Several days ago while Frances and I watered and weeded our flower and vegetable gardens Frances cautioned me to avoid a small hole, “There may be a frog or toad in there.” Sure enough, when I looked down the hole, a small toad peered back up at me.
Late in the day we walked along Emil Road, a nearby dirt road into the wild. There we see daily changes: trees and plants leaf out and blossom, wild flowers bloom, and animal tracks remain, etched into sand and dried mud.
Recently we witnessed two painted turtles laying their eggs in holes they’d dug in the sand by the edge of the road. Their nests were close to a river and both mamas were within three to four feet of each other, one faced into the grass, rear extending out into the road; the other faced toward the road, rear pointing toward the grass.
We watched them for several minutes. Then, feeling like interlopers, we moved to the other side of the road to look closely at some beautiful white Canadian anemones. When we turned back, the turtle who faced toward us was gone; the other remained, resolute, over her hole.
We continued walking. Further along we found numerous sets of bear and deer footprints. Several bear of different sizes inhabited the area; a mama deer, too, with her young fawn. The fawn’s hoof print was less than one inch long from front to back … tiny.
I’ve seen a newborn fawn once. Several years ago a mother deer crossed Hwy. 13 in front of our car and her baby, following close behind, slipped and slid, falling splay-legged in the middle of the pavement. Frances leapt out of the car to encourage the fawn’s quick get-away as I turned on blinkers and pulled into the middle of the road to slow approaching traffic. Terrifying as it was for several minutes, everything turned out fine….
Every time we walk Emil Road … a new adventure. Last night’s walk revealed another painted turtle laying eggs along the other side of the road. This time, I actually saw several eggs beneath mama’s tail and between her rear feet.
Several mornings ago I found a baby Eastern phoebe out of its nest, sprawled on the concrete step outside our front door. It was still alive, its eyes closed, its beak opening and shutting, opening and shutting. I pulled a plastic bag over my hand and deposited the baby back in the nest. I’m not sure whether it survived; I can only see one head or tail at various times of the day. We’ll find out soon when our fledglings take flight.
Showing posts with label bear. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bear. Show all posts
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Sunday, July 15, 2007
SunDay
It's cool, but heating up after several nights of rain. We're running through our paces with the Bayfield summer tourist crowd. I work as assistant innkeeper at Pinehurst Inn three afternoons a week, teach a t'ai chi chih class in Cornucopia, and am currently organizing classes on Madeline Island and lakeside in Bayfield. Frances is booked with massage sessions at our Island Inn office on Madeline and at our north woods retreat here on the mainland.
Today, thankfully, it's quiet. The phone is silent and the bird song magnificent. We're home most of the day .... actually took time to sit out on the deck as we ate breakfast. Then Frances gassed up the tractor to scrape and grate our driveway back into shape after its customary downhill slide into gullies from the heavy rainfall.
Even though we're busy, wildlife casually saunters by. A black bear appeared outside our south deck several nights ago. S/he was back again last night around 7:00 pm based on the dog's frantic barking, panting, and shaking. Yesterday morning Frances yelled to a deer eating in the near woods by our deck fearful that s/he may be too close to her horse chestnut trees. Later I let out the geese and played with the dog on the west side of the house, oblivious to the deer's continued presence. As I talked and yelled and laughed I heard a loud and continuous snort. The perceived message? "This is my woods! Who do you think you are chasing me away?"
Saturday I drove the eight miles to downtown Bayfield. A visit to the Farmer's Market provided welcome socializing and delectable produce. Jennifer, one of my t'ai chi chih students from Cornucopia was there with cilantro, parsley, kale, and lettuce from her garden plus fresh-baked delights (quiches in raised dough, brownies, pound cake and more). Tony, a neighbor from Town of Russell, displayed beautiful butter lettuce and romaine, and Sam (also from Russell) sold homemade apple cider.
Conversation focused on the expanding development in the area. We fear, of course, that once the trees are cut down and the expensive houses built, our own privacy, quietude, and backyard wilderness will be lost. The war in Iraq was also up for discussion. Could dissent in the streets be the only way to move toward change in that never-ending saga? Several other vendors enticed me but I stopped shopping after cash ran out and the dog lost patience.
