The male ruffed grouse in the photo above was documented on a Rosslyn wildlife camera about a year ago. Fancy fowl! And the two images below were recorded a few weeks ago.
Rosslyn’s backlands are fortunately flush with ruffed grouse (Bonasa umbellus), a welcome reminder that wildlife gravitates — as if by some primal sense — to safe havens and sanctuaries. If you preserve it, they will come (or so our experience over the last 12+ years suggests.)
Ruffed Grouse (Rosslyn Wildlife Camera)
What is a Ruffed Grouse?
A brown or gray-brown, chicken-like bird with slight crest, fan-shaped, black-banded tail, barred flanks, and black ‘ruffs’ on sides of neck.
Habitat: Deciduous and mixed forests, especially those with scattered clearings and dense undergrowth; overgrown pastures.
Female gives soft hen-like clucks. In spring displaying male sits on a log and beats the air with his wings, creating a drumming sound that increases rapidly in tempo. (Source: Audubon)
Popular among hunters for their tender meat, the ruffed grouse in these images are safe in Rosslyn’s wildlife sanctuary. Although Susan is a vegetarian (a pescatarian, actually), I concede a robust appetite for wild game. That said, I’m not a hunter. And when we purchased first one, and then a second adjoining lots, our intention was to preserve and rewild, to invest in a healthy and resilient wildway buffering the already significant wildlife moving along Library Brook. With acreage expanded and John Davis’s wildlife stewardship guiding our rewilding efforts, native wildlife are returning and prospering.
If you’ve never heard a ruffed grouse drumming, you should definitely play the video below. It’s a mysterious rhythm I associate with late winter through early spring outings — cross-country skiing, snowshoeing, and sometimes mindful, sometimes mindless meandering — through Rosslyn’s forests and meadows.
Welcome to spring! It’s currently 43° at Rosslyn, on target to hit 46° shortly. Sun is out. Snow is melting. Bulbs are bursting. So many remarkable signs and suggestions that the vernal equinox may indeed have marked the transition from winter to spring (daffodils and daylilies perking up, an auspicious sunset cloud formation, a handsome Barred Owl encounter,…)
Let’s start out with our just-passed solar equinox and then work our way toward the Barred Owl (Strix varia) and some celestial special effects from Susan’s end-of-day walk with Denise.
Vernal Equinox: Rosslyn Sundown (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
Vernal Equinox-ish
In 2023, the official first day of spring is Monday, March 20. This date marks the “spring equinox” in the Northern Hemisphere… at 5:24 P.M. EDT. This… is the astronomical beginning of the spring season in the Northern Hemisphere… (Source: The Old Farmer’s Almanac)
That was yesterday. In fact, this post was intended to be published yesterday. On time. Relevant. But, sometimes searching for poetry preempts timely updates. Sorry.
Despite the fact that today’s post is slightly out of sync with the astronomical calendar, I couldn’t resist the chance to subtly revise yesterday’s draft and share it anyway. There was simply too much resonance. Yes, I’m biased. But after yesterday’s candid peak into Rosslyn’s artifact-packed carriage barn (and into my mental morass where architectural salvage, historic rehabilitation, poetic introspection, and memoiresque storytelling commingle) it felt, well, almost logical. Bear with me? I find that spring’s arrival rarely follows a predictable schedule. Each year unique. And, in spite of the heathen thrill that comes with romancing celestial and meteorological rituals, it would appear that the vernal equinox is merely a symbolic approximation of springtime.
An equinox occurs twice a year, around 20 March and 22 September. The word itself has several related definitions. The oldest meaning is the day when daytime and night are of approximately equal duration. (Wikipedia)
I excerpted the tidy part, eliminating the inevitable diatribe about day and night not really being the same length. A debate for another blogger. I love rituals, even when they’re easily scoffed. Here’s a flip riff by Phil Plait (@BadAstronomer) if you’d like a quick scoff before we romance the vernal equinox.
