Firewood

When I moved into this house, I experienced the wonder of wood heat for the first time in my life.  Sure I'd had a fireplace in a house or two previously but to actually heat the house with wood was a new experience for me.  This house had a combination wood/oil furnace as well as a wood cook stove in the kitchen.  The furnace, however, was ancient and massive.  The neighbour had warned me that there may be issues with the connection to the chimney.  So I was loath to use it.  The oil part of the furnace was smelly and inefficient so before long, I had replaced the furnace with a high efficiency dual speed propane furnace.  It is a very nice furnace but what I have found is this:

At a thermostat reading of twenty degrees, the propane heat is still a little chilly.  This is a 150 year old house with little insulation and many ways for wintery air to get in.  When the wood stove is on and the thermostat is reading twenty degrees, I am very comfortable.  Somehow, wood heat at the same temperature as propane heat feels warmer.

I am as happy as can be when the fall temperatures get low enough for me to start lighting the wood stove.  I love that heat.  Despite all the work involved in handling firewood, I have no interest in ever giving up wood heat.

I am also happy to have the stove going because I have no electric oven and so cannot bake anything during the warmer months of the year.  The casseroles get started come cool autumn weather; the water for the teapot gets heated on the surface of the stove and the teapot itself sits on a tile on the stove to stay warm all day long.

Have I said it before?  I love my wood cook stove.

Did I mention this earlier?  Firewood takes a lot of work.

Prior to the Never Ending Rains of October, I had managed to about half fill the woodshed with wood from the stacks at the other end of the property.  During the Never Ending Rains of October, I was unable to move any wood in but was burning it at a rate much higher than usual for October.  We have had five days now with no rain.  And a couple more days to come if the weather forecasters are correct.  I've been busy as a beaver, despite being unable to breathe thanks to the flu, moving firewood into the shed.  It's nearly filled - maybe by tomorrow I'll be done as I don't want to rely on the "accuracy" of weather forecasters.

I've calculated that the shed can hold four bush cord of firewood though I try to stuff in as much in every nook and cranny as I can as four cord doesn't take me through the winter.

During my first summer in this house, I spent hours looking for someone who could supply me with firewood.  I seem to be outside of the range of most of the folks who advertise in the local paper as the "local" paper originates an hour away.  Finally, I managed to find someone and had him deliver two bush cord.  It was September before the wood was delivered so I moved it right into the shed.  And that was where the fun started.

Never having stacked firewood before, I quickly realize that spatial recognition is a great asset to have.  Fortunately, I do have that to a degree.  What I did find, however, was that, as I was stacking subsequent stacks of wood, I continually worried that the previous stack would somehow topple over and I would be buried.  Of course, this never happened.  But those two cord were stacked very very carefully.  And they didn't last the winter.  They were also not quite dry enough so the wood didn't burn all that well.

I managed to find a different source of wood the next spring.  The fellow had a woodlot down the road and didn't deliver so I moved three bush cord of wood in the trunk of my eleven year old Toyota Corolla.  What a riot!  What a lot of trips in the car.  I found that a single cord took twelve trips.  But at least I had wood nicely stacked out in the sun to dry all summer.  Okay, so maybe not so nicely stacked as I was constantly having to deal with stacks that had fallen over.

In the fall, it was time to move the wood in.  There in the back of my mind continued the notion that the stacks might topple and bury me.  Again, they did not.  Again, the wood did not last the winter.

And so the next spring, I got four cord of wood.  By now, I had a brand new Toyota Corolla.  After only a minor pause to consider the implications, the new car was put into action to haul firewood.  With the larger trunk, each cord required only ten trips.  Several times that spring, I thought I would never make it.  But the wood got moved, and it got stacked to dry.

Come the fall and time to move the wood into the shed.  Here is when I realized that I needed to make each stack higher in order to be able to fit the four cord in.  And here is when I lost my fear of falling stacks.  I developed a system where I would create a stack as high as I had before.  Then, in front of that stack, a second stack about three feet high.  Using a step stool, I would step onto the shorter stack and fill the taller stack right up to the rafters.  It's taken me three years to perfect the system but it's working pretty well now.

In this shot, you can see that the wood is up to the rafters.  You can also see how I've used wood to fill in the space where the stud comes out.

The beautiful sight of stacked wood.

Oh, and by the way, if you have ever tried to balance yourself on a stack of wood three feet high and sixteen inches deep, you quickly realize that it takes a great deal of careful maneuvering to bend down, pick up a piece of wood, stand up and shift that piece of wood above your head so that it can be stacked correctly.

So when you find yourself cozying up to a friend's wood stove after a cold day skiing, be sure to pause a moment to appreciate the amount of work involved in getting that wood from woodlot to stove.

And now I'm off to check the stove to see if it needs more wood.

Finally

Well, here I am, finally back to writing this blog.  It's been a while since I've been on.  Over the months, I've considered writing a story about this or that but when it came to sitting down at the computer and actually composing one, I lacked the motivation.  Often, I would wonder just what would give me enough impetus to finally overcome my apathy.  Was it going to be the fantastic fall colours, the best I've seen in years, probably thanks to the severe drought we had this summer?  Nope.  Or how about my upcoming adventures in beekeeping and how I got started with that venture?  Almost but not quite.  The closest I came to starting up again was when I first went out on my newest passion, geocaching.  But then I came down with the flu and spent a week filling kleenexes, swallowing ibuprofen and sucking on throat lozenges.  Finally today, I have the urge to write.

What, you might ask, is the cause of this?

Well, I was moving firewood into my wood shed earlier today.  I had managed to move about half of what I needed to move before the never ending rain of October started.  Now, we've finally got some sunshine and dry days and this wood really needs to be moved before the snow flies.

Anyway, while taking a break from moving wood, I found myself standing outside trying to train the blue jays to not be such pigs.  They really are clever creatures and should be trainable but a full feeder is apparently too much temptation.  After spending some time at this very important (?) activity, the near freezing temperature and a bit of common sense got the better of me so I went inside to find a voice mail message on my phone.

And here we finally come to my motivation.

The voice mail message was from the daughter of a friend of mine.  I haven't seen Marion in years (and here you might notice that I am straying away from my personal guideline of naming no names) but we were good friends in our days back in Ottawa.  When the daughter introduced herself, my first thought was, "oh no, Marion has died".

It wasn't Marion but her husband Ken.  Ken has had Alzheimer's for a number of years.  He's been living in an extended care facility for a while now.  And this past weekend, Ken died.

I must admit, I feel that I never really got to know Ken too well.  My memories of him consist mostly of this: he was a quiet and kind man who, every four weeks for about five years, would, without complaint, retreat to the basement to watch TV while we four gals would play bridge.  He was the only husband to be found in our merry band of bridge players and, really, the only sign of him when we were in his house was the faint smell of cigarette smoke wafting up the stairs.

Like everyone who has been diagnosed with Alzheimer's, Ken deserved a better end to his life.

And so, to Marion and her children and grandchildren, I wish for you fond memories of your husband, father and grandfather.  Try to remember him as he was and not as what he became.

Stay healthy!

Wonderful Carden

On Wednesday evening, I made the trek to the mailbox on the corner to see if any mail was awaiting me.  Shortly after crossing the road I heard the whisper of a familiar song.  I stopped, waited for the oncoming traffic to pass by and listened intently.  Yes, there it was again - the unmistakable song of the whip-poor-will.  We don't usually hear them this late in the season but the sound reminded me (as if I needed reminding!) of just how wondrous this area is.

I moved here in 2008, having left the flats of eastern Ontario far behind.  I'd lived in the Ottawa area since 1992, first in Ottawa itself and, later, in a small town about an hour's drive south of Ottawa.  It was at Mud Lake at the Britannia Filtration Plant where I first encountered birding and fell in love with it.  After joining the Ottawa Field Naturalists' Club, I went on numerous outings and called the bird line daily, all to see some amazing birds.  On a regular basis in spring and fall, the bird line announced the presence of sand hill cranes at a farmer's field east of Ottawa.  And off I would go to catch a view of these spectacular birds.  Not once did I see one.

On owl outings, the subject of woodcocks would come up.  They were back, you should see them.  Go out at dusk to see their fascinating display.  Never managed to see or hear a single one.  On drives home from Ottawa, I would occasionally see a wild turkey, nothing more than a dark speck in a distant field.  Once, I managed to hear the burble of a bobolink; another time, I watched in awe as a pileated woodpecker flew away.  And the whip-poor-will was nothing more than a picture in a book.

It was early May when I moved into my current house.  The first month was taken up with removing the carpet, replacing the electrical panel and painting.  Finally, it was time to get outside to trim the cedar hedge which had grown so tall that it was nearly hitting the hydro line above.  There I was, sawing the tops off the individual trees when I heard the oddest sound.  It was definitely coming from something flying overhead so I ran over to get out from under the canopy of the maple and there, up there above my head, were three sand hill cranes flying overhead.  All those hours when I had searched for them in the Ottawa area and here they were flying over my house.  I would learn later that they have been around for years, nesting in the Park to the north.  Since then, I've seen or heard them on multiple occasions but the thrill has never worn off.

