Today, and a year ago

Part of the front yard, April 23, 2010

The combination of a season ahead of itself (by about 3 weeks) and the bounty from the overwintered greens has my sense of timing all mixed up. It's still April, but the garden looks like a combination of May and June. The perennial plants (center and top) are well beyond a typical April. At the same time, the overwintered greens (rectangle beds on right) are ready for harvest a month before I would normally would have begun planting, filling in what would have been barren earth with mature plants. These semi-hardy greens can withstand the frosts that are expected for another month. New seedlings (Asian greens, mustards, hardier lettuces, beets, and turnips) were planted early under the white floating row covers. With the warmth of the "blanket," they too will tolerate repeated frosts.

For comparison, here's April 23, 2009:

Interrupted slumbers

I don't know who was more surprised -- the hibernating toad whose slumbers I interrupted yesterday afternoon, or me. I was digging a hole in the garden late in the day to move some of the overwintered kale plants from their low tunnel to this year's Brassica bed. I put in the shovel, lifted out the soil, and there, at the bottom of the hole was this groggy creature. It was starting to rouse by the time I returned with the camera, but I reburied it anyway, hoping the early wake-up wouldn't harm it.

I went to Wikipedia this morning to check whether this was toad or frog. The brown coloration (effective camouflage), wart-like glands on its back (also providing camouflage), and burrowing in winter (to protect their delicate skin) point to the former.

I hope it stays around. Like the leopard frog I wrote about here last July, toads help control unwanted pests in the garden.

The business of spring

We took advantage of yesterday's unseasonably warm (80 degree) weather to sit out on the porch after dinner, listening to the incessant chorus of spring peepers looking to attract others of their kind. It always amazes me that such small creatures make such a loud sound.

This morning, I woke to the cooing of the mourning dove, the distant hammering of a woodpecker, some bird songs I can't yet identify, and a tapping at the living room window. Tap, tap, tap ... silence. Tap, tap, tap ... silence. Tap, tap, tap ... silence.

It wasn't Edgar Allen Poe's raven, but rather a territorial robin who spends his mornings warding off perceived intruders. Some days he's pecking at his reflection in the western windows. Others, he's attacking the side mirrors on one of the cars.

Richard managed to catch a shot of the robin tapping at the window.

After a short time, I took decided to interrupt his futile effort so he could spend his energy in more fruitful ways. I opened the window, and he flew away.

The territorial robin who comes a tap-tap-tapping at our windows.

Woodland wanderings

Richard and I have spent the last several weekends wandering through the woods. Each year, we have been drawn into the forested areas (the majority of this land) more and more, learning how to become increasingly active caretakers. For me, that required abandoning my simplistic “it's best leave nature alone” mentality. Instead, I’ve come to realize that with caretaking, we can help nurture a healthier, more diverse forest providing greater sustenance for plants, wildlife, and ourselves. Edible landscapes do not end at the garden’s edge.

A large part of caretaking is seeing, understanding and appreciating what’s already there. As we note the changes from season to season, we can begin to think about what changes we will make. In that spirit, here’s some of what caught my attention during our walks.

Pileated woodpeckers dig these large oval holes in their search for insects.

Dead trees, or “snags” provide a buffet of insects and nesting sites for a variety of birds. So even as we cut down some dead trees for firewood, we leave others to become snags. These large oblong holes were likely created by the elusive pileated woodpeckers that I have seen only a few times over the past 20 years. The most recent was two years ago, when a young pileated woodpecker showed up at the massive week-long gathering of birds feasting on the ripe wild black cherries in our backyard. The largest of the northern woodpeckers, this spectacular bird is the size of a crow, with a flaming red crest on its head. Perhaps I’ll manage to see one this spring.

Not much further along, I found this hole high up in another dead tree. A bird’s nest? A hole now occupied by some other animal? Clearly, something has been pecking at the tree recently. For food? Shelter? I asked my friend Beth who knows a lot about birds. Her recommendation: sit and watch early one morning or late in the afternoon to see what enters or leaves. I'm not sure I have the patience to be a birder. But I will keep watching as we walk by.

On a subsequent walk, I noticed part of a honey comb caught in the crook of a branch, directly below the hole. Several other honey comb pieces lay on the ground at the base of the tree. Had some animal had pulled the comb from the tree? Was it connected to recently pecked holes, or had it come from the older knothole nearby?

Carpenter ant trails in a dead tree trunk

These holes I recognize. They were made by carpenter ants, eating out the center of a dead tree until Richard cut it down and blocked it up.

Anyone know who's home this is?

Nearby, five large entrances, about eight to ten inches in diameter, lead to a large, underground burrow. Beth said maybe a groundhog (which wouldn't thrill me; the deer fencing won't keep them out of the garden and I don't want to share my food) or a fox home. She recommended a good book on animal tracking; I’m waiting for it to arrive. I’m just beginning to learn to read the woods.

Shagbark hickory tree

A number of large shagbark hickory trees grow along the rock wall that marks the property line between what was originally two farm families’ fields. Richard’s dad first pointed the trees out to us several years ago. Given the height of the hickories, it’s questionable whether we will be able to harvest any of the nuts before the squirrels do. Perhaps in a “mast year,” when trees periodically produce a massive surplus to increase the odds that some will survive and grow into new trees. In the meantime, Richard found a nut still in good shape. We took it home to plant in a pot. We'll grow it into a seedling, then replant it in the woods.

Hickory nuts shells: squirrels probably dropped them at the base of the tree as they feasted on the nuts last fall.

Wild rose thickets are everywhere on the back part of the property. Beautiful for about two weeks in June when they flower, they are an invasive plant unfortunately distributed to homeowners decades ago. We have begun walking with pruning shears and a saw to clear paths to make walking here easier.

After cutting our way through one of the rose thickets, we came upon another nest, this one high up in a large white pine. Even with binoculars, it was hard to get a good luck at it. But it appeared to be a large, flat next of leaves and twigs. An owl? A hawk? There is much yet to learn.

Guesses on whose home this is?

As we walk, we talk about future plans – eyeing the dead, or almost dead trees that Richard will take down for firewood (while being sure to leave enough snags for the birds); noting the largest, healthiest and/or less common trees, and selecting the others nearby to cull. There is a rise in the woods at this point, making it relatively drier, and thus more habitable, to a variety of hardwood trees. There are the widespread elm, ash and cherry, but also beech, birch, maple, ironwood, hickory, the occasional oak, and even, we think two cucumber magnolias. We will eventually add Chinese chestnuts and butternuts as we open up space, along with some more understory trees with edible fruits, like hazelnuts, serviceberry and Juneberry to grow alongside the ubiquitous rose, honeysuckle and dogwood.

One of the few deciduous trees that holds its leaves all winer, beech is easy to find in the woods.

Oak leaves on the ground alerted us to look around for the tree that produced them.

The land drops again at this point, becoming dominated by vernal (spring) pools, natural depressions that fill with water this time of year. By summer, these pools will be dry, but before then, they will serve as vital breeding sites for salamanders, frogs, and other small amphibians

Vernal (spring) pools serve as important breeding grounds for small amphibians before they dry up in spring.