Today is the vernal equinox, what a lot of folks think of as the first day of spring (though given the forecast, people on the U.S. East Coast can be forgiven if they’re rolling their eyes at that thought, assuming their eyeballs aren’t frozen to their eyelids). (Slate)
The omnipresent smell of mud hints at spring’s earth entrance, and that’s good enough for me. No. More. Snow. Please!
Tony and I were returning from the forest beyond Library Brook where we’d been blazing the next meander in Rosslyn’s ongoing trail building initiative. The brook was swollen and running wild. The trees were a-chatter with avian neighbors and squirrels riffing raucous against the riparian chorus. It felt like a page out of Dylan Thomas. And then Tony spied the owl.
“Do you see it?” he hoarse-whispered, pointing up into the trees.
I didn’t. He guided my gaze. But I couldn’t identify the big blob on a branch. Wrong sunglasses.
“It’s an owl,” he said
We walked closer. I fumbled with my phone, launch the camera app, zoomed in as far as I could, snapped a couple of images. We kept walking. The owl swooped away, an immense span of plumage, arcing through trees and branches powerfully, gracefully without brushing a twig.
Disinclined by temperament to observe overt omens and symbolism in the world around me, I’m nonetheless receptive to the “singing underneath”. Sometimes life rhymes. I try to exercise humility and wonder in these moments. I endeavor to hear and observe and sometimes to record the poetry that presents itself. I’ll leave conclusions to others. For me, for now, questions are plenty.
Vernal Equinox: Day Lilies Reawakening (Photo: Geo Davis)
Daylilies
With snow, still covering much of the ground, bulbs are bursting up, unwilling or unable to wait. The earthy array above are day lilies, among the thousands of green shoots reaching skyward below the stonewall that divides our lower lawn from upper lawn.
Perhaps overly precocious sprouts. I’d venture a guess that some more freezing nights, possibly even some more snow might challenge these daylilies. And yet, as in all previous years, they will flourish, foliage thickening, stout stems reaching somewhere between knee and waist by Independence Day when they’ll explode in joyful orange blooms. They will. And yet I can’t help wondering if they’re premature?
Vernal Equinox: Cloud Theatre I (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
Sundown Skies
As if conjuring orange blooms is contagious, the day’s spring preview weather concluded with a dash of colorful drama and cloud theatre extraordinaire.
Taken by Susan while winding down the day with Denise and Carley, ambling Blockhouse Road, likely lost in conversation. Phone photography sure has come a long way!
Vernal Equinox: Cloud Theatre II (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
So beguiling and mysterious is that second cloud theatre image that I’m sharing a tighter, second perspective.
Vernal Equinox: Cloud Theatre III (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
Welcome back, springtime. What wonders do you have in store?
A chilly afternoon warmed with laughter while bushwhacking on snowshoes, today Susan, Denise and John Davis, and I ventured into Rosslyn’s westernmost woods to trailblaze a new loop through a maturing pine forest located between Library Brook, the Essex Firehouse, and Essex Farm.
Library Brook (Photo: Geo Davis)
Long anticipated, this remote route will extend and diversify our existing trail system through the Library Brook drainage and into an older tree stand with a drier understory and a tranquil atmosphere. So close to the heart of downtown Essex, this peaceful place feels like a secret oasis.
Library Brook Ice Crystals (Photo: Geo Davis)
Two anticipated stream crossings offer meditative glimpses of meandering Library Brook that promise to be just as breathtaking in winter as summer. Lush with wildlife, this riparian corridor will likely permit plenty of intriguing wildlife photography in years to come.
Tree Hugging Bushwhacker (Photo: Geo Davis)
Higher ground along the western flank of Rosslyn’s backland includes some dramatic pine trees including the handsome specimen being embraced in the photo above by our friend and affectionate wildlife steward, John Davis. Lots of love in these woods!