In the summer of 2009, I discovered that I had to bring the bird feeders in overnight or the raccoons would get them.  One dusky evening, I heard what I thought was a late goldfinch.  All summer I was amazed with how late the goldfinches continued to call in this area.  It wasn't until late spring 2010 when I realized that those goldfinches that I was hearing were actually woodcocks.  Once again, the bird long searched for in Ottawa had shown up right on my property.  Now I stand and enjoy their peents and other vocalizations for just a few minutes every evening in spring when I bring the feeders in.

And the turkeys......

One morning during my first winter here, I was returning from the mailbox and noticed some odd tracks in the snow on my driveway.  Turkey tracks.  Four young males came by regularly that winter, cleaning up the seed that had fallen to the ground from the feeders.  They were very skittish and would run if they saw me at the window.  During the following summer, a turkey hen started bringing her nine chicks to be fed by me.  This continued all summer and into the winter.  The band disbursed in the spring but Dude and his entourage of three males continued to come by every day for their feeding.  Slowly the entourage disappeared until only Dude was left.  He was so used to me that he would let me walk right up to him.  He loved to have his seed served on the bumper of my truck so that he didn't have to reach all the way to the ground to eat.  I last saw him on April 24.  Hunting season started on April 25.  I mourned that darned bird for over a year.  I still miss him.

As for the bobolink, this summer I have had the pleasure of watching fledglings fly, of seeing males gather for a chat on the telephone lines, of following females visually as they cautiously approached their nests with food.

For two winters now, a pileated woodpecker female has come by on a daily basis, sometimes up to three times per day, for her daily serving of peanut butter.  She prefers crunchy peanut butter over smooth.  Often she will announce her presence if she finds that the blue jays have already eaten all the peanut butter and she will wait in the dead elm until I put more out for her.

And then there is the whip-poor-will.

I can still remember clearly that evening when I was, yes, bringing in the bird feeders.  A bird was calling loudly in the distance and to remember the song so that I could look it up, I started trying to make a phrase of what it was saying.  And yes, it was indeed saying whip-poor-WILL.  Since then, I have been awakened at two in the morning by the calling of whip-poor-wills and it still makes me smile.

Two years in a row I completed whip-poor-will surveys covering territory further east of here.  For both years, the birds were singing as I got into my car to head out, I spent two to four hours stopping at designated stops to hear not a single whip-poor-will and when I returned home, the sound was still ringing out over my house.  This year, instead of following a route, I chose to do a square from the breeding bird atlas instead.  Incredibly, the 2005 atlas indicated no presence of whip-poor-wills in the square that includes my house.  I was pretty sure I could correct that information.  With a quick trip down Victoria Road and along Alvar Road, I managed to confirm that whip-poor-wills are definitely in this square.  At one stop, I had nine different whip-poor-wills calling.

And THAT is the wonder of wonderful Carden.

Faded Embers

The embers have faded; the light has gone out.

This story starts in December 2009.  I had just deposited an inheritance cheque from my father's estate and had popped in to the pet store that was next door to the bank.  I'd been having problems with the cat from next door spraying my house.  Pretty unpleasant stepping our your door and smelling the spray from an unneutered male cat.  I'd once bought something called Cat Scat Mats from Lee Valley which had been very effective at a previous house where I had the same problem (why do I attract these whole spraying male cats?).  So I entered the pet store hoping to find something similar.

Instead, I found a tortoiseshell cat sitting in a cage in the middle of the store.  As I approached, she got up and stretched and rubbed the bars of the cage hoping for a stroke or two from me.  I've always liked torties  so when I saw that she was a cat available for adoption from the SPCA and not just a kitten mill cat that pet shops like to sell for exorbitant prices, I decided to take her home.  Of course, I couldn't actually take her home there and then as she still had to be spayed.  Two weeks later, I received the call from the SPCA that Lilith had had her operation and was available to take home.

Okay, okay.....Lilith was a horrible name for her.  Instead, she was renamed Ember as the tortoiseshell colouration reminded me of glowing coals.  Ember was tucked away in a bedroom until the other two cats got more used to her smell and eventually she was allowed to have the whole run of the house.

And that is when all our lives changed.  The red gene in cats tends to make them feisty and Ember had decided that she was going to rule the roost.  She smacked the others if they ever dared to get close, she took over favourite sleeping spots and she decided that my lap was the best sleeping spot of all.

I, on the other hand, found her too needy.  She was always craving more attention from me but, like the others, I learned to tolerate her presence and we all settled into our new routine.

In June of this year, Ember stopped eating with her usual vigour.  I spent countless hours in the grocery store trying to figure out what flavour of food she would like this week.  And I spent even more hours at home trying to cajole her into eating.  All this was happening while I was in the full throes of bobolink monitoring as well as responding to the Weed Nazis who were insisting that I address the "grass complaint" that had been filed against my property.

In July, Ember went to the vet whereupon it was discovered that she had a heart problem and fluid on her lungs.  She was put on a diuretic and heart medication.  After a month, she still hadn't improved and last Friday I made the decision to put her down.  It was the right decision as Ember had lost the use of one of her front legs, she was still having difficulty breathing and she was quite thin despite having a good appetite.  That doesn't mean that I did not shed copious tears.  Despite the fact that we had never really bonded, she was a part of my family and would be missed.

Having said that, the original two cats are in their glory.  They have reclaimed their favourite sleeping spots, they've stopped having to sneak around corners to avoid being smacked, they have regained the personalities they had before Ember came into the household.

It's been just over a week since her last day.  I still occasionally look out into the porch to see if she is there sleeping.  I expect her to come out from under the table in the kitchen when she is hungry.  When one of the other cats stomps all over my lap with her pebble toes, I think of Ember who could sneak onto my lap and settle down without my ever even noticing.  She would lean against my back when I sat at the computer, she loved to run and bounce off the walls to turn a corner and she terrorized the turkey feather tied to the stair railing.  And on that last day, during that last hour, when the vet was waiting for the technician to return from lunch, Ember and I sat in the examining room and she purred for me one last time.  She let me scritch her head and give her a tummy rub, both of which she had so liked me to do but couldn't tolerate while she was sick.  And her little orange toes kneaded the air one last time.

It was over in a moment
In a moment
It was done.

With a prick of the skin,
A push of the finger,
The spark was diminished
The life force was drained

A shift of position
One last weary sigh
The cold crept in even deeper

Her heart or mine
Your life or not
The memory still lingers
As I say good-bye

It was over in a moment.
In a moment
She was gone.

Ember, I hope you are running the fields in some happy place.
Bye bye baby girl.

Who's That Foxy Lady?

So I've already mentioned my wonderful neighbours - the mow-aholics next door and the feisty old lady across the street.

Now I've found I have a new neighbour.

Perhaps this neighbour has been here all along but has been so quiet I didn't know she was there.

Or perhaps she's been bullied by the larger and more aggressive neighbours and so had been biding her time before making her presence known.

Happily, since I've mowed my paths, the raccoon seems to be avoiding my place.  I say happily because, although I actually do enjoy watching the raccoon feed - sitting on its round bum and contentedly looking around while its front feet and jaws do all the work - its visits have been getting increasingly frustrating.  You see, instead of just arriving earlier and earlier each evening to beat my taking in the feeders, this one decided to start coming in the morning as soon as I had put the feeders out.  So instead of the birds being able to eat all day until I bring the feeders back in, I've been completely unable to put any feeders out except for the nectar feeders and the niger feeder.  Apparently, niger seed is not good enough.

I imagine it won't take Buster (now listen, buster....you leave those feeders alone!) long to adjust to the mowed areas and the battle will start again.  But for now, I've been able to put the feeders out in the morning and leave them out later in the day.

That said, I do still take them in at night.  The bear hasn't been around in nearly two weeks but I'm sure it's still hanging around somewhere close.

Yesterday evening, everything but a few small nectar feeders had been brought in.  I was standing near the small feeders, watching the female hummingbird try to get some only to be chased away by the male.  She would fan her tail trying to look bigger and tougher but he wasn't backing down.  She would duck and swoop and make a feint towards another feeder; he did not fall for any of it.  There was no way he was going to let her eat.

As I watched these struggles, I turned my head to check out the hummingbirds at another feeder.  And that is when my new neighbour appeared.

I'm not sure where she came from - was it from across the road?  Did she brave the endless Friday evening traffic?  Or had she been in the long grass that has not yet been cut?

Anyway, there she was trotting up my driveway towards me.  She had a large rodent in her jaws and seemed quite unconcerned about anything.  I remained still as she approached.  When she got to within two meters she stopped briefly.  While she never made eye contact with me or even looked in my direction she had obviously picked up my scent.  In the blink of an eye, she had turned and started running back the way she had come and I saw her no more.

She was beautiful, this foxy lady.

And I hope I get to see her again.

