too early for spring to be this far along, and I need some time to catch my breath and get used to it. Spring is always a busy time at the cabin. Brush needs cleared or cut back before it takes over and makes walking around the cabin impossible. A few rails on the deck need to be hammered back into place, and one step will probably need another nail before too long. Snow shovels need put away and “stuff” that I keep close by so I can get to it quickly and easily during winter can now be put somewhere out of sight for a while.

Clearing away the clutter of winter and making room for warmer weather takes time and a fair bit of work. I need to sweep away my winter mindset and get ready for the activity of spring. I just need a minute or an evening to put myself in the right gear for the new season.

Icy morning

Yellow Breeches Creek, off Gilbert Rd., Monaghan Twp., York County, Pennsylvania

I had ice in the chicken water this morning, the first time the temperature has dropped below freezing for several weeks. With the weather the way it’s been, it wouldn’t surprise me if this turns out to be the last time that happens until fall. The chickens didn’t seem to notice or mind, likely secure in the knowledge that I would fix that ice problem before the important business of their breakfast.

With the chill came a strong breeze, finally knocking down the last of the broken and teetering treetops from Snowtober. It is not a day for sitting outside and enjoying the last few days of March, even if it is sunny. Perhaps tomorrow.

Roundtop Mtn. and its neighbor, Nell’s Hill, have turned fuzzy, as new leaves are starting to bud and burst. Normally, this happens in early May. My experience thus far is that once the leaves begin to appear, even a prolonged cold spell won’t slow them down or stop them. Of course, leaves have never appeared in March before, so I’ll have to see if that holds true this year as well.

I’m pretty much astounded that spring is arriving so early, and I can’t say I like it very much. Still, this early arrival is certain to account for an interesting season, and while it’s likely not to be interesting in a good way, I am glad to document whatever is going to happen. I’m also glad that after years of living on the mountain, I have a pretty good grasp of what a normal spring should be, so that this year I’ll be able to tell the difference.

More explosions

 After a warm and sunny week, the weekend at Roundtop was a washout—until around 3 p.m. Sunday afternoon when the sun finally appeared. At that point, it was too late to do much exploring in the woods, and everything was still wet and dripping anyway. I did, however, retire to the back deck and spend an hour or so enjoying the feel of the sun on my neck.



I also saw the northbound migration of several black vultures, with a few turkey vultures that did not appear to be local adding to the mix. A red-tailed hawk that may or may not have been a local bird circled in a northbound direction, too. But the real drama came from the local pileated and red-bellied woodpeckers who were involved in a screeching match over something. 



The pileated woodpeckers circled around the cabin, causing an awful racket. They would disappear, still screeching, to the north only to circle around from the south and swoop through the forest again, still raucous. The red-bellied woodpecker mostly ignored the pileated woodpeckers, holding its ground on a dead limb. When the pileated swooped by, the red-bellied would toss off some woodpeckery and possibly vulgar retort, and the whole drama would begin again. Who ever said the woods are quiet?



More flowers popped up in the woods, with coltsfoot, which is normally the earliest of the blooms, finally making an appearance. My favorite local fern, still growing out of a crack in a boulder along the edge of the lane to the cabin, has begun to unfurl its fronds. The rue anemone (or is it a spring beauty?) is blooming as well. When the leaves are no more unfurled than these are, I can’t tell the two apart, even when I have an identification guide in my hands.



The trees are beginning to leaf out, even up on Roundtop Mtn. Down in the valley and off the mountain, there’s no “beginning” about the leafing. They are out and are a good 6 weeks earlier than they should be, to boot. 

Bloodroot - one day wonder

Bloodroot

Yesterday was the day the bloodroot bloomed. Today, when I get home in the evening, most of them will be done for the year, their petals will be drooping. Perhaps a few petals will already lay on the ground.

For one day, they are brilliant wildflowers, larger than most woodland wildflowers.. For the other 364 days of the year, they are in hiding. In a rare year, I’ve had bloodroot last for 36 hours. I don’t expect this will be that year.

Most of the smaller wildflowers last for a week or more before their blooming is over. Not the bloodroot. All its effort goes into one sunny day and then it’s over. I am lucky as I almost can’t miss them and their day. Without a yard to deal with, I have forest right up to edge of the cabin. Bloodroot line the end of my driveway, right next to the dog-toothed violets.