I’m hoping to fine tune today’s preliminary foray over the next couple of weeks while the ground is still frozen and snow covered. By spring the loop should be finalized, and we can begin to prioritize the stream crossings. I look forward to updating you soon.
What is the cross-country skiing equivalent of schussing down a powdery piste? If it exists — some etymologically Nordic, onomatopoeicly swooshy reference for scissoring smoothly across a snowy meadow or through a snowy forrest — I could sneak it into today’s outing. But I’d be waxing poetic. Projecting fantasy onto a considerably stickier cross-country skiing experience.
Cross-Country Skiing Library Brook Trail (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
Don’t get me wrong. Venturing out into Rosslyn’s backland with Susan this afternoon for some slippery sliding and gliding was the perfect reentry. Especially on a Monday. Decadent!
Cross-Country Skiing Beaver Meadow (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
But the new fallen snow was far from powdery. Perfect snowball weather. But the only snowballs we’re those clinging to Carley’s undercarriage as she raced across fields investigating animal tracks. The temperate was week above freezing which made for a highly agreeable jaunt, but the snow adhered to the bottoms of our skis, clumping, slowing out progress.
Carley Criss-Crossing Ski Tracks (Photo: Susan Bacot-Davis)
Sticky snow. Overcast skies. And yet it was perfect. My bride, my dog, and time taken to tour Rosslyn’s wilder side while cross-country skiing. Perfection!
Hope you were able to celebrate and take time for gratitude yesterday. And today. As with most holidays, I find myself thinking that we should dedicate longer than a day to giving thanks. Maybe a week? Even that seems too brief a time to honor everyone (wild neighbors included) who adds value and happiness, health and wisdom, balance and compassion, laughter and beauty, and so much more to our lives.
Today, the day after official Turkey Day, I send you a feast of Thanksgiving thanks, from our family to yours.
In the photo above we’re just about to come inside for a bountiful family feast. What? You say that doesn’t look like Rosslyn? True enough. This year our gratitude is being celebrated in Santa Fe. (But that turkey at the top of this post was celebrating his wild freedoms mere feet from Library Brook. As were those in the photo below, one year ago.)
John Deere Gator: Three Generations (Source: Geo Davis)
With 70+acres to maintain at Rosslyn, ADK Oasis “Highlawn”, and ADK Oasis “Lakeside”, the John Deere Gator is an omnipresent and much depended upon utility vehicle for us. Whether hauling compost or pulling the wood splitter or chipper; moving fire pits or transporting waterskis, windsurfers, paddle boards, wetsuits and life jackets back-and-forth, to-and-from the boathouse; assisting with peach, apple, and pear harvest or just a quick inspection of the wildlife habitat along Library Brook; our Gators are indispensable.
John Deere Gator: The New Generation (Source: Geo Davis)
And so it happens that we decided at the end of last summer that it was time to place an order for a new TH 6×4 John Deere. This workhorse remains one of the best performance utility vehicles in their lineup, and we’ve been fans for a long time. But, speaking of long times, this 6-wheeler wasn’t always a 6-wheeler. What? That’s right, you can see the new arrival above. Two front wheels for steering, and four wheels under the bed to help spread the heavy load and provide reliable 4×4 traction. But if you look at the middle of three John Deere utility vehicles in the first / top image (above) you’ll see that it only has five wheels. That’s right, only one wheel up front.
John Deere Gator Wrangling
For the sake of accuracy it’s worth noting that the 5-wheeler technically isn’t a Gator. It’s a John Deere AMT 626, and it was the oldest of these utility vehicles in our fleet. We actually inherited from my parents when they sold their Rock Harbor home a couple of years ago. It’s vintage! But it was built John Deere tough, and I expect it’s got a good many years still in it.
