Springtime beauty

Spring has sprung in my little corner of the world, and how! Reports from around the state confirm that most flowers and trees are at least 2 weeks ahead of schedule (in terms of bloom time) due to the ridiculously mild winter we've had and also the early warming trend we've seen so far this spring. Tonight we are under a freeze warning, though, so I'm not sure what our heavily flowered landscape will look like upon awakening in the morning.

Luckily I was able to get out on our property and some neighboring property over the weekend to get photos of just a few of the things that are in bloom. Enjoy!

Bluebells in my garden. This is the first year they have bloomed, even though I planted them 2 years ago.

Newly emerged Bluebell flower buds, kissed by a dew drop.

Bluets, a dainty but cheery flower.

How could you not be cheered by a flower that has a sunshine burst in the middle?

Bloodroot, which is normally just starting to bloom, is already starting to fade, with many plants already gone to fruit. This one is tattered and worn, but still beautiful.

When out looking at nature, you never know what you'll come across. Here, a pair of snail shells, the larger being about the size of a dime (if that), the tiny one being barely larger than a pin head. Always keep your eyes peeled for magical treasures!

Hocking Hills Christmas Bird Count

Snow-flocked Hemlocks in the Hocking Hills

January 2nd turned out to be a cold, brisk, wintry day, perhaps not the best of days to be out birding.  The roads went from dry to snow-covered in a matter of hours, and we found ourselves in near white-out conditions at a few points in the day.  As a result, the birds stayed hunkered down for the most part, except for a few pockets of activity here and there.  I had hoped for at least 40 species for the day, and we ended the day with 44 species; however, only 35 of those were in our count territory - the other 9 were "borrowed" from Lake Logan, which was the territory of another count group.
I'm glad we stopped at the lake first thing, though, because there was much waterfowl to be seen.  Due to the mild weather that we've had thus far, the water was completely open (i.e. not frozen), so there were many more waterbirds than one would find if the lake had been even partially frozen.  We saw several good-sized rafts of American Coots and Hooded Mergansers (with females greatly outnumbering males), a couple of Pied-billed Grebes, a Double-crested Cormorant, and a Horned Grebe.  Please let it be noted that, with the exception of the Coots (and maybe the Mergs), I probably wouldn't have been able to ID the other waterfowl due to utter lack of experience (especially since they're all in basic, or non-breeding, plumage right now!).  Thanks to our fearless leader, Jim McCormac, for pointing out all these great birds!

As strange as it may sound to some, I find an odd type of enjoyment in driving around and stopping and looking and listening for birds.  Of course, this is all done on rural roads, so traffic is not too much of an issue, but you do have to be mindful of private property.  We stopped and "staked out" a couple of yards with feeders, and if the homeowners would have happened to look out while this car full of people with binoculars was checking out their house, they might have been a little alarmed!  One of these feeders got us our only House Finch of the day, though.

My bird count partners, Olivia and Jim.

Some species came easily, and were spotted or heard at almost every stop, with the American Crow probably taking the prize there.  Dark-eyed Juncos were also observed in great numbers (101 for the day for our group, I believe).  Other species like Carolina Chickadee and Tufted Titmouse were observed in surprisingly low numbers, especially given the number of forested habitats we encountered.  We got all 5 woodpecker species that we expected (Downy, Hairy, Red-belied, Northern Flicker, and Pileated), but we had to work really hard for the Hairy, and all the Pileateds were silent fly-bys.  That's one woodpecker you tend to hear more than you see it, but not on this day.  We had 4 Belted Kingfishers for the day, which I thought was a high number, but very few Starlings or House Sparrows, both of which I would have expected to see in decent numbers simply due to their commonness.

Surprises for the day came both in the form of what we saw and didn't see.  The aforementioned Horned Grebe was a nice find, as were several hearty-souled Savannah Sparrows cavorting with a large flock of Juncos, a Bald Eagle soaring over Lake Logan, and a few Killdeer holding out on the mudflats at the lake.  We had several misses, too, that were disappointing: no Turkey Vultures (did see a number of Black Vultures, though), no Red-tailed Hawk, and no American Kestrel.  Regarding the latter two, I suspect our chances would have been better if the weather weren't so dreadful.  Who wants to be teed up in a tree or perched on autility line when the wind is blowing the snow sideways?  We had also hoped and tried for Red-breasted Nuthatch, Winter Wren and maybe an overwintering Eastern Phoebe, but no luck.  And so it goes.

