tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55416408965935635032024-02-20T09:57:23.584-08:00Nature NotesObservations and encounters with fauna and flora in the Eastern Woodlands area and my own backyard. Birds, insects, flowers, lakes, trees, gardening and even weeds.Nancy T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389398976781500958noreply@blogger.comBlogger69125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541640896593563503.post-67154140128332672662015-10-24T06:24:00.001-07:002015-10-24T06:26:11.170-07:00Indian Summer 2015<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #943634; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 191;">I’ve always insisted
that, by definition, Indian Summer <i>must</i>
follow the first frost. In previous years I’ve argued with other gardeners, “This
can’t be it; we haven’t had a frost!” But this year, Mother Nature reminded me
that temperature, like rain, does not respect human boundaries.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #943634; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 191;">In the Montclair/Glen
Ridge area, we’ve not had a frost yet this autumn. The temperature may have
dipped to the low 30s, but it never made it to 32<sup>0</sup>. My tomato plants
still have some green leaves—and green tomatoes that will never ripen too. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #943634; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 191;">We were able to fit a
day in Sussex into this week’s schedule. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUSBq5tW1rt0bA3afyFCTsMWl8bQihJueYzLiFvvzN3nCzE61wKdo62G94hgUt0jh8N8CARqXYQK7766uBGBZwkCoUVDbAVMJQ5JmUIEGylcx7Ws0TD3vcNzt9RHzR3zrb-jmyvThTxtYZ/s1600/October+sunrise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUSBq5tW1rt0bA3afyFCTsMWl8bQihJueYzLiFvvzN3nCzE61wKdo62G94hgUt0jh8N8CARqXYQK7766uBGBZwkCoUVDbAVMJQ5JmUIEGylcx7Ws0TD3vcNzt9RHzR3zrb-jmyvThTxtYZ/s320/October+sunrise.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can't see the foliage colors, but what a sunrise!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
What a glorious day Wednesday was!
Temperature in the 70s, warm sunshine, and the hills a rolling patchwork of reds,
oranges and ambers; a perfect Indian Summer day. And in Sussex, it <i>was</i> Indian Summer. The stalks that were
once tomato plants, as well as black leaves and burnt crisps of dahlias that
had recently been bright pink, testified that in this part of New Jersey, there
had, indeed been a frost.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #943634; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 191;">So where had the frost
ended? Did it include Morris County? Had
it crawled over hills to Parsippany? How about Verona and Caldwell? Did it only
stop at First Mountain? I’ve noticed over years of observation that predicted
rain sometimes goes around that mountain and spares Montclair. (Or during a
drought, singles the town out for more parching.) Perhaps the frost also spared
Eastern Essex thus far. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #943634; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 191;">Thank goodness that Indian Summer is no respecter
of that boundary! For here too, we have the lovely, temporary respite from cold—a
teaser before Nature plunges us into a serious turn away from sunlight. It’s
time to enjoy the fall fruits and pumpkin confections; to admire the colors and
enjoy the crisp air; And it’s Mother Nature’s wake-up-call to dig the warm
clothing out of storage before it’s too late</span>.</div>
Nancy T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389398976781500958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541640896593563503.post-41555192498159944342015-08-04T14:47:00.001-07:002015-08-04T14:48:22.990-07:00Veery— Late in Season<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #632423; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 128;">I thought it was too late in the
season. Thought the veery family had abandoned the house we provided it. After
all, last week we only heard a bit of scolding from the veery, not the charming
song he had kept up for hours several weeks ago. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #632423; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 128;">But I was wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #632423; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 128;">We returned to another scolding,
from a branch above the deck where I stood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #632423; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 128;">“What’s your problem?” I asked. “I
would never harm you or your family. You can use the house any time you want – rent
free.” I sat down. I wasn’t going away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #632423; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 128;">After a few minutes of che, che,
che, che the veery gave up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #632423; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 128;">Then I learned what all the noise
was about. There are multiple chirping sounds from within the birdhouse. And
momma and poppa veery are making repeated visits in and out of the house. Their
brood must have hatched while we were gone—within the last five days.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH6vj7fiSyUSVwCvQ32YbeDFALC0HrPWDpZICHydnQFtcPbD9acj_LBlweEpC2Wsc__If2zcYKbYVa-rCrD9ey5k7LRhLRxRjnUEwdzSHZ1jZTuyw3azuHWCKrdBC55-K3C6b_EuiPbwtc/s1600/birdhouse+001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH6vj7fiSyUSVwCvQ32YbeDFALC0HrPWDpZICHydnQFtcPbD9acj_LBlweEpC2Wsc__If2zcYKbYVa-rCrD9ey5k7LRhLRxRjnUEwdzSHZ1jZTuyw3azuHWCKrdBC55-K3C6b_EuiPbwtc/s200/birdhouse+001.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #632423; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 128;">It’s late in season to bring up a
brood, considering they’ll all have to depart to a tropical clime in the fall.
But who am I to criticize? We started late too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #632423; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 128;">The Audubon site www.audubon.org/field-guide/bird/veery
says that sometimes veeries raise two broods per year. Perhaps this is the
second? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #632423; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 128;">Or – maybe they did just start late.
All that serenading in early July wasn’t for our benefit. Mr. Veery was obviously
singing for his lady love. Given that the eggs take 10 to 14 days to hatch,
this family was begun a short time ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #632423; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 128;">The blackberries that grew under the
deck are all gone. But the ripe berries last month may have been one more enticement
to convince Mrs. Veery that this birdhouse was in an ideal spot. We are lucky they
chose our birdhouse. The habit of the veery is to nest close to the ground in
dense forest or in a shrub or sapling.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #632423; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 128;"> The adults continually fly off to the trees
and return. I suppose they are bringing insects for food. The kids need
protein. They make a lot of noise when momma or poppa returns. All of them
saying, “Me first!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #632423; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 128;">Standing on the deck, looking down
at the house, I see it rock slightly, and the insistent chirps are replaced by
a rhythmic cooing. Suddenly momma flies out and off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: #632423; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 128;">I hope we are here when the little
ones learn to fly—10 to 12 days after hatching, according to Audubon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Nancy T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389398976781500958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541640896593563503.post-55966286668172919992015-07-28T16:31:00.003-07:002015-07-28T16:33:42.008-07:00Duck Armada <div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 20.0pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="color: #2a2718; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Several
weeks ago I wrote about the mother mallard duck who ushered seven little ones
to the lake edge to feast on snails. Momma duck is still bringing the kids
around; now there are six. I’ll never know if number seven chose to go it on
his own, or if he is no more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 20.0pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="color: #2a2718; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The
youngsters have grown to teenage size or at least, they are young adults. They
are almost as large as momma. The only clue that they are not full grown
mallards is that they are entirely brown. Only momma duck sports the lovely
blue chevron—the hallmark of a mallard—on her wings, and none of them have the
striking green head of the full grown male mallard. I’ve read that normally, there will be more
males than females in a duck population; maybe I’ll start seeing green in a few
weeks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 20.0pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="color: #2a2718; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The
ducks are still gulping down snails, and I wonder how the snail population will
ever recover from their daily repasts. I am still astonished to see – first the
snail in a ducks beak, as he snaps it open and shut to adjust the shell toward
the back of his mouth, and then the lump
in his throat as the snail goes down. I can’t imagine how <i>any-creature</i> could be comfortable with a tummy full of snails—in
shells!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 20.0pt; margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="color: #2a2718; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I
found the on-line <i>Princeton Science
Library</i>, “A Natural History of Shells” that says “The prey is swallowed,
enveloped, or smothered without damage to the shell; the flesh is then slowly
digested before the empty shell is expelled…Shell destruction after swallowing also
occurs in the gizzard of the ducks.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLQNp9IcBGsfRxKUpiprFxwPu-YZ7n28lLygI4tiL4_f58u3z4IX5UnqaAyoBsixcJmBtqeOt39Fhk2BF2LquV1Gc6k-drn6gUoMJygGI_5_aew3JQRd9NEzebtFGpmuwglGTY5exalBtq/s1600/Ducky+Society+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLQNp9IcBGsfRxKUpiprFxwPu-YZ7n28lLygI4tiL4_f58u3z4IX5UnqaAyoBsixcJmBtqeOt39Fhk2BF2LquV1Gc6k-drn6gUoMJygGI_5_aew3JQRd9NEzebtFGpmuwglGTY5exalBtq/s400/Ducky+Society+002.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #2a2718; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 20pt;">In
the afternoons the entire duck population of the lake now gathers to socialize.