That said, it wasn’t starting. Not sure why, but it would crank and fail to catch. So we combined delivery of the new Gator with servicing for the AMT 626 and our other 6-wheel Gator. With luck we’ll get good news on the 5-wheeler AND 6-wheeler soon which means we’ll have the chance to re-home the AMT 626. We had good luck re-homing our Husqvarna EZ4824 zero turn mower earlier this summer, so I’m waxing Pollyanna on another opportunity to downsize while helping out a neighbor. Stay tuned.
As it turns out, watching the recovery of the unwilling-to-start AMT 626 was fun, so I posted a short Instagram video update, “Gator Wrangling?!?!” Perhaps my sense of humor (and wonder) is an acquired taste…
John Deere Gator: Servicing 1st and 2nd Generation (Source: Geo Davis)
In the photo above the older John Deere Gator (left) and the 5-wheel John Deere AMT 626 are loaded onto the flatbed for the journey north to United Ag & Turf for service. Many thanks for the delivery and pickup. And thank you, Mowie (supervising from the Gator bed in the photo below) for supervising.
John Deere Gator: Off with the old… (Source: Geo Davis)
Autumn Landscape, October 27, 2015 (Photo: Geo Davis)
TGIF… time to put another log on the fire, pour yourself something refreshing, and unwind for a moment together. Busy-ness and a continuous cascade of commitments can gradually hypnotize us during the weekly hurly-burly, so let’s take a few minutes to exhale and redirect our attention at this dramatic time of year. Transformation all around us. Breathtaking beauty all around us. I invite you to round out your week by contemplating the autumn landscape.
As another week of icehouse rehab draws to a close, I’m shifted gears a little. I’ll post an update soon, however there’ve been several compelling-but-competing intrigues to pursue. Yesterday’s post about rehoming the “truckling” in exchange for an inspiring reuse/recycling story has elicited several compelling possibilities. (Hoping to make a decision soon, and I’ll share the winning story!) I’ve also been crowdsourcing (albeit quite limitedly among friends and family) perspectives on what makes a house a home. Can’t wait to share the riches tomorrow! For now, with this pair of jolly Jack-in-the-box updates about to spring out into the open, I’m recalibrating and refocusing on autumn landscape.
Autumn Streamscape
As wildlife crisscross
these riparian byways
scents, tracks, graffiti.
— Geo Davis
This haiku takes as its seed the layered narrative along Library Brook which meanders the western margin of Rosslyn’s back forests and fields. So much wildlife trafficking this vital corridor, and all of them communicating, carrying on a distributed dialogue, and creating artistic artifacts.
I spent some time flail mowing near a small portion of this riparian region last summer, eliminating some invasive that have clogged the stream, and encouraging native flora to thrive, ensuring a healthy habitat for our wild neighbors. I thought that I had taken photographs of a mesmerizingly beautiful glade thick with stream-side wildflowers, but I’m unable to find them. Perhaps these images were meant to remain wild, earned quietly on foot, cross country skies, snowshoes.
These contemplative places abound at Rosslyn. And my haiku doesn’t offer a sufficient snapshot. Perhaps I’ll be able to update this page with another poem that offers the scents and sounds of this this wild autumn landscape. For now I’d like to offer you a potent portrait by a Vietnamese poet, Hồ Xuân Hương (1772–1822), that hints at the intoxication I’m alluding to. If “the banana leaves” are overlooked, her poem feels as if it might be leaning against a stump beside burbling Library Brook.
Autumn Landscape
Drop by drop rain slaps the banana leaves.
Praise whoever sketched this desolate scene:
the lush, dark canopies of the gnarled trees,
the long river, sliding smooth and white.
I lift my wine flask, drunk with rivers and hills.
My backpack, breathing moonlight, sags with poems.
Look, and love everyone.
Whoever sees this landscape is stunned.
— Hồ Xuân Hương (Source: Narrative Magazine)
Let us all breathe some moonlight tonight, and let us all let go the of the week just lived and look at the autumn landscape, allow it to stun us, to remind us how to love. Everyone.
