Winter is natures pruning time and her handiwork shows up nicely on the snow blanket. In addition to all the needles and small branches that fall, there are many clusters of gray-green leafy lichens which live in the canopy and have been cast down to earth.  The threads of deer tracks weave in and out between the trees, and I find a fallen branch which has been neatly stripped of its lichens.  These primitive plants are grown in canopy gardens, high above in the forest tree tops then harvested by the winds  and storms.  They are rich sources of nitrogen for the forest soils, and also full of calcium and other nutrients. Although the deer harvest much of the larger crop, many pounds of fertilizer will rain down into the soil from these aerial gardens, to the benefit of all who live below.

Photo by Michel Vuijlsteke

At the edge of where melting snow meets the pavement of the road there is a purple black puddle which upon closer examination is alive.  It moves with odd surges and wiggles. What manner of alien being is this?  A close look reveals tiny, tiny insects, about the size of a pin head, all jammed together like some kind of miniature mosh pit. I scoop up what I think are a few to put under the microscope and I am astonished to find my tiny scoop reveals hundreds of individuals.  Calculating the sample to the size of the puddle there must be millions of these tiny beings all huddled together.  They are springtails, small soil insects of the order Collemba,  and they have chosen this time to gather in huge mating orgies.  The cold and wet seems a poor time for a party but these tiny creatures know their business.  They are the lunchbox of the soil invertebrates, their teeming millions are the fast food for most of the rest of the soil predators.  But their enemies are immobilized by the cold, or lay as eggs, not ready to hatch until warmer times.  So by breeding now, the springtails are largely free of interruptions.

 Under the microscope I watch as a male lays out a bit of thin spider-like silk from his rear end.  He attaches it in 3 places making a sort of a arrow shape > .  He then returns along the line and deposits a half dozen little shiny packages of sperm which stick to the lines. I lose him as he wanders back into the teeming fray but shortly he reemerges pushing a female in front of him. 

  He herds her along and she enters into his little sticky trap. If she is receptive to his notions she will pick up one or more of his sperm packets in a special container in her abdomen.Once mated, the container will glue itself shut and she will wander away from the mass in search of algae to eat and a place to lay her eggs. The eggs will hatch in the warmth of March and her offspring will join the dance of uncountable millions in the soil. 

There is something remarkable about this hidden world, the millions of tiny lives unseen and unknown by passersby. We share the same world, often side by side, yet each unknowing the ways of the  other.  The shift in perspective from our world to theirs is a journey of discovery and wonder, and I am humbled by their numbers and all their works.  Delving into their world makes me understand that my own chaotic life is part of a much larger and deeper story. It is a reminder to slow down, quiet myself, and pay attention.  Like a religious acolyte, a naturalist needs to spend time in quiet thoughtful communion, heart open to receive the mysteries offered by the universe.

From the snowy shadows of the forest comes a clear minor note which is answered from another down the way.  The Varied thrushes have moved into the forest edges, their dull orange and black vestments almost military in its lines.  A small group is on the ground working the thawing edges under the cedars. They toss leaves and small branches aside in search of breakfast. They are no strangers to snow, spending most their time in the mountains.    These are birds of winter, arriving late in November when the snows have fully covered the upslope forests and they depart in April back to the mountains and foothills, following the melting snows to their breeding grounds.

Something substantial falls from the sky, narrowly missing me, and as I bend over to pick up the cone, a volley of chips and churs cascades down from a Douglas squirrel. I am not sure if it is insulting me, or telling me to leave its cones alone.  I stand my ground and this feisty little brown owner of the woods starts down the tree trunk, head first. Silent now, suspicious. It lurches downward, 6 inches in each hop as if trying to startle a reaction.  Finally it is almost eye to eye, constantly moving its head back and forth, up and down to peer at this now immobile intrusion into its turf.  I was hoping it would run down and reclaim the cone at my feet, but instead the squirrel bounced down off the tree in the other direction, stopping to keep a regular eye on me.  

Later I stand still beside the bird feeder and after a bit of patience the birds return, their hunger exceeding caution of this new thing. The chickadees swirl around me, and a couple briefly land on arm and shoulder as they wait their turn at the feeder.  During the winter the short days offer few hours of food gathering opportunity. The colder temperatures require more calories and so the balance of life during this time is a razor edge.  On a wander I find a very scavenged carcass of a deer.  There is still blood on the snow underneath it so even though it has not been here long, almost all of the energy available in the body has passed on to others. There is a mess of tracks around the body but in the melting snow I can only make out a few coyote tracks, the rest are a muddled jumble.  Although the deer did not survive, its body provided fuel to many others which now have a better chance.  A week later even the bones are gone. In the woods, nothing is wasted, no life passes in vain

.In the dark drizzle shadows at the forest edge, there are swelling buds and in a few weeks the yellow dangling flowers of the Beaked hazelnut will suddenly appear, like some magic trick up natures sleeve.  I find myself watching each day to catch the first appearance and once I do, the weight of winter lifts, and the transition into spring, at least in my mind and heart,  will begin.