An armada of 15 ducks cruises together, their wakes trailing multiple V
formations. </span><br />
<span style="color: #2a2718; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 20pt;">I wonder if they’re drilling for the time, in the fall, when they
will depart the lake as a group and head for a warmer clime. Four males travel
nearby; they don’t seem interested in traveling with the flock. Are they old
timers? Been there. Done that?</span>Nancy T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389398976781500958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541640896593563503.post-18782854650555331062015-07-12T15:43:00.001-07:002015-07-12T15:52:17.602-07:00Dragonfly Season<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<b><span style="color: #5f497a; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 191;">Weedy mats float at the edge of the lake, heralding the
season for dragon and damselflies to lay their eggs. They normally blanket these
floating weeds with their bubble-like egg clutches.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<b><span style="color: #5f497a; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 191;">The larvae cycle of the damsel and dragonflies includes two
or three years of living in the water as some of the ugliest bugs I’ve ever
seen. Then they crawl out the water and
right out of their skin! <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUuSQdk-JSZTXxFQ50OZmqwcypwrVxGbLfl1fjXXS24GcqRohDIw6WUPT6Jv3RKvrG7brw169AX5hz48mhuVS5m6V7pwASFxJihiVOxym5VjpSKqx3VYx02544Joed16xCdGG766Lqzl-O/s1600/exoskeleton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUuSQdk-JSZTXxFQ50OZmqwcypwrVxGbLfl1fjXXS24GcqRohDIw6WUPT6Jv3RKvrG7brw169AX5hz48mhuVS5m6V7pwASFxJihiVOxym5VjpSKqx3VYx02544Joed16xCdGG766Lqzl-O/s200/exoskeleton.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A dragonfly exoskeleton</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Well, it’s
really an exoskeleton. They uncurl their needle-thin bodies and, similarly to
butterflies, unfurl their wings to dry in the sun. Then follows a few frantic
summer weeks of consuming mosquitoes, mating and laying eggs and dying.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<b><span style="color: #5f497a; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 191;">In previous years, I’ve found dozens of the empty
exoskeletons clinging to the edge of the dock. This year, there’s only one, and
fewer of these jewel-like insects—less than a dozen of two varieties of damselflies
and only three or four dragonflies flitting about. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<b><span style="color: #5f497a; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 191;">I know that when an area is polluted, the first to leave
are the dragon and damselflies. But that is not the problem here, nor can I
blame Monsanto for this dearth, as I do for the diminishing monarch butterflies.
A recent report assured us that the lake is pristine and protected. It is home
to ducks, geese, swans, heron, frogs, snapping turtles, snails and muskrats, and
a variety of fish as well as damselflies and dragonflies.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<b><span style="color: #5f497a; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 191;">So what could be the explanation for the shortage of our
gorgeous mosquito-eaters? <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOJ5cXh7b_Px7o-VHoHkdrxWrzV8IDNPJgmgbVPIR6DAuh1ZkBkPqhaqaj2JsyfT18U26x5EiVL9i6uDmRwMUYJOJdQjWUMybEZmapv5_lkYY3vdtQchIiP9BmQB2IPHDygZJs6M4u7SNJ/s1600/damselfly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="80" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOJ5cXh7b_Px7o-VHoHkdrxWrzV8IDNPJgmgbVPIR6DAuh1ZkBkPqhaqaj2JsyfT18U26x5EiVL9i6uDmRwMUYJOJdQjWUMybEZmapv5_lkYY3vdtQchIiP9BmQB2IPHDygZJs6M4u7SNJ/s200/damselfly.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Damselfly - image from Google</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<b><span style="color: #5f497a; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent4; mso-themeshade: 191;">I blame the fish. The lake is seeded with bass, catfish and
others and is home to an abundance of sunnies. They need to eat too. There are
a couple of fishermen who take the sport seriously—but very few others around
the lake actually fish. I may have to start fishing and encourage neighbors to
do the same, for the sake of keeping the environment balanced for dragonflies. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
Nancy T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389398976781500958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541640896593563503.post-59849336883461352752015-07-04T11:07:00.000-07:002015-07-12T15:44:29.576-07:00Renter’s Serenade<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #760000; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">We’re
being treated today to almost constant music from a tiny bird who appears to be
our tenant. Though I repaired, repainted and mounted a birdhouse from the deck
two years ago, till now it’s been a disappointment. Previously, a tree swallow showed interest,
but his mate insisted on nesting in a tree in our neighbor’s yard. My husband
suggested I post a sign on the house, “For rent—cheap,” or maybe cheep. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #760000; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">But the
new tenants do so much more than cheep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #760000; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">This
bird’s song is a trill—just hearing it makes one happy. He sang from a nearby
tree all last evening and made frequent trips to and from the house. I can’t see inside, so I have to assume
there’s a lady bird there, and perhaps little ones? It seems late in the season to me, but why
else would he be so attentive?<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-bbqv_XgzSpZzUMgK3AowxJAzxcxYvxwK5uF1htcPtBXmrtntz9Eu4WcPIB_jbQIC_wC9CXoFlIuRh-86q_TE7eXDLBeaucCnxfNTZ4vk46G1KjkYTPE-eV3o18_9gFPOK_gDwoS2N2YD/s1600/July+3+15+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-bbqv_XgzSpZzUMgK3AowxJAzxcxYvxwK5uF1htcPtBXmrtntz9Eu4WcPIB_jbQIC_wC9CXoFlIuRh-86q_TE7eXDLBeaucCnxfNTZ4vk46G1KjkYTPE-eV3o18_9gFPOK_gDwoS2N2YD/s200/July+3+15+002.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Veery sitting on the Bird House</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #760000; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">My
husband says we should be charging rent. But it seems to me that his lovely
song is more than ample payment for his one-room flat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #760000; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">There’s
a wonderful website, http://www. whatbird.com, that I used to try to learn our
senenader’s name. I checked “New Jersey,” “Small size,” “brown,” “all purpose
beak” and “forest habitat” and it came up with a Veery. Our bird looks a bit
deeper red-brown and a little more slender than their picture, but his song is
very like their veery recordings and, apparently, eastern veery have a deeper
color than others.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #760000; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Another
veery recently showed itself and the two are flitting about, perhaps looking
for their favorite foods, bugs and fruit. Their presence may explain why there
are no wild blackberries left for us on the vine beneath our deck. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="color: #760000; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">The website says that
our veeries spent the winter in Brazil. What travelers they are!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<span style="color: #760000; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">You can hear the veery’s
song at </span><a href="http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Veery/sounds"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Veery/sounds</span></a><span style="color: #760000; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Nancy T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389398976781500958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541640896593563503.post-26376026896547682912015-06-26T04:00:00.001-07:002015-07-12T15:44:59.152-07:00Just Ducky<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<b><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; mso-themecolor: accent3; mso-themeshade: 128;">Each year I learn more about the
mallard ducks which summer at my favorite lake. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<b><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; mso-themecolor: accent3; mso-themeshade: 128;">In early spring I’ve seen
male-female pairs. Then, by June, it’s usual to see a few males paddling about
together—what my husband calls, “boys’ night out.” Later in the season, we’re
more likely to see several females accompanied by a group of youngsters; males
nowhere in sight. I figure the guys believe their job is done until it’s time
to return and get the whole flock ready to migrate. A little research informed
me that all ducks molt their flying feathers during the nesting period; they
cannot fly for three to four weeks! And there are usually more male ducks than
females. This is definitely true this year.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<b><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; mso-themecolor: accent3; mso-themeshade: 128;">Two weeks ago I saw three male
mallards, sun glinting off their handsome green heads, cruising the lake
together. I saw no females and figured they were keeping a low profile because
the kids were probably quite young.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<b><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; mso-themecolor: accent3; mso-themeshade: 128;">This week, at first I saw no male
ducks and thought they might have left the lake already. Then I discovered seven males sitting on a
dock with two females—while one female was taking seven adorable ducklings out
for lunch.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<b><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; mso-themecolor: accent3; mso-themeshade: 128;"> The area by our dock was especially attractive
to them because the grass slopes </span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidHr7ELw81qMn6uLHrrNmGmJPKl00xLXFyC3X_BXxkOLzqUsdhyoBJ8H9R4hEikKI5AY27QyT3gprn5Iw_IjoVFPvHu135lJ93kEn9BfqracfLhFuhCT63TJWNygfbgzROvs4rE8PxM5CL/s1600/bottoms+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidHr7ELw81qMn6uLHrrNmGmJPKl00xLXFyC3X_BXxkOLzqUsdhyoBJ8H9R4hEikKI5AY27QyT3gprn5Iw_IjoVFPvHu135lJ93kEn9BfqracfLhFuhCT63TJWNygfbgzROvs4rE8PxM5CL/s320/bottoms+up.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></b></div>
<b><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">gradually down to the water. There’s some lake
weed where teensy fish hang out, as well as small black snails. I’d seen adult
ducks eating the snails; thought that they must crack the shells with their
beaks to get the snail, though it did appear that they swallowed them shell and
all. Google research confirms that ducks eat snails whole! The thought gives me
a stomach ache.<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<b><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; mso-themecolor: accent3; mso-themeshade: 128;">The female babysitter—a duck site
confirms that sometimes one adult will watch <u>all</u> the kids—had no fear of
us. She simply kept watch as the babies fed, dipping, or rather ducking,
bottoms up, in the shallows. Some were brave enough to dive for a snail when
they were in 18 inch-deep water. We were only two yards away, watching the
little ones down snail after snail – whole!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6.0pt;">
<b><span style="color: #4f6228; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; mso-themecolor: accent3; mso-themeshade: 128;"><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Besides the ducks, our lake has
always been home to a pair of swans. They nest at the far end of the lake and,
I’m told, though there have been eggs, they rarely raise a cygnet to adulthood
because of predators. But they must have succeeded last year, because there are
now two pairs of adult swans at the far end of the lake. They grace us with
their presence, gliding to our end about once each day.</span><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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Nancy T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389398976781500958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541640896593563503.post-69377351286975013952014-11-26T09:37:00.000-08:002014-11-26T09:37:15.039-08:00Indian Summer?<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #943634; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 191;">I want to protest the brevity of
this year’s Indian summer. I have looked forward to Indian summer each fall. When the days become short and
chilly, though the leaves are gorgeous, I must fight sadness and the urge to
hibernate. Knowing there’ll be that reprieve of warm days before true cold
sinks in keeps me hopeful until the holiday excitement takes over. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="vertical-align: baseline;">
<b><span style="color: #943634; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 191;">Some people told me we
were having Indian summer in October. Nonsense!
