Day 15

I did not visit my Sit Spot today.

It was Patrick’s last day at Audubon and we took him out for a beer after work.  He will be going “home” to Pittsburgh to look for more lucrative and more satisfying work.  (He’d rather be a wildlife biologist than an office manager… go figure.)

By the time I got home, I was too tired to go.  I suppose that is a lame excuse…  But it’s the one I’m using!…

Day 14

I could have used another layer.  It is colder than I thought it would be.  I am grateful to follow Snowshoe Man’s path, for I didn’t wear my snowshoes again today…  Walking where he walked takes less energy than walking through the deep and drifted snow.

When I arrive at my Sit Spot, I see Bones and his “mother” coming up the path.  They don’t usually walk in the woods.  Lolli and Bones play.  The two mothers talk briefly, then she to pick up kids, and me to 20 minutes silence.

It is a stunningly beautiful day.  The breeze works hard to dust the rest of the snow from the higher branches and to move puffy clouds across the sky.  The sun makes long, intricate shadows on the snow.

Day 13

3:30 p.m.  The snow is deep enough that I could use snowshoes.  I wish I had used snowshoes.

The scene was prettier last night when snow clung to every surface.  Today, the forest floor is pock-marked from clumps of snow that the wind blew off the branches.  The trees that were so carefully “shadowed” with snow yesterday look like someone spattered whitewash on them today.

It’s much colder than yesterday.  My body is warm from the layers I donned, but my face freezes.  I wish “They” would invent a face mask that wouldn’t steam up my glasses when I breathe.

Day 12

It is at least an hour past sunset as I head to my sit spot.  There is plenty of fresh snow on the ground and clinging to every trunk and branch.  There is a weird orange-pink glow as the city lights reflect off the clouds and bounce back to the snow.

In the distance, dark shadows catch my eye…  later I will see the fresh deer tracks in the snow.  But here, now… a blob in the tree…  It’s an owl.  I stand to look at it… it seems to look back at me.  I try to get get closer to see the shape of its head.  No “ear” tufts…  I’ve heard Barred Owls in these woods before.  I’ll guess this is one of them.

Day 11

I walk past my usual Sit Spot.  I need to be near water today so I head down the hill.  I find an uprooted tree whose trunk forms a bench over the frozen creek and gives me a view of a young, two-trunked beech growing from the roots of a much older tree.  The twigs cling tenaciously to last year’s leaves, even as this year’s buds swell.

I ask her for a message.  A message for me.  A message for him.  The beech leaves begin to quiver, knocking against each other, making the sound of chattering teeth.  “Are you afraid,” I ask.  The quivering and chattering continue.  “Don’t worry,” I whisper.  “I will love him.”

 

 

The breeze stops.  The leaves are still again.

As I retrace my steps I see dozens of beech leaves on top of the snow that I did not notice before.  The “letting go” has begun.

Day 10

I did not do my sit spot today.  It was more important to spend a couple of hours with a friend.  Maybe I’ll do 40 minutes tomorrow to make up for it.

Day 9

10:25 a.m.  Temps in the high 20s… my favorite!  As I walk to my Sit Spot, bushwhacking along my own path, I notice plenty of evidence of rodents… their trails alternating between The Surface and Subnivea.  When I get to the real path I find an ATV has driven here since my last visit.

When I reach my Sit Spot and the sounds of my snow clothes and boots on crunchy snow cease, I notice that Titmouse is not at all tentative about his “Peter-Peter” territory songs today.  Chickadees have resumed their “Phoebe” territory songs, too.  Both birds also offer to teach me some other songs and calls in their repetoires.  Red-bellied Woodpecker offers his song.  Crows are caw-cawing loudly about something or other and I wonder if I’ll see an owl that they are pestering.  Another bird that I cannot see teases me with a variety of songs and calls.  One sounds like a bird-bark.  I wonder who THAT is?

My eye is drawn to patterns and textures created by the dry remains of last year’s plants.

I’m in no hurry today.  I take the long road home.

Day 8

Seven-thirty A.M.  Two to three inches of fresh powder disguise yesterday’s footprints.  You can tell someone was here, but you can’t tell who.  The powder is fluffy enough that even fresh tracks are disguised almost as soon as they are created.  That one is definitely squirrel… but that other one…  almost looks like weasel.  Are there weasels in these woods?

Nuthatch tap-tap-taps along the bark of a tree, investigating, searching for insects.  Chickadee seems to have decided this territory is not worth singing about.  He has given up his declaratory “Phoebe” (Mine’s here!) in favor of his scolding “Chickadee-dee-dee.”

I brush by Dock for the hundredth time scattering a few more seeds.

Day 7

It’s hard to shut  my mind off tonight.  So many things to think about.  A couple of critters work to distract me:  Red Squirrel chatters a complaint that it is already bedtime.  A bird teases me with a call and a flight pattern, but not much else to help with ID:  Flap flap glide “Cheep”… Flap flap glide “cheep”…  Then it disappears into the brush and continues its cheep-cheep, cheep-cheep for a another half a minute or so.

After that it is still.  Oh there are the usual human-associated sounds – airplanes overhead, a car on the road, distant dogs barking, my dog digging and chewing.  But otherwise, it is still.  An almost unreal stillness.

I feel weepy.

Day 6

Sunrise.  No dog.  On my way to work.  Skies are clear.  When the sun gets high enough, it will be a bright, bright day.

No one has been here since I walked this path last night.  Those are my footprints.  And those are my dog’s.  No person has been here.  No dog.  But there have been others.  The woods are rodent rich.  Here a squirrel dug up its cache.  There a chipmunk emerged from a perfectly round tunnel.  A smaller tunnel just under the surface of the snow looks mouse-sized.

I arrive at my Sit Spot and breathe deeply.  I close my eyes and let the stress leave my muscles.  Slowly, the birds wake up.

Nuthatch is first with its nasal “eeent eeent.”  Next Red-bellied Woodpecker gargles its unusual song.  (The Red-bellied taught me his song last spring.  I didn’t remember it, until I heard it today!)  Tufted Titmouse wakes and calls “Peter Peter!” just before Chickadee chimes in with “Phoebe!”  Mourning Dove joins the chorus next with its sad “Erooo Coo Coo Coo.”

Apparently the Woodpeckers don’t want me use a computer program to learn their songs; they will teach me themselves.  A loud, laughing “hahahahaha” is followed shortly by deep, hollow, resonating drumming.  “Show me,” I say outloud, and Pileated Woodpecker makes an appearance on a not-too-distant tree.  A little later a smaller woodpecker gave a much subtler rattle-song followed by much gentler drumming.  I watched it fly, but could not tell if it was Downy or Hairy.  I’ll need more lessons from you little guys!

A very selective breeze blows white, sparkly powder from the brown leaves of just one tree.  It’s time to go.  I don’t want to go.  I find myself wishing more than ever for the opportunity to go winter camping.  On the way back I hear that Blue Jay and Cardinals are finally waking up to start their day.  “Jay jay jay!”  “Chew!”