Coming Out of Hibernation

In the middle of August, a 45-degree day would have me running for my fleece jacket and the thermostat. In the middle of February, however, when we've been through extremely cold weather and still have a lot of snow everywhere, the recent spate of 45- to 50-degree days feels balmy.

For the first time in weeks I wanted to walk because the ice on the streets and sidewalks was gone. I threw open windows to let in fresh air. I could shovel away what was now slush (instead of a cement mixture of snow and ice) and liberate the last branches of the yew hedge before the deer destroyed it.

I am hearing birdsong now, too. As the days get longer (light after 6:30am until 5:30pm), I have been hearing all sorts of birds for the first time in months - pileated woodpecker, flicker, redbelly, mallards, Carolina wren, house finches and white-throated sparrows.

Driveway and snow wall, February 2014 (Margo D. Beller)

After ignoring my garden because of the snow drifts, I can now see just how much work I will have to do to repair what winter destroyed. With the snow down to more human levels, I discovered the deer have been back to their old habits - one found a weakness in my netting system, ripped it apart and ate a good hunk of two bushes. This happens at least once a year, and the bushes grow back. But it doesn't make me any less angry.

This year, however, I also see the bushes the deer couldn't reach are brown, and I fear they were done in by too much polar vortex.

And I saw a chipmunk this morning - joy. This is the one mammal that can easily get behind my netting and dig huge holes, knowing the larger predators aren't going to get at it. The little bugger reminds me how much work I will have to do if I really want to protect my garden from destruction above (deer) and below (chipmunks).

But that's later. Right now I see more of my roof and my neighbors'. I hear the crash of ice and snow falling to the ground. I see older people taking their walks again, shaming me for using the car of late to get the morning paper. For the first time in over six weeks, I can empty my compost containers into the large composter because what is already in there has defrosted enough to shove aside for this new/old stuff.

This taste of spring won't last, of course. It is, after all, February. More cold and possibly more snow are expected, and soon. For now, I am glad my muscles have finally recovered from all the shoveling (at one point we had three storms in one week dumping significant snow), the recent rains helped the melting along rather than turning my street into a raging river and I had some time to get the stale air out of my house.

But next week it will be March and that means spring is just around the corner.

The Winter of My Discontent (Squirrel Edition)

I was once at my brother-in-law's house when a wasp flew in. I don't like wasps. Had it been a fly I'd have gone after it - no one can say of me "she wouldn't hurt a fly" because I have, with extreme prejudice. But not wasps. One painful sting was enough.

My sister-in-law caught it in a glass and put it outside. I was amazed but felt no shame at what I would've done to that wasp had I had more courage.

I admit it, I do not love all of God's creatures equally.

In this current winter of my discontent, the piles of snow and ice stand at least two feet high and can support my weight. The squirrels have discovered they can jump up to the baffles and then either climb up one of the poles to the open house-like feeder or, as seen below, grab the end of the long feeder's "squirrel-proof" cage on another pole and feed its furry face.

2014 - winter of my discontent (Margo D. Beller)

This winter, particularly since 2014 began, we've had snowstorm after snowstorm, making walking or driving hazardous. It is mid-February as I write, and we are currently getting our 11th - at least I think it's the 11th, I've lost count - snowstorm. Snow is piling up and a couple of the female squirrels are hungry. My husband says at this time of year the females are likely eating for six. They still do not have my sympathy.

As the snow falls there are a lot of birds hitting the different feeders I have out. They, too, have it tough if not tougher - they can't scratch at soil for insects unless they are in an area where the snow is ever so slightly starting to recede. Especially when the temperatures plummeted from the "polar vortex," they needed what I could put out.

With my seed and suet supply diminishing from all the hungry birds, I don't take kindly to squirrels helping themselves in the feeders (picking up what the birds drop to the ground, fine).

Even within the birds there are some I take pains to shoo off the feeder. Starlings, for instance. They can't crunch the large sunflower seeds the way a finch or cardinal can, but they do sit in the feeder and keep the other birds away. One starling is bad - a flock is far worse. Worse still is when starlings mix with the larger grackles and redwing blackbirds and hit the backyard at once. At that point I take in the feeders and wait. There can be thousands of birds.

This snow isn't going anywhere fast, even with temperatures above freezing at the moment and projected to stay that way for most of this coming week.

Front walk/trench (Margo D. Beller)

When I found a squirrel in the house feeder today it was my worst nightmare. I took the feeder in but it tore at me to see cardinals and chickadees - two of my favorite birds - come to the pole and look around confused when the snow started. So I put it back out as well as the long feeder I had taken in a few days ago.