I learned as a Girl Scout that first we needed a frost. The Farmers’ Almanac says, “The time of
occurrence is important: The warm days must follow a spell of cold weather or a
good hard frost,” and that it comes after St. Martin’s Day, November 11th. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="vertical-align: baseline;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="vertical-align: baseline;">
<b><span style="color: #943634; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 191;">Most years that frost
is a snap of cold one night that kills the late tomato and pepper plants, the
begonias and nasturtium, and the delicate herbs like basil. This year’s frost was colder, harder and
longer, wilting even the hardier vegetables like kale, carrot tops and parsley
and fusing dead tomato stems in the earth. </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="vertical-align: baseline;">
<b><span style="color: #943634; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-themecolor: accent2; mso-themeshade: 191;">And worse!—this year’s Indian summer lasted merely
one glorious day and one day less lovely, but nevertheless warm.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #943634; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But it would not be fair to protest
to Mother Nature. She has every right to give us only a short respite after the
first frost. After all, </span>we've<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> taken the carbon out of her earth, sent it into
the atmosphere and upset her carefully balanced weather. Until we find a way to
appease her, we’ll have to accept what she sends—including today’s dumping of
snow, just in time for Thanksgiving.<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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Nancy T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389398976781500958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541640896593563503.post-69194625562743329132014-11-15T13:19:00.001-08:002015-07-12T15:45:16.551-07:00My Favorite Acorn<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.0pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVoMLPwVvFhty63B1h-XOM6Vgo_NwG6qN6RiD6q6xQ5H9-hSfjYaUewSXJ5y3waVbMHscPIKJEasXpdghmCHRNQsiULzqhqDs4ulMepwoBqwsMLVMUflVMw6lwEoMfBnQ56ASRNIG7TZPB/s1600/bur+oak+acorn3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVoMLPwVvFhty63B1h-XOM6Vgo_NwG6qN6RiD6q6xQ5H9-hSfjYaUewSXJ5y3waVbMHscPIKJEasXpdghmCHRNQsiULzqhqDs4ulMepwoBqwsMLVMUflVMw6lwEoMfBnQ56ASRNIG7TZPB/s1600/bur+oak+acorn3.jpg" width="155" /></a><b><span style="color: #336600; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></b><b><span style="color: olive; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">On the table in front of me sits a
tiny, tan object that fell from an oak tree. It reminds me of pictures of medieval
battle helmets worn by the Huns or perhaps the Mongols. An array of triangular
bumps protrudes in alternating circles from the top center, forming a diagonal
pattern as they descend, to end in a fringe.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.0pt;">
<b><span style="color: olive; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Most acorns lie
about the ground sporting their own, made to order caps. But this—cap?—cradles its
seed that, when released, is hatless. It became the dull, tan color only as it
dried, cracked, and released the acorn. But when first I found it, it was a glorious
chartreuse with waving threads hiding its treasure.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguwwlH3Z1OdEYmsas9lDK7gO0LYrQTWOLIbjNLoTl-2z-FH-oe3F427tgrSEv0N_lP0DLmL78VP_0nlWjHzeyGLniQMnTChIQcMbzFrLV0rWL9lSKJeGFbaUZ02hpYyoist6guTlOh3urc/s1600/Bur+oak+acorn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguwwlH3Z1OdEYmsas9lDK7gO0LYrQTWOLIbjNLoTl-2z-FH-oe3F427tgrSEv0N_lP0DLmL78VP_0nlWjHzeyGLniQMnTChIQcMbzFrLV0rWL9lSKJeGFbaUZ02hpYyoist6guTlOh3urc/s1600/Bur+oak+acorn.jpg" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="color: olive; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 18.0pt;">
<b><span style="color: olive; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I know there are
many different varieties of oak, white, red, black and even live. Long ago, in
Girl Scouts, we learned a song with hand moves, “Love Grows Under the White Oak
Tree,” and </span></b><b style="line-height: 18pt;"><span style="color: olive; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was told you recognize different oaks by their bark. The Internet now tells me that the name “oak”
can be used for 400 varieties of trees and shrubs, and lists 15 common types. My acorn belongs to the Bur Oak tree. This type, with so distinctive an acorn, has
become my favorite and is certainly worthy of mapping tree locations. There’s one in Glenfield Park, Montclair. So
hurry over there, if you’d like to capture one of the burs for yourself.</span></b></div>
Nancy T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389398976781500958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541640896593563503.post-77100187877165647612014-05-25T09:09:00.002-07:002014-05-25T09:17:02.161-07:00Old-Fashioned Spring<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-line-height-alt: 7.3pt;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>We’re
having a real old-fashioned spring this year. The kind that starts slowly, high
winds whistling in a hint of warmer temperatures, then, just as you are soaking
up the sun’s rays, a new wind blows the chill back and temperatures rarely climb
to 70o. It’s the kind of spring when the blossoms unfold a little each day unveiling
ever-changing color, beginning with the yellow daffodils and forsythia, the purples
and pinks of hyacinth and cherry blossoms, followed by the varied colors of tulips,
while the trees over-arch with <span style="color: #6aa84f;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">chartreuse</span>
</span>blossoms. Now that they have filled out in deep greens, we enjoy shades of
violet and purple of the wisteria and lilacs and irises. </b></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>It’s the kind of spring when you need a spring coat. When I
was young, spring was like this. Just before Easter, our mother took my sister
and me shopping for new clothes and, when we grew too fast, a new spring coat
to wear to church. We got to employ that
coat throughout April and much of May, then again in the fall. Seasons behaved themselves in those days.
Summer was hot, winter cold and spring and fall took time to transition. </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>This year I've discovered that I don’t have a spring coat
for church because I haven’t needed one for years. I wear an informal jacket as
I wonder if I should buy a light coat, or if future springs will revert to the
pattern they've taken for many years till now—jumping from a windy March to a hot,
don’t-need-a-coat, April. There had not been a single day, or night, below
freezing in April for the five years prior to this one.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>I've welcomed and enjoyed the slow transition this year. I
relished the past autumn too, the trees clothed in brilliant color well into
November. It was a joy to be outside. As is this spring. I’ll gladly invest in
a transition coat if it will guarantee another old-fashioned fall, followed by
another sweetly slow spring. But I fear I’ll be tempting fate, as well as
Mother Nature. </b></span></div>
</div>
Nancy T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389398976781500958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541640896593563503.post-32614775793257826402014-02-19T09:53:00.000-08:002014-02-19T09:54:33.220-08:00Nature’s Call for Simpler Times<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #002060; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">When it snowed again yesterday morning I decided to walk the
mile to the library for our weekly Write Group support meeting. I figured
walking would be better than driving on new fallen snow and I’d also avoid pulling
into a poorly plowed space to park.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfrD9LxlYnnCuVdhYiuEKx3Ln8glkGrseO4A3bmlLyQOJialqp6wc4iI9_8SjzSU2thbfWB1s0O8G30cKjAHPChzzsbIa9rlc3hVIgdCKb95LnZJD-5n4t1IdwF6T2zBXUdKJNNHHzZhPi/s1600/Feb+13+Snow+Day+001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfrD9LxlYnnCuVdhYiuEKx3Ln8glkGrseO4A3bmlLyQOJialqp6wc4iI9_8SjzSU2thbfWB1s0O8G30cKjAHPChzzsbIa9rlc3hVIgdCKb95LnZJD-5n4t1IdwF6T2zBXUdKJNNHHzZhPi/s1600/Feb+13+Snow+Day+001.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our beautifully landscaped terrace</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #002060; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">This was about our
fifth snowfall (but who’s counting?) since the new year. We’ve had other snowy
winters, but in every one that I remember, except the winter of ’92-93, the
snow melted between snow falls.</span><span style="color: #002060; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><span style="color: #002060; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">This year it hasn’t
and there is no place to put the snow. Consequently snow barriers a yard thick
and equally high line all of our curbs reducing most streets to one and a half
lanes. </span><span style="color: #002060; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">When there are cars parked, they protrude into the middle of the
street; opposing traffic must take turns slaloming down the block.</span><span style="color: #002060; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #002060; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi45QnmhQftLIxN-yshQLbp_Fd7DQoQX2XKgMkujqHOrYeylNzcHazlptWzn68lbN1Aw9_qEwCBcqRBuNEyFiZ6uh6zXxksqn6g685meUsCcABoKC5TxgC9yRFkhJtWdaT4CejlWtwl1zK1/s1600/View+from+the+bridge+001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi45QnmhQftLIxN-yshQLbp_Fd7DQoQX2XKgMkujqHOrYeylNzcHazlptWzn68lbN1Aw9_qEwCBcqRBuNEyFiZ6uh6zXxksqn6g685meUsCcABoKC5TxgC9yRFkhJtWdaT4CejlWtwl1zK1/s1600/View+from+the+bridge+001.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the bridge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #002060; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">My walk includes an old cement </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #002060; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">bridge over the railroad and a </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #002060; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">section of </span><span style="color: #002060; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">the Second River—</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #002060; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 19px;"></span></span><span style="color: #002060; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">there enclosed within
“the Glen”</span><span style="color: #002060; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 19px;"></span></span><span style="color: #002060; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"></span></div>
<span style="color: #002060; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">—always picturesque,
especially</span><br />
<span style="color: #002060; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> in the </span><span style="color: #002060; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">snow, and Glenfield Park. </span><br />
<span style="color: #002060; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">At the time I went out there was </span><br />
<span style="color: #002060; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">no
traffic on those streets. Nature forced humanity to revert to simpler ways. I
saw only two other walkers. We waved to each other as we walked in the street
facing traffic, like on a rural road, because you could get to the
semi-shoveled walkways only by scrambling over yard-high mounds at the corners.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #002060; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Passing some beautiful Victorian homes, I was certain the scene
would have looked little different when they were newly built. I imagined and
wished for a horse-drawn sleigh to drive out from one of them. In <i>Time and Again</i>, a book by Jack Finney
that I’ve several times reread, the protagonist goes back to an earlier time by
imagining himself in that time just after a snow fall. But unfortunately, that was not to happen
during my walk; a motorized Parcel Post Truck coming down Woodland Ave. quickly
destroyed the illusion of times past.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #002060; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">I trudged on, occasionally on sidewalks, but moving back to the
street whenever homeowners had neglected their shoveling, passing newer homes
and apartment houses that could never take me back in time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Nancy T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389398976781500958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541640896593563503.post-58637908259906748772014-02-05T10:06:00.002-08:002014-02-19T09:56:32.747-08:00Musing on a Snow Day<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #17365d; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: text2; mso-themeshade: 191;">Water is such an incredible substance. </span><span style="color: #17365d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 19px;">When it evaporates it creates interesting cloud formations.</span><span style="color: #17365d; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"> In its solid state, instead of condensing, like so many other compounds, it
expands, allowing it to cover the surface of a lake while letting fish and
other water creatures survive below. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #17365d; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: text2; mso-themeshade: 191;">And then there’s snow.
