The Visitor

It was the day before Thanksgiving and out in the yard...there was a creature stirring next to the house. Gabbie and Tess were alerted first. The leaf rustling kept them returning to a spot in the pine trees next to the neighbors' house. Then Suzanne saw it, standing proudly near the bradford pear tree. It was a big, plump, game bird with distinct brown markings, a fan shaped tail, and a small distinct crest of feathers on its head. Oddly, the dogs were curious but did not chase it. It apparently failed to register as "that's something we chase after" in their previous encounters database.

Thanksgiving morning dawned cold and frosty. Tess went on high alert gazing into the trees on the hill behind the house. I walked outside and saw the bird shuffling through leaves. I bolted back into the house and grabbed for the camera. The bird had walked on to a large horizontal branch of the sprawling osage tree. It stood like a sentry on the log quietly scanning the area. Daughter Amy and I climbed the hill and crept closer for a photo. We were able to move within 50 feet to take some remarkably clear pictures.





Some brief internet search inquiries confirmed that this was a female grouse. No other grouse family members were evident. She stayed on the long for nearly two hours and was still there when we returned from church. We named her Gertie - sorry, Mom, but I could not resist the alliterative name.

After that she disappeared, though there were two more furtive sightings. We still look for her and wonder what drew her to this fairly civilized section of Bittersweet Woods - so near our house, with dogs, vehicles, and humanoids wandering around in full view.

It was another fascinating glimpse into the beauty of Bittersweet Woods. What is going on in your section of Bittersweet Woods?

The wood thrush

One of the most beautiful woodland sounds for me is the song of the wood thrush. I miss it now that they have stopped singing for the season. We hear them from late April to July in the early morning, late afternoon, and at dusk. Some days they never stop. Where to they get the energy? Suddenly, in late July, the music dies. They cease singing for the season, though we see them often.

Click and listen on the video above in recorded in June this year in a stand of pig nut hickory trees in Bittersweet Woods. 

Woodworking Therapy

Woodworking conjures up images of skilled carpentry, saws, miters, routers and such. Like the Yankee Workshop show on PBS. Woodworking is great therapy, one of my doctor clients tells me. For me, the therapy is working in the woods - woodsworking, you could call it. I needed the therapy yesterday. Dad is in the hospital; some difficult decisions loom ahead. After a hospital visit, some hard work in the woods sounded good. Clear the brush, clear the mind.

I decided to tackle a logjam in the stream from a recent torrential rain. I trudged down to the jam with mattock, lopper, and a small chainsaw. It was a gnarly, humid day. The dew point pushed 70. Gnats, mosquitoes, and biting flies were out. I walked the trail, then stepped into the creek bed and scoped out the mess. It was suitably vigorous work. There is little skill required for this woodworking. It is mostly persistent hard, grubby work. Pull out roots, pry out rotten logs, drag smelly muck out of the way. Keep from stepping in water over the top of my otherwise waterproof boots. Cut the tree lying across the stream into sections. Lug the sections across to the bank.

Much of the wood was from a downed osage tree. Osage is very hard wood, about like cutting a concrete block. The wood is bright yellow; it burns like coal in a fireplace. The sawdust piled up on my boots like gold dust. After about 40 minutes, the jam was mostly clear. The pretty rock riffle in the stream was once again visible.

I trudged down towards the waterfall, sweaty and muddy but satisfied at the outcome. I removed a log from the upper table of the falls. I stepped below the falls in the stream. Looking upstream was a beautiful vista - the falls, water flowing towards it, swaying sycamore trees. I took this in then headed for home.

Several plant and animal friends greeted me along the way. A frog jumped from the bank as I left the stream. A rufous-sided towhee hopped just a few feet from me under some black raspberry bushes by the trail. I came across a patch of delicate white lobelia wildflowers. Back at the house, our resident garter snake languidly crawled into the flower bed near the porch. It was as if the residents of Bittersweet Woods were assuring me that whatever lay ahead, things would be OK.



