Good News from Unexpected, April 2009
I grew up in Western Pennsylvania — from around Erie where I was born, south toward Pittsburgh — until graduating from college. So one pleasant memory that has been indelibly stamped on my brain is that of Winter. Real winter. Allegheny winter. With snow — lots of snow. Soft light airy snow for making snow angels, hard, wet, heavy snow for snowmen, forts and snowballs that could raise stinging welts and bring tears to your target’s eyes. Snow for sledding and snowshoeing and, yes, even camping (no bugs). So I think you get the idea — I like snow.
After moving to New Jersey, one thing I had to relinquish was a white winter. So every year, while the days grow shorter and then begin to lengthen again like a runner stretching for the big race, I am here in the cabin secretly wishing and hoping for at least one good snow.
This year my winter wish was granted as March arrived. It snowed all night and all the next day while the sun fought fruitlessly to cut through the curtain of thick white flakes. Failing miserably, the sun conceded and the dim day just got darker and darker, finally succumbing to the night’s soft silent embrace. And then it snowed some more. At dawn the sun rose with no competition, and its rays ricocheted off the powder with dazzling brilliance magnified by a million snow crystals below a clear blue sky. I was quite happily snowed-in at the Refuge for the day, playing outside until cold and wet, then coming in to the fire and tea and a breathtaking view of white perfection. However, being the first week of March, the days warmed quickly, and by the end of the week most of the snow was gone. I was satisfied.
Now the seasons are playing serious tug-of-war; spring is pulling hard during the day, but winter comes back at night with a desperate tug, forcing me to light that woodstove yet one more time. But spring will prevail, so I am told by the spring peepers that have been spreading that rumor from the still-full pond. The wood ducks and other waterfowl are paddling around in pairs, and just last week, a group of Boy Scouts from Troop 65 built and installed four brand new wood duck boxes along the edge of Main Pond. Who says the housing market is soft right now?
Spring is definitely ready to pounce, with eager green daylily shoots growing inches each day, and bright yellow daffodils already present and accounted for. The willows have very elegant, faintly green tresses that dance in the almost-warm breeze. The swamp maples are blushing just a rosy hint of red, but with just a bit more red than yesterday. Spring can tease all it wants, but the oaks are having none of it.
I have been feeling it too, eagerly composing a long exciting list of what most people would call chores. Equipment has been tuned up, tires pumped up, mowers gassed up — I can almost feel the warm short-sleeve shirt sunshine and smell fresh, new forest. We got a large load of top-shelf cow manure from Helga Tacreiter’s Cow Sanctuary with which to fortify Hope’s Butterfly Garden. Piles of leaf mulch are ready to spread. Poised at the spring starting line, I then made the mistake of getting dressed up for a day of meetings and then dinner out. That did it. A pair of two inch heels were my undoing. Now suffering from a crippling case of severe tendonitis in my left foot and crutches in my armpits, the list is nothing more than a fantasy that will have to wait until I am back on my two feet (in hiking boots).
With my new ambulatory restrictions, I have turned my attention to my desk — the paperwork never ends — taxes, reports, deadlines, bills, correspondence. With our most recent project, I have enrolled the Refuge into the USDA Farm Service Agency’s Wildlife Habitat Incentive Program, or WHIP. If we receive the grant, we will cultivate our recently acquired 55 acres of fallow fields with early successional habitat. We will plant native grasses and other indigenous plants that provide nectar, pollen and larval food sources, as well as protected habitat for ground nesting birds. These birds are not only extremely vulnerable to predators, but to the tractor as well. Not only will we mow in the fall, after nesting, but we will only mow every other year, reducing both disruptions and fuel consumption.
With a bum foot, I can also sit and wait. With a short hobble out to the Dike, I have a ringside seat from where I may watch this brave and intriguing beaver family. While I wait, it is interesting to observe the changes in the pond during fickle March weather. As facial expressions reflect mood, choppy little whitecaps that lick the toes of the broom sedge can disappear instantly with the last wind of a small front. Suddenly, as if from a kind word, the flat serene pond perfectly mirrors the horizon, playing with the last long rays of sunlight.
So far I have seen two adult beavers; one is quite large and when she tips up to dive under water, her hips are broad and her tail is long. They reside in a small modest lodge packed with new peeled sticks and rich dark mud in that oasis they created when Miller Pond blew out. They have been enjoying the poplar that I wrestle and tug out across the Dike, and although I don’t usually see them out and about, I must look quite the sight to them, hobbling along with my small poplar tree and crutches! After dark I listen to munching as they tread water, enjoying the brisk bug-free evenings while they last.
As the evenings begin to give their allegiance over to spring, it becomes more and more comfortable to stay and wait and watch. I just have to make sure I don’t lay my crutches too close to the water. Who knows what they might taste like to a beaver!
Another Victim of the Economy
PushyCat, yet one more victim of a floundering economy and a heartless, cruel guardian.
Pushy was found on a rural dirt road on March 7th. Terrified and pressing herself flat against the road, she was too frightened to run. When placed in the cab, she buried herself up against her rescuer’s leg. Of course, said rescuer brought her to Old Softy (you know who) to see if I could find a home for her. Currently, I have three cats (who, of course, all hate each other), so Pushy’s presence here is creating a lot of tension.
But I must say that the tension is not carried at all by Pushy, as she is a very self-possessed kitty and is above such antics as slapping and hissing; she even tolerates dogs. It is the other three cats who are being rude and intollerant, so Pushy would do well in a house with other (tolerant) pets.
At any rate, Pushy is a rather young, plump, female, gray and white tabby with a red nose, beautiful jade-green eyes and a fabulous purr. She is declawed, which makes her abandonment that much more heinous.
Pushy loves to snuggle, insists on being rubbed occasionally (hence her name) and keeps close by at night. She is meticulous with her hygiene and uses the litterbox without fail, even with the feline politics being what they are here. Her meow is reserved only for special requests and is very lilting and musical.
If you feel PushyCat would make a warm, plush and loving addition to your family, please call me at (856) 697-3541 or email me at info@unexpectedwildliferefuge.org.