It’s like whipped water—fluffy, soft, malleable, beautiful and quiet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #17365d; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: text2; mso-themeshade: 191;">Today’s snow has forced
a holiday on me and many others. Sadly, most adults forge ahead with their
plans while grumbling about the weather. They ignore Mother Nature’s advice, “Step
back, reflect, enjoy!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUCrdW595sZyq-kS5eXB8nMaCUHcKFTqMf00HI3hAk8F2auLEId0N7ymb8YFzQwvE29WfhauS0iDCMF3FKDZ3q_ZIlZOm7uEhhUwJECJB4LO3XTur2csXyN9XUedIb8W1Xlfb9MIFUWf2a/s1600/Out+our+window+Feb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUCrdW595sZyq-kS5eXB8nMaCUHcKFTqMf00HI3hAk8F2auLEId0N7ymb8YFzQwvE29WfhauS0iDCMF3FKDZ3q_ZIlZOm7uEhhUwJECJB4LO3XTur2csXyN9XUedIb8W1Xlfb9MIFUWf2a/s1600/Out+our+window+Feb.jpg" height="221" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from our window</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #17365d; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: text2; mso-themeshade: 191;">Kids know better. They
get out in the stuff—building, tunneling, sliding, getting happily soaking wet.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #17365d; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: text2; mso-themeshade: 191;">Since we moved to an
apartment in October, I have not missed having a yard. Until today. I miss my
neighbors’ children who, on a day like today, would ring my doorbell and invite
me to help them build a snow fort or make a sculpture of their favorite cartoon
character.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #17365d; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; mso-themecolor: text2; mso-themeshade: 191;">There is snow on our
terrace. Maybe I’ll go build a snow Sponge Bob.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Nancy T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389398976781500958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541640896593563503.post-38158561644925975982014-01-18T08:39:00.005-08:002014-02-19T09:57:10.201-08:00House Hunting for the Birds<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> <span style="font-size: large;">Found among the trash and treasures when we took over the
summer lake house in early spring, was a simple birdhouse with a small round
opening. It was easy to miss at first exploration, hidden as it was beneath the
work bench. It was covered with dust and
its bottom lay apart on the floor. I
washed it off, fitted the bottom in place, and decided to brighten it up with a
coat of paint before welcoming a feathered family. It was late in the day and we were not
staying, so I parked the birdhouse on a cement ledge that held a pillar of the
deck in place, making a mental note to bring paint next time we came. </span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> We
returned after two weeks, following a spell of wind and rain. I found the birdhouse
on the ground at the foot of the pillar. Its bottom and top had come apart in
its fall. With a sigh, I picked up the pieces, and was astonished to find a
small, broken nest within the house. Though there were no eggshells, still I
felt sad that I had not fastened the house to the pillar. Either the wind, or
my neighbor’s orange cat, Morris, must have brought it down and shattered the
hopes of a bird couple.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> I
nailed the roof back on, refitted the bottom and put the nest material back in
the box. Since somebird was already
interested in the home, I decided not to paint it, but considered tying the box
to the same pillar. The ledge of the
pillar was only a yard above the ground—low enough to attract Morris, perhaps
for a second time. So instead, I secured
it with wire to a hook on the bottom of the overhanging deck. </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> Then I
joined my husband by the shore. After a</b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUIi_CfdiCSJ52q6ehuHJbO92y0tuo2fQ6OrWqrnSgFmm7SdE9YFKbzUygRGr2nkcNjZPfoWtY9Og19LHYfdfHQGgWadVFgw74FebbvhgVOEI0punV9z9awYMRAIHM6Jas2rybxHNS8KH/s1600/tree+swallow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUIi_CfdiCSJ52q6ehuHJbO92y0tuo2fQ6OrWqrnSgFmm7SdE9YFKbzUygRGr2nkcNjZPfoWtY9Og19LHYfdfHQGgWadVFgw74FebbvhgVOEI0punV9z9awYMRAIHM6Jas2rybxHNS8KH/s1600/tree+swallow.jpg" height="280" width="320" /></a></b></span></div>
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> swim I spotted a swallow gracefully
swooping over the lake. He was a cute,
sparrow-sized bird with iridescent blue and black on its back, a black
beak and a white breast. He landed on a
branch of the straggly tree rooted at the water’s edge. Looking back at our
house, I saw his mate sitting on the pillar’s ledge where the birdhouse had
been. She sat with head bowed, wings hanging limply at her sides. The male tree
swallow, for that’s what he was—swooped over to her, chirping, but she remained
the picture of dejection. He returned to
the tree and called to her again. Still she did not move. </b></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> “Look!”
I said to my husband, “She wants the box and her nest. But it wasn’t safe
there.” </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> “Tell
that to her,” he said.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> The
male flew toward the house again. This time he passed the birdhouse. He flew by
it again and again. Then, landing on the perch, he tilted his head to look
inside. </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> He called
to his mate. I was certain he was saying, “Look, sweetie, here’s our home. Come
up here and take a look.”</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> Sweetie
did not budge.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> The
tiny male flew back to the tree and made repeated sweeps toward the birdhouse,
calling excitedly all the while, “Sweetie! It’s our house! It’s up here. We can
build another nest.”</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> Sweetie
turned to look at him. She shrugged her wings but made no move to leave off her
mourning.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> “I hope
she changes her mind,” I told my husband. “They’re so pretty. I’d love to see
them raise a family here.”</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b> The
male continued his swoops and chirpings. I admired his grace and the iridescent
flash of his feathers. But the female would not change her mind. With what I
interpreted as a last sigh, she lifted off the ledge and flew past us toward
the other end of the lake. The male followed. They did not return to our house
that summer though I did occasionally see the male’s graceful acrobatics over
the lake.</b></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> I left
the birdhouse fastened to the bottom of the deck. I hope next spring somebird
will take possession of it. Perhaps I should attach a sign, “For lease—cozy,
convenient and safe from cats. Ready to move in.”</b></span> </span></div>
Nancy T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389398976781500958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541640896593563503.post-20067458392828500342014-01-07T17:16:00.001-08:002014-02-19T09:57:59.274-08:00Weather Swings<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>I remember the last verse of a song about climate that I
heard as a child. It was sung to the tune of “Sweet Betsy from Pike.”</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> “But we
poor unfortunates live in a clime</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> That
calls for at least three full suits at a time-</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> A thick one, a thin one for days
cold and hot,</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> And a
medium weight for the days that are not.”</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #0c343d;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>The song is true for the north east. In the summer we wear
the lightest possible clothing, in winter, the warmest. And, at least when I was young, you wore a light
jacket or raincoat for spring and fall. There were some transition days— Indian
Summer and “Pilgrim Winter”—when the weather, heading toward the new season,
took a few days off to remind us of the previous. Once into winter, you could safely store away
your summer clothes. And after taking your light clothes out, you pretty much
stuck to them. Seasonal change was predictably gradual.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #0c343d;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>But last year and this one, all bets are off. I stored away
my light jacket right after Thanksgiving. I took it out a week and a half ago
and again yesterday, when, just for one day each, the temperature soared toward
the 60s. Then the thermometer dropped again.