Ah, Neighbours

Neighbours.......you gotta love 'em!

Or do you?

I live in the middle of nowhere.  To the east, I have no neighbour for several kilometres.  To the north, some fields and then the Queen Elizabeth II Wildlands Provincial Park.  To the south, woodlot going down who knows how far.  Sadly, to the west, I have a neighbour.  Even worse, the neighbour's father visits on a daily basis, expounding his wisdom, doling out criticism and generally voicing his views on life to which everyone else must agree .

But no problemo.....the neighbour and I are friendly, the father I mostly ignore, finding things to do when he shows up.

Until this week.

On Monday, I received a visit from Municipal Enforcement.  "Someone" has filed a grass complaint against my property.  Gee, I wonder who that "someone" could be.  There's nobody else who would care.  There are fields to the east and west and south that look no better than my yard.  But "someone" has taken offense that my yard has been left natural.  It looks as natural as all those fields around me which are not offensive.

Again I say, I live in the middle of nowhere.

So why should it matter to anyone that I am leaving my yard as natural as all the natural space around me?  Natural, that is, except that I make an effort to control the invasive plant species that grow in my yard.

I admit, things did get away from me a little this year.  What with going to Pelee, doing the Carden Challenge and spending three full days working at the Carden Nature Festival, I've been pretty busy.  Add to that, I am now working, heading out at dawn to monitor birds all over the Carden area.  So yes, there are areas in my yard that are quite out of control.

But I didn't need to be told by Municipal Enforcement who would have left me alone had this complaint not been filed.  I was already on the verge of doing some trimming.  Now that I am being forced to, however......well, that is a whole different kettle of fish.  I am nothing if not contrary.

I have nothing against mowing except for the fact that it is a complete waste of resources.

That said, I mow when and where I have to.  For example, I have a path around my property where I patrol during my morning rounds.  Lately, because things are out of control, I've been getting wet up to my hips as I push through the grass and clover and goldenrod.  Thanks to the morning dew or overnight rain, my pants are soaked by the time I am heading back inside.

So I mow the path.  I've mowed the grass growing under the clothesline.  I've cut around the numerous hollyhocks and peonies.  I've left some goldenrod but chopped down others because they are threatening to take over everything.

I have left the burdock alone as they are choking out the invasive goutweed.  And before you get all up in arms about the burdock being invasive as well, I allow the plants to flower - the bumblebees love them - and then I carefully cut off every stalk that exhibits burs.  Since burdock reproduces only by seed, the burdock without burs cannot spread.  In fact, because they are biennials, they often die after flowering.

And in the meantime, the ghastly goutweed and the Campanula.are being smothered out by these buxom burdock beauties.  What!, you say - you are trying to get rid of the Campanula?  Sigh.  The plethora of invasive species that the previous owner of this house either planted or didn't control is incredible.  I have garlic mustard, goutweed, yellow loosestrife (not as bad as its purple cousin but can be a problem as well) and, yes, Campanula.  Did you know that there are almost 500 species of Campanula?  Out of this number, one is considered to be highly invasive.........yup, that's the one I've got.  It spreads everywhere easily.

But I digress.

So now a complaint has been filed.  The fellows from Municipal Enforcement were quite nice and informed me that, as I was planning to mow this week anyway, they would not make the complaint official.  That was nice.  But now I am wondering if this "someone" is planning to start a regular campaign of complaints.  Now I have decided that I do want the complaint to become formal so that if and when this "someone" (feel free to insert another word here) continues to complain, I have the basis to take this to a higher level.

In the meantime, relations with the neighbour himself have become somewhat frosty.  Not a problem for me as I can get along quite well without but I sense that he is feeling uncomfortable.

Ah, neighbours.....you really do have to love them.

How do you do it?

Sorry I haven't been on much lately.  I've been working - actual paid work.  For the first time since I moved here in 2008, I've got a job.

I'm doing some bird monitoring work - I'm getting paid to watch birds.  In other words, I'm getting paid to do something I like..

Carden is an environmentally sensitive area which needs as much help as possible to save it from nefarious characters who would willingly plow it under or dig huge pits, characters who have no appreciation of the natural wonder of this place, who see only the bottom line, the almighty dollar.

And then there are the other characters who work hard to save this area.

Can you guess which group of characters I'm working for?

It is a tricky thing to deal with these two sides.  Both views need to be balanced and I like to think that the work I'm doing is contributing to that balance.

Carden is also a politically sensitive area.  There are inflamed opinions, exaggerated passions and there are folks with very short tempers.  When I first began the third of my three projects earlier this week, I was filled with trepidation at facing these short tempered locals.  I would pull up to a monitoring site carefully, trying to stay out of view as much as possible.  By Friday, I had encountered, and managed to hold my own, with enough of them that trying to be unseen while I work was unnecessary.  And this is fortunate because in many cases, invisibility was impossible.

Before I started, I realized that I was having some difficulty locating the birds I was looking for.  I thought I would never be able to do the job properly.  On the first day, I did eight sites though I returned to the first four the next day because I lacked the confidence to believe that the numbers I'd found were correct - they were!

By Wednesday, I had developed an incredible knack of finding the birds that were already skulking in the grass.  And a good thing too since I probably should have started looking for the birds last week when they were still singing and posturing.  This week the majority of posturing for girls was already complete and the boys were resting up from it.

I'm not going to get into the details of any of the projects because, while this is the first job I've ever had that I like, it's still a job!  I have to get up in the morning and leave home.  I have to be away from home for extended periods.  The laundry is piling up, the dishes stay unwashed.

I miss hanging out on the computer.  I miss doing the morning counts of the birds showing up at my feeders.  I miss sitting on the couch and reading.  Heck, I miss my life of retirement.

It's been a while since I've had a nine to five job and frankly, I don't know how you do it.  How do you do it?

Pelee Perfection

The cast of characters:
The Leader
The Roommate
The Plant Expert
The Chauffeur and his wife, The Tea Maker
The Map Reader
The Limping Man and his wife, The Golfer

This trip to Pelee started back in March when we were on a Kawartha Field Naturalists’ outing to Presqu’ile.  The leader of that trip mentioned that he was going to Pelee and there was a motel that he used that was clean and had reasonable rates.  I was all excited that a trip to Pelee might be planned but no one that I asked was interested or available to go with me.

At a later KFN meeting, our Leader announced that he was planning to go to Pelee and anyone who was interested could join him.  At that point I had given up on going, not being able to afford to pay for a room all by myself.

Then we had the KFN annual general meeting at the end of April.  I learned that many others were now going on the trip and I spent much of the meeting trying to figure out how I could afford to go as well.  I’d been offered a ride but the motel was the stumbling block.  Everyone already had a roommate; I still couldn’t afford a room by myself.

On the drive home from the meeting, I realized that I had just spent over two hours trying to figure out how to go on this trip.  It dawned on me that, if I had spent this much time working on it, then I should just blow the budget and go.  The very next day, I called the motel to book a room and I contacted The Chauffeur to see if there was still room for me in his vehicle.

Just prior to the trip, The Roommate contacted me to say that her husband could not make it and was I interested in sharing a room.  Was I!!  It was all falling into place.

Excitement was building.

On Tuesday morning, I packed my goodies into the car and headed on down to The Chauffeur’s house.  From there, we went down to Lindsay to pick up The Map Reader.  Several hours later (are we there yet?) we stopped at a Tim Horton’s for a bathroom break and a tea.  And that is when I knew that the trip was going to be a great one!

We spent most of that stop laughing!

Finally we arrived in Leamington and checked into our rooms.  The Leader’s carload had arrived earlier and spent the afternoon at Hillman’s Marsh.  That’s where we were heading now.

We spent a couple of hours there, figuring out how to identify the different shorebirds that were there.  At one point, The Plant Expert wanted to see a semipalmated sandpiper so I started pointing one out.  Unfortunately, I was leading him to the semipalmated plover.  Ooops!  We laughed.

We stopped near the parking lot to examine the bumble bees that were every where on the wooden buildings.  Finally, The Plant Expert identified them not as bumble bees but as carpenter bees and we discussed their bare bums.

Back at the motel, we gathered in front of the room of The Chauffeur and The Tea Maker, pulling chairs over and opening wine and beer for our first tailgate party.  I cannot describe just how wonderful it was.  I’ve always wanted to take part in one but was usually the one with the room on another floor who never heard that a get-together was planned.  I truly felt as though I belonged and it felt great!

Where does the prothonotary warbler get its name?  The Golfer had a wonderful little book on warblers and informed us that the name referred to the special religious scribes who wore yellow hoods.  This bird was the only one I absolutely HAD to see in Pelee.  All else would be gravy......and there was a lot of very good gravy to be had.

During this tailgate party, we realized that we actually had a quorum for a KFN directors’ meeting so we made some changes to the club.  Just wait until the next directors’ meeting....it’s gonna be fun.  We laughed.

