The Snowbirds Have Arrived for the Winter

There’s urgent work to do

The leaves, mostly fallen now, were crunchy under sharp hooves, but the sound helped me locate him. No longer golden brown, the dull gray has taken over his coat so he blends with the bark from the white oak, the shagbark hickory, the dogwood, and the sugar maple. The six tines showing from the top of his head are golden sticks hoping to hide among the maple leaves before they turn dark brown and betray him.  The leaves are mostly down now, torn from their limbs by the whistling wind of the last storm that swept though with little rain. The tulip poplars always turn first and give up first, but I never seem to notice them actually falling. Dogwoods hold their dull reds, then the hickories go to gold and then brown. The white ash trees that are left join the ironwoods to shower leaves on the ground in the slightest breeze. Then the sugar maples and the red maples put on their show. One morning on the way out to chores I suddenly realized that most of the leaves were gone, leaving tall branches that were nearly invisible all summer waving back and forth across bright skies in the cooler air. Then all that were left were the rusty brown oak leaves and the khaki leaves of the beeches. The diamond-shaped beech leaves will hold on until spring, giving a suggestion of warmth to the frozen woods no matter how cold it gets.  When the calendar says November it might still be nice outside but no one thinks it will last very long. There’s urgent work to do, even when the temperature says otherwise. Failure to prepare the garden for next year could mean unwanted delays getting started in the Spring. In an iffy world, that delay could become very serious. There’s a fall crop still hiding among the fallen leaves, crunchy spinach that will bear some cold, and perhaps even a little snow. The winter squash that swelled and matured in the last warmth of the summer must be protected from freezing. A few bean pods will come inside to dry. Leaves must be chopped and spread across next year’s garden or put into the compost pile before everything becomes soggy and too heavy to move. 

Woodpeckers, Cardinals, Mourning doves, Purple finches, Titmice, Blue jays, Nuthatches

A windy storm a week ago made me look up to the sky like I do about this time of year and remember that dreary Monday, November 10, so long ago now, in 1975. That evening I heard on the news that the Edmund Fitzgerald, premier ore carrier on the Great Lakes, had gone down in a “hurricane west wind” made famous by Gordon Lightfoot. Those icy waters had taken all 29 of the crew, and it would not be giving them up. A shudder of dread always makes me close my eyes out of respect and sadness.  But Thursday they said there was a storm coming, and that means a low pressure system out of the southwest headed up across the heartland. If the low is deep enough, and if it travels up across the middle of Lake Superior, it will be another Witch of November storm. If it comes across Wisconsin and across Lake Michigan, it will be a wild and windy night there and along Green Bay, then across to Manitowoc, bringing steel-gray skies and snow to the cherry orchards in the snow belt along the western side of the Lower Peninsula. Our neighbors in the True North will feel it more than we do when it skirts along the St. Lawrence, across Quebec, then out to sea beyond rocky Labrador and Newfoundland. In the Canadian Maritimes, seas of uncertain blue will change to match the gray skies that have come to visit for the winter off the restless North Atlantic. We woke up to a surprise on Friday morning here along the 40^th Parallel. Fine snow had been falling for a while when the light began to creep in later than usual. There was a white coating everywhere, and it kept coming down. It occurred to me that I hadn’t bothered feeding the birds for a couple of weeks, so there hadn’t been many around. The snow would drive them out to forage, so I got busy. I filled the feeders with the bird mix, the sunflower seeds, the bluebird mix, and two kinds of suet cakes. The snow kept falling with a whispering sound, but there were no birds. I went about my morning rounds, then went inside to warm up. By the time I looked out again it had been better than 20 minutes since they were filled. Already the platform and the perches on the sunflower feeder were busy. Three species of woodpeckers picked at the suet cakes. Cardinals, mourning doves, purple finches, titmice, blue jays, and nuthatches kept the scene busy. But the first birds I saw were on the ground. The snowbirds had arrived! They’re very pleasant visitors, always busy, but never annoying to the other birds. Often on the ground but willing to take food anywhere they can find it, they glean almost constantly, picking and even doing a one-footed scratch in the snow when it accumulates. They arrived a little later this year. In 2019 they appeared on November 8, and in 2020 on October 17. Usually it’s the last week of October and this year it was November 10, but they’re here. Now winter can begin when it’s ready. 

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When the storms have passed

Everything’s going to be okay. The snowbirds know where it’s right to spend the winter, and they stopped here. That means they can make it through our winter, and if they can make it then we can make it.  So when the storms have passed and the dull colors have taken over for the next four months, consider putting fresh spring water in the kettle and setting it to heat, but not too quickly. Glance outside at the falling snow before making a tea selection. Will it be black and strong, decaf and mellow, herbal and summery, or # and reminiscent of the coming holidays? Have a proper brew. Pour the steaming tea from the pot into cups with saucers. Remember that Mrs. Bucket abhors tea in mugs! Add some sugar and milk if you prefer it English style. Then sip peacefully while you watch the pageant of the seasons outside your window.  Savor the moment and the tea and give thanks for all that we have today. 

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