Whirring Woodcocks and Snowdrops

The courting ritual has begun. For the last two nights, we stood outside listening to the woodcocks rising up into the evening sky, whirring and chirping, dancing in the waning light. Their aerial display is something to see--if you can see it. I could just make out the silhouette of one as he dropped back down into the woods.

Yesterday, I heard a Carolina wren singing, and the snow drops have appeared. Yup, spring is here!

Call of the Woodcock

As John and I boiled sap on Sunday night, I suddenly gasped, "Did you hear that?"
Up in the woods, an American Woodcock was giving his raspy "bzzzt" call, staking out his territory. We didn't hear the musical whirring wings of the aerial display, but I think he may be the proverbial early bird, out looking for his soul mate in the snowbanks.

Last Gasp for Big Bertha

Well I made the call. My poor old maple, damaged last summer, is coming down next week. So we've tapped the bejeezus out of her, and hope to get the sweetest syrup before she comes down. We'll have hours of warmth from her in the next couple of years, but I'll miss her wide spreading shady arms this summer. The woodpeckers, chipmunks, great crested flycatchers, titmice, squirrels, chickadees, nuthatches, bluejays, and warblers will miss her too--no homes, no perches, and no bugs. But I'll replace her with another just as sweet--another sugar maple.

Sugaring Time Is Here!

It's one of the rites of spring, hanging the sap buckets and boiling in the garage. I get home from work and spend my evening sitting by the propane cooker, skimming the sap, waiting for the water to evaporate. Usually I take along a good book to keep me company. As the steam swirls around my head in a sweet fug, I stir the sap and read. The chilly damp air makes me hug the cooker, warming myself by the burner.

Last year, we tapped four trees and got approximately one gallon. This year, John's tapped seven trees, including Big Bertha, our aging maple that needs to come down this spring. She's giving us the last hurrah.

Dog Sense

Ok, who has more sense in this picture? The dog draped over my lap, or me for using Callie Lou as a lap rug? Note the title of the book.

Callie Goes Cross-Country Skiing

It's obvious Callie has never skied with anyone. Poles are to chase and heeding my commands go right out the window. But she did enjoy all the scents in the air. Tracking deer, coyote, other dogs, my bleeding hand (that's another story)--Callie Lou learned that staying well behind or well ahead of cross country skiers is imperative.

This was Callie's second time skiing off lead, so we headed to Wild Iris for the solitude offered in the quiet woods. Not long after we started, I had to switch to a warmer wax, and in the process, gashed my thumb which gushed blood. Of course, I'd forgotten a first aid kit, or even a bandanna to staunch the flow.

We skied for over an hour, meeting up with one other person (a 4-wheeler hunting coyotes with his dogs-grrrr). I decided it was a good turn around point and left hunter and dogs in the distance. Were the deer or coyotes watching us from the rocky ledges overhead?