Every now and then, I take it upon myself to head out the door and visit the four corners of my property. This is something that is easy to do, but also something that seems diabolically difficult to remember to do. All I have to accomplish is a quick survey of the land; something that ranchers out west may have called “riding fences.”
It turns out that winter is actually a pretty good time for this activity because the lack of leaves allows much to be seen that might otherwise be hidden in the summertime. There is also the added benefit of being a season free of biting flies that can conspire to take some of the fun out of being outside. And, finally, there is the simple alleviation of “cabin fever” that one gets when cold weather keeps you confined for too long.
Sometimes you just have to stretch your legs and see something different.
Without any sort of conscious intent, I seem to follow the same pattern whenever I go on one of these walks. Outside the kitchen door, I take a left; I walk around the corner of the garage and head for the northwest corner of my lot. Then, I make a slow pass down the western side of the yard as I head down the hill toward what I affectionately refer to as “the back 40.” My lot only contains six acres, but the part “way down in the woods” sometimes feels like a whole other place. The only way to see what’s going on down there is to actually go down there.
The southern leg of my journey takes me through a linear stand of white pines and I can’t help but notice that things seemed a bit more open than they did 15 years ago. The trees are getting older and taller and the lower branches and boughs are starting to thin out and break off the trees. It’s the simple effect of the passage of time, but it can occasionally result in a feeling of melancholy.
It wasn’t until I had started my return trip along the eastern side of the lot that I discovered a very sad development along the edge of the meadow. A month ago, we had a day when there were some very strong winds and they had been of sufficient strength to accomplish a little landscaping. At first, I couldn’t quite identify what the change actually was. All I knew was that something wasn’t quite right. It took me more than a moment to figure out that a dead tree that had been a reference point for over a decade was no longer standing.
This tree was invaluable during my “thinking chair” observations because it was large, centrally located and all by itself. As a result, birds of all sorts would perch in its branches where they were easy to see. Species like eastern towhees, brown thrashers, northern flickers and even green heron would take advantage of the open branches at the top of this tree as a spot for a nice, sunny perch. This was often the only way that I would actually see these species and is why I affectionately referred to it as the “lookout tree.”
In the summer months, a walk past this tree would often bring me face to face with juvenile song sparrows and common yellowthroats. The parents of these young birds would also show themselves due to fits of anxiety surrounding the brazen behavior of their offspring. Young birds are often quite bold in asserting themselves around “strangers” and this must generate a lot of stress in the parents. I’m guessing that human parents might be able to identify with this feeling fairly easily.
So, the end of an era has come to pass. Wind and weather have sculpted the landscape once again and this time the result is the loss of a landmark. The trunk of the lookout tree is still up above the ground because some of the larger lower limbs were still of sufficient strength to support the tree’s weight. Other branches now point skyward and should suffice as perches for the young birds for at least a couple more years, but they won’t last long. I’ll have to keep notes on the deterioration of the tree and I’ll have to somehow try to remember to take a photo from the same location every year so I can monitor the decay process.
January is essentially over and February is just ahead of us. The days are already getting longer, but the potential for cold weather still looms large. It was during February of 2015 that I recorded the coldest temperature (-17 Fahrenheit) since I started keeping records. Keep your eyes peeled for red-winged blackbirds, cowbirds and grackles as they start heading north again. And, of course, let me know if you see anything particularly interesting. I’d love to hear about it.
Bill Danielson has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 22 years. He has worked for the National Park Service, the US Forest Service and the Massachusetts State Parks and currently teaches high school biology and physics. Visit speakingofnature.com for more information, or go to Speaking of Nature on Facebook.