Tree Holes and a Furry Face

Grey squirrels share our homestead property, likely several related families who have staked out particular groups of trees along the edges of the north and south ravines. Oak, hickory, black walnut and a few smaller beech trees provide ample supplies of nuts for winter storage. 

The black walnuts along the curve of the driveway are the first to begin falling. We have marveled to see squirrels lugging these large nuts to the edge of the tilled garden spot, scrabbling their treasure into the soft soil, scampering back for another.

Surely there is easier foraging when the acorn 'caps' have loosened and the segmented brown shells of the hickories have fallen away to expose the round white nuts, which lie in rich profusion along the east boundary hedgerow and litter the paths that run along the edges of the wooded ravines. 

Several weeks before Christmas I came upon a squirrel so intent on stashing acorns that he/she didn't notice my approach until I was a few feet away. The astonished creature dropped the prize nut and ran at speed to disappear in the underbrush.

Drying my hands before the north-facing bathroom window I often see a pair of squirrels swinging through the now bare branches of the trees; I marvel at the leaps that carry them from one high branch to an adjacent tree. In summertime their presence is less obvious, a flash of grey tails and the shaking of leaves tracking their gymnastics. 

Visible from the kitchen window is this tree that stands a few yards below the spot where I dump kitchen waste. The neatly rounded hole is the entrance to what appears to be a sizeable cavity, protected and snug. When two squirrels are playing in the area it becomes a hidey hole in a game of hide and seek.

 Today, washing up the dishes from the cats' 'tea' I noted a squirrel popping in and out of the hole.

Finding jacket and scarf, tucking my little camera in my pocket I closed the door quietly and tried to saunter nonchalantly along the path as though I had no awareness of the lurking squirrel. 

He/she spotted me and whisked into the hole.

I moved closer settling myself to lean against a nearby tree trunk, adjusted the zoom on my camera and positioned it for a good view of the hole. 

If you look closely at the lower left edge of the hole in the above photo you will see that a cautious curiosity is moving the squirrel closer to the opening.

A little head is visible. 

And there we are!

This is as good as it gets with my simple camera at the extent of the zoom lens.

Note the bright eyes, the tiny ears and the pink nose.

I have friends with wonderful high definition cameras, sophisticated skills in using them and perhaps more patience than I can muster to wait for a perfect shot.

Still, time spent in squirrel stalking is a delight!

So lovely outside with sunshine, blue sky and almost no wind, a rare day to enjoy being outside.

I walked the perimeter of the acreage, stopping to admire other tree holes and wonder what creatures might make use of them for shelter and nesting.

I had to clamber through a tangle of wild rose briars to avoid my own shadow for this shot.

An old oak near the east boundary fence. I wonder if limbs were removed when the tree was younger allowing these cavities to hollow out.

The base of this tree is so hollowed there is only a shell left to support bole and branches.

Could it be an abandoned hobbit house?

A niche for a giant's key.

Willis made the rounds with me, stopping to sniff and rub in a tangle of roots and leaves. 

I hope that my squirrel watching doesn't influence Willis and his minions. 

We seldom make a move outdoors that we aren't shortly joined with the outdoor cats.

Back in the house, preparing supper for Jim I found I kept glancing out the kitchen window, focusing on the squirrel tree, watching for a scurrying form, a flicking tail. 

Perhaps with evening coming on, the cheeky pair were already tucked up in their snug nest. 

 

December Retrospective

We woke to a light skim of snow on December 2nd. Temperatures in mid 30's all day.

Thimble-cat to vet clinic for treatment of a persistent respiratory issue.

We opted for a time-released antibiotic injection. She improved over several days but began snuffling again by Dec. 10th. Back to the clinic on the 12th and a course of oral meds prescribed which, thankfully, she consumed each morning with a dollop of 'gourmet entree.'

Off the meds on the 21st and thus far symptom free. 

Jim drove us to the clinic for the second visit. On the return trip Thimble became quite vocal so I took her out of the cat carrier and set her on my lap. She balanced with her front paws against the side window, very intent on the passing scenery. 

As we drove slowly past the pond near the top of the lane several dozen birds flew up, over the fence and settled in the adjoining field. Thimble was enthralled, and we were surprised to see that it was a flock of kildeers, unusual in such numbers and at this season.

