INature: first snow

A small prairie restoration demo.

We received our first decent snowfall last night, about six inches. The wind was minimal and it was warm (mid-upper 20's) so I thought a nice walk through the Taylor Arboretum was in order. With proper boots and clothes, a winter walk through the woods is almost always very pleasant. As a member of an indoor species, I am used to throwing on minimal cover and dashing between heated spaces, giving myself to the illusion that my environment is a harsh, inhospitable space for four months of the year. As they say, there is no bad weather, just bad clothing. I'm out of excuses.

The remains of a dogwood inflorescence. The berries are a bird favorite and don't last long.

I walked quietly a ways into the woods. Wiping the snow off of a stout tree trunk, I sat still for awhile, letting the silence sink in as only a winter woods can do. I heard the interstate traffic, two miles to the west but steady as a stream. The campus chimes rang every quarter hour. I watched the snow fall and cashed in my lottery ticket of time, for a rare chance to have a coyote, turkey, deer, fox, quail, or bobcat just stroll by within my field of vision. Much more reliable are the squirrels and birds of course, but you never know. I was recently out to do some routine water monitoring at an unremarkable urban stream and was greeted by the inquisitive gaze of river otter. The strongest predictor of wildlife sightings is time spent out of doors.

After about five minutes, I heard a congregation of very high, whispy calls. Some delicate, nimble winters birds fluttered around me. I was in some sort of loose thicket, too dense to be tree saplings under this closed canopy (I still wasn't sure what it was). The birds flitted in and around it, picking some unknown morsel off of the branches. One perched within an arm's reach and had a look at me. Bright yellow on it's cap, then alternating black and white across the side. The bill was razor thin, narrower than a warbler. I didn't know what it was, so I eliminated other possibilities and tried to memorize as much as I could. Having looked at eBird.org and Cornell afterwards, it was certainly a Golden-Crowned Kinglet. Another bird to my list! A beautiful, delicate, but hardy creature, it was scarcely bigger than a hummingbird. And yet it keeps churning along at 105 degrees, through the worst of winter.

I was distracted by the familiar knock-knock of a Hairy Woodpecker. I watched this guy work his way up a pair of identical twin trees. I snuck over and placed my hand against the tree. His hammering vibrated all the way down into my fingers. I put my ear up against the tree and let it resonate (literally) through my bones. Then he was off.

Bringing my eyes back down to the ground, I solved the mystery of the unknown plant colony. Apparently, the deer didn't have too bad of a year, for I found this rotting fruit still hanging. That's a Paw Paw (Asimina triloba)! A little overripe I suppose, and I had had my fill in September anyway. But of course, I made a mental note of its location for future harvests.

Finally, I was getting a little too damp for my liking. Like other forest creatures, I took stock of my physical state and procured my own shelter and food. I had other things to attend to, far too many things, mostly the mad and frenzied frivolities we humans are fond of. But a day like today was simply too glorious to let slip away unsavored. I turned for one last glance into the woods. With me or without me, it was just there. Indifferent, but inviting. Resilient, but fragile. In my great ignorance, I pondered the complexity: the soil and leaf litter, the snags and brush, the whitened, naked branches. A network, a city, a cathedral. A living system. I forgot about the cost-benefit analyses, the population graphs, and the harvestable board-feet. I remembered why I had returned to the woods, at least for a moment.