This morning it was 2<sup>o</sup>! </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #0c343d;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Mother Nature is very angry and she’s letting us know. I wish, if she’s mad at decision makers who
refuse to abandon fossil fuels for renewables, that she’d make some accommodation
for homeless humans as well as birds and animals living out doors. But we are all in this together for what
appears to be a long haul.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #0c343d;"><br /></span></b></div>
<b><span style="color: #0c343d;"><br /></span></b>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #351c75; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I hope it’s not too late to appease Mom.</span></div>
Nancy T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389398976781500958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541640896593563503.post-35233596754805987862013-09-30T15:15:00.000-07:002014-02-19T09:59:24.056-08:00Fog and Mushrooms<div class="MsoNormal">
<b> <span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The radio says “clear skis.” But I look out at a soft gray
fuzziness blanketing the lake and foliage of the opposite shore. A Slightly
lighter gray highlights where the sky meets the treetops. Though we are told
that temperatures will rise to the mid-seventies, there is no way I’ll be
swimming in a lake that is now giving up its warmth to the air. </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> Yesterday
we spent an hour following an entertaining mycologist around a small path in
the Frelinghuysen Arboretum. The mushroom walk—a highlight of the Fungi Fest—began
amusingly because our area of New Jersey
has had so little rain lately that, naturally, there are few mushrooms growing.
So mushrooms of various genera and species had been carefully placed along a
small, looping path, with accompanying signs to identify them.</b></span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh56hrBY2HuYxtlOCOaMCl5zPTsFH44o6fyWulrflKCgBArLuROZccQhZMeXMUyEwxKbU4moOemux6I_Dva2TC2wJf6k1rGsIqaxP6EICMxZQsRBUliKYWh56FwyN8Gp465Tth513KE98Mc/s1600/Cat's+Mushrooms+sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh56hrBY2HuYxtlOCOaMCl5zPTsFH44o6fyWulrflKCgBArLuROZccQhZMeXMUyEwxKbU4moOemux6I_Dva2TC2wJf6k1rGsIqaxP6EICMxZQsRBUliKYWh56FwyN8Gp465Tth513KE98Mc/s320/Cat's+Mushrooms+sm.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Amanita - Poisonous!</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> I’ve
always been a mushroom fancier. I do like to eat them, but I also enjoy their
very different looks in the wild and the way they seemingly pop up in
unexpected places over night. In my 20s, I collected mushrooms when I hiked,
identified them with a guide book I still own, dried them and placed them into
cute jars, usually on a bed of moss and soil. I labeled them on the bottom of
the jar with a sketch to identify each mushroom within. I called this <i>art</i> “Forest Floors” and attempted to
sell them—without much success. </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> I
learned a lot at the mushroom walk. If I were to make “Forest Floors” now, I’d
be more careful of the mushroom’s surroundings. Now I know that some mushrooms
only grow on wood and that many have a symbiotic relationship with trees,
giving antibiotic protection to the trees while helping themselves to the trees’
sugars. And species specialize by tree type.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> Many of
the people on the tour with us were members of the NJ Mycological Association,
MNMA, and regularly go on mushroom forays. They all oohed when looking at the
hen-of-the-woods colony placed next to an oak. Apparently it makes a welcome
feast and there is no mistaking it. I think we had some growing next to a tree
stump in our backyard. Maybe it will return next year.</b></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> Looking
out now, there is no lake, no opposite shore. Fog has enveloped and softened
everything. Perhaps there’ll be rain – and mushrooms.</b></span></div>
Nancy T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389398976781500958noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541640896593563503.post-50564007718526828712013-08-31T07:30:00.002-07:002013-08-31T07:31:33.069-07:00Water Fowl Convention<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Someduck must have called for a convention in the cove end
of Kittatinny Lake for Labor Day weekend, because all the water fowl of the
lake seem to be congregating down this end.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> Usually we see a
group of six to nine mallard ducks. They like to sun on the dock across from
us, come up on land at our neighbor’s beach.
Other ducks frequent places further down the lake. I haven’t seen more
than a dozen together all summer. </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlQ4vApK8oqtoT1FMgZ-ij1Th011y74GsRZa492GNVAEoHPgHb9N0dmbRdhasDD0J1x5VCoFtYli0r53p4AZ110ximO95pYWHHMG2NfrfFYvpjSqO3mmqzpdTCKKy4ioSpIo9k0BOFSW5Z/s1600/swans+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlQ4vApK8oqtoT1FMgZ-ij1Th011y74GsRZa492GNVAEoHPgHb9N0dmbRdhasDD0J1x5VCoFtYli0r53p4AZ110ximO95pYWHHMG2NfrfFYvpjSqO3mmqzpdTCKKy4ioSpIo9k0BOFSW5Z/s320/swans+002.JPG" width="320" /></a><o:p><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> </b></span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>The swan couple lives at the shallow south end, by the dense
patches of water lilies. They rarely
sail up to the cove, although two summers ago, one of the pair regularly came
up to beg for handouts of bread.
Neighbors at the south end tell me that the swans lay eggs each summer
and attempt to raise their cygnets to adulthood. Apparently predators often
deplete their brood. I suppose those that survive then relocate to their own
lake, because we have only one couple in residence.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>This weekend is different. The swans and 23 mallard
ducks—only females and young adults, no mature males—are all hanging out in the
cove. No bird produced a barbeque grill nor did any uncover a bowl of potato
salad, so I can’t imagine what brought them all down here. We offered crackers to the swans but they
were not interested. Obviously they had somehow gotten plenty to eat at this
party.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Could it be the current?
There is usually a mild current from south to north. This weekend a steady wind has blown across
the lake from the south making the current stronger than usual. But there have
been stronger currents –days when I’ve tried to canoe out of the cove and have been
continually turned back –and the birds have not been there. </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">No. I’m convinced that somefowl has called an end of summer
party in the cove. And we get to enjoy the gracious condescension of a swan
visit. </b>Nancy T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389398976781500958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541640896593563503.post-48442459935250422302013-08-10T15:47:00.002-07:002014-02-19T10:00:16.130-08:00Chicks and ducks and geese – We scurried around the county fair.<b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> Every variety of chicken, duck and rabbit was represented at the Sussex County Fair. Love the chickens so covered in fluffy feathers that it looks like fur! And, during out morning visit on Tuesday, we also saw geese, sheep, alpacas – what beautiful faces they have, pigs –all sleeping, goats, cows, horses and oxen. The 4-H clubs were much represented; many of the animals had been raised by youngsters, who proudly fed, combed and even sheered them. </b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghMdN2BKF1Keb3VDaabAp4vUYYpkITizjYUsZIXpdfLoxUriLJvzxk3FcZp7LRzJUwTWKmh9XP8ZJrFWx7TKj6-UnYeh70sAeuWT3UfdNAP3faE6fallfPo-l8Dv3MaD-ZCdMG34BL934O/s1600/Sussex+Fair+2013+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghMdN2BKF1Keb3VDaabAp4vUYYpkITizjYUsZIXpdfLoxUriLJvzxk3FcZp7LRzJUwTWKmh9XP8ZJrFWx7TKj6-UnYeh70sAeuWT3UfdNAP3faE6fallfPo-l8Dv3MaD-ZCdMG34BL934O/s200/Sussex+Fair+2013+002.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A chicken - believe it or not!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXwac3RURnpvQM6GeT0rnUaAnMLQ91QL3CUmlaED-SluRp2mHn9aofs-ChuOfZnAQ6hd_2Td-4bZ2DAdBe4tm7gbgoklfN_F6lqNBInogSjvT7q1T8p3J4FpVi2lTIbiXOTF9_IZDlngyo/s1600/Sussex+Fair+2013+007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXwac3RURnpvQM6GeT0rnUaAnMLQ91QL3CUmlaED-SluRp2mHn9aofs-ChuOfZnAQ6hd_2Td-4bZ2DAdBe4tm7gbgoklfN_F6lqNBInogSjvT7q1T8p3J4FpVi2lTIbiXOTF9_IZDlngyo/s200/Sussex+Fair+2013+007.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Alpacas</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBTccLKDHkYVcMSfbwepLDtomtuFCvU7gNkAxVes6ChGRKmL_kU1vswcTp58oEeQ2E3eyXuEWc2RWUHFf6ISGm4YbaNOKcboC_jyC667aF9z1eTYUxpgpmBn7gGt3Qmr9lGm_SJ9cIzk48/s1600/Sussex+Fair+2013+010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBTccLKDHkYVcMSfbwepLDtomtuFCvU7gNkAxVes6ChGRKmL_kU1vswcTp58oEeQ2E3eyXuEWc2RWUHFf6ISGm4YbaNOKcboC_jyC667aF9z1eTYUxpgpmBn7gGt3Qmr9lGm_SJ9cIzk48/s200/Sussex+Fair+2013+010.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sheering his sheep</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> There was also a quilt exhibit
hanging from the ceiling of one hall. I walked around with arched neck the
entire time admiring the colors here and the needlework there. I tried to quilt
once, so I was also in awe, knowing the patience and precision it took to make
such beautiful works of art. The fair ends on Sunday.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Back
home we have plenty of wildlife of our own. The groundhogs—now there are two of
them, one large, one small—have made an arrangement with a thieving squirrel. Each day the squirrel climbs our pear tree,
chooses a pear, takes one or two bites, and drops it to the ground. Then a
groundhog comes and finishes them off. They do look cute sitting up on their haunches,
munching our fruit. But thanks to those groundhogs, our garden is the worst it’s
been in years. </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> And they seem to have gotten wise
about the trap. Set at the garden’s entrance it only attracted a woebegone opossum.