The day wrapped up at Crane Hollow Nature Preserve, where we had a group gathering and pot luck.  It was nice to sit in this warm, cozy house with some yummy snacks and in the company of friends, new and old, while we compiled the day's findings.  It was a wonderful way to start the new year!

Here's the full list of species that our group saw and/or heard, if anyone cares to know:

• Hooded Merganser
• Double-crested Cormorant (new for the Hocking Hills count!)
• American Coot
• Canada Goose
• Pied-billed Grebe
• Horned Grebe
• Mute Swan
• Mallard
• Killdeer
• Belted Kingfisher
• Bald Eagle
• Red-shouldered Hawk
• Northern Harrier
• American Crow
• Norther Cardinal
• Blue Jay
• Carolina Chickadee
• Tufted Titmouse
• White-breasted Nuthatch
• Brown Creeper
• Song Sparrow
• White-throated Sparrow
• Dark-eyed Junco
• Savannah Sparrow
• Swamp Sparrow
• American Tree Sparrow
• Eastern Towhee
• Hermit Thrush
• Eastern Bluebird
• American Robin
• Pileated Woodpecker
• Downy Woodpecker
• Hairy Woodpecker
• Red-breasted Woodpecker
• Northern Flicker
• Mourning Dove
• American Goldfinch
• House Finch
• Carolina Wren
• Golden-crowned Kinglet
• Black Vulture
• Northern Mockingbird
• House Sparrow
• European Starling

The Frost Hunt

tiny buds 
await spring

A recent string of cold nights with clear skies and calm winds made for some delightfully frosty mornings, bringing the landscape into a characteristic state of being right on cue for the first days of December. These frosty mornings occurred, of course, during weekdays, when there was no time for stopping and capturing photos that could be savored later. I eagerly watched the weather forecast for the weekend, and was happy to see that conditions would be ripe for a good frost on Saturday morning. Excellent! Finally, I could go on a Frost Hunt! The title alone conjured crisp images in my mind, and helped me to get myself out of bed early on a morning when I might otherwise prefer to sleep in.

It wasn't until I got outside and really started looking at how the frost clung to leaves and flowers that I realized that it had been far too long since my last truly connected encounter with the land. It ended up being one of those multi-sensory experiences that I truly cherish.

Bee Balm seed head, covered in frost

In addition to each flower or blade of grass that I stopped to admire, there was the singing and calling of the birds. There's that mischievous Blue Jay that wants everyone to believe he's a Red-shouldered Hawk just from the sound of his voice, but I know his true identity. A Pileated Woodpecker sounded off amid the treeline along the ridge top, with a slightly erratic flight that took it out of sight. Song Sparrows gave their raspy call note, and then one daring male took me by surprise with a short song, repeated several times - something I did not expect to hear in early December. His song, combined with the smell of ever-present ground ivy, momentarily tricked my brain into thinking it was spring, but the frost crystals jolted me back to the reality that winter is just around the corner.

My "hunt" took place just across the road from my house, in an area with which I have become very familiar over the years. Photographing the flora had me feeling like I was among old friends, and they welcomed me happily, not caring that I had been away for a while. Each plant has its own "personality," both in the growing season and in the quieter times of fall and winter. Sometimes I think it is easier to appreciate the lines and curves of the plants in the dormant season, because most of the color is drained and withered away, leaving only the bare essentials to draw your attention.


Even so, some color remains to enliven the landscape!

Mysterious features become more prominent with frost glistening on them. I found many of these galls on the stalks of goldenrod plants, most of which had a perfect hole drilled right in the center on one side. Downy Woodpeckers and Carolina Chickadees are known to excavate these galls in order to get to the goldenrod gall fly larvae that is contained within. This is a phenomenon I have yet to observe myself, but one I very much hope to see in the future.

Virgin's Bower is one of my absolute favorite flowers to observe in fall and winter. The feathery fronds, to which the plant's seeds are attached, catch the light of sunrise and sunset with perfection, and frost adds yet another dimension of beauty to them.