After dinner that first night, we all headed to our rooms.  It was like the bedtime scene on The Waltons with everyone calling good night to everyone else.  On the second night, we were too tired and went to our rooms in silence.

Inside the room, The Roommate explained that she needed a lot of time to get ready in the morning so an alarm was set.  When she saw that I had already set aside everything I would need in the morning, she fretted and got herself ready too.  Our preparations made us hot, particularly as the thermostat in the room indicated that the temperature was 77 degrees.  Fortunately, the roommate also prefers a cold room for sleeping so we set the air conditioning to 60 degrees.  In the meantime, we stripped off the bedcovers and blankets on our respective beds and settled in under the flimsy sheet.

I thought that we would read for a little and then go to sleep but we ended up talking for a couple of hours.  It was a real bonding experience and I thank my roommate for that.

During the night, the temperature in the room dropped and kept dropping.  First I pulled up the blanket.  Then up came the bed cover.  It was chilly!

By morning, the temperature had dropped to 59 degrees.  Now that was cold!

The Roommate got up before the alarm which had been set for 6:20.  By 6:40 she was proudly ready to go.  Well, we were both ready, but it was nearly an hour earlier than we needed to be.  We laughed.

Down to the restaurant for breakfast.  The Plant Expert who claims that he has trouble with words couldn’t remember if the eggs he wanted were easy over or over easy.  The Chauffeur made a happy face of his sunny side up eggs and hashbrowns.  We laughed.

The Leader had already been out for coffee and was feeling good.  On the second morning, he didn’t and a whole new side of him showed up.  He really did need that coffee to get him going.

We had a disappointing start on Wednesday.  The day was overcast and it began to rain on the way to the Park.  We took the tram towards The Tip and then walked the rest of the way.  Few birds were found and it was chilly.  This was the start of our visit to Pelee and we wondered what all the big fuss was about.

As we trudged back from The Tip, The Plant Expert showed us various plants to make up for the lack of birds.  Then we arrived at the tram turnaround circle and the glory of Pelee came into effect.  The number of birds was almost overwhelming.

We were a relaxed group.  There was no rigid maintaining of the larger group.  Instead, over the day, we kept breaking up into smaller groups which would, without planning, come back together again and then break up into different groups.  The ease with which we did this was miraculous.

At one point, I was looking at a bird and trying to describe it to The Leader who, we thought, was looking at the same bird.  It has an eye ring......No it doesn’t.  Look at those two distinct wing bars.  I couldn’t see any wing bars.  It took some time before we realized that we were actually looking at two different birds.  We laughed.

I first started birding when I lived in Ottawa in the early 90's and discovered the warbler mecca called Mud Lake.  It’s at the Britannia Filtration Plant and I spent many hours there alone and with groups led by the Ottawa Field Naturalists’ Club.  There I learned about warbler neck.  You get warbler neck by spending hours looking up at the tops of the trees trying to find that elusive warbler.  Many of the others in our group hadn’t heard of the term before and.......we laughed.

Later, The Plant Expert pointed out a large sycamore tree.  We had to take a picture of him hugging it to show how large it was and then another picture of The Tea Maker and The Plant Expert not being able to wrap their arms fully around the circumference of the tree.  We laughed.

Another time, The Chauffeur came back to me to say that he was confused with all the orioles.  We had seen the very orange male and the yellow female.  But he had seen one that was a different colour.  When I showed him a picture of an orchard oriole, he pumped his fist in the air, proud of himself for having a) seen his first orchard oriole and b) for having picked up that it was a different bird.

It was a long trip back up the tram route.  At one point, the tram came along so we stuck out our thumbs but it drove right on past.  Sore feet and parched throats didn’t appreciate the neglect.  We did not laugh.  Later we learned that the tram could stop only at the assigned stop.

In the afternoon we took the tram down to the halfway point and headed along the trail where the prothonotary warblers were being seen.  It took a little looking - I missed the first sighting - but eventually we all got good looks at the pair which appeared to be nest building.  My trip was made.

That night, we went out to the chinese restaurant for dinner.  The placemats listed the animals of the chinese horoscope and we all identified what animal we were.  We had three rats, a horse and a tiger but the rest I don’t remember.  We fell silent when the food arrived, hungry after a long day of birding.  And then we laughed, particularly when The Leader starting rolling out the puns.

The next morning, the three carloads took their separate routes.  One left early in the morning in order to get back in time for a golf game in the afternoon.  The Leader took his crew to Rondeau Provincial Park and our vehicle went back to Pelee to check out the boardwalk.  There we were thrilled to see black terns almost close enough to touch.  One poor male arrived to give his potential mate a lovely silvery fish but she was having nothing of it.  Time and again he tried to give it to her and she kept turning away from him.  Frustrated, he flew off, circled the marsh a couple of times and returned to her.  She continued to ignore him.  Eventually, he flew off and dropped the fish then returned and settled into the nest that she had been working on.  A little housekeeping would surely do the trick.  Unfortunately, we didn’t stay long enough to see this relationship reach its conclusion but I’m hoping for good things for this male.

The drive home was a long one.  We were all tired.  At one point, we noticed The Leader’s car blow by us about 40 kph faster than we were going.  The Plant Expert was fast asleep in back seat and The Roommate looked on the edge of unconsciousness in the front seat.

Through superb decision making by The Chauffeur, we made it through the Toronto rush hour traffic without being held up.  When we exited the 407 though, the traffic was building up at the lights and stop signs.  The tailbacks, as The Tea Maker called them, were going to seriously impede our arrival home.  Then The Map Reader took control of the map and led us through the countryside, taking back roads which bypassed the traffic and got us back without much further delay.

The trip to Pelee was over.  Before the trip, I had claimed that it would probably be a one-time event for me. I wanted to experience Pelee in the spring but figured I would hate the crowds of people so much that I would never want to go back.  Well, the trip for next year has already been discussed.

If it is half as good as this one was, it too will be a good one.

Other Memories:
- handdryer at Tim Horton’s
- no Boston cream donuts “What sort of a country is this?”
- The Tea Maker using the camp stove to boil water for tea
- assigning deduction marks to The Leader for the weather
- The Limping Man suffering in silence and keeping up despite having gout
- The Leader’s rule - if you hear it, you can’t count it until you see it; which then became if you see it, you can’t count it until you hear it
- The Roommate was so cold before bed on the second night that she had to have a hot shower
- lining up the dead soldiers (empty beer and wine bottles) and taking photos of the group sitting proudly behind this extensive display.
- The Tea Maker breaking her reading glasses and The Limping Man finding a spare pair in his pocket and giving them to her

Who's that knockin' at my front door?

And so the saga continues.....

If you've read two of my previous posts (Close Encounters and I am so Ashamed), you will be aware that a bear has decided that it likes this neighbourhood.

I've told you about it standing on the first step up to my porch and my feeble reaction to that.
I've told you about the nectar feeders that got crunched and the terrible smell coming off this bear.

Now I have to tell you about the next installments to this story.

Since that Thursday night when the bear ate four of my best nectar feeders I've been very careful about bringing all feeders in.  That includes the peanut butter feeder which I'm using a lot, lot, lot these days as the hairy and pileated woodpeckers come by at least 8 times per day to get peanut butter to feed their nestlings.  But bears are, apparently, attracted by the smell of peanut butter.

This regime was going well.  I hadn't seen the bear but more importantly, I hadn't smelled the bear.

And then I was doing my feeding rounds on Friday morning.  The Carden Challenge was starting at 6 pm that day and I was focussed on the planning for the event as I walked around the property.  As I came near the end of my route which takes me past the back of the house and over to the kitchen window, I noticed something odd about my woodshed door.  Something was wrong with it.  It was broken!

Looking more closely, I noticed that pieces of my little tabletop barbecue (new this year and used only once) were strewn on the ground beside the broken boards of the woodshed door.  The bear had made another nocturnal visit, broken into the woodshed and cleaned my barbecue for me.  As the woodshed is actually attached to the house, I could very well say that the bear broke into my house!

Sigh.

The neighbour says he has some boards that can be used to replace those broken by the bear but I'm thinking solid steel might be the better bet - three inch thick solid steel.  I jest, of course, because I am committed to being braver about this bear.  I cannot, after all, continue to be shamed by the 94 year old woman living across the road.

So I'm not letting this bother me.  Three days later and the door has still not been repaired.  Okay, okay, so this may be because I was busy doing the Carden Challenge and the Carden Blitz during those days.  But I'm really not letting this bother me.

I managed to put the barbecue back together again.  The grill is slightly bent but the barbecue is otherwise okay.  I used it to grill a hamburger on Friday before the Challenge.  Knowing that I could no longer leave the barbecue in the woodshed, I have set it on the steps down to the cellar.  The bear will have to break through 2 doors to get to it.  Unfortunately, if I don't remember it's there when I go down to do the laundry, I am likely going to break a neck or a leg when I trip over it.