Poor thing scrunched way back in the
trap while I opened it. I let him play possum and left. He only left the trap
when I was out of sight. </b></span></div>
Nancy T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389398976781500958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541640896593563503.post-545833673897662242013-08-03T14:48:00.000-07:002013-08-03T14:50:24.970-07:00August Showers Bring Mushrooms<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"> </span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"> </span><b><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"> </span><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8; color: #783f04;"> I’ve known for years that mushrooms grow in the rain. I’ve
enjoyed looking for them—their different
forms and colors and their unpredictable appearance. At one time, I used to pick up mushrooms samples
when I hiked through woods in late summer and early fall. I’d categorize them
with <i>The Mushroom Handbook</i>, dried the
ones that cooperated, and placed them, with moss, into little arrangements in
jars. Even when I’ve been 99 percent
certain that no poisonous mushroom resembled what I picked up, I never ate any.
I’m not that daring.</span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHCnPTrHTaY1_jtYx3XuNGIXPV1LpUXi4tQ7i8_7Ed6MtJ_-FeKcCu27BwyCUzRdTCUlqK2BilvsIZPg-PL8RDWDmgXXBWe2eDaAM8Bb5zVtwLcbR-iRgxli2Psk_y6AIafAcyjioYt38L/s1600/Mushrooms+2+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHCnPTrHTaY1_jtYx3XuNGIXPV1LpUXi4tQ7i8_7Ed6MtJ_-FeKcCu27BwyCUzRdTCUlqK2BilvsIZPg-PL8RDWDmgXXBWe2eDaAM8Bb5zVtwLcbR-iRgxli2Psk_y6AIafAcyjioYt38L/s320/Mushrooms+2+002.JPG" width="320" /></span></a><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"> Two
days ago, thing one and thing two poked their tiny caps up from the soil
between the street and sidewalk in front of my next door neighbor’s house. Then it rained. And they grew, and grew. Now it’s impossible
to walk by without noticing them—graceful and creamy white, with a little frill
on their stems. Their mushroom caps measure a glorious 10 inches—dinner plate
size! </b></span></div>
<span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSorkSvnN68krnHWb1UBdEcq0A5QqfKTyQjKlBv6jfvL7Vx11Q9UkfB3-qYtcekRf3qmLLGskG7NDHBoRwgGXDdD-cdr_zkYN4ueC20fPIoUSCzOKmaXNc0mfECplt_2-QBofTJGBtoU4C/s1600/Cat's+Mushrooms+001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSorkSvnN68krnHWb1UBdEcq0A5QqfKTyQjKlBv6jfvL7Vx11Q9UkfB3-qYtcekRf3qmLLGskG7NDHBoRwgGXDdD-cdr_zkYN4ueC20fPIoUSCzOKmaXNc0mfECplt_2-QBofTJGBtoU4C/s320/Cat's+Mushrooms+001.JPG" width="320" /></span></a><span style="color: #783f04;"><b style="background-color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> But
these beauties should never find their way onto a dinner place. Consulting the <span style="font-size: 10pt;">MycoKey fungus
identifier, </span><a href="http://www.mycokey.org/" target="_blank"><span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-size: 10pt;">http://www.<wbr></wbr>mycokey.org</span></a> (isn’t it fantastic how much you can find out
on the Internet?) I confirmed suspicions gleaned from my trusty <i>Mushroom Handbook. </i>My neighbor’s
mushroom are indeed amanitas. In fact,
they are Warted Amanitas (Amanita Strobiliformis) and most likely poisonous.
But don’t they make a pretty pictur</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">e?</span></b></span></div>
<br />Nancy T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389398976781500958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541640896593563503.post-11227009076139954772013-07-30T07:50:00.000-07:002014-02-19T10:00:57.559-08:00Where are the Monarchs?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Most years, in midsummer, I’m finding many Monarch Butterfly
eggs on my milkweed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I bring them inside
to let them hatch, grow into fat caterpillars, form chrysalises and finally
transform into butterflies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m a piker
in this endeavor. There are many Monarch nurturers more dedicated than I. But
this summer is different. There are no monarchs!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have not returned to New Jersey after
wintering in Mexico.</strong></span></div>
<span style="color: #990000;"><strong>
</strong></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Calibri;"><strong>I’ve checked with Trina, our local “Butterfly Lady.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She says people are still waiting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last year the butterflies arrived early –in June.
Now, at July’s end, I am the lucky one. Two weeks ago I found two monarch eggs.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Others
have found none. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I have two chrysalises.
Hopefully their metamorphosis into butterflies will be successful.</strong></span></div>
<span style="color: #990000;"><strong>
</strong></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #990000;"><strong><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Monarch Watch, http://www.monarchwatch.org, reports the late
arrival of the butterflies to Kansas and they worry that there will be little
time for the usual four generations before it’s time for them to return to
their winter quarters. They say that fewer –acres fewer—arrived last fall in
Mexico. They attribute the reduced numbers to wet weather. And a very wet and
chilly June may have delayed their return to New Jersey. But we’ve had a warm (too
warm) July. Where are they?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></strong></span></div>
<span style="color: #990000;"><strong>
</strong></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Environmentalists have long worried that the numbers of
pollinators are greatly reduced. That’s one reason for breeding monarchs; in
the wild, 98% of them don’t make it. Some think pesticides are killing them off
–as well as genetically engineers crops which have a pesticide incorporated
into their DNA. Even the pollen of those plants contains the pesticide! </strong></span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><strong>
</strong></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Calibri;"><strong>To quote Trina Paulus’ book , <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hope for the Flowers</i>, “Without butterflies the world will soon have
few flowers.” There are many fewer bees too. Without them and the butterflies,
there will also soon be no food crops. Isn’t it time to examine our use of
pesticides and pay attention to the interactions within nature?</strong></span></div>
Nancy T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389398976781500958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541640896593563503.post-10203484983556628642013-07-26T14:04:00.000-07:002013-07-26T14:04:14.822-07:00Dragonfly Season<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #0c343d;"><b>It’s dragonfly season again.. These gorgeous creatures flit
around the dock and the shoreline of the lake. I’m disappointed that there are
fewer this year but there is an obvious reason for that. There’s a scarcity of
lake weed floating at our end of the lake. Dragon and damsel flies lay their
eggs upon floating weeds.</b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>I spy a small section, only about 12 square inches of weed
floating near the cattails growing between our dock and the one next door. I
suppose that explains why most of the dragonfly activity is centered there,
with the insects often posing on the jewel-weed by our dock and the broad leaves
of the cattails. When I take a canoe down the lake I am relieved to find larger
patches of floating weed, a couple about a square yard in area. The weed is
dotted with little bubbles. Good. The dragonflies have been laying their eggs.
I would hate for them to leave our lake for lack of a breeding ground.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfYPamu4mJif-JLa2go8lOx68fRjlkmEGe23kSjCQqEX3clvQW2sr8q-nATqaGqYCpLxQoqTXBowKDB2-WJePCt8l6H5E03jFZI2eGYu3oWZgy4bxkVQFDu0edrnuG6HPX5OkDonSs-BSb/s1600/blue+damsel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfYPamu4mJif-JLa2go8lOx68fRjlkmEGe23kSjCQqEX3clvQW2sr8q-nATqaGqYCpLxQoqTXBowKDB2-WJePCt8l6H5E03jFZI2eGYu3oWZgy4bxkVQFDu0edrnuG6HPX5OkDonSs-BSb/s200/blue+damsel.jpg" width="200" /></a><o:p><span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> </b></span></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Dragonfly nymphs- the early stage that lives in the water—do
us a great favor by eating mosquito larvae. They also eat other aquatic insects
and worms. When they become beautiful airborne adults they continue to eat
mosquitoes and also dine on ants, termites, gnats and other small flying
insects.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>But this time of year, I don’t see them eating. Rather they
are chasing each other at great speed, rapidly changing direction like UFOs or
the helicopters that must be styled after them. Occasionally they land on us. A
pair of electric-blue damselflies land on my husband’s nose as he floats on a plastic
noodle in the lake. I rush out of the water to retrieve the camera but,
predictably they take off just as I line up the shot. Guess that’s the one that
got away.</b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivf70Nzx2I6tgfNh66X6aqAyxENQNLiKLcqWPP6H3MHM74cFRe4BlyWtX-qfWhykZPjrRWt4WkLjF-GGxPnjx-RQWWs2ftFhcDWyaPPWe0GDTcrlOoim0_VWPqghs8KwYoU3NvhrOQbY9V/s1600/brown-blue+dragon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivf70Nzx2I6tgfNh66X6aqAyxENQNLiKLcqWPP6H3MHM74cFRe4BlyWtX-qfWhykZPjrRWt4WkLjF-GGxPnjx-RQWWs2ftFhcDWyaPPWe0GDTcrlOoim0_VWPqghs8KwYoU3NvhrOQbY9V/s200/brown-blue+dragon.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>I remember reading, from when I was a Girl Scout leader,
that dragonflies are one of the first insects to leave a place when it becomes
polluted. Another reason I want to keep these indicators nearby. But even if
they neither ate the nasty bugs nor told the quality of the water, I love to
see them around. My favorites are the large ones whose dark brown wings sport a
large patch of baby blue. When they fly, their wings look fluffy. I also love
the electric-blue damselflies. But even the tiny amber dragons are fun to look
at. They fearlessly land on my hand. The sun, filtered through their wings,
shows as long orange ovals on my skin. MY
camera is totally misbehaving. I put in new batteries but it insists on telling
me they are exhausted. So I have to use images from the Internet to show the gorgeous
creatures flying about.</b></span></div>
Nancy T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389398976781500958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541640896593563503.post-28316928078284495372013-07-18T16:14:00.002-07:002013-07-18T16:16:36.940-07:00Heat Wave<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> <span style="color: #741b47;"> To escape the hazy, hot and humid wave in our New Jersey
suburb we drove out to Sussex. Yes it is cooler out here –by about 5 degrees—outdoors.