Teasel is another flower that presents strong architectural interest in fall and winter. Interestingly, the frost made the seed head look much softer than usual, tuning what normally looks like something akin to a porcupine into an object resembling a soft brush. The bracts at the base of the seed head, however, retained their harsh curls, reminding me of Medusa's head of snake hair.

Next, the sun comes out...

Beech leaves

The woods on our property consist of a diverse mix of deciduous tree species. I've never attempted to do any kind of survey, but would like to some day. Until then, I cannot say with certainty what the "dominant" species is/are, but we have many specimens of large trees such as oak, hickory, maple, beech, and buckeye as well as a variety of understory trees such as sassafras, redbud, dogwood and paw paw. Trees occurring in smaller numbers are aspen, tulip tree and sycamore. Heavy winds a few weeks back pretty much wiped the branches clean of their dapper autumn-colored leaves, but there are a few lingerers. But even those hangers-on will be bare within a few weeks, save for most of the beeches and some of the oaks.


The beech trees always grab my attention, and a lot of this has to do with the fact that they encircle our house and their leaves are right at eye level from almost any window that you look out of. As fall marches into cooler days and nights, and frost and cold rains start to come into the picture, I attempt to be vigilant in watching their leaves because every year they catch me by surprise. One day they're green and then - POOF! - they've changed. And then a few days later they've changed again. As fall progresses into winter, the leaves hang on the beech trees, but they change in character. They become more and more paper-like. They go from brown to beige. Winter winds whip them ragged, but still they will hang on until the last possible moment in spring. Other tree species will be sprouting new, green growth, while last year's beech leaves will still be there, almost transparent now, clinging to a season that was over months ago.


Today I went out with my camera and attempted to capture the differing stages of change among our beech leaves. This is something that grabs my interest - the leaves on some beech trees seem to turn faster or sooner than others. I've tried to make loose correlations to the age or size of the tree, but have come up with nothing conclusive. At this point, there are very few green leaves left. Most are a nice yellow or orange, or a mottled combination of the two. Some are brown, and a few have even gone into what I call the "paper" stage - they are dry and rolled at the edges, already well on their way to their winter "look."




There is a term, I have learned, for dead leaves that cling into winter. It is marcescence. Okay, so there is a name for it, but no one is quite sure why it happens. The most common theory that I came across had to do with protection from browsing animals such as deer or moose - having these papery and likely unpalatable leaves at the end of the branches could save the tender buds from being eaten. But if that were true, wouldn't all trees employ that same strategy? So many questions, so many things still unknown.

Thinking spring: reprise

Another post from the archives...

Spring is settling in here quite nicely as we march on toward May. Perhaps a little too nicely, I had feared. The numbers registering on the thermometer have risen to summer-like levels on more than one occasion, making me wonder if we're just going to skip over spring entirely. That happened a few years back. This past weekend came to us with highs in the upper 50's, though, so I guess spring still has a bit of a hold on us, and we surely haven't said good-bye to nighttime frost yet.  That just wouldn't be right.


Right now we are in "The Season of Explosion." One day you go out and don't see much. The next day you go out and -POOF-! There's suddenly so much color. And the next day -POOF!- again, more color. It just keeps going and going. We'll reach a saturation point eventually, but for now, I'm enjoying the explosions and the prospect of new beauty every day.

While beauty abounds, this time of year does have its challenges.  Even  the process of planting flowers can take on a life all its own.  All it takes is one new or unfamiliar bird sound to make me drop my spade and forget all about the planting.  My attention shifts entirely to craning my neck and locating the bird in question.  Even though the trees are only just barely leafed out, birds that like to flit about high in the tippy-tops of the trees are still a challenge to find.  At least I'm finally learning to bring my binoculars out with me when I step outside, because I know I will need them.

The Buckeye trees, of which we have many on our property, have already put out their five-fingered leaves and are giving us a nice taste of the dappled sunlight that will reach us once all the leaves are out.  It's a slow encroachment, but day by day, tree by tree, our house will become enrobed by an array of green finery.

I'm already looking forward to all the baby birds that will be fledging over the next few months.  The Phoebe nest on the side of our house has been attended by a very devoted mother for the last few weeks.  Any day now I expect to start hearing some peeps from that nest.  A pair of Starlings have built themselves a nest in a roost box we put up years ago, an avian dwelling that so far as we can tell no one has ever used since we installed it.  A pair of Bluebirds has occupied one of the 3 nest boxes across the road, and there were 4 eggs in it at last count. 