I probably did miss them a time or two when I first moved into the cabin and didn’t know they were there. I know I learned the hard way, years ago, that they only bloom for a day. I distinctly remember coming into the cabin, busy from something or somewhere and noticing the flowers. Perhaps it was already getting dark. Perhaps I was just in a rush. “I’ll take a photo tomorrow” or maybe I said “on Friday” when I would have more time. I remember returning “tomorrow” or “on Friday” and found that they were already done and over with. Bloodroot don’t wait and they don’t give you a second chance to get that photo.

In case you’re wondering, yes, the blooming is early, almost a full month early. The bloom dates for this flower over the past years were:

2011 – April 19
2010 – April 6
2009 – April 20
2008 – April 21
2007 – April 25

The spring explosion continues, now with appearances by rue anemone, coltsfoot and the unfurling of fern fronds. I’ll be posting those photos soon enough. But for now I didn’t think anyone would mind if I posted another photo of the dog-toothed violets, now that I have several of them blooming.


Dog-toothed Violet

Spring explosion!

Foggy morning on Roundtop

I can’t be the only one who thinks that trees leafing out in late March instead of early May verges on a scary abomination. Overnight, trees down off Roundtop Mtn. are past budding and are into the early leafing stage. It feels bizarre to me, and I despair of people who exclaim happily, “isn’t the weather wonderful?”

No, it is not wonderful.

We are a full 9 days before the end of March, a full two weeks before the time of a normal last frost, and now the appearance of leaves on trees is going on 6 weeks earlier than it should be.

Stink bugs, ticks and mosquitoes are out. As stink bugs are worst in the early fall, having them be numerous now is Not A Good Thing. An acquaintance reported picking 20 ticks off herself and her dog this past week. That is Not A Good Thing. Mosquitoes? Yikes! 
Fire danger is high and the forests are dry and crunchy. Yellow violets are blooming before the bloodroot (which will bloom for its one day of splendor later today) and both will be blooming 20+ days early.

Songbirds, especially warblers, normally migrate when the particular species of bug that normally appears in the particular layer of the forest canopy they inhabit first emerge. The bugs’ appearances are timed with the emergence of particular tree leaf buds. The bugs are here, the buds are here, but the birds can’t adapt to changing climate conditions so quickly. “Their” bugs will be gone when they get here. What will they eat as they try to fuel their migration north into the boreal forest? They are all probably still down in South America, happily fueling for the trip north, unaware that their “gas stations” in the eastern forest will be empty by the time they arrive.

If this is “wonderful” weather, give me something else.

Premature flowers

Dog-toothed violet, trout lily or yellow violet - take your pick

Between morning and evening yesterday the forest exploded in new spring growth. One result of that is the premature bloom of the dog-toothed violet, also known as a yellow violet and known locally as a dog-toothed violet. A patch of them, perhaps 4 feet by 5 feet, grows just outside the cabin steps.

To my eye, it would seem that a patch this size should produce dozens of blooms but that never happens. I might see 6-8 blooms at once, and today’s photo is the first of them. One advantage of having a blog like mine is that over the years I go back and find out when these flowers bloomed in previous years. To what I expect will be no one’s surprise in this year of the non-winter and early spring, 2012 marks the earliest I have ever recorded their blooms.

To be precise, they are blooming nearly 3 weeks earlier than the previous early record and more than a month earlier than the latest. Here’s the breakdown:
     2007 - April 25
    2008 - April 14
    2009 - April 8
    2011 - April 12
    In 2010 I didn’t record their flowering, though I noted the leaves were visible on April 7. Likely, the first flowering would have taken place several days afterwards.
    2012 - March 20

The rest of the forest is suddenly starting to grow, too. My bleeding heart bush went from nothing to 3-4 inches above ground in one day. Mayapples are now above ground, if still tiny. And there are all sorts of tiny bursts of greenery on the forest floor that are still too small to be identifiable, at least by me.

Down off the mountain even the trees are starting to leaf out. That hasn’t happened at the cabin yet, and I hope that’s still a ways off. I’m not ready to lose my view for the next 7-8 months. In a normal year I lose it for about 6 months and that’s bad enough!

More sounds than sights of spring

Warm weather is starting to bring out new growth in the forest at Roundtop but not very much yet. The ferns haven’t started. I haven’t even seen coltsfoot or bloodroot, both of which are among the earliest blooms. The forest floor still looks brown and bare.

Rain has been is somewhat short supply lately, and I wonder if that’s what’s holding back the burst into spring. The temperatures have been more than adequate to get things moving. The only lack might be rain, and the near constant fog may make the forest seem damper than it is. In fact, the ground is pretty dry and last fall’s leaves still crackle underfoot.