And so we arrive at tonight.  I had had to bring many of the feeders in at 4:30 thanks to the raccoon who is arriving earlier and earlier each day, trying to get to the feeders before I bring them in.  It has its favourite feeders and tends to leave the others alone so those I left out until early dusk.  Finally, it was time to bring them in.  As I stood at the feeders, I heard the crackling of branches across the road.  A large dark shape moved around - obviously it was the bear but I took the time to get my binoculars out of the car to look at it......see how brave I'm getting.

Yup, it was the bear all right.  So I brought in the rest of the feeders leaving out only three nectars feeders that I can access from the front porch.  The hummingbirds were still feeding and I couldn't bear to leave them without their feeders.

In I came at no great pace.  And then peered out the window every five minutes to see if the bear was going to cross the road.  At one point, the raccoon seemed to arch its back like a frightened cat and it ran away onto the wood pile.  Ah, I thought, the bear is coming.  But I waited and looked and couldn't see it.  After I had given up looking, I happened to be passing the window and saw a black shadow pass by the end of the woodpile.

Bear was back.  He wandered around the yard a bit, headed over to my shed (the one not attached to the house) and I thought he was going to head over to the neighbour's property.  I ran upstairs with the binoculars and checked through every window but no bear.

Then I remembered the three nectar feeders still out on the porch.  Checking carefully, I opened the door and brought them in, deciding that the bear had likely headed north.  Then I thought to check the woodshed. The door was still broken after all.  Upon going out into the porch that links the woodshed and the house, there was that bear smell.  I looked out the window (there's more of that bravery...or is it foolishness?) but no bear.

He really had gone north except......when I returned to the living room, I noticed that he was right up on the front porch where I had just been to bring in the last feeders.  He sniffed but found no feeders to crunch.  He even sniffed the front door.  Then he strolled back across the driveway.  At that point, I opened the window and started yelling at him.  He looked over his shoulder at me and then went back to sniffing at the tree where the peanut butter feeder normally hangs.  I kept scolding him and finally he tired of my nattering and trotted off across the road.

And that is my story.  It's late now and I'm off to bed, hopefully I won't be dreaming about bears knocking at my front door.

The Carden Challenge - a not-so-brief summary

This past weekend I participated for the second time in The Carden Challenge.

This is a 24 hour birdathon whereupon teams of four try to identify as many bird species as possible.  In preparation for my first year last year, I had crammed using the website Dendroica to learn bird songs.  At the time, I could have told you what a blue jay sounded like but a meadowlark was outside my repertoire.  In other words, my knowledge of bird songs was very limited.

After studying several hours per day for about a month, I was able to add over a hundred birds to my songbook.  And it all proved to be worth it as our team managed to locate 112 species of birds - most of them by sound alone.  We took first place in the recreational birders category and managed to get more species than some teams in the competitive category.

This year, the organizers of the Challenge wanted to incorporate a little biodiversity into the event and so added a third category - Critters.  In addition to birds, participating teams in this category were to also identify as many species as possible in mammals, dragonflies/odonata (odes for short), butterflies/lepidoptera (leps for short) and amphibians&reptiles/herptiles (herps for short).

Our team were enthusiastic about this new category.  We were decent enough with the birds and had some members with some experience in the other areas.

Only one other team signed up to do the Critters - the team was absolutely loaded.  They had three experts in birds, herps, dragonflies and butterflies with a multitude of years of experience.

We had one member doing the dragonflies and butterflies with 3 years of experience, I just learned my frogs and snakes last year and am still learning bird songs of some relatively common birds.  A third member has been birding for just 3 years and had no experience or interest in any of the other categories.  Our fourth was the only team member with any decent amount of experience in birds and herps and some limited experience in butterflies.

All this to say we were going to be blown out of the water by the other team.  We figured on placing second but at least wanted a respectable representation.

At the wrap-up dinner, in a room filled with exhausted participants, many of whom had worn the same clothes for 24 hours, the final tally was done.  Shockingly, it was our team that was awarded first place in the Critter Category with 8 more points than the other team.  The jaws dropped on the other team - disbelief that this dream team should lose to us?  Or was it astonishment that we should have done so well?

Later when we were talking with them to try to figure out how we beat them, we learned that a clerical error on their part meant that they had missed out on 10 points.  So we lost......by only 2 points!  And we really proved ourselves!

We identified 115 birds, beating the other team by 4.  In fact, we could have got more but with half an hour left, we had already beaten our record of 112 from the previous year.  We had one definite and two probable birds that we could have easily found in that half hour but decided not to.  We didn't want to raise the bar too high for next year.  

We missed getting a turkey which I had heard but no one else on the team had so we couldn't count it.  The barred owl on Victoria Road just did not co-operate as well as the clay-coloured sparrows which were abundant but not when we were looking for them.  The yellow-throated vireo was singing robustly just 15 minutes before we got to the location whereupon it disappeared so we never got that one either.

We got 11 mammals, beating the other team by 4.  Not sure whether they considered bats but we did so were able to get a brown bat.  Driving home at 11 pm, a creature sitting in the middle of the road turned out to be a porcupine.  Just 10 yards further, was maybe a raccoon?, maybe a skunk?......nope it was a juvenile porcupine.  Nice to see the family together.  Closer to home, a raccoon peered at us from the side of the road.

We got 10 herps and were beaten by 7 by the other team.  They managed to get 6 snake species in one location; we searched and searched but came up with only two - a garter snake and a water snake.  We did well with frogs and got 2 out of 3 expected turtles but really busted on those snakes and had no time to look for salamanders.

We got 25 dragonflies and 25 butterflies - they got 26 of each - them with their 2 experts and us relying on our member with three years experience.  She really worked hard!

So we had a good time and we were unbelievably successful.  And we were swimming in food.  The other three members each brought enough food to feed all four of us.  I had provided the housing and a bottle of wine for Friday night and breakfast materials for Saturday morning.  We used the beds and wine but not the food, opting to hit the road for the dawn chorus and to eat the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches provided by our ode/lep identifier.

We are already planning for next year.  We will be better prepared by having scouted out good spots for salamanders.  Every spot I had thought would be good ended up being too dry thanks to this drought that we are having.  We may also set up some snake boards in different areas.  One property owner has already offered her land as a possible spot for us to set them up.

The route that I had developed based on last year's birdathon and dragonfly counts worked pretty well but needs some tweaking.  We lost almost an hour chasing a phantom bird (Kirtland's warbler) that only one team was able to find.  We ended up driving Alvar Road East (between Wylie Road and Victoria Road) four times on Saturday morning - way way too often for a road that is labelled as "Use at your own risk".  Once would have been enough.  Other than that, there was very little backtracking or running over the same road multiple times which had been our major weakness last year.

I have to say it truly was a fun experience BUT probably the most valuable thing to come out of it is the improvement to my knowledge of the area.  I'd been picking the brains of a local birder well known in the area since November, trying to find out where a bank swallow can be located, is it likely that a tennessee warbler will be seen here, how does the song of a vesper sparrow sound different to the song of a song sparrow.  I'd been avidly reading the listings of nature sightings hoping to gain information on where to find more critters.  And I'd been talking to locals to find out what was out there.

In fact, I've learned so much about the area that I had my lunch paid for last Wednesday by a friend and much better birder who was picking MY brain for locations of birds.

I've learned that frog choruses, with the exception of the spring peepers, will often stop as you pull over to the shoulder of the road but if you wait long enough, they will start up again.  I have explored locations for snakes and ponds for turtles.

And now, when I drive down the road, I am hearing and seeing more than I ever had before.  That bird on the wire isn't just a bird but a kestrel.  The kingfishers like to hang out on this particular wire and the chorus frogs can be found in this pond but it's mink frogs in that one.  Instead of the frog chorus being one overwhelming song, I can now pick out the leopard frog and the bullfrog, the wood frog and the tree frog.  There are ponds which are good for common green darners and others that are good for elfin skimmers - both dragonflies.  Butterflies tend to be just about anywhere but there is one particular field which is good for finding the baltimore checkerspot - our expert found, and was able to add to our tally, a caterpillar of this butterfly.

And so my appreciation for the area, which had already reached a pretty substantial level, has grown by leaps and bounds.

And I am grateful to my friend for that first invitation to join her team for the Carden Challenge last year.

I am so ashamed

Phew!  I've been so busy lately that I haven't had the time, inclination or energy to post anything here.  I didn't even have anything previously written that I could throw on.  But the trip down to Pelee was wonderful so I hope you will forgive my negligence.

This, however, is not what shames me.

No, to understand what it is you need to remember how I reacted when the bear threatened to step up onto my front porch.  In case you don't remember, I will simply say that I felt as though the walls of the house had turned into paper and the bear was going to slash its way through at any moment.

So this leads to the current situation.

The seed feeders had not been left out while I was down in Pelee for the obvious reasons.  The nectar feeders had been safely left out, many emptied by hungry hummingbirds.  The neighbour had assured me that he was sure the bear had taken off up north, into the QE II Wildlands Provincial Park.

