This is the last photo I took of Indigo, who died earlier this month. I can’t claim that she was ever a well-behaved dog, but she was always a well-loved dog, and the house feels strange without her.
(The slideshow photos were taken by my husband.)
Ice at Back Bay National Wildlife Refuge
During a lull between snowstorms, we took a walk at Back Bay National Wildlife Refuge.
The beach was clear, but large sections of the bay were frozen, as were all of the ponds. Winter normally brings a few frosty nights to our area, but prolonged bouts of sub-freezing temperatures are rare.
Most of the over-wintering birds had deserted the refuge, and the few that remained seemed confused.
Mallards were out, walking on the ice. Something about the way they moved — one careful step at a time, watching their feet, pausing here and there to probe the ice — reminded me of television detectives inspecting a crime scene.
Other flocks had given up and opted to sleep until the ice thawed.
With the refuge so quiet and still, every sound and movement drew my attention. On a normal day I would have missed the mockingbird on the parking lot fence and the small heron huddled near the road.
I doubt I would have missed the deer, though. Three of them edged nervously out of cover near the Visitor’s Station, crossed an open patch of lawn, and disappeared down one of the trails.
I wondered if the lingering snow had forced the deer to change their grazing pattern. Or maybe they wander through every day? Maybe snow, even rare twice-in-a-month snow, doesn’t affect deer the way it affects me. Maybe they don’t spend hours admiring the fresh fall, then more hours fretting over the slippery deck, half-frozen pipes, and cancelled appointments. Maybe they simply carry on, day after day, searching for nothing more complicated than grasses to eat, water to drink, and a warm, dry place to sleep.
More Snow on the Way
Last week a snowstorm clipped our area as it funneled down from the north. This week a snowstorm is barreling up from the south.
After complaining my way through two mild winters, I’m trying to focus on the happier aspects of a “normal” winter. Fresh snow is pretty, hard freezes mean fewer insect pests in the summer, and icy walks renew my gratitude for warm blankets and hot water.
What do you love best about winter?
Carolina Wrens
Carolina Wrens are rare visitors in the yard, so I was excited to see a pair of them last week.
With vivid eyebrows and down-curved bills, these little wrens always look a bit grumpy to me. They are active foragers, and the pair in our yard spent hours sifting through the iris beds in search of insects. They tossed leaves and other wintry debris out of the beds as they hunted, and I couldn’t help imagining a dialogue of fussy disapproval.
“Just look at these irises! Have you ever seen such?”
“Never! They’re buried in leaves!”
I was tempted, watching the wrens, to pull on my gloves and give the iris beds a thorough cleaning. But winter is far from over, and the irises need their blanket of leaves. Especially on nights like tonight, when wind-driven snow is swirling through the yard…
Little Brown Skinks
Earlier this week I took a long walk on the Osmanthus Trail at First Landing State Park. The day was eerily warm, and I was not the only one enjoying the bright sunshine. I saw dozens of Little Brown Skinks (which are also called Ground Skinks.)
All along the trail glittering flashes of brown slipped into cover as I approached. If I stopped and stood very still, they emerged again.
Sometimes they emerged in pairs and scuffles broke out. Or resumed.
I wondered if these were mating displays or true battles for territory.
The skinks were so entertaining that I kept my camera focused on the ground for much of my walk. Even so, I caught a single frame of a curious Hermit Thrush.
And I never pass up an opportunity to photograph Hooded Mergansers.
I missed photos of woodpeckers and chickadees and an unfamiliar warbler, but I don’t regret the day’s lizard fixation. I’m delighted to add Little Brown Skinks to the archive, because there is always room for life. My archive will never be full, and I will never tire of trying to fill it.
Rae Spencer 