My walk with Namaste on Brownstone Trail was wonderful. This lakeside hike reminds us of the coastal sea path in southern England. Of course, there you have an ocean view and here it's a lake, but either way you walk through beautiful wildflowers, vines, and bushes with occasional glimpses of water. The vegetation is so prolific in some areas that it grows overhead and provides much-welcome shade. And--the word must be spreading--it felt like a well-used country road out there with human, dog, and bike traffic coming and going in both directions. As I walked I realized that Frances and I, so busy during the summer, seldom venture onto this trail. Our spring, fall and winter walks are much different without the blossoming flowers, leafed out trees and bushes, and strolling tourists to fill our senses and mask our view of the lake.
It's a precious gift to live in a peace-filled environment. I'm soaking it into every pore ...
Today, thankfully, it's quiet. The phone is silent and the bird song magnificent. We're home most of the day .... actually took time to sit out on the deck as we ate breakfast. Then Frances gassed up the tractor to scrape and grate our driveway back into shape after its customary downhill slide into gullies from the heavy rainfall.
Even though we're busy, wildlife casually saunters by. A black bear appeared outside our south deck several nights ago. S/he was back again last night around 7:00 pm based on the dog's frantic barking, panting, and shaking. Yesterday morning Frances yelled to a deer eating in the near woods by our deck fearful that s/he may be too close to her horse chestnut trees. Later I let out the geese and played with the dog on the west side of the house, oblivious to the deer's continued presence. As I talked and yelled and laughed I heard a loud and continuous snort. The perceived message? "This is my woods! Who do you think you are chasing me away?"
Saturday I drove the eight miles to downtown Bayfield. A visit to the Farmer's Market provided welcome socializing and delectable produce. Jennifer, one of my t'ai chi chih students from Cornucopia was there with cilantro, parsley, kale, and lettuce from her garden plus fresh-baked delights (quiches in raised dough, brownies, pound cake and more). Tony, a neighbor from Town of Russell, displayed beautiful butter lettuce and romaine, and Sam (also from Russell) sold homemade apple cider.
Conversation focused on the expanding development in the area. We fear, of course, that once the trees are cut down and the expensive houses built, our own privacy, quietude, and backyard wilderness will be lost. The war in Iraq was also up for discussion. Could dissent in the streets be the only way to move toward change in that never-ending saga? Several other vendors enticed me but I stopped shopping after cash ran out and the dog lost patience.
My walk with Namaste on Brownstone Trail was wonderful. This lakeside hike reminds us of the coastal sea path in southern England. Of course, there you have an ocean view and here it's a lake, but either way you walk through beautiful wildflowers, vines, and bushes with occasional glimpses of water. The vegetation is so prolific in some areas that it grows overhead and provides much-welcome shade. And--the word must be spreading--it felt like a well-used country road out there with human, dog, and bike traffic coming and going in both directions. As I walked I realized that Frances and I, so busy during the summer, seldom venture onto this trail. Our spring, fall and winter walks are much different without the blossoming flowers, leafed out trees and bushes, and strolling tourists to fill our senses and mask our view of the lake.
It's a precious gift to live in a peace-filled environment. I'm soaking it into every pore ...
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Lions and Tigers and Bears ... Oh My!
It's a beautiful summer morning: 40 degrees; clear, fresh air; sunlight filtering through tree leaves with a shimmer and brilliance that's impossible to describe (you know what they say, "You have to be here!"). Around 6:45 am the mosquito-buzz of a low-flying plane interrupts early morning stillness. Planes never fly this low so I know it's the annual spraying for gypsy moths (the scourge of the forest!).
I have to admit that I'm still thinking about bears. Frances and I discussed our Thursday night visitation and, when I read her my previous blog, she mentioned that I didn't sound fearful. It's true! When I saw the second bear pausing by the side of the woods, I felt an immediate calm. There was wariness on both sides, human and bear, but as we both scoped each other out I sensed that the bear was not willing to take any more chances than we were.
