MamaStories

The plan for today was to plant out the first lettuces into the hotbox, but it is snowing!

But!

The first Robins have arrived. I wonder if they’ll take up residence in our carport again.

In honor of the first Robins and the first full day of Spring, and in the spirit of healing and peace, I pressed my first echinacea tincture and printed out my first Robin Hill Gardens label.

The hive in the distance. Gotta go dig it out.

Some wading and digging and it’s done.

The new dead bees at the entrance means the bees in there are still alive, trying to clear out the die-off. They’re well insulated now in that blanket of snow, as long as the hive gets some ventilation. I am eager for that first day of temperatures in the higher 40s, when I can go and take a peek and maybe even move some honey frames closer to the cluster, or feed if necessary. I’ll have to wait a while still, because after some really cold nights (- 9 F = – 22.7 C) we’re looking at yet another snow storm.

I also put more seeds and nut in the bird feeder, which was on the way to the hive anyway.

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When not wading through 3 feet of snow, I am reading two new books, wonderful books by wonderful people, Nancy and Michael Phillips’ The Herbalist Way and Michael Phillips’ The Apple Grower. Wow, I want to learn and do too many things at once. Better start making up a budget…

I’ve been watching the hive and there is not too much going that I can see: small scouting parties, hive entrance defense (photo), and the removal of dead bees. All the action is within (or so I hope). Because my hive is new and the frames have only foundation on them, the bees should be busy drawing out comb in which the queen can start laying and they can start storing nectar and pollen. Because they prioritize building, they aren’t flying out yet to forage. It’s for that reason that I provided them a frame feeder with 1 gallon of syrup (medicated) and a pollen patty. A hive loses about 30% of its population after installation of the package, because the new Queen isn’t laying yet.

I am so curious, but the advice is not to open the hive too much at the beginning. The first check we do is a quick one three days after installing, to see if the queen has been released from her cage and, if so, to remove said cage, and to check if there is still enough syrup in the frame feeder. That’s for tomorrow!

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I noticed yesterday that the Robin was no longer visiting the nest in the bush near our mudroom door. A quick look confirmed our suspicions. The nest was empty. I found 3 of the 4 eggs on the ground. Did a predator get to it and shake them out? The nest looks intact. Did the parents abandon the nest because of all the traffic and push the eggs out (I find that unlikely).

I told Amie the news and she was not saddened, just inquisitive. Who might have done this? A raccoon, a cat? Are the chicks still alive? No. Can we open one? We did and found it was fertile (a small blob of blood). Can we hatch the other ones? No, they were all cracked anyway. Can we keep the egg shell? I’ll have investigate how to preserve an egg like this.

Every Spring, since we’ve been here, we’ve had a Robin’s nest near the house. That’s why we call the place Robin Hill – plus it has a little bit of Robin Hood in it.

Year One (2008) they chose the rafters of the carport and Year Two they chose the nook next to Year One’s nest.  We never understood why they do this, as the carport is a relatively busy place. Each time we would walk in or past, the Robin on duty would take off with a great flutter of wings to perch on a nearby tree branch from which to scold us until we left.

I know that Robins will return ever year  but will never re-use a nest, and now it seems that they won’t even use the same space. In anticipation of their return I had moved the two old nests so they could go there again, as they seemed to like it so much. Instead they chose to move into the Japanese Andromeda that is right next to the mudroom entrance and the guest room window. An even busier place!

We now use our other (main) door – which leads straight into the living room – as often as we can, and try to tiptoe around, but it is difficult not to disturb them. The frantic escape from the dense bush is even more alarming what with all the leaves flying off as well. Still, it makes for great observation. Maybe we will install that webcam.

So far there are three beautiful blue eggs in the nest (Robins lay one egg a day and usually stop at four) — ah, that was based on my quick peek yesterday: today there are four!

And one wary Momma Robin (it’s usually the females who incubate the eggs).

There must be a bird’s nest in our shed as well. Each time we walk in there is a loud chirping, but we haven’t located it yet, so I can’t say what it is. Maybe the wrens, who always hang out in that shed.

The other night my birdwatching neighbor came over to tell me there are is Barred Owl (Strix Varia) nesting in the trees behind our property and that I should listen for its calls. That evening, there it was, that typical “Who Cooks For You” call. By the time we got the mike out there, the call had changed to:

owlhoot1 and owlhoot2

(We are thinking of placing a mike on top of our roof, and whenever we hear something – the fisher cat, or the owls – we plug it into a laptop and record it. Yet another scheme here on our Hill!)

As we listened that evening I said to DH how wild it was, how I love how wild this place is (I wrote about the contrast with Europe here). DH remarked that surely an owl is not that wild – maybe he had jaguars in mind, and grizzly bears.

I replied an owl is pretty wild. What do I mean by wild, or wilderness? It took me not a second to answer it: Wild is Old.

That owl up there, high up in the tree, in the wind and the total darkness, is calling for a mate as it has been calling, with that exact same call, for millions of years.

Compare this with us, humans, our many, many languages, our many more ways of wooing, of saying “I want you” and “here I am”. And we’re changing  those every thousand years, every generation, every day. We are constantly adapting, transforming, cultivating, culturing.

The owls, the fisher cats, the bees, they don’t change. They stay wild. Their wild ways work for them as they did millions of years ago. That is wild. Wild is Old.