Dec. 9

Cold but sunny, a fitting day to peg sheets on the back porch lines. 

A glowing sunrise, but as on many days this month the sunny promise was not sustained through the day.

 Jim felled a leaning beech which had the real potential of coming down on the power lines.

Prior owners of this property had a house tucked down where the land narrows into the western boundary. The house was destroyed in a [suspicious] fire several years before we bought the acreage. Nearby trees were fire-damaged, several have toppled. Jim keeps an eye on them now planning to harvest any that aren't sturdy. I liked the little beech, bent and leaning, watching each autumn for the appearance of the small beech nuts.

The stump of the tree showing the interior rot that was causing its instability.

A flock of pigeons settled beyond my car in the TSC parking lot.

We don't make a thing of Christmas shopping now that children and grandchildren are grown, however I was inspired to shop at TSC for gifts of dog and cat food. I got well acquainted with the cats at Howard's house when we fed them daily during his absence. Shannon brought 2 dogs with her when she moved to be with her Dad, making a household of four dogs. While I don't want a dog of our own again, I enjoy these 'grand-dogs' when they stop by, and it amused me to buy food for 'the friendly beasts.' I collected cat kibble and tinned food at TSC, then a quick visit to Kroger for a big bag of carrots to treat the horse, Dixie, and on to the Amish feed store at South Fork for dog food. 

That venture became a bit dicey when, burdened with the very slippery 30 lb bag of kibble, I found that two people were standing to chat, blocking the narrow walkway above the steep metal stairs that lead from the loading platform to the parking area below. I suppose I should have loudly exclaimed, 'Excuse me, please,' or 'Could I get by you?' but I kept thinking the chatty pair would realize I was trapped behind them. By the time they moved on, the sack of kibble was sliding onto my knees and I was thankful to get off the stairs without landing on my face.

This sassafras tree near the top of the lane has delighted me in all seasons. 

Early in autumn the power company sent tree trimming crews throughout the county lopping limbs that encroached on the overhead lines. I understand why these measures are taken; we've learned that power outages occur with any severe storm of wind and rain.

Still, I am mourning the mutilation of this tree, its shapely upper branches gnawed off, its symmetry spoiled. 

Throughout November a parade of four turkeys was an almost daily event. I hadn't seen them in December, but as I was making my bed on the morning of December 22, Thimble, who was 'assisting' me, suddenly leaped to the windowsill, tail twitching. There were six turkeys processing majestically down the path beneath the hickories. They turned by the little barn and paced across the open ground to disappear over the edge of the south ravine. 

A hasty photo aimed through the screened window serves to record their visit. 

On a particularly dark afternoon I rummaged through a stash of 3 1/2" squares lingering from long ago projects. On a whim I made hot dish mats for Howard and Shannon's kitchen.

Howard's birthday was the 22nd and I prepared a supper of lasagna and meatballs with a tossed salad and green beans, pineapple upside-down cake for dessert. 

As usual, I forgot to record the event with photos.

Shannon shared this one of Howard with her Siberian Husky, Layla Jane--who has now decided that 'Grampy Howard' is a soft touch.

I was ready to toss this planter of African Violets raised from cuttings several years ago. 

I refreshed the potting soil and kept them downstairs under lights and they have rewarded me with exuberant winter bloom.

Our Christmas celebration was low-key but enjoyable. Instead of a traditional feast with all the trimmings we decided on something simple. Howard brought his specialty of turkey cooked in a 'fryer,' Matt and Gina arrived laden with Waldorf salad, strawberry/chocolate chip bread, a variety of dips, chips and sauces; I provided a big pot of lentil soup, a tray with cheeses, crackers, and raw veg. Jim's cousin's daughter and her daughters drove up from Tennessee bringing a big tray of delectable fresh fruit and an offering of homemade cookies. Dessert was the two pies I made on Christmas Eve, lemon meringue and lemon icebox. 

With everything cleared away and the company dispersing just before the early dusk, I had time to make a quick loop around the meadow, the outdoor cats, Willis and Shelby, trailing behind.

December has felt a bit blurred--the weather hasn't been memorably pleasant.