Frances, admittedly, felt fearful. "The way the dog ran toward us, shivering and frantic, scared me," she said, "I thought he was being chased." She segued into a past experience several years ago when she and Namaste were returning from the mailbox. The dog ran ahead and disappeared into the forest near our house barking frantically. She heard a yelp. Then silence. Frances dashed into the woods, yelling, as she followed the sound path of crashing trees and underbrush. When she found Namaste, he was alpha no longer; he cowered on the ground with a sheepish expression on his face and a wet slick of saliva on his back. It appeared that someone held him in their mouth, then spit him back out again. Too close for comfort!
My cat, Hiziki (Zeke), and I had a close encounter too. Our first spring living in the woods I woke early one morning to the sound of running footsteps on the deck. Zeke spent nights outside, a risky venture since fishers, deadly, vicious martens who frequent the area, are well-known for their appetite for small animals. I dashed to the patio door intending to intercede on my cat's behalf regardless of the imminent danger. There on the other side of the glass was Zeke, back up, fur raised, and hiss emanating through bared teeth as he faced off with a black bear who stood no more than six feet away. Being a good mother, I didn't think or hesitate. I picked up the barking dog, flung open the patio door, and leapt onto the deck BETWEEN my cat and the bear.
That bear, another youngster about two, rose up on his hind feet, stared at me, whirled, ran off the deck, and climbed into the nearest tree. After I retrieved my cat, my dog, and my self I re-entered the house. The bear quickly climbed down the tree and rushed into the woods. It took several hours for my heartbeat to return to normal. My grateful cat followed close behind me for several days. (I now understand why mama bears are so protective of their young.)
My t'ai chi chih students tell loads of stories: the bear at the front door, the bear retreating from the patio, the bear that absconded with one of their chickens. Other neighbors tell of the bear on the deck staring through the living room window while the homeowner stared back, the bear who reached up to retrieve the bird feeder outside the bay window--that hadn't been filled for several months--and ended up banging up against the window as his bear paw swipes missed, or the bear who ate garbage until it was moved into the house and then broke into the house to continue his feast. Several years ago I heard tell of a mama bear with two cubs who hibernated underneath the porch of a house in downtown Bayfield. Later in the summer Rittenhouse Avenue, the main street, had to be temporarily closed when the mama and two cubs strolled through downtown and climbed a tree.
Lots of local bear stories this year. Which makes me wonder: Are the bear having a harder time finding enough food? It's a common fact that the strawberry crop is not as abundant as it's been in previous years. Or do we simply know more people up here this summer so that we hear more of the bear lore as it accumulates? Or, as we humans develop and expand and improve upon nature--logging is booming and new homes and condominiums are springing up everywhere--do we compress and confine bear habitat while oppressing their natural bear behavior? Of course, many people believe that humans have higher status than animals. Witness how benevolent and compassionate we are even as we kill hundreds and thousands of people each day through wars, terrorism, starvation, neglect, and untreated illness and disease. But, hey, that's nothing compared to the mass murders performed by bears all over the world!
This one-up attitude filters into our language and how we use it. For example, in my APA Publication Manual (Fifth Edition, 2001), regulations specifically state: "Use who for human beings; use that or which for animals and for things." Hence, my flagrant disregard for those rules in this blog. Who lived here first anyway? Who roamed through this forest and made it their home long before it was tamed, logged, homesteaded and, dare I say, violated? Whew. It's time to end, though I've bearly begun.
I have to admit that I'm still thinking about bears. Frances and I discussed our Thursday night visitation and, when I read her my previous blog, she mentioned that I didn't sound fearful. It's true! When I saw the second bear pausing by the side of the woods, I felt an immediate calm. There was wariness on both sides, human and bear, but as we both scoped each other out I sensed that the bear was not willing to take any more chances than we were.