Indoors here is hotter since the cottage welcomes sunlight all morning. The
only remedy is to jump in the lake. But today the lake, basking for an entire
week in heat, feels like a warm tub; and there are no waves. No breeze to make
any kind of wave but heat. I speculate that fish caught here today may already
be half baked. At least the few cool spots I swim through are refreshing. Real cooling
happens only when you get out of the water and sit in a wet bathing suit.
Still, it’s much more tolerable than the 20 minutes I spent weeding and wilting
in my garden this morning. </span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #741b47; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> My
garden! I am flattering it to call that plot of earth a garden this year. The zucchini
borers finished off one plant before it produced a single squash. And each time
my string bean plants recover from an attack, a groundhog finds his or her way
past, under or through the fence to eat it down to the stalk. They ate the
leaves off the other two zucchini plants too, making their production
questionable. Most summers, we can count on our garden to supply lettuce and
arugula for a nightly salad, this year other creatures have enjoyed it.</b></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #741b47; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> At
least the small garden by the lake is supplying salad greens and it gave us an
abundance of snap peas before the heat wave finished off the plants. We are
expecting tomatoes soon from both gardens. Groundhogs eschew tomatoes.</b></span></div>
Nancy T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389398976781500958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541640896593563503.post-60178799813702475272013-07-03T15:46:00.000-07:002013-07-03T15:46:18.182-07:00To Catch a Little Thief<div class="MsoNormal">
We awakened to a “Wo – wo – wo –wo” call from the backyard.
It sounded a bit like a mourning dove, but not quite. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s
not a bird,” said my husband. “It’s a distressed animal. Did you set the trap
last night?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I
admitted to baiting the Hav-a-hart trap with a piece of broccoli and half a
carrot. I had set it at the opening of the hole that tunneled under the black
walnut stump at the far end of our property. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We’d
been plagued by a young groundhog lately. The clever fellow had dug three
different holes from the driveway, recently paved with only stones, to get
under our garden fence. The thief had cleaned us out, eating soy and bush bean plants
as well as kale, lettuce and snap peas. We had retaliated by filling in the
holes and placing a long metal ladder against the fence. That, and the fact
that there was nothing left to eat, deterred him for a while. During that time,
neighbors up the block reported his visits in their backyards. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But he
always heads back in your direction,” Sander told us.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two
days ago the young groundhog reappeared in our garden. This time he dug his way
under the garden gate.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s
it!” I said. “I’m setting the trap.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I baited
the trap and left it on the grass toward the back of the yard, intending to place
it by the stump later that night.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That
stump has been a home to various wildlife—most often groundhog families—for at
least six years. At different times I’ve discovered and blocked “back doors”
and have caught and relocated groundhogs. I once caught a very frightened
raccoon. He was allowed to remain. The only trouble raccoons have ever caused
is to run off with entire stalks of corn. I don’t plant corn any more. It takes
more room in my small garden than the yield is worth.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I
forgot to move the trap into place by the stump. It remained on the lawn for
most of a cloudy day until I remembered and went to put it into place in the
evening. To my surprise, I found in it a very dejected looking raccoon. She was
curled up with her head on the ground to one side. I opened the trap and she
quickly ran off. After re-baiting the trap, I put it by the stump opening. What it caught that night – or more likely,
early the next morning, was calling “Wo–wo-wo-wo,”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My
husband and I both went back to find we’d trapped a very young raccoon. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Poor
baby,” I said and released him. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We’ll
that’s official,” I told my husband. “Raccoons live under the stump; the
groundhog does not. I don’t know where else to set the trap.”</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Later
that day an idea struck me. Our garden fence is just a plastic mesh. I forced
the trap under the fabric of the gate and placed rocks to guard all openings except
the trap entrance --an open invitation, seemingly into our garden. And it worked!
At 3:30 this afternoon I found the trap closed and inside was a small –cat-sized—groundhog.
I would have said, “Poor baby” to him too, but I knew him to be a thief. We’ll
give him his independence, out of our yard, on July Fourth. </div>
Nancy T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389398976781500958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541640896593563503.post-14700854697302913652013-06-17T13:42:00.001-07:002013-06-17T13:42:50.617-07:00Wildlife Welcome!<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #660000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> <b>“Where
are you? Come and look at this!” My husband called me to the kitchen window
yesterday afternoon. He pointed at the yard. “Look, he’s sitting up like a dog.”</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #660000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> The
baby groundhog had returned. Not such a
baby any more, he looked very independent, and quite cute. In his begging pose,
it was easier to think of him as a prairie dog than the ground<i>hog </i>I
knew him to be. </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #660000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> Two
weeks ago he had pushed away rocks coating the driveway to dig under the garden
fence. He devastated the garden, devouring all the lettuce greens, kale and
Swiss chard, eating each soy and bush bean and one pepper plant down to their
stalks. He even ate the echinacea and dill, leaving only the tomato and
recently emerging zucchini plants. We plugged up one hole after another. He had
made three. Then my husband laid a metal ladder in the driveway, up against the
garden fence and I set the Havahart trap nearby. I figured the groundhog was
young enough that he might not be suspicious and would walk directly into the
baited trap. He didn’t, but at least we stopped him. Or was it that there was
nothing left to eat? We later saw “Junior”
and his mother in the backyard, several days in a row, happily grazing on
clover. Then the rains came. </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #660000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> Neither
Mom nor Junior showed up for over a week. I didn’t know if we just weren’t in
the yard or passing by the window while they were out there, or if they were
avoiding the paucity of our garden. But one thing I was sure of—if they made
their home under the black walnut stump at the far end of the yard, they were
under water. The entire back half of our yard was soggy. When the grass became
less wet and I explored toward the back, I could still see water sitting inside
the entrance hole under the stump. I placed
some pulled-up weeds across the opening; if some-critter entered or exited I
would know.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #660000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> Now
that Junior had reappeared, and with our lettuce and kale making a comeback, I
had to do something to protect our crops. During the day, still thinking Junior
was a neophyte, I baited the trap with broccoli and kale, placed it outside the
garden fence and covered it with branches.
But our young groundhog was not buying. I decided to put the trap out by
the stump at night.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #660000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> At ten fifteen
last night I grabbed a flashlight and opened the back door—and jumped back. Three kitten-sized black and white balls of
fur scattered as a larger, striped animal ran off to the right. I slammed the
door shut before they decided to act on their fear. The trap would not be set this night.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #660000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> “It’s
your sign,” said my husband. “You invited them.”</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #660000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> He was
referring to the sign that proclaimed our backyard to be a certified wildlife habitat.
It had been certified five years ago, but I only hung the sign on the back door
last month. Obviously, our wildlife can read.</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #660000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> This
morning I checked the stump. The weeds had been moved. Someone had settled in
under the stump. But who? From past
experience I knew that groundhogs wake up late. We’ve never trapped one before
ten A.M. It was only 6:30 so I put the trap in front of the hole. But by one
P.M. the trap was still empty. I removed it. Skunks come out at night. The last
think I want to find in the trap is a family of skunks. </b></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #660000; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b> So
whose garden is it? The battle continues. </b></span></div>
Nancy T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389398976781500958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541640896593563503.post-23011369936662882912013-04-15T14:51:00.001-07:002013-04-15T14:51:26.340-07:00Groundhog Woes—The Saga Continues<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
“Cozy Burrow Available</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Beautiful neighborhood amid lush vegetable gardens.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
The perfect home for your growing family.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Ready to move in – you need only dig your own tunnels.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
50 Gordonhurst Ave.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’m convinced that ad is circulating within the local
groundhog population. Why else would I find yet another groundhog happily
grazing under our pear tree only weeks after we evicted another pair? I had felt
badly about sending them away. They were a charming couple. I know they were
enjoying the new spring grass of our backyard and I’m certain they intended to
raise a family there. But we told them, “The backyard is open to you, but not
our house.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We are not mean landlords. Our backyard is a certified
wildlife habitat. There’s a big black walnut stump by the back fence under
which other groundhogs and even raccoons have enjoyed residing. As long as they
stay out of my vegetable garden they are welcome there. I’ve seen them happily munching
clover leaves and the partially eaten pears that the squirrels throw down from
the tree. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But our <i>house</i> is
not a wildlife habitat. They are absolutely not welcome to settle in under the
sunroom. We’ve stuffed rocks in their tunnels and placed boards over the
foot-wide area of earth that runs next to the house along the driveway, and pegged
down chicken wire over where my beautiful irises and a peony should be growing,
had the previous tenants had not dug them up. As a last resort, we threw
several ounces of mothballs into the crawl space before screening in the small access
opening. That was a big mistake! Who
would have imagined that the entire house would reek of camphor? Only the
sunroom is atop the crawl space. But each morning when we awaken we notice the
smell. Every time we re-enter the house we say, “Mothballs, yuck!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Yet in spite of our inconvenienced living with the odor, that
new groundhog attempted to dig its way under the back stairs in hopes of
becoming our new tenant. It was the rocks we stuffed there that stopped his
tunneling, not the smell. When I surprised him by opening the back door while
he was munching grass, he ran behind the garage into our neighbor’s yard and
under their Jacuzzi. So they might have
to deal with him now. I won’t suggest mothballs.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Today I put on my grubbiest painting clothes and removed the
screen covering the crawl space “window.” I crawled in and picked up every last
mothball. They will go out with the garbage tonight. We’ve opened windows and
burned incense. Now if only I knew how to advertise “No Vacancy” to the groundhog
grapevine. </span></div>
Nancy T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389398976781500958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541640896593563503.post-63271686770144901282013-03-04T07:52:00.006-08:002013-03-04T07:52:52.015-08:00Groundhog Day<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> I love
Groundhogs’ Day. I enjoy the silliness of otherwise sensible people seemingly taking
the prediction of a large rodent seriously.