Late March is often a muddy month, caused by the melting of winter’s snow. This year, without snowfall, March feels dry and a bit brittle. April rains usually add to my sense that spring is really little more than an extended season of mud. It’s still early to be thinking about April showers, but the first half of the muddy season isn’t producing any mud. I think April rains will be even more needed than usual this year to hopefully at least partially compensate for the lack of snowmelt.

This weekend I’ve heard gray tree frogs calling further down the mountain. I have to listen closely to tell what the call is, partly because of the distance. To my ear, there’s something about their bubbling call that tells me I’m hearing something else. If I’d heard the call during the day, I might say it’s some bird call that I don’t recognize. At night, the only other option is some species of owl, but even a saw-whet owl, notorious for its odd sounds, doesn’t make a sound like that.

This spring, I apparently have a bumper crop of them, as their sound now outnumbers the spring peepers, at least on Roundtop Mtn. The eastern gray tree frog, the species that lives at Roundtop, is small but not tiny. They are about 2-2.5 inches long, perhaps a little less. They are spotted and sometimes are more greenish than gray, though always with a bright yellow or orange area on the pale underside. They like moist woods, which is typical of the area along Beaver Creek, in the narrow valley between Roundtop Mtn. and neighboring Flat Hill.

What is unusual this year is that I usually hear them after the spring peepers are done with their spring songs. I hear them typically sometime in April, though I confess I don’t keep track of exactly when. This year they are singing in two-part harmony with the peepers—another thing that’s different about this year with no winter. I’m sure that’s just another difference in what will be a long list of oddities.

Reflected moon

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

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

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

When March is like May...

Snowmaking pond on Roundtop Mountain, sunrise, March 15, 2012

I apologize if readers are tiring of sunrise photos. With last weekend’s time change, the mornings are again no longer bright enough for photos of much else. My blog has always focused on my sightings in the forest and the changing seasons on Roundtop Mountain, so what photos you see here are what I am seeing every morning, too. And I’ve always liked sunrises, so I don’t get tired of them.

One thing about the circling of the years is that nothing ever stays the same for long, so brighter mornings aren’t far off. Last evening I saw that the dog-toothed violet leaves are now above ground, their waxy brown and green leaves barely noticeable amidst last fall’s oak leaves. The yellow violets themselves won’t be too far away, then, and I will keep looking for the first of those. This 3x4 patch of violets is right outside my cabin door, so I examine the site at least once a day.

With the temperature some 20 degrees above normal for this time of year, the evenings feel a lot more like May than March. I worry that such abnormal temperatures spell the start of even worse climate changes in the not very distant future. I dislike that this was a year with no winter, and yet I am taking advantage of the warm weather for however long it lasts. My doors were open last evening to let the warm temperatures and lovely air inside, and this morning I am wearing sandals. I’ve never worn my summer sandals in March before, and this year may well be my only opportunity for it. Make hay while the sun shines, the old adage says. Or perhaps if life gives you lemons, make lemonade is more appropriate.  If March brings May weather, dress like it's May. So I am.

A morning in March

Old Dorsey Lane, Monaghan  Township, York County, Pennsylvania

Gradually, I am growing accustomed to this past weekend’s time change, but I still dread and dislike the “spring forward” part of it. Gaining an extra hour in the fall is fine, though. Best of all would be never to have to do one or the other again, though I suspect that is unlikely. Still, the number of countries that now does not do daylight savings time is growing and is now up to 70, a bit more than a third of all countries.

At Roundtop, the weather this week is more like May than March, a good 20 degrees above normal. I am already seeing (and smelling) stink bugs (ugh!). The first mustard sallow moths, three of them to be precise, appeared on my cabin wall last night. For the record, the moths first appeared last year on March 18.

New plant growth is still missing from the mountain, which leads me to wonder if plants are smarter than insects. The season could still dish up some unhappy weather surprises, though it won’t this week. Maybe the plants suspect something is afoot and are staying hidden until that unknown something passes.

Into the sun

After months of slowly watching the morning light replace the black of night on my morning walks, it comes as shock that the weekend time change tosses me back into the night again. It just doesn’t seem fair. Bad enough that I am now rising at “4:30 a.m.” instead of 5:30 a.m. The return to darkness only makes the switch all the more difficult.

On a brighter note, this morning marked the first appearance of an eastern phoebe this year. I stepped outside the cabin and was greeted by that familiar call. The bird was singing and sitting beside the deck. Almost immediately, the bird was swooped by an unhappy pileated woodpecker, perhaps thinking the phoebe was singing too close to its nesting territory.