As I expected, one squirrel found it easier jumping to the long feeder on one pole than trying to get to the house feeder on the other. She is eating and dropping seeds to her squirrel friends and those birds that crowd in. It is an accommodation I am making for them, even tho' once in a while I go out to scare her off.

What I am hoping is a Cooper's hawk or a redtail will swoop in and pick her off for a meal.

Cruel? Yes. But, hey, even these birds have to eat once a day.

And as with other unpleasant things, there are always more squirrels down the road.

On Owls

The other day, on the New Jersey bird list, Susan Garretson Friedman mentioned finding a great horned owl when she was leaving her job running the bookstore at New Jersey Audubon's Scherman Hoffman sanctuary.

I write the blog for Scherman Hoffman, so when she mentioned seeing it from the "upper parking lot," I knew exactly where that was, and when she said she was joined by Mike Anderson, I knew she meant the sanctuary director.

GHO - Joe Pescatore, courtesy of Scherman Hoffman

"Our" great horned owl, she wrote - obviously a regular. The center closes around 5pm so it was twilight, allowing her to be able to see it and for Mike to follow the owl with his spotting scope. It turned out to be a male GHO, which flew to a female owl and they mated.

I was envious.

It got me thinking that at this time of year, when I used to leave my house at 5am to catch a train that would get me to work by 7am, I would hear owls calling - mainly GHOs and screech owls but occasionally barred owls ("who cooks for you? who cooks for you-all?") and barn owls.

GHOs are particularly active in January because they are mating. Susan's post was all the more interesting because I would've thought by now, in February, the owls would be on their nests (perhaps all our recent snow and ice delayed things).

I wrote about life "In the Dark" back on May 7, 2011.

Screech owl, Prime Hook, Del.  (R.E. Berg-Andersoon)

I remembered how one morning I stepped outside my front door at 4am to look at the stars before getting ready for work. I heard the distinct hooting of a GHO very close by. I walked to the driveway from my front door and there it was, a massive shape silhouetted in a nearby tree. Another GHO was calling from across the road, at the edge of the old Greystone property. Later, walking in town to the train station, another GHO called from a backyard tree.

I thought of that last night as I walked out the same front door, at 10pm this time, and listened for an owl. Nothing - no calls, no silhouette.

I came home from work once in the twilight to find a screech owl preening itself in one of my trees, and I watched it until it got too dark to see and it flew silently away.

My last owl encounter was very different. MH and I were at Island Beach State Park, and a snowy owl was sitting in the rays of the setting sun atop a dune. There have been a lot of snowy owls in New Jersey this winter, an "irruption" southward because these daytime-hunting owls couldn't find enough lemmings. For that same Scherman Hoffman blog I wrote about snowys, and how they have been seen as far south as Florida, according to one report.

I've also written about bad behavior toward owls, such as the photographer who, despite having a long lens on his camera, insisted on getting up close and personal with a pair of long-earred owls roosting at Great Swamp.

Snowy owl, Island Beach SP (RE Berg-Andersson)

My fascination with owls is no doubt fueled by the fact they are mainly nocturnal. I, like the birds I see more often, am diurnal. One forgets that life continues at night, too, even if I am not outside in it. When I encounter an owl, 99% of the time it is through my hearing, not sight. Owls can see in the dark and their hearing is 20 times better than mine, the better to hear the scurrying of rodents under 6 inches of packed snow and ice.

Hearing the owls in the deep dark of a cold January night was one of the few good things about getting up at that ungodly hour for six years and walking a mile to the train. As I write today, in my home office, the weak sun of a snow-covered and cold day barely warming me, I am wishing I was walking with the owls again.

Last night as I left the Center, I looked up and in the tree above the
upper parking lot, was our Great Horned Owl. I watched him for about 10
minutes, then he flew off, and I thought, caught another bird -- I heard
some squawk. Mike Anderson, who heard him too, was out in the upper
parking lot with the scope, and caught the actual situation, which was the
gentleman owl I was watching responding to the call of a female owl (which
I had heard) and doing what comes naturally. After that they flew off.
Pretty cool. - See more at: http://birding.aba.org/message.php?mesid=620327&MLID=NJ01&MLNM=New%20Jersey#sthash.a2UK6u6h.dpuf