I walked into the yard to the sharp pinging of a sledge hammer striking a splitting wedge. Suz was chopping out the last vestiges of a locust stump which was decidedly mower-unfriendly. We took a few more swings and the stump remnant gave way. Time to clean up and get back to the hospital.

What's that on the tree?

Last Sunday was unusually perfect weather for July in the midwest: 70's, low, humidity, clear air rather than the summer haze. The sun shone laser-like through the tree leaves. We took Gabbie and Tess for their daily walk down the trail. There were the usual wildlife sightings: spider webs in our faces, chipmunks, and a white tail deer that led the dogs on a spirited diversion. A towhee and wood thrush sang tentatively, as though mindful that birds stop singing in July. A mosquito buzzed around my left ear.

The waterfall toward the southern end of the trail was merely a trickle. We often stop to do trail maintenance along the way. Yesterday we rearranged some rocks in the stream below the waterfall to restore the main channel after a flooding rain in June. The roaring flood dislodged huge rip rap logs that we had carefully placed to protect an eroding stream bank. They were whisked away like paper cups and piled up in a literal log jam about 200 yards downstream, just above the falls. Mother Nature does have the final say despite our imaginings to the contrary.

We puffed up the steep trail from the stream and headed back to the house. The view of the creek and opposite hillsides are always beautiful, always different depending on time of day, season, weather - and my attitude at the time. We approached the end of the trail, walking along stepping stones, passing near some large trees. My thoughts drifted to remaining chores to be done.

And then...I saw it. It's on the tree. I called out to Suz, a few steps in front of me and an arm's length from the tree in question. "Stop!" I motioned furiously and barked "Step back this way," so she wouldn't be frightened. She looked curiously at me, and I pointed. A four foot long black rat snake was draped vertically on a maple tree trunk. The head was down toward the ground, staring expressionless at us. The body was clinging somehow (with the scales as grippers, presumably) to the tree. We gawked. The snake froze. The dogs looked at us quizzically, expecting us to continue on; they did not notice the snake. Suz ran to get the camera.
(click to enlarge)

When she returned the snake was still in the same place, posing as it were for a picture. I snapped several pictures, still in disbelief because we'd never seen a snake climbing up or down a tree! We left and came back a few minutes later with the dogs, who were once again oblivious. The snake was slithering down the tree and into the brush. Once glance later it was on its way. We went our way, grateful and amazed at another close encounter with mother nature - in Bittersweet Woods.


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Bird nests

We constantly see birds flying, darting around in bushes, chirping, singing, and........this time of year, nesting. A giant hawk nest sways in the tall butternut hickory trees towering above the creek below the house. This year there have been several birds hiding their nests in plain sight. At least the birds think they’re hidden. They are really out in plain right next to the house.

A robin nested in a siberian pea shrub tree just 5 feet from our screened in porch. Mom perched diligently on the eggs. As they hatched, the young grew from tiny wisps with outsized beaks until their chunky wide-eyed forms filled the nest - as in the photo. We watched as mom constantly foraged for goodies and returned to regurgitate into the gaping young mouths. Suddenly, in one afternoon, the entire nest was evacuated. I inspected the nest. It was wonderfully made. The most talented engineer or artisan could not have fashioned a more perfect structure.

Another robin nested in an evergreen next to our driveway and just a couple of feet above the shady spot where one of our old English sheepdogs flops when the weather is warm. It was constantly flying in and our as we passed by or walked the dogs.

Now we have a bird nesting in the open on the upper end of the downspout from the roof. I have yet to identify this bird (photo below)– there are two of them, actually, mom and dad presumably. When we are in the area, the birds swoop out onto other tree branches, darting from tree to tree, back to a hummingbird feeder and then to the nest. They act like they are either showing off their graceful moves or reminding us that they are there – and we shouldn’t be. Soon they’ll hatch, move on, and join the chorus of life in the tree canopy above Bittersweet Woods.



Life is all around us – woods or not. Are you paying attention?