I spent the better part of Sunday running the brush hog through the orchard and fields cutting down the tall grasses, invasive bush honey suckle and Labrador tea that has grown in the old pasture and beneath the "old" apple trees. I say "old" apple trees because what are growing up as trees now were actually the growths from the rootstock of the long gone apple trees of days gone by. These are long and stringy things as a result of starting out amidst lots and lots of shade. Mark and I have pruned them mercilessly to get them to resemble real trees and some of them show promise for the future now that they're getting plenty of sunlight. Others are low shrubby growths not more than a foot or so in height due to wild pruning by mice and snowshoe hares.
The brush hog may have been self propelled but it doesn't have a reverse so I had to wrestle with it frequently to maneuver about the trees and get as much of the brush as possible. And in 90% relative humidity, that meant I was sweating much of the day--a lot. I would work for an hour or an hour and a half and then take a break to change my hat and shirt and suck down a bottle of Gatorade and another of water before going back out to do battle once more. And every time I went past the garage I would play peek-a-boo with the ground hog. (Obviously I made a clean miss the other evening.) It's got more than one entry hole to its refuge beneath the garage workshop. The thundering sound of the brush hog firing up would scare the daylights out of it and it would pop out of one of the holes only to pop back in when I rounded the corner. I never saw it when I had the .22 in hand, however, so it will live for yet another day.
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An overnight rain fell while I was sleeping but there was only an overcast sky when the birds woke me at 6 AM. The thermometer registered 50 degrees at that time and when I checked the weather.com site the radar showed no precipitation in the area. But, with the relative humidity still at 90% and the dew point at 60 degrees at their nearest weather station, it wasn't long before the Bolt Hole experienced a shower. It continues to threaten further rain as the morning progresses. A chilly, damp Monday morning all around.
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Speaking of birds waking me up.... I've a few more to add to the list I presented yesterday. First is the ruffed grouse that wandered into the yard probably to feast on the ripe wild strawberries my mowing exposed. It didn't stay long when it saw me but only walked off into the brush to find a perch from which it commenced drumming. Then there's the broad-winged hawk that circled overhead in the afternoon. I've also heard yellow warblers calling from the fields and last night a great horned owl sounded off around 10 PM.
And then there's the chipping sparrows. The loud, annoying chipping sparrows. The ones that call repeatedly from sunrise to sunset in their monosyllabic trill. The ones that sound like a slowly blown police whistle. How such a small bird can make such a loud call and do so so frequently is beyond me. Take a whistle--the P-shaped kind with the little cork or plastic pellet inside. Now take a deep breath and blow into that whistle slowly so it juuust flutters that little pellet and produces a sound. And repeat that over and over all day long. That's the chipping sparrow. I know it has to stop some time to eat but, Lord almighty, when?
One thing's for certain: With a chipping sparrow outside your open window you have no need for an alarm clock! You're going to be awakened as soon as the sky starts to lighten--even if it's only 4:30 AM.
At least I haven't any white-throated sparows around. They even sing in the middle of the night.
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Terry called last night from the Aerie to report another visit from Mr. Bruin. This time he came up on the deck at 7 PM to see if he could get the hummingbird feeder before she brought it inside. She had been sitting in her sewing room watching TV when she decided to bring the feeders in. Rounding the corner to the kitchen/dining area, she spotted his fat rear end outside the open screen door as he made his attempt. Needless to say, she slammed the sliding glass door closed which frightened the bear off into the woods where he sat and watched as she brought the two feeders in from the deck rail. For a critter as big as he is (I estimate him to be around 180 pounds) he moved silently enough that he got across the yard and onto the deck despite the window in the sewing room, which faces the area of approach, being open.
Another week or two and the raspberries will be ripe and he'll stop coming around--I hope. Meanwhile, I may have to stock up on some fireworks or see if there's anyplace that sells rubber 12-gauge slugs just to teach this guy a lesson.
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UPDATE: Almost forgot the black-capped chickadees and white-breasted nuthatches that have been bouncing about in the pine and fir trees.
UPDATE 2: Let's also add a yellow-bellied sapsucker and a barred owl to the list.
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