Frances, admittedly, felt fearful. "The way the dog ran toward us, shivering and frantic, scared me," she said, "I thought he was being chased." She segued into a past experience several years ago when she and Namaste were returning from the mailbox. The dog ran ahead and disappeared into the forest near our house barking frantically. She heard a yelp. Then silence. Frances dashed into the woods, yelling, as she followed the sound path of crashing trees and underbrush. When she found Namaste, he was alpha no longer; he cowered on the ground with a sheepish expression on his face and a wet slick of saliva on his back. It appeared that someone held him in their mouth, then spit him back out again. Too close for comfort!
My cat, Hiziki (Zeke), and I had a close encounter too. Our first spring living in the woods I woke early one morning to the sound of running footsteps on the deck. Zeke spent nights outside, a risky venture since fishers, deadly, vicious martens who frequent the area, are well-known for their appetite for small animals. I dashed to the patio door intending to intercede on my cat's behalf regardless of the imminent danger. There on the other side of the glass was Zeke, back up, fur raised, and hiss emanating through bared teeth as he faced off with a black bear who stood no more than six feet away. Being a good mother, I didn't think or hesitate. I picked up the barking dog, flung open the patio door, and leapt onto the deck BETWEEN my cat and the bear.
That bear, another youngster about two, rose up on his hind feet, stared at me, whirled, ran off the deck, and climbed into the nearest tree. After I retrieved my cat, my dog, and my self I re-entered the house. The bear quickly climbed down the tree and rushed into the woods. It took several hours for my heartbeat to return to normal. My grateful cat followed close behind me for several days. (I now understand why mama bears are so protective of their young.)
My t'ai chi chih students tell loads of stories: the bear at the front door, the bear retreating from the patio, the bear that absconded with one of their chickens. Other neighbors tell of the bear on the deck staring through the living room window while the homeowner stared back, the bear who reached up to retrieve the bird feeder outside the bay window--that hadn't been filled for several months--and ended up banging up against the window as his bear paw swipes missed, or the bear who ate garbage until it was moved into the house and then broke into the house to continue his feast. Several years ago I heard tell of a mama bear with two cubs who hibernated underneath the porch of a house in downtown Bayfield. Later in the summer Rittenhouse Avenue, the main street, had to be temporarily closed when the mama and two cubs strolled through downtown and climbed a tree.
Lots of local bear stories this year. Which makes me wonder: Are the bear having a harder time finding enough food? It's a common fact that the strawberry crop is not as abundant as it's been in previous years. Or do we simply know more people up here this summer so that we hear more of the bear lore as it accumulates? Or, as we humans develop and expand and improve upon nature--logging is booming and new homes and condominiums are springing up everywhere--do we compress and confine bear habitat while oppressing their natural bear behavior? Of course, many people believe that humans have higher status than animals. Witness how benevolent and compassionate we are even as we kill hundreds and thousands of people each day through wars, terrorism, starvation, neglect, and untreated illness and disease. But, hey, that's nothing compared to the mass murders performed by bears all over the world!
This one-up attitude filters into our language and how we use it. For example, in my APA Publication Manual (Fifth Edition, 2001), regulations specifically state: "Use who for human beings; use that or which for animals and for things." Hence, my flagrant disregard for those rules in this blog. Who lived here first anyway? Who roamed through this forest and made it their home long before it was tamed, logged, homesteaded and, dare I say, violated? Whew. It's time to end, though I've bearly begun.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Bearly There ... Then Gone
There were two of them last night but I missed the first.
Frances, Namaste (our 12 pound Maltese/Bichon dog), and I walked down our quarter mile driveway about 6 pm to retrieve the mail, pausing to notice the previously unnoticed and comment upon it. I pointed out tall grasses toppled over in the north ditch and speculated about the deer that may have passed or, even, rested there. Frances said, "No, that looks more like four-wheeler tracks."
"Naw," I thought to myself, "Looks like deer to me." Although, I had to admit, the paths looked wider and more downtrodden than those typically made by deer. I didn't want to think it was a four-wheeler since it was near the top of the driveway close enough to the house to feel like a trespass. We continued on.
About two-thirds of the way downhill Frances stopped. "There's a bear!" Namaste barked wildly and headed off toward the ditch on the south side of the drive.