Last night as I left the Center, I looked up and in the tree above the
upper parking lot, was our Great Horned Owl. I watched him for about 10
minutes, then he flew off, and I thought, caught another bird -- I heard
some squawk. Mike Anderson, who heard him too, was out in the upper
parking lot with the scope, and caught the actual situation, which was the
gentleman owl I was watching responding to the call of a female owl (which
I had heard) and doing what comes naturally. After that they flew off.
Pretty cool. - See more at: http://birding.aba.org/message.php?mesid=620327&MLID=NJ01&MLNM=New%20Jersey#sthash.a2UK6u6h.dpuf

Last night as I left the Center, I looked up and in the tree above the
upper parking lot, was our Great Horned Owl. I watched him for about 10
minutes, then he flew off, and I thought, caught another bird -- I heard
some squawk. Mike Anderson, who heard him too, was out in the upper
parking lot with the scope, and caught the actual situation, which was the
gentleman owl I was watching responding to the call of a female owl (which
I had heard) and doing what comes naturally. After that they flew off.
Pretty cool. - See more at: http://birding.aba.org/message.php?mesid=620327&MLID=NJ01&MLNM=New%20Jersey#sthash.a2UK6u6h.dpuf

Groundhog Day

I have never seen the Bill Murray film "Groundhog Day" but I know the premise - you hear about it every February 2.

A weatherman finds himself living the same day over and over again. 

I would not want to relive the same day over and over again until I get it "right," whatever that is. I look at every day as an experiment. What will I do this time that is better than last time?

When you work every day and do the same thing over and over again, it isn't easy to accomplish this. When you get to the weekend it seems there is not enough time in the day.

As I write today, Feb. 2, it is 52 degrees. It feels like spring after weeks of "polar vortex." Last night I kept the heat closed and a window open, rising in the morning to find a 56-degree house. Once the heat warmed the house to a tolerable level, I shut it off and opened a few windows again, letting in some valuable moisture from the melting snow. I want all the snow gone but it takes a long time to melt the 14 inches (12+2+2) that fell from three storms within 10 days, and more is expected tonight into tomorrow.

(R.E. Berg-Andersson)

And more cold, forcing the windows shut, the heat on and my hands to return to the sandpaper they were before I opened the windows.

By coincidence, it is also Super Bowl Sunday. People say how the National Football League "lucked out" that what could've been an extremely cold championship game last weekend will be seasonable or better today. People are going to parties. They will pay more attention to the advertisements than the game because the alleged "news" reports have told them to do so. They have been told all week what an "event" this is. It has dominated the news, more so than the killings in Africa, the Middle East and even in parts of Newark.

People are "stocking up" on junk food and beer and will stuff themselves as they do on Thanksgiving -- only this "holiday" is truly secular and they can spend it with people they choose, not their relatives. They will hope to win huge amounts of money from their office betting pools.

The football game itself will be almost an after-thought.

The spectacle is the same every year, and this is as close to "Groundhog Day" as I get - not a repeat of the same day but the same events every year. If it is February, we will spend the next few Saturdays, weather permitting of course, celebrating my birthday and that of a friend - and I have a lot of friends born in February. It is like getting 3 birthday parties. That part is good.

But sitting here with the open window reminds me of another annual ritual I do not like - barking dogs and home repair noises by my more energetic neighbors (or the men they hire) and children finally allowed outside to play. The same windows that have kept in the dry, hot air that makes me sneeze and drink glasses of water also kept out the noises that distract me as I work.

Soon enough will come dog walkers (like the ones passing by now) and kids not in school and more owners with dogs in the dog park and the smell of barbeques and the roar of lawn mowers and leaf blowers.

The thought of all that happening again and again until the bitter end depresses me, like looking down an endless, dark corridor. In a sense, that is what aging is.

It is inevitable, but for now let us not go there.

Cardinal pair (Margo D. Beller)

Let us, instead, think ahead to the annual ritual of when the birds head north. Right now, my feeders have drawn an assortment including juncos, white-throated sparrows, cardinals, titmice, chickadees, Carolina wren, downy and hairy and redbellied woodpeckers. I long for the bright yellows of the warblers and to see some of the larger birds - tanagers, flycatchers, grosbeaks and ducks. I want to go out and find them on my work breaks and my weekends.

Even though I will once again be struggling with pots of vegetables and repairing the damage done by chipmunks, I want to look up and see northbound Canada geese. I want the snow to be gone. I want to complete the projects I didn't have the time or energy to complete last fall.

I want to try and do better this year.

Isn't that what spring is all about, having another chance to get it right?


(Happy birthday, Candita, wherever you are.)