Male Bluebird with a fresh lunchtime delivery for babies, May 7, 2006
 And I finally caught sight of a pair of Mourning Doves getting a quickie in Sunday afternoon.  They've been flying about and sitting on branches as pairs for weeks, so I imagined I would catch them in the act at some point.  Blue-gray Gnatcatchers are buzzing about (and quite loudly at that) every day in the woods - I can only hope for a glimpse at one of their nests.  And the Brown Thrasher sings boldly every morning and evening from the edge of the woods across the road; his ever-changing pattern of double calls is so intriguing to me.  If I'm lucky, I'll spy one of their nests just at the edge of the shrub line like I did several years ago. 



Brown Thrasher on the nest, April 26, 2007
Oh, and the woodpeckers - mostly Downys, but also Hairys and Red-bellieds - I can't wait to see their little ones come to the suet feeders, just like they do every summer.



Male Downy Woodpecker feeding one fledgling while another waits in the wings, June 11, 2006. The fledglings crack me up when they perch right on the suet feeder and beg and beg, refusing to feed themselves, which is what's happening here.
Of course, in addition to hoping to catch a glimpse of some nests or young birds, I'm just enjoying the sound of migrants and summer residents as they make their way north for the warm months. A Hermit Thrush stopped me in my tracks one morning as I was getting ready for work. I've never heard one of them on our property before, and, sadly, I haven't heard it since that morning. I anxiously await the return of its cousin, the Wood Thrush. Over the weekend I heard the White-eyed Vireo talking about pick up the beer tab, chick, and a Blue-winged Warbler put its fingers up to its ears, waggled them around, inhaled loudly, and made a big raspberry noise (that's just what their beee-buzzz voicing sounds like to me).

Once the birds start to migrate in and the woods start to explode, the phrase "I'm going for a walk in the woods," has to be taken rather loosely. It's not so much a walk as a dawdle, but the dawdle has a purpose. For example, I may end up backtracking 50 feet because I'm trying to find a bird that keeps flying away. Or I MUST stop to look at every different wildflower, checking it against the catalog in my brain - "Ooh, I don't know this one. I'll have to look it up when I get back to the house." But who knows how long it will be before I get back to the house. When the weather is good, everything about the outdoors begs to be soaked in through every available sense.  Oh how I wish I could spend all day, every day, out and about, observing and noticing. Sigh.

Fields of gold

The frantic pace of working on the guestudio has finally slowed down. We have had our first official guests stay with us, and since their departure, we haven't felt the need to push so hard to get on with the finishing touches. Several weeks ago, though, we were still working hard on the place during our off-hours from work. One beautiful Sunday I decided I HAD to take time off and go enjoy the beautiful weather we were having. I needed to be alone with the wind and the sun and the crickets and the birds, to recharge my batteries.

I took my camera along with me, of course, and took lots of pictures of the beautiful golden grasses, but I also spent a lot of time just sitting. Absorbing. Appreciating. Admiring. Amazed.

There was a delightful breeze, and as I sat in the sunny field, I noticed the hundreds of cobwebs that were streaming to and fro among the seed heads of the grass. Not those big round-and-round shaped-webs you normally think of, but simple strands. The grasses, upon close inspection, were all encased in the delicate streamers, some of them even tied together by the webs.

I crawled around among the grasses, and spent long minutes on my belly taking photos at all different angles. My nose picked up hints of clover, and even though the grass had not been cut for many weeks, it smelled fresh despite its age.

While the notion of sitting alone - just sitting and being - in a field (or in the woods, or on the water) for any amount of time would seem strange to some, it is an activity that I relish, and I wish I could do it all day. The longer I sit, the calmer I feel, and the more connected I feel, both to the earth and to myself.

Sitting is a passive activity, but even though my body is not doing much, my mind is quietly churning and digesting. Depending on what I am contemplating, I might even consider it to be a form of play. I do, after all, consider it to be "fun" when I am doing it in this capacity. It's a type of fun I would encourage everyone to engage in.

Can you name it?

Name that nut!

You better get it right, or Dave's going to throw a pile of leaves at you!