"Where?" I asked. I hadn't seen anything as I was too busy watching my feet.
"There," she replied, "A bear just crossed the drive." We paused. Now a large black hulk appeared on the edge of the woods on the other side of the drive. It stopped, watched, started to retreat back into the woods, stopped again, watched.
I worried, "Was this a mama bear?" You do not want to get between a mama bear and her cubs. Frances assured me that the first bear I'd missed was larger than a newborn. In fact, they seemed to be about the same size. It was obvious that this bear wanted to cross the drive too but was considering its options. Namaste, of course, ran to and fro and barked frantically. Frances and I called the dog to us. Once he was safely lifted into Frances' arms, the bear seized the moment and loped across the drive. We continued downhill discussing size, age, and relationship. The bear were about 300 pounds. Were they siblings?
When we got to their crossing point, Frances noted the smell. We both sniffed. It smelled different here ... like an intense influx of ferns and vegetation. "Funny," I thought. A friend who lives in the woods near Mille Lacs, MN told me once that you can always smell bear when they're around because their scent is so strong. From her description I assumed that bear scent was nasty. This smelled sweetly woodsy.
Mail retrieved, we re-crossed Old County K and, again, sighted one of the bear walking across the blacktop road, pausing to observe us just as we observed him (her?). S/he moved toward us, casually turned, and strolled the rest of the way across. I was struck by the easy, limber, non-lumbering way the bear moved. It reminded me of a monkey. You could tell that the front legs functioned differently from the back legs. There was surprising agility in those limbs.
Back near the top of the drive we reconsidered those crushed grasses on the north side. Huh. Perhaps they could be the trail of two bear walking side-by-side.
Frances, Namaste (our 12 pound Maltese/Bichon dog), and I walked down our quarter mile driveway about 6 pm to retrieve the mail, pausing to notice the previously unnoticed and comment upon it. I pointed out tall grasses toppled over in the north ditch and speculated about the deer that may have passed or, even, rested there. Frances said, "No, that looks more like four-wheeler tracks."
"Naw," I thought to myself, "Looks like deer to me." Although, I had to admit, the paths looked wider and more downtrodden than those typically made by deer. I didn't want to think it was a four-wheeler since it was near the top of the driveway close enough to the house to feel like a trespass. We continued on.
About two-thirds of the way downhill Frances stopped. "There's a bear!" Namaste barked wildly and headed off toward the ditch on the south side of the drive.
"Where?" I asked. I hadn't seen anything as I was too busy watching my feet.
"There," she replied, "A bear just crossed the drive." We paused. Now a large black hulk appeared on the edge of the woods on the other side of the drive. It stopped, watched, started to retreat back into the woods, stopped again, watched.
I worried, "Was this a mama bear?" You do not want to get between a mama bear and her cubs. Frances assured me that the first bear I'd missed was larger than a newborn. In fact, they seemed to be about the same size. It was obvious that this bear wanted to cross the drive too but was considering its options. Namaste, of course, ran to and fro and barked frantically. Frances and I called the dog to us. Once he was safely lifted into Frances' arms, the bear seized the moment and loped across the drive. We continued downhill discussing size, age, and relationship. The bear were about 300 pounds. Were they siblings?
When we got to their crossing point, Frances noted the smell. We both sniffed. It smelled different here ... like an intense influx of ferns and vegetation. "Funny," I thought. A friend who lives in the woods near Mille Lacs, MN told me once that you can always smell bear when they're around because their scent is so strong. From her description I assumed that bear scent was nasty. This smelled sweetly woodsy.
Mail retrieved, we re-crossed Old County K and, again, sighted one of the bear walking across the blacktop road, pausing to observe us just as we observed him (her?). S/he moved toward us, casually turned, and strolled the rest of the way across. I was struck by the easy, limber, non-lumbering way the bear moved. It reminded me of a monkey. You could tell that the front legs functioned differently from the back legs. There was surprising agility in those limbs.
Back near the top of the drive we reconsidered those crushed grasses on the north side. Huh. Perhaps they could be the trail of two bear walking side-by-side.
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