Saving the Daylight

Daylight time, a monstrosity in timekeeping.

-- Harry S. Truman

At 6 a.m. today, as the sky started to lighten, I went outside to the front yard to listen to the birds. I've been hearing a lot of birdsong lately as the amount of daylight has increased. Once dark by 4:30 p.m., now it is light until after 6 p.m.

In the distance I heard a cardinal - no surprise here. It has been my experience that, except for robins and perhaps a mockingbird, the cardinals are the first to start singing, just before dawn. Then I heard another cardinal singing a bit closer. I went back into the house and continued out the back door. More cardinals singing. All of them are proclaiming their breeding territories for the year - No Trespassing!

NO Trespassing, says the cardinal. (Margo D. Beller)

I put out the feeders and, as I stood on the porch, a cardinal started singing from the apple tree.

A week from today, this scene will be taking place at 7 a.m., Eastern Daylight Time.

I hate Daylight Saving Time (DST). It was not created for early risers. Birders, farmers, people with early work hours - now we are either rising in the dark at our usual time or, if we tend to wake with daylight, we are rising an hour later.

People who like DST are night owls like my husband (MH) and parents who can send their children outside after supper to burn off excess energy. Next week these same parents will be pulling their kids out of bed in the dark to get them ready for school.

I used to think DST was created to allow people in the South to have extended time for evening cookouts. According to what I have read, it was created to conserve energy during World War I, first in Europe and then in the U.S. In January 1974 the U.S. enacted year-round DST during that year's energy crisis, but it proved to be so unpopular it was repealed by the end of the year. 

I prefer the early morning sun. (Margo D. Beller)

When we "spring forward" and "fall back" has changed over the years. I can remember when we turned the clocks ahead in April and turned them back in October. Since 2007 we have turned the clocks ahead the second Sunday in March - less than a week from today - and turned the clocks back the first Sunday in November (Nov. 2 this year). 

The birds, of course, don't have to worry about setting clocks ahead or back. Their day starts at first light and ends at dusk. So the cardinal will sing at the same time, but it will be an hour later on my clock.

No matter when DST happens, it seems to take place just when I finally have enough early daylight to rise and go about my business outside. Then I lose the earlier light for about three weeks. It means going out on the porch later for the sunlight. The longer afternoon light means I have to remember to bring in the feeders at a new time. 

"Gaining" an hour for a day is nice (later this year; for now I lose an hour), but I'd rather we leave the daylight alone.

Cutting the Grass

We had a warm period in late February that melted all the snow and ice, including the hazardous area behind the enclosed back porch that gets little in the way of sun. The melting allowed me to put out feeders for the first time in a week. Birds were singing in profusion and I knew spring would be here soon.

The largest of the three ornamental grasses, October 2023
(Margo D. Beller)

So would the spring chores.

There are certain plants that should be left alone over the winter, and there are plants I don't bother to cut back in autumn because it is tiring to work around, over and behind the deer netting.

Now that I have more time to go birding during the week, I have little inclination to go out on the weekend when plenty of people with kids are at the parks. So on March 1, knowing from the weather forecast the wind would start blowing and the temperature would fall during the day, I went out into the garden. 

There are many chores I do in the spring. One is digging out finished compost, which I do sporadically. (I did it last year.) Another is deadheading the plants I left standing. The most important, however, is cutting back the ornamental grasses. 

Ornamental grasses are wonderful plants. They grow tall and wide and the deer don't eat them because the leaves, at least on the type I have, are thin and spiky. But like all plants, including my beloved daffodils (another plant deer don't eat because all parts are poisonous, including the flowers), when the growing season is done there is foliage to cut back. A lot of foliage.

After a long period of dryness we had rain in November
2024 and the grass went from brown to more of a gold
color not seen well in this photo.
(Margo D. Beller)

I was not ready to start work in the garden but I knew this had to be done because eventually the daffodils and other plants in this particular area were going to start growing. The three grasses I have were pummeled by rain, snow and especially wind. The northwest wind blew hard for much of the winter, another sign of changes in the climate as the Earth's oceans continue to warm.

So I planned to attack the plants from the rear. Except I discovered behind one of them that the daffodils had started growing much earlier than usual, even before the crocus, thanks to the unusual pattern of warm weather than followed this season's very cold winter. I also found the irises I had put here after dividing the ones in the front yard were growing, too. So on this particular grass my strategy had to change. (Getting to the other two to cut them back was easier.)