Friends are coming to visit for a couple of days, and I doubt I will have the time, or the inclination, to interrupt the fun we always have to post here. But before I go, a few notes:

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Turns out that the bobcat I heard a couple of weeks ago was most likely a fisher cat. My neighbor saw one crossing the street this morning and immediately fired off an email to let me know. And it clicked, because Suldog had raised this possibility in his comment to my post. Apparently fishers make that haunting sound during mating season, though they’re also know to make it when they’re trapped or attacking. No bobcat, then, but pretty wild anyway!

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I’ve signed two petitions in the last two days.

1. One for allowing chickens in Cambridge, Mass. (there’s a blog article about it here, and the petition is here).
2. The other for allowing the sale of raw milk by a dairy farm in Framingham, Mass (about raw milk in Massachusetts, click here, and here, and to sign the petition, click here).

There’s a Food Revolution and I’m on it!

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I totally missed the “Focus on Feeders,” which the Mass Audubon Society organized this year on 6 and 7 February. But I am thinking about sending one or two photos to their amateur photo contest. Here’s a selection (click for larger):

They are: Black-Capped Chickadee, Tufted Titmouse, Rose-Breasted Grosbeak, Downy and Hairy Woodpecker side-by-side, female Northern Cardinal and Red-Breasted Woodpecker (photo taken yesterday).

I like the first two because of their wintry atmosphere: the birds seem cloaked in the snow-laden sky. The Grosbeak was such an exception at my feeders, and I love the color of his breast. The Hairy Woodpecker (the large one) is so darn ugly; even his eye looks scruffy! But it was great to see the two kinds side by side. The female Cardinal gives us such a stern look, and look at the soft colors of her belly. And that last picture is just so vivid.

Do you have any favorites?

The first of that big snowstorm assailing the East Coast has flurried in, and so did the flocks of birds. I’ve noticed that the regulars – the flocks of snowbirds, sparrows, finches and mourning doves, and the lone cardinals and blue jays – come out to the feeder when it starts snowing. Maybe it is something about filling the belly before it all gets covered?

Today, though, the largest flock by far was made up of Robins. They flew in en masse right before the snow started falling. About two dozen of them foraged in the leaves and straw, and ate the berries off the bushes near the feeder.

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The seeds are safe and snug in the basement. My hands are itching to tuck some more in, but I am going to stagger sowing this year. Let’s see how long I can manage to hold off!

Of course we could also stagger eating. At least the lettuces and spinach, no? Mm…

So this happened half an hour ago, at 10 pm.

I’m sitting in my living room, working on the laptop. Suddenly there is a racket in the street. A small dog barking very, very loudly? Surely that’s not a dog? I go outside with my flashlight. It’s 10F and I’m wearing a skirt and a thin sweater and my breath is almost obscuring my vision, but the first new yowl I hear sets my whole body on fire. Hair-raising. Repelling, but oh so magnetic too…

I see two dark shapes moving across the street, about 40 yards away, down the hill in and out of the bushes. A large and a smaller shape. Cat like movements. And that cry: a short, repeated scream from one of them.

My street has no street lights, but there are some small porch lights – I wish it was one of those crystal clear full moon nights we had a couple of days ago. Then I see the eyes: two large yellow eyes sharply reflecting the light from the neighbor’s porch, and perhaps my own flashlight. A pair of smaller yellow (or was it white-bluish?) eyes right behind it.

By now, curious, drawn in, I’ve moved about 20 feet outside my door. The lit eyes disappear and I lose sight of their dark shapes. The screaming too has stopped. They’re invisible, who knows where, and I realize I’m easy prey – no really, that was my realization, here, in a Boston suburb!

I run inside and close the door.

It was this sound, the first one on that page. A lynx or bobcat, maybe a mother and her young.

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It was exactly around this time year that I heard the Great Horned Owls singing to each other behind my house. I’ve not heard them yet. The world is full of wild creatures, reminding us of what we are not. How good it feels, to be reminded!

I enjoy nothing more, in winter, then sitting by the big window with a cup of steaming tea and a good book or chess game, and observing the birds at the well-stocked feeder. We have the usual flock of juncos, who love playing in the snow. They are having it out with a flock (the same size, 6 or 7) of passerines.  Then throw in a couple of titmice and a pair of wrens. Add to that two cardinal pairs, as well as an assortment of downy woodpeckers, among them the one Red-Bellied Woodpecker. And then there’s this fellow:

He (she?) is new: an American goldfinch. Here’s another view. Such gorgeous coverts, and that yellow muffler!

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Yesterday I wrote about the warmish weather and watching the rain wash away the snow. Then the rain turned to ice.

It was still sleeting this morning when we woke up to a hoop house dangerously weighed down by that snow that has a bluish tint. Read: high slush content. By the time we had mobilized, the situation was dire.

The moment I touched the structure, the precarious balance gave and the whole thing started caving in. The pvc pipes creaked, something on top cracked, and clips that hold the cover to the pipes were literally flying all over the place as the plastic pulled loose. Luckily DH was there to jump inside and prop the whole thing up while I cleared away the snow. We got away with only one of the connectors on top breaking and a couple of tears in the plastic cover. What do you think: redesign?

While the dust mites in the bedding were freezing (to death, hopefully)…

We warmed up this cold but sunny morning by splitting and sorting firewood, playing with a neighbor’s dog, and scouting out some animal tracks. Here are some tiny bird tracks next to my fingerprint:

And these are some huge bird prints next to my footprints:

And these claw marks are interesting:

Then back inside for a steaming cup of tea and some reading of (library) books on bees, and chickens.