The local sharp-shinned hawks are more visible this weekend, as well. As I was eating breakfast on Saturday, one flapped easily over the back deck, no doubt trolling for its own breakfast. From how the bird was moving, a likely breakfast candidate was not yet in evidence.

And still I haven’t seen any signs of new green growth. Even down in the valley, only very small patches of grass look green. Up on the mountain, there is no sign of that, even where there is grass.

My neighbor the ski resort closed on Sunday. Hardly any snow is left on some of the slopes, and I believe the snow was worse than I’ve ever seen it while the resort was open. Over on the side of the mountain where I live, I don’t ever hear much sound from the resort, but this morning I could tell the mountain was quieter. Spring is here.

A little different

The day is gray and windy. Spring greenery is not yet making an appearance. I’m tired of photographing brown on brown scenes. So, instead, for something a little different, I’ve decided to introduce you to one of my fantasy houses.

Even though my cabin in the forest is pretty much my fantasy, that doesn’t stop me from dreaming about other fantasy houses, or perhaps an imaginary second fantasy house because I never want to leave my little cabin. But if I ever win the lottery I would soon have a stable of fantasy houses, both near and far.

This property isn’t far from my cabin. Down off the mountain, it’s surrounded by orchards. I love log cabins, so that’s what first caught my eye about this place. I like that it's set back off the road. I like that it still looks old, even down to the old outhouse, with everything perfectly spruced up and painted. My place virtually never looks this perfect.

Probably the only thing I’d change is that I’d get rid of what little yard there is and extend the pasture fence up further. I don’t do mowing, and I never will. This place needs a few goats and chickens, but really, that’s the easy part.

 

Slowly spring

Apple orchard, E. Mt. Airy Rd., Monaghan Twp. York County, PA

No spring greenery is yet in evidence on Roundtop Mountain or even 500 feet or so below the mountain in the neighboring apple orchards. The temperatures are spring-like for the moment. The day has that feeling of balminess that often comes the day before a storm.

Even after tonight’s rain the temperatures will be warmer than average, if still seasonal. . Spring peepers are peeping now in the wetter, low areas. New spring greenery can’t be far behind. The wheel of the year is turning, but it turns slowly, a little at a time. Yesterday the killdeer appear, today the spring peepers, tomorrow another surprise for anyone who cares to look.

Maybe the first coltsfoot will bloom; perhaps nothing more than some small, nondescript green shoot will break through the ground. Perhaps the blue-gray gnatcatchers will arrive. Or maybe the snow geese will fly over the mountain, just ahead of the rain.

Spring is sprung

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

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

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

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

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

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

Variable

Stream on Dorsey Lane, Monaghan Twp. York County, PA

You know it’s got to be March when the temperature swings 40 degrees in a single day. This whole week at Roundtop either was like that or is going to be like that. It’s the kind of weather where I end up with four different jackets tossed on the back of the kitchen chairs.

I start the morning with a heavy jacket, a cap and gloves, move to a lighter jacket by noontime, am down to no jacket or a shell for the hottest part of the afternoon and then repeat the entire process by the last time I run the dogs after dark. The kitchen looks as though I’m expecting company for dinner.

I prefer weather when the same jacket or coat lasts me the entire day. I can probably forget about that happening again for at least a month or two.

This morning I discovered that my chickens are smarter than I’d guessed. Their waterer had ice in it, and I was getting ready to switch it out with the second one. I have two, and there’s always a second one inside so the ice can melt. During the mid-winter I switch the two every 12 hours so the chickens always have fresh water.

This morning one of them started pecking at the skim ice in the overnight waterer. It wasn’t long before she’d opened it up enough to get her morning thirst quenched. Of course, she couldn’t do this on nights that are so cold that the water freezes into a solid brick of ice. But I was surprised she’d figured out how to get through the thin ice. Who says chickens are dumb? They aren’t, at least not when it comes to food, and apparently, also, water.

Spring arrives to fog

Fog rules the morning here on Roundtop Mtn. Oh, and spring has arrived. Last night I heard the honking of a huge and high flock of migrating Canada geese. The sound is distinctive and different from the everyday honking of the geese.

I suspect the height of the flock has something to do with it, as well as the sheer number of geese. They honk continuously when they migrate, as though the flock is a traveling cocktail party with everyone talking at the same time. And they do sound happy, or at least eager, to be heading north again.

Then this morning, I heard the call of a killdeer or two. These birds are early arrivers, too. A few will nest in the stone parking lots at Roundtop, but for most the mountain is just a stop on their longer trip.

Together, hearing the migrating calls of geese and those of the killdeer, the evidence is irrefutable. Spring is here, if only as yet in its infancy.