And, although I’m not fond of small rodents, I actually find groundhogs cute.
When a groundhog sits up on his haunches, front paws pulled up like a begging
pup, I just melt. True, I have yet to discover their positive contribution to
the environment. Unlike their smaller cousin, the squirrel, who eats the
products of plants—nuts and fruits—and who actually sows seeds, the groundhog
eats the plants themselves, before they mature enough to bear fruit, and never
re-plants. Very destructive.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> This Groundhogs Day Punxsutawney
Phil predicted an early spring. A groundhog repeatedly visited our
backyard last fall, and I believed he overwintered at the far end of our yard, under
the stump of the black walnut tree that fell down during the microburst of
2006. I looked out our back window wondering what opinion <i>our</i> groundhog held.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> But I
saw no sign of our woodchuck that first week of February. A snowstorm on
February 8<sup>th</sup> left a white cover over all. Somewhere, shortly after
it snowed, footprints appeared across the lawn, terminating by the stump. Ah
ha! Chucky was awake! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> It was
only when all the snow finally exposed the grass—two and a half weeks
later—that I noticed a new hole near the house, where a peony plant should
grow. It was just under our sunroom window. We had believed our “basement
apartment” to be empty. Until now. Had
Chucky moved to the warmer quarters of the crawl space under the sunroom? Or
was this a relative who had hibernated in that comfortable den? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “Either
way,” said my husband, Adel, “he’s got to go. He can have all of the outdoors
but not our house.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> In the
fall we had evicted a groundhog from that very burrow. Adel had then
constructed a network of slats to cover the narrow strip of soil between the
house and the driveway. Our previous tenant had riddled the area with entries
and exits. Adel pushed rocks into the
new hole. But the next day, a new hole
appeared; this one, close to the walkway, removed some iris plants. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “There’s
no dirt around the hole,” said my husband. “He’s digging from inside. How’d he
get in?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> I
Googled groundhogs and learned that they dig two to five pathways to their
dens. They might have as much as 45 feet of tunnels that may be five feet below
the surface. Could Chucky have tunneled from the far end of our property?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Determined
not to let a groundhog get the better of us, Adel began covering the square of
soil by the sunroom with planks and rocks. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “The
irises and what’s left of the peony won’t be able to grow,” I protested.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> So he
constructed a frame the size of the plot, stretched wire mesh over it, planted
it over the dirt and rocks and weighed it down with bricks.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “Now
he’ll never get in!” declared Adel.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> But the
next morning there was a new hole on the other side of the entrance steps to
the sunroom in another small plot of soil.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “That
does it!” said Adel. “We’ll borrow the trap!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> We
procured a Have-A-Heart trap from our neighbors, bated it with broccoli and
cabbage and, after dark positioned it by the hole, blocking it on the sides.
After a full day the trap remained empty.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Facing
the driveway, there’s a small window opening from the crawl space. Once wooden
bars kept intruders out. Several years of tenants had chewed and broken them,
prompting my husband to staple a screen over the frame. Now we noticed that one
corner of the screen had been pushed free. Our groundhog had escaped again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Adel
added a dozen staples to the screen and we plotted to wait until evening to set
the trap again. But in the early
afternoon, I looked out our kitchen window to see a groundhog calmly grazing on
the lawn. I went out the front door, tiptoed down the driveway and entered the
lawn from behind the groundhog. He saw me and made a beeline for the hole. I
set the trap in place and framed it with bricks. Three hours later I had a
prisoner. I found Chucky (or perhaps Woodchick?) to be adorable and
feisty. When I touched the handle of the
trap he lunged at me, showing two prominent front teeth. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “I
don’t blame you,” I said. “But we’ll relocate you to a lovely wild area.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdbSOGTlPcPxQR-bmaNA7noWtECCGEv44-ljI6wYLbhct-96XMGxAL3yePVCik1VjeRUPkZR83GxMjGQJ6SUQCIYm1Ccjp28hCgPOiv3HxmVUvnFkSkX5isTxlmQ7W8cBIcvzM_pVC3kbw/s1600/Woodchick.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdbSOGTlPcPxQR-bmaNA7noWtECCGEv44-ljI6wYLbhct-96XMGxAL3yePVCik1VjeRUPkZR83GxMjGQJ6SUQCIYm1Ccjp28hCgPOiv3HxmVUvnFkSkX5isTxlmQ7W8cBIcvzM_pVC3kbw/s320/Woodchick.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Chucky
was not consoled. He repeatedly examined each corner of the trap hoping for an
opening that wasn’t there. We had plans to visit our summer house in Sussex the
next day, so bringing our groundhog there was an obvious solution. We moved the
trap to the garage. Expecting freezing temperatures over night, we covered it
with a tarp. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> The
next morning I offered our captive more food, but breakfast was not the first
item on his agenda. First he re-examined every inch of the cage. Only when he
had despaired of escape did he sit down to a meal. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> When
Adel went to get the trap, he found another groundhog standing by the hole,
looking disconsolately at the captive. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> “Oh,
no! We’re splitting up a family!” I said. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> But
there was only one trap. One groundhog would have to go to Sussex and the mate
would have to wait. My research had informed me that groundhogs mate in March.
It was March 1<sup>st</sup>. We’d definitely cut their honeymoon short. Maybe
they hadn’t started a family yet. Maybe the “woodchick” was <i>slightly</i> pregnant. With a gestation
period of 31 to 32 days, we were somewhat confident that we wouldn’t be leaving
infants unattended. After all, these two
had only awakened from hibernation in the last few weeks.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> We
delivered groundhog number one to a lovely wooded area near a stream which flowed
into a meadow. He or she scampered off to explore. Back home, we again bated
the trap and placed it by the hole after dark. By 10:00 AM the trap was still
empty; groundhogs are not early risers. But when we looked at 10:30, there was
a new, dejected occupant. This one was much more docile, causing us to
speculate that the first may well have been a pregnant female. We took it for a ride to a not-nearly-as-far
wild area so Chucky could find a new home. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> I wish
them both well while feeling guilty for being a home wreaker. Landlords are
sometimes required to make perturbing decisions.</span></div>
Nancy T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389398976781500958noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5541640896593563503.post-82665251727170320302012-11-21T14:38:00.000-08:002012-11-21T14:38:33.173-08:00Putting the Garden to Bed<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am a perennial optimist; I always hope next year’s garden
will surpass this year’s. But hope alone won’t make it happen. So, when
mornings sport a coat of frost and all but the hardiest crops have died, it’s
time to put the garden to bed. I layer on my grungiest clothes and go play in
the dirt.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Black twiggy stalks are all that’s left of the string bean
plants that produced such abundance in the summer. The pepper stalks look
identical. The only way I know what they had produced is by their location in
the garden. I pull them all up and shake off the dirt. Pull up those hardy, opportunistic weeds too. “Out
with you,” I tell them. If they stay, they’re apt to reproduce and then I’ll be
greeted by a harvest of weeds in the spring.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The kale is still doing well, as is some of the lettuce, so
I’m careful to work around them. A plastic dome goes over a patch of lettuce. We’ll be able to harvest it for a few more
weeks. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then it’s time to dig. To my happy surprise, I find my composter filled with beautiful black compost. I layer it under the top foot of
soil, and try to transfer soil from one corner of a plot to another. I’m not
sure why it works but garden wisdom tells us to mix it up.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then I cover the garden plots with straw. It’s supposed to
keep down the weeds and, when it degrades, adds to the nutrients in the soil.
The work in the autumn chill tires me out. With a warm cup of cocoa in hand, I look
out at the beds neatly topped with straw comforters. We are ready for winter. </div>
Nancy T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/08389398976781500958noreply@blogger.com0