My doctor ordered a three week course of double the usual dose of blood thinner I've taken since the DVT episode in 2021. There were several side effects to this--increased fatigue made me feel heavy and stupid, and I've learned the hard way that the meds must be taken in careful timing with food or the resulting stomach pain is a misery.

In a lifetime with few serious illnesses and no long term reliance on meds [prior to the DVT] I find that I'm not very patient with the things that are probably going to increasingly plague me in old age. 

My discomfort [and some worrying] hasn't been visible to others; I've bumbled through whatever needed done. I do sometimes wonder: if I resorted to bleating and feeling loudly sorry for myself, would I really appreciate any sympathy I might gain? Probably not! 

I think of January as a time to regroup, to finish projects started and to consider new ones. The long dark evenings are conducive to reading, both for pleasure and instruction. I'll be noting the incremental return of daylight, hoping for mild afternoons to finish the pruning that was curtailed by inclement weather in November and December. 

There are always the desultory tasks of keeping house, errands, unexpected demands on time and energy. In a world of uncertainties, where so many are lacking in the simplest of creature needs, I want to be mindful of my many blessings and the choices that each new day offers. 

 

Wild and Windy Weather

8 a.m. on Monday morning, 30 F.

When I last checked the outside temp at 10:30 Sunday night, the reading was 66 F. After a week of mild and rather humid weather there were multiple warnings of changes to come. Had we not had access to various methods of forecasting I could have predicted a violent weather change by observing the behavior of the resident cats. 

All four indoor felines spent Sunday skittering and starting at invisible [to us] threats, ears laid back, eyes wary. Robert-cat who has indoor/outdoor status begged to go out, then decided we should open the door for him to come back in. Thimble-cat was more than usually aggressive, launching herself at the others [all larger than she] stalking, pouncing, hurtling over furniture, zooming up the cat tower to roll and thrash wide-eyed at the edge of the top-most platform.

I was braced for a restless night to follow an evening of Rosie-cat snarling and screeching as Thimble pursued her with gleeful menace, but a bit after midnight Thimble stretched herself alongside me on the bed; she was tidily curled in a slumbering ball when I awoke shortly after 7.

I walked twice along the meadow loop Sunday mid-afternoon, dead leaves whirling around my feet, hair blown loose and in my face; overhead bare branches soughed and creaked in the wind, slatey clouds streamed across the sky.

Rain struck around 11 p.m. hurled against the west windows, sounding as though handfuls of small pebbles were striking the glass. The rain passed after an hour leaving us with quickly falling temps and blustering wind.

[My simple camera resists correct date and time although I've made several adjustments.]

This morning's skyscape morphed rapidly from light to dark, sun breaking through in brief streams that splayed across the floor in a dazzle before succumbing to swiftly moving clouds.

I've darted out with litter boxes, shivered while feeding the outdoor cats their 'tea' on the porch. 

I have no inclination to walk today in the wind. 

While it is possible to layer on more clothes to thwart cold temps [still hovering a few degrees below freezing] being battered by the searingly bitter wind isn't necessary to my sense of discipline!

 

Late Afternoon Walk-About

Bursts of rain this evening after the setting sun painted the east meadow and north wooded boundary with shades of bronze and gold, outlining the nearly leafless trees against a sky that shifted quickly from blue-with-clouds to brooding shades of steely grey and pewter.

We are experiencing that yearly transition between autumn and the official onset of winter, with a bit less than a month before the December solstice signals the incremental return of daylight.

Morning hours have been wrapped in clinging fog, damp and chilly. 

The sun breaks through by noon some days, wobbling in and out from behind scudding clouds, spreading shafts of pale light across our wood floors.

Sheets pegged on the back porch lines are brought in still damp, a faint scent of wet leaves and drifting wood smoke caught in their folds as I bundle them into the dryer.

The red leaves of burning bush have been whipped away by the rain and wind; under-story beeches along the ravines and a few oaks still wear battered and faded leaves. 

This morning the tall fog-wreathed hickory at the bottom of the sloping back lawn was barely visible. 

If I position my head just so on my pillow the top of the tree is perfectly framed in the center pane of my west window, fore-shortened by the lay of the land below the house. 