With confidence, I put out all the feeders on Friday - nine seed/peanut feeders and six nectar feeders.  Then I went out to the Prairie Smoke property and, afterwards, to do a monitoring job that I'm working on.  I was walking in rubber boots for 7 hours; it was darned hot and my feet really hurt by the time I'd returned home.

Recuperating on the couch, I kept an eye out for the raccoon but it didn't appear so I left the feeders out until I was sure the birds were finished feeding.  I admit, I had selfish reasons to do so.  Many of the birds which had been frequenting my feeders had disappeared as a result of the lack of feeders during my absence while at Pelee.  By leaving the feeders out, I was hoping to encourage them to return as I wanted them to be around during the Carden Challenge coming up next weekend.

Finally, in late evening, I remembered that I had not yet brought the feeders in.  I entered the kitchen and picked up a bit of a nasty smell which I concluded was just the composting which needed to be put out.  Switching on the light in the porch, I headed out to bring the feeders in.  What did I find?  That the raccoon had in fact been by and knocked down a few of them.  It takes two trips to bring in the seed feeders, the nectar feeders had survived all week while I was away and my feet still hurt so I left out the nectar feeders......and I went to bed.

In the middle of the night, the smell of the composting woke me up.  Boy, it was really really bad!

When I got up the next morning, I looked out to discover that many of the nectar feeders were on the ground.  Darn that raccoon for going after them after a week of leaving them alone.

Only problem was, the feeders were all shattered and a rather large pile of poop with a distinct bear print had been left on my driveway.  Mr. Bear had ruined four of my nectar feeders and I realized that the composting was not the source of the bad smell - it had been the bear.

Now think about it.....I had blithely stepped outside without even looking first.  The smell was fresh.  That means that the bear had just been there!  It was fortunate that I turned on the light (I often don't) as I think that is what scared it away.

Now we move to Saturday evening.  I've already brought in all my feeders, both seed and nectar, when I noticed the  neighbour and his wife and uncle standing looking at the house across the road.  The wife ran back into the house and I called out the window to find out what was going on.  The bear was at the back door of the house across the road.

Curious, and feeling brave with the others standing there watching, I went out to chat with them.  Out comes the wife, she's just phoned the owner of the house across the road.

And what do we see.......that very owner, all of 94 years old and weighing about 80 pounds, coming out the back door of the house, looking around for the bear.

And THAT is why I am so ashamed.  Here is this sprightly pip of a senior showing no fear while earlier in the month, how had I reacted?

I had cowered in my house.  Oh the shame of it all!

Spring

Okay, I'm going to admit it but that doesn't mean I'm giving in........

I've been fighting a head cold for several days now.  Today, it seemed to have settled in quite nicely with a scratchy throat, sinus production and fatigue.  But I'm NOT giving in!

I could take the easy route and blame this cold on the woman who showed up for the Kawartha Field Naturalists hike on Saturday.  She looked and sounded awful and she left long before the hike was over.  But no, it's not likely that it was her as I stayed well away from her when we talked.

Nope, it has to do with this time of the year.

Ah, you say, allergies.  You are right, allergies can be a problem at this time of year but that is not what has caused my problem.  Nope.

So what does spring have to do with this head cold that I'm fighting?

All winter long, the wood stove pumps out glorious heat, filling this drafty house with warm air.  I am comfortable wearing a t-shirt; my feet are bare.  As spring arrives, there is less need for the fire to be on all day and the fuss of getting a fire lit from scratch makes me decide that it's time to stop burning wood, to save it for next winter.  So that's what I do but, at this time of year, the house is colder inside than the air is outside.  And I haven't adapted.

I haven't yet learned to dress more warmly.  So I sit here, with my bare toes and arms turning blue.  I have to go outside to get warm.  And that makes me even less likely to light a fire.  After all, isn't it ridiculous to be heating the house when it's so gorgeous outside?

Do all houses go through this coldness in spring?

This house is over 140 years old.  My previous house was 135 years old.  The stone foundations of both help to keep the house cool in summer.  Unfortunately, that same stone foundation keeps the house cold in spring.  Does this happen in younger houses too?  Am I the only idiot who resents heating the house when it's warm outside?

Anyway, today was a perfect day.  It was still cool enough outside that I did light a fire.  And with the stove going, I made a soup and roasted a sweet potato.  I should have baked muffins to freeze for the summer but, alas, this not-cold kept me down.  Instead of baking, I napped.

You see, my wood stove is also a cook stove.  During the winter, I am able to leave a pot of tea on the corner, keeping it warm all day long.  I bake bread in my wood stove and later I toast it for breakfast in that same wood stove.  In winter, all cooking is done on or in the wood stove.  It's incredibly efficient as the wood that is cooking things is also heating the house; no electricity is used for food preparation.

In summer, the only baking I can do.......well, I don't do any because whatever I want to bake would have to be small enough to fit in the toaster oven, the only oven I have.  Cooking takes place on the barbecue or the electric stovetop.  Neither is as efficient or easy as using the wood stove.

And that is another contribution to my current state of health.  I'm not eating properly because it's too cold to want a salad and I resent having to use electricity to prepare my food.  The soup today is going down well - I've just finished my second bowl.  And I'm hoping it's cool enough tomorrow, and I'm am ambitious enough, to light a fire in the stove.

Maybe the muffins will get baked tomorrow.

An Ordinary Day

Well, after all the excitement of last night's bear visit, today has been rather pedestrian.

I've put out the feeders, done a load of laundry, started doing the dishes.  I haven't yet, but still need to, scoop the cat litter, have a shower and yes, bring in the feeders.

And now that things have calmed down a bit, perhaps I should finish the story from last night.

When I left you last night, I had bravely (snicker) frightened off the bear.  It took off towards the back of the house and I went to let the cat in.  Still vibrating with excitement, I remember the woodshed which is attached to the back of the house, accessible through the east porch.  Sometimes, I keep garbage in there if it builds up before garbage day.  Could the bear have gone in there?  Out to the east porch but then how do I check without putting myself in danger?

So what do I do?  I knock on the door and listen for noise.  No noise.  Turn on the light and open the door a crack.  Nothing.  Check the door to the outside and the hook is latched - phew.  The bear could not have got in.  Back inside, I looked out the kitchen window, pondering this encounter.  And what do I see but the bear....in the neighbour's garden.

Quickly I check my phone for their number.....not there.  I check my phone book.....still no phone number.  Realizing that I don't actually have their number because I normally just walk over if I have to talk with them, I call the uncle to get the phone number.  Letting them know about the bear, I watch as the bear takes off further north.  Seeing that the neighbours are outside, I feel secure enough to go out to join them.

And we stand by the garden looking at the bear tracks in the dirt.  Pretty big tracks.  I say the bear was at least three feet tall.  Big bear, he says.  We laugh about not having each other's phone numbers and discuss what to do about the bear.  Cattle, cows with calves, graze in the fields to the north.  Will that be just too tempting for the bear?

This morning, I went out and took these photos of the tracks from the garden.

I hope you can see these photos okay.  The top one is the back foot; the bottom is the front foot.  The front of each foot is to the left of the photo.  The key at the bottom is there for comparison as I couldn't find a ruler; it is two inches long making the back foot at least 7 inches long and the front foot almost 4 inches long.  I don't know if that is big or not but it's big enough for me.

Before I went to bed last night, I set aside some time to shine the flashlight out the window to see if the bear had returned.  It hadn't.

I hope it does come back again at some point as I would like to be braver.



By the way, I have discovered that I had the comment process closed so that only those who are registered could post a comment.  For those of you who have wanted to make comments but didn't feel comfortable providing personal information during the registration process, I have now set things up so that anyone can comment.  Give it a whirl if you'd like.

Close Encounter

Wow!  I've just had a close encounter with a black bear.

This story begins last night when I returned home from my evening out.

No, wait.  This story actually begins earlier this year.  I can't give you a specific time frame but at some point this spring, raccoons came out of winter hibernation.  And one raccoon in particular discovered a treasure trove of food under my bird feeders.

Thus the running battle began.  I would leave the feeders out as long as possible into the evening to let the birds eat.  Then I would bring them in overnight to prevent the raccoon from breaking them.  For its part, the raccoon would arrive earlier and earlier each evening, trying to beat me and gain access to the feeders before I could rescue them.  Shepherd's hooks from which the feeders hang have been bent and then broken.  Peanuts have been stolen.  It was annoying but that raccoon is so darned cute with its black mask that I have difficulty getting angry with it.  I just have to remember to rescue the feeders early enough in the day.

So last night, I was out much longer than I had expected to be.  It was nearly midnight by the time I returned home and the raccoon won.  When I pulled into the driveway, I could see that one of the peanut feeders had been knocked down to the ground.  All the peanuts were gone.

Figuring that the raccoon had had its fill and wouldn't bother the feeders again, and feeling too tired to take the time to bring the feeders in, I went inside, leaving everything hanging on the hooks.  Besides, I was feeling a bit spooked - something was making noise in the distance.  Better to head in to the security of home than to save the feeders from any further raccoon attack.