The whisper of autumn

Crows - caw, caw, cawing... a melancholy song
Squirrels scamper amidst a carpet of crunching leaves
Crisp breezes slowly denude the trees and
Nuts randomly pelt the ground
Crickets chirp at midday -
Fields of corn and soy, brown and spent,
prepare to give of their fruit for the harvest -
Asters and pumpkins, cider and bonfires
Brilliant leaves offset by brooding skies -
Daylight fades sooner
Dawn shimmers with dew
Coolness set in
yet butterflies and dragonflies
still fill the fields
holding on as long as they can.
I, too, am holding on, clinging to summer -
The siren song of autumn is drawing me in,
enticing me.
It is my only choice -
to embrace and rejoice.

Thoughts on the season

I never know where a walk is going to take me. Oh sure, I know physically where I am going - there's always a destination in mind. What I'm referring to is where I go in my head, and in my heart, on some walks. Often I set out on a photo walk only to absorb much more than what I went out to photograph.


Tall Ironweed
I experienced just such a walk this evening, and found myself contemplating the season. It's bloody hot, for one thing. By 7pm there was still not much respite from the heat and humidity, and the air was heavy. It wasn't just the humidity, though. There was a subtle hum on our country road, barely audible, but heard easily enough upon standing still: bees. Way up in the trees, and down at the flowers. I didn't see many of them, but their buzzing hung like a blanket in the air indicating a massive presence. The occasional horse fly also hummed by here and there. Within a few hours, once it is dark out, the cicadas and crickets will start singing their melodies. All of them sounds of industry in the insect world - sounds associated with getting food - or getting busy.


Common Milkweed
Even though the temperatures soar each day, it is not lost on me that the days grow shorter now, and that I must race out after dinner if I want to photograph in certain areas before the hills occlude the golden light of the setting sun. There seems to be a certain sense of busyness permeating the landscape, an urgency. Although it is not yet August, some birds are already working on putting on the body fat that they will need to sustain them through fall migration. It makes sense to me now why all these big juicy bugs and ripe fruits and nuts come out in abundance at this time of year - because they are needed, because they will prepare bodies for long travels or hibernation or for a time when the proverbial table is almost bare.


Spotted Knapweed
I took a good listen to the birds on tonight's walk, and was surprised to still hear so many birds singing despite the fact that breeding season is over for most of them. Scarlet and Summer Tanagers, Yellow-billed Cuckoo, Eastern Towhee, Blue-grey Gnatcatcher, White-eyed Vireo - all easily discernible from their perches in and at the edges of the woods. I watched a family of Gnatcatchers gleaning insects from tree leaves, wishing I had my binoculars with me to see the young ones better. Out in the mowed field I could just barely make out an Eastern Bluebird singing, soft yet bubbly. Their burst of blue coloring will be a welcome sight when I come across them in winter - nothing like a bluebird contrasted against a field of snow to cheer you up.


Tall Ironweed catches the evening sun
When I set out on my walk, I walked briskly and with purpose to a few spots where I had spied certain flowers of interest from the car during my daily commute. The return walk was much more leisurely and casual, which allowed my mind to wander. I contemplated how our meteorological seasons seem to be much more attuned to the true "feel" of the seasons than do the solstices and equinoxes dictated by the astrological seasons. I thought about how even though there is a sense of urgency in the air, there is also a feeling of tiredness - as if the flowers, for example, are straining to give everything they've got to put out fruit before the it's too late and the strain is just wearing them out. I'm sure, however, that's just me forcing my own perceptions of tiredness of these hot days onto the landscape.

As I made my way up the driveway and started thinking about various projects that I need to get done, it dawned on me that my walk had taken my mind off the stuff of the every day. While I was sweaty as I approached the house, and my camera wasn't full of as many photos as I would have liked, I had been transported to a calmer place for a while, and there was certainly no more that I needed than that.


Monarch caterpillar on milkweed

Thinking spring

Spring is settling in here quite nicely as we march on toward May. Perhaps a little too nicely, I had feared. The numbers registering on the thermometer have risen to summer-like levels on more than one occasion, making me wonder if we're just going to skip over spring entirely. That happened a few years back. This past weekend came to us with highs in the upper 50's, though, so I guess spring still has a bit of a hold on us, and we surely haven't said good-bye to nighttime frost yet.  That just wouldn't be right.