The curtain of fog shifted and I watched a grey squirrel float from branch to branch, skitter down the trunk, scamper back up to swing on a limb. The ground there is littered with both hickory nuts and acorns. The squirrels have been busy gathering the nuts and shoving them into hastily scooped depressions in the mossy turf. Walking there, the ground is spongy, perhaps tunneled with burrows and nut stores. 

At 4 p.m. I stepped into my boots, pulled on a jacket and headed to the mailbox. Where the gravel lane bends around the edge of our neighbor's pasture two kildeers scuttled before me, not calling noisily as they do in nesting season, just trundling silently under the fence, disappearing into the damp grass. 

Back at the house I dumped the 'junk' mail on the table, shed my too warm jacket, picked up my old point and shoot camera. 

I walked twice around the loop paths, came into the house thinking I should start supper, but was drawn  outside in the strange shifting light and shadows to walk the path again.

Trees along the north ravine edge.

Looking toward the house, gardens, and barn, the lane in front of me darkly shadowed.

 A closer shot of the sun-gilded tree line.

Winter wheat sown 5th November as cover crop on garden.

The winter wheat emerged more slowly in the ruts made by the tractor wheels.

Skyline near the kitchen scrap dump.

Sun sliding behind trees toward the southwest. 

The edge of darkness.

Sharing with you, a yellow pansy raising her head after the rain.

 

The Shapes of Trees

Trees edging the north ravine

I spent several hours Wednesday afternoon pruning roses and removing frost blighted annuals from various pots and tubs near the front porch. 

Later I walked the loop path around the front and back meadows.

It is in this time of year that I become very aware of the structure and shape of trees as leaves fall and bare branches are etched against the sky. 

The papery chalices of the tulip poplar cling long after the stiff bright blooms of early spring fade, still there after leaves have turned golden and drifted to the ground.

This hickory lost most of its leaves earlier than some on the property. 

Clusters of polished brown nuts still garnish the limbs, though many have fallen to the ground below, crunching under our shoes as we walk along the path.

In my native Vermont most of the hickories were of the distinctive 'shag-bark' variety, more easily identified.

On Tuesday, striding along near the north-west boundary line, I halted as a swoosh of leaves gusted down and a group of startled sparrows flew up from the scrubby underbrush. For a few seconds there was a mingling of swirling leaves and small fluttering bodies.

Burning bush [euonymous alatus] has naturalized in hedgerows and woods, the seeds eaten and dispersed by birds.

At our first Kentucky home former owners had brought one hardy specimen from the woods and planted it outside the dining area sliding glass doors. Untrimmed for several years it had grown to touch the eaves of the small one-story cottage. I managed to lop it down to the height of the door and a pair of cardinals promptly established a nest there. A rather undistinguished shrub through much of the year it blazes into crimson glory in autumn.

 

The gardener/landscaper who covets them can spend quite a bit on various hybrid cultivars sold in nursery pots. 

I've been toying with the thought of establishing several along the west side of the house where my prior  gardening efforts have been less than impressive. 

I trundled down carrying a shovel, pried up a fairly small specimen, and interred it at the end of a terraced bed. I had poked my head in the shop and mentioned to Jim that with all his variety of tractors and equipment it was a pity he didn't have a 'digger' that could scoop out the shrubs I wanted.

I was surprised when he popped round the edge of the house and announced that he was willing to serve as 'the digger!'

There were plenty of shrubs of different sizes to choose from growing just beyond the path.

J. announced that he 'wouldn't do this for just anybody!'

I was meant to be impressed!

I was sent to fetch the old wheelbarrow and load each disinterred bush.

Jim set in three large ones in a line under my west bedroom window while I arranged several smaller ones along the raised bed.

Thimble-cat heard us working outside the window, climbed onto the sill and poked grey paws through the partly opened sash, stood on her head, smacked at the glass, wanting our attention.

Its a bit late in the fall to be transplanting although the ground seldom freezes to more than a depth of several inches. The native burning bush seems to have a rather shallow spreading root system, fairly easy to move.

It will be sometime in the spring before I know if the transplants have taken; pruning and shaping will be needed. I don't know the growth rate.  My hope is that the shrubs will fill in, making a loose hedge, providing shelter for birds. 

I had previously planted up one of the large black bins hoping it would provide blooms outside the window. At that time we placed flat creek rocks around the edge of the bin and beneath the window area. 