This morning when I looked out, both peanut feeders as well as the niger tube were gone.  Blaming the raccoon, I began to search the ground to find the missing feeders.  One peanut feeder and the niger tube were easily found but that dratted raccoon had obviously dragged off the second peanut feeder.  I expanded my search to cover a larger area.  A neighbour out for his morning walk joined in the search.  I noticed a flattened patch on the grass where something had rested.  It seemed a bit large for a raccoon but maybe it had brought friends.  A trail down towards the road was visible.

With two of us searching, the feeder remained absent.  Then I came across a pile of poop, scat, feces.  It was a pretty fresh pile.  It was also a very large pile.  It was a bear pile.  Hunh.  Then I noticed that the niger feeder, a metal tube, had tooth-sized indents on either size of it.  More evenly spaced that would occur when the feeder hit the ground, and deeper than any raccoon could do.  Bear!

Makes me wonder about being spooked last night.  Was the bear already in the vicinity?

Well, a little while earlier this evening, I looked out and yes, the raccoon had already knocked down the one remaining peanut feeder.  By the way, it is not only the feeder itself getting dented or broken that irks.  The price of peanuts has skyrocketed thanks to a bad growing season last year.  So it's irritating that this raccoon keep going after the peanuts when the much cheaper sunflower seeds are equally available.

But I digress.  So the raccoon has already started in on the peanuts.  Quickly I put my boots on and head outside.  Despite the fact that the birds are still eating, I'm prepared to bring in all the feeders given the visit by what I now suspect was a bear last night.  I gather up half the feeders and move them inside.  Heading out for the remaining feeders, I see movement across the road.  Large black movement.  Not a dog.  It watched me as I watched it.

This is my closest encounter with a bear.  I've seen others crossing the road as I drive into Orillia, rocks have been turned overnight while I sleep, big black bums have been seen disappearing into the brush on the other side of that large field.  But THIS, this was a bear that was very very close and did not seem to be intimidated by my presence at all.

Now as I type this the feeders and I are safely tucked inside. I keep looking out to see if the bear will visit again but all I see is the raccoon cleaning up the peanuts that fell to the ground.  Maybe it will show up again or maybe it won't.  Maybe I need to start being even more careful when I go outside in the dark.

One thing is for sure:  tomorrow when the sun is bright, I am going across the road to check out the spot where the bear was sniffing the ground most closely.  Maybe the missing peanut feeder is over there.


DAY 2

WOWWWEEEEE!
If I thought yesterday's encounter was close, I was very very wrong.  This evening, a bear was standing on the first step up to my front porch.

Fortunately, I had already brought the feeders in.  I was just looking out the window to see if the raccoon had come back.  Instead, this very large black creature walked into view.  It checked out the spots under where the feeders normally are, sniffing high in the air to see if any feeders were still present.  It leaned against one of the shepherd's hooks, threatening to break it.  I watched as it started to run away when a car went by but it didn't go far.  And finally, it turned towards the house.  On its first step up, I opened a window, yelled at it and smacked my hands on the window sill.  My heart was pounding.  Then I remembered the cat was out in the enclosed portion of the porch.  EEK!

Frankly, I'd been rather blase about bears.  I wasn't worried about coming across one when I was out walking.  Only this spring, after four years of wandering in the bush, did I buy myself a whistle.  I've heard stories of people worrying about encountering bears.  And inside my head, I was thinking, "what's the big deal?"

Well, here I was, safely inside my house where the bear couldn't reach me and it felt as though the walls of the house had turned into paper that the bear would rip through at any moment.  While I don't intend to become a nervous nelly, I am certainly going to be more aware of bears.  I am going to keep the woodshed door latched.  I am going to look carefully before I step outside at dusk or later.  I am going to make sure the feeders are in even if the birds are still eating.

Oh, and yes, I did go across the road earlier in the day to see if the missing peanut feeder was there and it wasn't.  Probably it would have been uselessly bent out of shape even if it had.

WOW!

If I can figure out how to, I will try to upload a photo of the prints the bear left in the neighbour's garden.

Turtle Tales

So here I was, heading to a friend's place to go for a little walk (hopefully to see a broad-winged hawk's nest) and have dinner.  As so often happens, a mere half hour after making the plans earlier in the afternoon, I was hit by a wave of fatigue and all I wanted to do was go to bed for a nap.  Instead, I was leaving home.

I admit, I was dawdling.  This is absolutely no reflection on the person I was going to see.  It's just something that I do.  You see, I'm a loner.  I could happily go for a week without talking to a single other person.  I have no craving for human companionship; the animals here keep me more than acceptable company.  I find, in particular, that I become overloaded when I allow myself to be too busy.  And this Sunday had followed a busy Friday and an even busier Saturday.

So while going out again had seemed like a good idea while we were on the phone making the plans, the need to be alone hit me shortly afterwards.  Thus the dawdling.  Fortunately, nature came to my assistance.

Just a short way down the road, I had to stop to allow a ruffed grouse tiptoe its way across the road.  Have you ever encountered a tiptoe-ing grouse?  I think they think they can't be seen if they go slowly enough.  It is hilarious to watch.

Then further down the road was a snapping turtle sitting on the road.  Now I've encountered turtles that needed rescuing before and I don't mind stopping.  There was the painted turtle earlier this year.  I encouraged it off the road just shortly before a heavy equipment transport truck came roaring over the hill.

Then there was the Blanding's turtle last year.  I was returning from Orillia, travelling at my usual speed - a  bit over the limit.  By the time I realized that I had passed a turtle sitting in the opposite lane on this very busy highway, I was quite a bit past the spot.  I parked the car on the shoulder and crossed the road, speed-walking back to the turtle.  Then I could hear the sound of a vehicle coming and I broke into my Donovan Bailey 100 yard dash.  Believe me, no World Records were broken by my run.  With no time to spare, I swooped down on this poor turtle, grabbing it by its sides.  The startled creature gave out a huge hiss and then pulled everything as deeply into its shell as it could.  It was a close call as the car passed by just as I got off the road.

With my first snapping turtle, I stupidly picked it up as I would any other turtle.  It was huge and heavy and fortunately she was so tired from having laid her eggs that she made no attempt to bite me.  She just accepted the help and shuffled off into the ditch when I put her down on the other side.

Another huge snapper on another occasion - I had just come back from a Native Plants workshop and had a shovel in the trunk of my car.  This one was feisty but I was able to tuck the shovel under it and heave it forward a few inches at a time until it was off the road.

Last year was yet another large and feisty snapper.  No shovel this time so I tried to encourage it from behind.  It turned to attack me, moving further onto the road and into danger.  I circled around and realized that if I stayed in front of it in the direction it had been heading, it would lunge forward towards me and thus move off the road.  Back up a step, another lunge, another six inches closer to the shoulder.  It was slow but effective.

The snapping turtle yesterday was not overly large.  Fortunately, a week earlier I had learned that the safest way to pick up a snapping turtle is by the shell, one hand on either side of its tail.  Definitely keep your hands behind the back legs as the turtle is quite flexible and can reach very far back.  During this educational session put on by a representative from Scales Nature Park just south of Orillia, we were told that the reason snapping turtles snap is because their shell on the underside is pretty small and so the turtle is quite vulnerable on land.  They will not bite while in the water because they can safely swim away.  But that vulnerability on land makes them snappy.  Sometimes I feel snappy too, but I've got no shell (or lack of) to blame it on.

So I grabbed this turtle in the right location but it was just large enough that I was having trouble lifting it.  Then I remembered that same session where we were told that you could sort of wheelbarrow the turtle off the road.  The turtle will pop up onto its front feet when the back end is held up.  Push until it starts walking - just watch the back feet as they will be kicking trying to get you to let go.  So here was this turtle, back legs kicking, trying to lock its front legs to prevent it from being pushed and stretching its neck around trying to snap me.  Eventually, we both made it safely to the side and I was back on the road to my friend's place.

And it turned out to be a great evening.  We saw the hawk nest and heard a wood thrush singing its beautiful song.  And I ended up staying until 11:30 as we sat and talked after dinner.

Ah nature!

Let the Battles Begin

To those of you who know me and have started reading this blog, you may be disappointed that I am not writing about the Kawartha Field Naturalists outing at the Altberg Sanctuary today.  Don't get me wrong - it was a great outing!  The folks at KFN really are wonderful - thank goodness I discovered the club last year (once again the year of The Evening Grosbeak pays dividends).

Today's topic, however, deals with the battles that occur on my property.  Two days ago, the first ruby-throated hummingbird of the year showed up at my feeders.  Today, a second has appeared and the battles have begun.

Nature is a hard mistress, death occurs on a daily basis.  Battles are carried out in the defense of territories, mates and food sources.  The strategies used vary from brute force to clever distraction.

I've seen a couple of turkey battles.  Great gatherings of male turkeys, each contender is supported by an entourage of younger males.  Chests swell, feathers puff.  The entourages stare each other down, coming together occasionally to bump chests.  These battles can be long-lasting, injuries are common.  One turkey that used to come to my driveway to feed, one of the entourage, returned from battle with a broken toe.