Right now we are in "The Season of Explosion." One day you go out and don't see much. The next day you go out and -POOF-! There's suddenly so much color. And the next day -POOF!- again, more color. It just keeps going and going. We'll reach a saturation point eventually, but for now, I'm enjoying the explosions and the prospect of new beauty every day.

While beauty abounds, this time of year does have its challenges.  Even  the process of planting flowers can take on a life all its own.  All it takes is one new or unfamiliar bird sound to make me drop my spade and forget all about the planting.  My attention shifts entirely to craning my neck and locating the bird in question.  Even though the trees are only just barely leafed out, birds that like to flit about high in the tippy-tops of the trees are still a challenge to find.  At least I'm finally learning to bring my binoculars out with me when I step outside, because I know I will need them.

The Buckeye trees, of which we have many on our property, have already put out their five-fingered leaves and are giving us a nice taste of the dappled sunlight that will reach us once all the leaves are out.  It's a slow encroachment, but day by day, tree by tree, our house will become enrobed by an array of green finery.

I'm already looking forward to all the baby birds that will be fledging over the next few months.  The Phoebe nest on the side of our house has been attended by a very devoted mother for the last few weeks.  Any day now I expect to start hearing some peeps from that nest.  A pair of Starlings have built themselves a nest in a roost box we put up years ago, an avian dwelling that so far as we can tell no one has ever used since we installed it.  A pair of Bluebirds has occupied one of the 3 nest boxes across the road, and there were 4 eggs in it at last count. 



Male Bluebird with a fresh lunchtime delivery for babies, May 7, 2006
 And I finally caught sight of a pair of Mourning Doves getting a quickie in Sunday afternoon.  They've been flying about and sitting on branches as pairs for weeks, so I imagined I would catch them in the act at some point.  Blue-gray Gnatcatchers are buzzing about (and quite loudly at that) every day in the woods - I can only hope for a glimpse at one of their nests.  And the Brown Thrasher sings boldly every morning and evening from the edge of the woods across the road; his ever-changing pattern of double calls is so intriguing to me.  If I'm lucky, I'll spy one of their nests just at the edge of the shrub line like I did several years ago. 



Brown Thrasher on the nest, April 26, 2007
Oh, and the woodpeckers - mostly Downys, but also Hairys and Red-bellieds - I can't wait to see their little ones come to the suet feeders, just like they do every summer.



Male Downy Woodpecker feeding one fledgling while another waits in the wings, June 11, 2006. The fledglings crack me up when they perch right on the suet feeder and beg and beg, refusing to feed themselves, which is what's happening here.
Of course, in addition to hoping to catch a glimpse of some nests or young birds, I'm just enjoying the sound of migrants and summer residents as they make their way north for the warm months. A Hermit Thrush stopped me in my tracks one morning as I was getting ready for work. I've never heard one of them on our property before, and, sadly, I haven't heard it since that morning. I anxiously await the return of its cousin, the Wood Thrush. Over the weekend I heard the White-eyed Vireo talking about pick up the beer tab, chick, and a Blue-winged Warbler put its fingers up to its ears, waggled them around, inhaled loudly, and made a big raspberry noise (that's just what their beee-buzzz voicing sounds like to me).

Once the birds start to migrate in and the woods start to explode, the phrase "I'm going for a walk in the woods," has to be taken rather loosely. It's not so much a walk as a dawdle, but the dawdle has a purpose. For example, I may end up backtracking 50 feet because I'm trying to find a bird that keeps flying away. Or I MUST stop to look at every different wildflower, checking it against the catalog in my brain - "Ooh, I don't know this one. I'll have to look it up when I get back to the house." But who knows how long it will be before I get back to the house. When the weather is good, everything about the outdoors begs to be soaked in through every available sense.  Oh how I wish I could spend all day, every day, out and about, observing and noticing. Sigh.

 NESTING UPDATE:  Since I first started drafting this post, the Phoebe nest has sprung to life.  We noticed mama bringing insects to the nest for the first time Monday evening.  So far I've only been able to make out 2 little gaping beaks, but it's still a little early to tell for sure how many young ones are actually in there.  Also, the Bluebird egg count has risen to 5 and incubation has begun (I flushed mama from the nest when I checked the nest yesterday).