Today Jim shoved the bin aside to make room for a burning bush--the tractor will be needed to haul the bin to a more useful location.

I pried up many of the flat stones and carried them around front, fitting them carefully over the soil in the planter tubs. That should deter the outside cats from using the planters as winter latrines. They can stretch out on the warm rocks on sunny days and trot off to the edge of the garden to do their 'business!'

Landscaping and gardening are on-going projects. Plants that may flourish for several seasons suddenly fade away or are overtaken by those that are more vigorous. Some plants simply aren't happy with the soil, available sunlight, or moisture in the area where I have optimistically plonked them. 

There will likely be a few more warm afternoons when I can continue tidying and trimming, meanwhile pondering what the next gardening season may hold.

For the next several months I will be idling along the path, head tipped back to admire the trees as they raise bare branches skyward.

 

The First [Unofficial] Day Of Winter

Late afternoon on Saturday, 8th November.

After a foggy Sabbath morning the sun appeared, the sky was deep blue above the trees, many of which having shed their lower leaves, still wore gilded crowns.

We took advantage of the relative warmth to walk the meadow loop. Jim made one round, the outdoor cats, Willis and Shelby sauntered behind me on a second loop.

At 10: 45 in the evening when I shut down my PC it was 53 F.

Sunday morning was dark, a sullen grey sky, a bitter wind seeping in through  my slightly open bedroom window.

As the day went on the wind picked up, making our mid-afternoon walk a bit less than pleasant.

By 8 p.m. it was 36 F, and by 10:30 in the evening a few flakes of wet snow swirled beyond the front porch light.

My brain was too busy to shut down; none of my usual mental ploys to induce sleep were effective.

I was still awake as the faint grey of morning began to lighten the sky beyond my west window.

Thimble-cat insisted that I should be out of bed by 8 a.m. sleepless night or not.

A sunless morning, 28 F and  light snow skimming the ground.

More than a month until the Winter Solstice and the slow gaining of daylight, but the sense of winter has blustered in.

All day the sky segued from cloud-strewn blue grey to blue-black, with now and then sun shining through for 5 minutes before a bluster of wind sent leaves spinning from trees; bursts of snow drove horizontally, obliterating the tree-shapes along the north and south ravines. 

The pansies will likely revive and thrust up a few blooms through the winter.

Moments of sunshine thawed blooms that have persisted through the autumn weeks.

By afternoon they were drooping.

Warmer temps are promised mid-week--time to clear the tubs and planters.

Keeping the cats out of the soil will be a challenge.

During one of the brief lulls I bundled up for a trek to the mailbox which stands in the verge where the lane connects with the main road.

I stuck my head in the shop door to tell Jim where I was heading. He was sprawled on an old quilt, tinkering something under the front bumper of a truck. Willis-cat was curled smugly beside him, supervising.

Jim crawled out, found cap and gloves and we ventured up the meadow path, past the pond and out to the road.

Coming back we were facing the wind--the kind of sharp blasts that sting the face, cause eyes to water and nose to drip.

We persevered around the lower boundary loop, crunching through snow-stiffened leaves.

Tulip poplar leaves have caught the snow; oak and sassafras leaves are strewn  about.

 A leaf from the paulownia tomentosa [Princess Tree]  caught my eye.

 A handful of frost-crisped rose buds went limp, petals browning as soon as they were brought inside.

A sunny view before the next flurry of snow and wind.

Laundry didn't go out on the back porch lines as planned. 

Jim has kept the wood fire smoldering all day; using the clothes dryer in the basement has sent warmth up the stairwell.

Sweet potatoes, peeled, sliced and baked in a drizzle of melted butter and maple syrup, cauliflower roasted with a pear/balsamic vinegrette for flavor; a small quiche filled with chopped turkey bacon, onion, a bit of diced tomato, black olives, Cabots cheddar cheese.

The cold spell is meant to moderate later in the week; if the wind drops I can work outside tidying away the remnants of summer's plantings.

Today, after dashing out to empty cat litter, hurrying to toss kitchen garbage, and that hasty wind-driven walk to the mailbox, I've been grateful for the coziness of the house, for the clean sheets and quilts to layer on beds, a substantial supper to sustain us til morning.