I was glad to see the plants had survived, tho' disturbed by how early they had shown up. The other week I was walking along one of my usual birding areas, Patriots Path, once the ice had melted and saw a phoebe. This flycatcher, a harbinger of spring migration, should've shown up in mid-March, not Feb. 25. And yet here it was, in an area by the Whippany River where I have seen and heard them before. Now that it has become cold and windy again, will it find the food it needs to survive?

I wondered that about the yard birds, too, when I couldn't risk falling on the ice to put the feeders out (a hungry squirrel that could jump over the baffle was another factor). But they managed and were quickly at the feeders once I put them out.

The largest of the grasses before the cutting in 2024.
(Margo D. Beller)

Back to the grasses. It took about two hours to cut the three of them, the largest of them taking the most time. When I was nearly done with that one the wind picked up strong, forcing me to hold down what I had piled in a large pail for composting until things calmed down. But now you can see the growing daffodils the foliage had covered.

As for the other grass - the lawn - it is still brown from its winter dormancy. Eventually it, too, will green and grow and the area will be filled with the noise and smell of lawn mowers. For now, in the renewed cold, it is quiet out there.

Which reminds me, once again I need a spring haircut, too. 

Grasses cut, daffodils exposed after last
March's cutting. (Margo D. Beller)

Snow More

So far this year 2025 has been filled with cold, snow and ice. And yet, according to my home state of New Jersey, January was one of the driest in history.

Says NJ.com about January, "Many areas of the Garden State have picked up less than an inch of total precipitation so far this month. That includes rain and all the liquid from melted snow and sleet, according to data from the National Weather Service." 

Scene from a recent snowstorm
(Margo D. Beller)

It was also very cold for a number of days. According to NOAA, "For those living in the southern, central, or eastern parts of the nation—who might have forgotten what winter could be like following last winter’s record-warmth—Mother Nature provided a hard-hitting reminder during January. Temperatures averaged below normal from coast-to-coast during the month, but periodic intrusions of Arctic air were most prevalent into the central and eastern U.S." 

Now, it's February. As I write the temperature is above freezing and it is raining. Our last snowstorm the other week dropped three inches of snow and one of ice, making it harder to shovel the front and back paths. Since then temperatures have risen above freezing during the day and then dropped at night, freezing the snow and making it more hazardous to get to the bird feeders. It is miserable out and, unless everything is washed away, it will continue to be icy for days.

According to NOAA again: The temperature outlook favors well above average temperatures across the southern and eastern parts of the nation, as well as in northern and western Alaska. Below-average temperatures are favored across parts of the northern and western U.S., as well as in southeastern Alaska. The precipitation outlook favors well above average precipitation in the Pacific Northwest, Northern Rockies, around the Great Lakes, in the Ohio and Tennessee Valleys, in the Northeast, and in western and northern Alaska, with below-average precipitation favored only in parts of the Southwest and Florida. (emphasis added) 

One of the redtail hawks I've seen near my house.
(Margo D. Beller)

The birds do not seem to mind all this strange weather. Several times I have seen a pair of redtail hawks flying around and landing in trees near my house. At this time of year they would be pairing, mating, creating a nest and having a brood. I have not found the nest yet, but I haven't had much opportunity to go out looking for it. (I haven't found a nest since 2012.)

In weather like this, when it is either raining heavily or extremely windy, the feeders are inside and the smaller birds have to fend for themselves. I don't like this but I can't fly over the ice to get to the poles, and the rain rots the seed.

Unfortunately, there is another reason for keeping them inside - one of the local squirrels has figured out how to jump on the baffle on one of the feeder poles and grab hold of the long feeder I put out after big snowstorms. (It holds more seed and I don't have to worry about leaving it out overnight because the bears are hibernating, but that will end in March.) The last time there was so much snow and ice the squirrels couldn't get to their stashes and the birds didn't drop enough for them to eat was in February 2014. That was a bad winter. The squirrels used the ice atop the snow piles as a step. This year the snow is a bit less but the one squirrel (who might be a female eating for six) is just as desperate.

This was from 2014. The feeder is the same, the
squirrel far different. (Margo D. Beller)

I used to like snow, until I became a homeowner who had to shovel it or pay someone to plow it from the driveway. Snow looks pretty until it starts to melt or, as is currently the case, gets rained upon. We have had more snow this month than we've had the last two winters. That's a good thing considering last September's drought but even with all the rain and snow we've had, my region of New Jersey is considered severely dry. Other areas are worse.

Thanks to climate change my area of the country has had milder winters with little in the way of snow, which contributed to the drought. What we're getting now is more "normal," though historically we are still getting far less snow than when I was a child. 

So, much as I hate to say it, I can only hope for more snow, ice and rain to ease the drought, and enough dryness in between to feed the birds.