The red squirrels chitter away at each other, fiercely voicing disagreement that another encroach on treasured territory.  If the intruder doesn't back down, the chase begins.  Up the tree, down the tree, across the lawn to the next tree.  Along a branch, jumping to the next tree, scattering leaves in their haste.  One finally outruns the other and battle is done until the next time.

Woodpeckers scold and posture.  Their squeaking defense can be heard on the tree and in the air.  The chase is slower and less combative than that of the squirrels.  A short chase, sometimes from one tree to the next, and the battle is resolved.

The blue jay flies in, calling vociferously, frightening off other birds.  Or it sits in wait in the tree before unleashing a call that is uncannily reminiscent of a hawk - was that really a broad-winged hawk or was that a blue jay?  Birds scatter to avoid being taken in the talons of a raptor.

The hummingbird battle is constant and fierce.  A feeder, defended by one tiny ferocious bundle of beautiful feathers and a piercing bill, where occasionally but rarely, the female is allowed to feed but other males are driven off without mercy.  They dash in to frighten off the intruder then settle, shifting ruffled feathers back into position, on a nearby perch, ready to defend again.  Intruders hover, waiting for the male to turn his head, to stop paying attention, to show himself vulnerable.  A quick dart to the feeder, a rapid short feeding and then away again to avoid being skewered.

And so I say, Let the battles begin.......or should I say continue?

The Big Day(s)

Most of this story was written earlier this year:

Most people try to go for a Big Year - travelling many miles to get the longest list of bird species possible.  I've known people who have completed, or are in the process of completing, their Big Years.  Books have been written, movies have been made, stories have been told.  The Big Year is a big deal.

For me, so far I’ve only had a Big Day - well, make that two.

So here is how my first day went.

Thursday, March 22, 2012 started at a balmy 8°C predicted to rise to a high of 20.  Thanks to a week of temperatures with highs in the 20s and lows above 0, the snow was completely gone, even the packed ice tucked into the shadows.

I had stayed up late the night before and so slept in, rising just before 9 a.m. with little expectation for the day except to pull some garlic mustard and spend some time on the computer.  As usual, the blue jays were scolding me for not yet having given them their peanuts; the goldfinches and pine siskins were twittering and buzzing in the trees and above all this, the grackles and red-winged blackbirds were making their presence known.

My morning starts with hanging out all the birdfeeders that have to be brought in every night to prevent the raccoons from emptying them.  Next, I smear the peanut butter on the spruce and apple trees.  Then I fill the pail with sunflower seeds, two tubs of peanuts in the shell and the scoop and I walk the path around the property, tossing seed here and stuffing peanuts there.

And as I walk, I listen for the birds.

Over there, on an out-of-sight pond, the Canada Geese are bickering with each other.  In that field over there, two sandhill cranes are probably courting while a third further to the east is bugling.

This morning, someone else is making itself heard.  I’ve been fooled before by blue jays and starlings that like to mimic other birds so, for now, I’m ignoring the sound.

A raven, usually pushed further north with the arrival of the crows, croaks over the field despite the crow cawing to the south.

The robins are lilting from the tree tops and whinnying in the field.  A song sparrow is belting out its song to whomever will listen.

Two dark-eyed juncos rummage in the brush pile, their white outer tail feathers flashing in the sun.

Cowbirds have joined the flock of red-wings and grackles, their gurgling barely heard over the cacophony of the others.

The meadowlark has raised its bill to the clouds and is releasing its clear and beautiful tune to the sky.

A phoebe flies into the top of the poplar, wagging its tail as though trying to find its balance.  Another calls relentlessly from the barn roof next door.

And this is just the first 30 minutes of this day.

Inside I go to take care of some business on the computer, the binoculars always at hand.

The hairy woodpecker has flown in to enjoy some peanut butter and a second is now chasing it and scolding.

The mourning doves float down from the dead elm to snag some sunflower seeds before the blackbirds eat them all.

A downy woodpecker is hammering pieces of peanut out of the peanut feeder and a white-breasted nuthatch is waiting on the branch above, hoping to get a piece of peanut for itself.

Through the kitchen window, I see the red velvet of male purple finches with their less colourful females ready to take flight in case the cat next door decides to make a visit.

A couple of chickadees flit in and out, holding sunflower seeds between their feet and still, somehow, remaining balanced on the tiniest of twigs.  A few fierce taps and the seed is opened to reveal the treasure inside.

It’s almost noon by now.  Time to stop for lunch.  I decide to sit outside and read for a while.

I’m firmly ensconced in my chair, book in hand, empty cup of tea beside me, when I hear a whisper of something.  Looking up, I see that the pileated woodpecker female has landed less than ten feet away from me.  I watch as she pulls some of the remaining peanut butter off the spruce bark and cleans her bill by wiping it on the tree.  Slowly she moves over to the right to sit in the sun, her red cap blazing.  Eventually she flies off, her white wing patches flashing.  Gone over the hedge, she yells out her call as though thanking me for providing the peanut butter.

Before heading in to get out of a sun that is too hot, I’m able to add starlings to my list as they whistle and chatter from the maple over the shed.

Late afternoon and time to get outside again.  From up in the treetops, the high-pitched call note of golden-crowned kinglets can be heard.  The birds are deep in the spruce and unseen.

And hark, there is that sound that I had heard in the morning.  Pulling out the iPod, I’m able to confirm that a red-shouldered hawk is announcing its presence.

As I enter these two birds on my list, I realize that I haven’t yet seen the eastern bluebirds that had arrived earlier in the week.  Looking over at their nesting box in the neighbour’s yard, that could be a bluebird I see in the lilac tree.  Then another bird flies in - the male with his back glowing blue.

It’s early evening and I have decided to walk out into the neighbour’s field where the woodcocks have been peenting for nearly a week.  I have yet to see one go through its routine though I have heard a lot of twittering high in the sky.

Before I can reach the edge of my property, I hear the unmistakable gobble of a male turkey.  I have a thing for turkeys so I rush through the fence and meet up with the neighbours.  All of us head to the north field where a flock of 20 turkeys is milling about.  There are at least 12 males, their short beards indicating that they are probably jakes.  Not a long beard in the lot but a bevy of fanned tails, blue heads and puffed out chests.  These boys are duking it out.  Six of them come together, bumping chests and occasionally kicking.  Our arrival at the edge of the field spooks them and they head further north.

As we head back to our houses, it has become dusk and the woodcocks start their performance.  I get to see one rise in the air until it is so high it can’t be seen until it starts circling downwards.

And with that, my Big Day ends.  I could, perhaps, have headed out again when it was fully dark to catch the saw-whet owl calling or maybe see the flying squirrel gliding in but the day was full enough.

I’d been able to get 28 species in this, my unplanned Big Day, all without even leaving my property.

And that was my story until yesterday happened.

After that warm bit in March, the weather turned cold again.  No more snow but temperatures below normal.  Birds that had returned early suffered badly.  With luck, many managed to fly back south again.  Without luck, many probably died.  April was a COLD month.

May dawned with projected daytime highs in the high teens.  Birds started moving north again.  And on May 3, I was, once again, rewarded for my bird feeding activities.  Many of the birds that appeared on my March list appeared again.

The geese and the turkeys were there in the field.  The usual suspects - mourning dove, blue jay, downy and hairy woodpeckers, chickadee, white-breasted nuthatch, pine siskin, purple finch and goldfinch - remained loyal customers.  They were joined by red-winged blackbirds, grackles and cowbirds.  Meanwhile, crows cawed, phoebes phoebe'd, robins lilted, starlings whistled and the meadowlark once again raised its bill to the sky and released its beautiful tune to the sky.

Over the field, the snipe winnowed and the red-shouldered hawk kee-year'ed.  The flicker repeated its endless song and a yellow-bellied sapsucker began its rapid drum, slowing down to a few repeated taps.  Two brown thrashers compete with their rambunctious repetitions.  Sparrow galore showed up - song, savannah, field, chipping, dark-eyed junco, white-crowned and my favourite, the white-throated, oh sweet canada canada canada.

I'm sure I hear an oriole so I make a batch of nectar and put up the new oriole feeder which includes a cup that holds half an orange.  Not half an hour later the orange is being devoured by a bird equally as orange.  At the other nectar feeder, a male ruby-throated hummingbird arrives - the first of the year.

A red-tailed hawk checks out the territory, terrifying the birds so they quickly take flight or freeze unmoving on feeders.  When the hawk is gone, the beautiful male rose-breasted grosbeak fills an empty stomach at the sunflower feeder.

Finally, as I bring the feeders in for the evening, the woodcock peents and the whip-poor-will says its name, over and over.

By the end of the day, a magical 37 species of birds had made their presence known.  Once again, I had not had to leave my property.  Imagine how grand a day here will be when the vireos return and the warblers migrate through.

I can't wait!