Wildlife Arras
The sky was a deep blue canvass uninterrupted by the merest wisp of cloud. The sun streamed into the car warming the interior and us. The road ahead was rimmed with yesterday's snow, the centre portion dark, dusted white with calcified salt. Despite wind warnings none materialized and the drive - 100 km from our house - was uneventful save for a period while vehicles slowly nudged their way forward finally to pass the scene of an accident. First responders present: police, ambulance, tow-trucks.
We noted the many fields whose dry stalks of corn still stood. Might it be possible this early frigid winter onset caught farmers off guard, given the last decade of slower, milder, less snowy winters? Particularly given the fact that October dawdled like late summer, and most of November resembled September. And then the reality of winter hit, and Environment Canada has soberly advised us in their three-month forecast to prepare for the coldest, snowiest winter in 15 years.
Our daughter's house is on the edge of the Canadian shield and is also in a snowbelt, so the snow accumulated there is roughly double our snowpack, and this is just the first day of December. But the roads were mercifully passable, given yesterday's snow storm and the previous two whose snowfall still lingers. The many bird feeders dangling from the first-floor windows are host to downy and hairy woodpeckers, chickadees, grosbeaks, bluejays and pine siskins, red-capped sparrows.
Gone are the hordes of warblers and hummingbirds that so entertain us throughout the summer months. Yet, this morning, in a frigid minus-18 degrees centigrade and a stiff wind when we glanced out our own front door there sat two puffed-up robins in one of our Sargentii crabs, miserable with cold, eating the bright red crabapples to sustain themselves. Why the tardiness in fleeing this winter landscape, we wondered?
At our daughter's place, woodpeckers frustrate her with their insistence - despite that she hangs out fat and feed for them - that her century-and-a-half log house is there for their convenience as they peck away at the logs. There are many deer trails on her property, clearly now seen in the snow. She and our grandchild had watched a month ago, as two does and a fawn stood on hind legs to reap the large ripe apples festooned on her apple tree in front of the house.
Today, however, there is much animal activity inside the house, as all her dogs - nine in number, including the one she is fostering - her cat and her rabbits are joined by our two little dogs. Our two never quite seem to overcome some measure of confusion at being in the presence of all these other animals in the confines of anyone's home. Today two of the rabbits are roaming unconcernedly about the great room, released from their commodious cage.
No one takes notice of them, as they hop about everywhere, busy landscaping the interior in their memories. Even our two little dogs, unaccustomed as they are to the continual presence of furry blobs popping about pay them no mind. As our granddaughter takes her lunch plate into the great room and seats herself before the roaring propane fireplace/stove, she is surrounded by great imploring eyes.
When we leave later in the afternoon, the sky is no longer uninterrupted. Great puffy lines of white cloud array themselves across the sky in a pattern as disciplined and beautiful as any artist could conceive of.
We noted the many fields whose dry stalks of corn still stood. Might it be possible this early frigid winter onset caught farmers off guard, given the last decade of slower, milder, less snowy winters? Particularly given the fact that October dawdled like late summer, and most of November resembled September. And then the reality of winter hit, and Environment Canada has soberly advised us in their three-month forecast to prepare for the coldest, snowiest winter in 15 years.
Our daughter's house is on the edge of the Canadian shield and is also in a snowbelt, so the snow accumulated there is roughly double our snowpack, and this is just the first day of December. But the roads were mercifully passable, given yesterday's snow storm and the previous two whose snowfall still lingers. The many bird feeders dangling from the first-floor windows are host to downy and hairy woodpeckers, chickadees, grosbeaks, bluejays and pine siskins, red-capped sparrows.
Gone are the hordes of warblers and hummingbirds that so entertain us throughout the summer months. Yet, this morning, in a frigid minus-18 degrees centigrade and a stiff wind when we glanced out our own front door there sat two puffed-up robins in one of our Sargentii crabs, miserable with cold, eating the bright red crabapples to sustain themselves. Why the tardiness in fleeing this winter landscape, we wondered?
At our daughter's place, woodpeckers frustrate her with their insistence - despite that she hangs out fat and feed for them - that her century-and-a-half log house is there for their convenience as they peck away at the logs. There are many deer trails on her property, clearly now seen in the snow. She and our grandchild had watched a month ago, as two does and a fawn stood on hind legs to reap the large ripe apples festooned on her apple tree in front of the house.
Today, however, there is much animal activity inside the house, as all her dogs - nine in number, including the one she is fostering - her cat and her rabbits are joined by our two little dogs. Our two never quite seem to overcome some measure of confusion at being in the presence of all these other animals in the confines of anyone's home. Today two of the rabbits are roaming unconcernedly about the great room, released from their commodious cage.
No one takes notice of them, as they hop about everywhere, busy landscaping the interior in their memories. Even our two little dogs, unaccustomed as they are to the continual presence of furry blobs popping about pay them no mind. As our granddaughter takes her lunch plate into the great room and seats herself before the roaring propane fireplace/stove, she is surrounded by great imploring eyes.
When we leave later in the afternoon, the sky is no longer uninterrupted. Great puffy lines of white cloud array themselves across the sky in a pattern as disciplined and beautiful as any artist could conceive of.
Labels: Companions, Environment, Personally Dedicated
posted by Pieface @ 1:53 PM
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