By the end of the month there will be more than 10 hours a day of light, and this sparks an increasing level in hormones in our resident birds and they will begin to sing  to create the breeding territories they will defend in March.  The experienced birds, who successfully raised broods last year are already back on their territories and are in place for when the hormones juice them up to go into full reproductive mode.  A pair of Spotted Towhees follow each other around the salmonberry thicket and a second male intrudes but only gets a brief scolding and chase.  In a few weeks, as the reproductive hormone levels escalate, these chases will increase in intensity, duration and amount. 

In the wetland the grasses and shrubs lay flat and branches and even whole trees have broken, scattering branches and wood all over.  It’s as if a bomb has exploded here. The heavy wet snow from this winter has left a mess. By May the new shoots will completely transform the stage, but for now it’s a wreck.  A perky Bewicks wren pokes around in this flattened landscape, perches on a broken branch to survey what has become of its former territory.  I wonder if it will give up on this area since so much of the nesting space has been compressed.
 

There are fat green buds on the Indian plum, and within a couple of days the bright green flags at the top of each branch will unfurl and wave brightly to announce the coming of spring.  This transition happens quickly, so the gray and somber winter woods is suddenly splashed with spring color.  The white cascades of the flowers will follow soon after.

If you are inclined to poke around in the soils of early spring, keep an eye out for nettles. They are just poking out of the soil now and these early sprouts seem to be especially charged with stinging cells, perhaps as a deterrent to browsers.

One  foggy morning the air is a thick amorphous gray in all directions. Sounds dribble in from unseen voices,  a single frog announces his trip to the pond has begun, a rustle of leaves speaks of a creature on the move.  Then out of the mist a vision materializes, 4 large white bodies born on huge wings power over me. It is like the clouds have given birth. Trumpeter swans.  I feel the rush of air pushed by their wings and hear the whoosh as they swim in this thick, water filled air just a few feet over my head. Another day at dusk I sit at their resting lake and listen to the trumpet jazz ensemble announce their arrival.  As each new group flies in from their daily work in the fields they are greeted by those on the water with a encouraging cacophony of honks and nodding heads.  The band swells with each arrival and those flying in last get the collective chorus of 340 swans, all saying their musical hellos. 

A few days later, in the shadow of the Salmonberry, they are facing each other and making short little, almost formal bows to each other.  Shortly thereafter they will mate and nest building will begin.  Juncos are ground nesters and make a small grassy cup under the cover of a fern, or other plant.  This makes them vulnerable to ground predators like house cats and weasels and so they are very good at sitting still. Adults show up with food about every 7 minutes and this constant return is a potential flag to alert a predator.  The adult birds do not land directly at the nest to feed the young, rather they land on a nearby perch, scout the area, then drop down under cover and slink into the nest. Unlike other  birds, the young do little vocalizing when fed and may leave the nest before they can actually fly, hiding in the brush and giving very high pitched little trills to alert the parent with food to their location.

Sometimes natures gifts are small, and one of my favorite spring mushrooms is the  Elves goblet, found on sticks and fallen branches. This tiny gem is a golden jelly drop, often forming a wine glass shape, with an oval cylinder on top of a thinner stem.  In the early spring light that filters through the trees they become miniature forest jewelry.    The tides of spring are washing over the land and each morning, as the light comes earlier, the bird symphony increases. 

The day starts off promising enough, blue skies and only a light breeze. The early morning world is full of birds and frogs singing out the joy of spring.  By noon it’s hailing sideways, and every living creature has taken cover, even the ducks.  Then by late afternoon the sun is out and Spring is back. April is the wait awhile month. If you don’t like the weather at the moment just wait a while and it will change.

As March turned to April there was a sudden, and much awaited temperature spike and Spring came exploding out of the closet.  The Salmonberry’s finally popped their buds and the Nettles put on a growth spurt, and within a day the Red-flowering currant opened its nectar bar for the eagerly awaiting hummingbirds and pollinators.  As the temperatures rise into the 60’s the early spring butterflies began their dance.  The California tortoiseshells, swirls of orange,  skipped from sunny leaf to sunny ground, holding their wings wide to absorb warmth before dancing away. This butterfly actually comes from east of the mountains where the larva are raised on Ceanothus.   The adults hop over the passes during the summer then can spend the winters hiding out somewhere. Sometimes they build up huge populations then suddenly explode into aerial butterfly confetti, with thousands of these bright orange bits of sunshine swirling everywhere.   I suppose if they are going to pass on their genes they will need to hop back over the pass again because the larva of these species eats and grows mainly on Ceanothus, a plant not found around these parts.

At the base of a cottonwood there is a stirring in the leaf piles and then out crawls a snake. And then another, and another. Like circus clowns emerging from a tiny car, they just keep coming. As they come out of the ground they all mingle together in a writhing mating mass and more keep coming out of the ground to join the party. This underground hiding place is called a hibernacula and it is to the snakes advantage to hang out together during the dark winter months. In this group shelter they stay warmer and can easily find mates right away as they emerge in the spring.  Most of these snakes are male and the female has a special odor to attract the boys.  It's a big, squirmy party of snakes and if you get downwind you can sometimes very clearly smell them.

There are three species of garter snake in our area, the most common is the Puget Sound Garter Snake, which is a subspecies of the Common garter snake, Thamnophis sirtalis.  It typically has cream colored stripes although the colors in snakes are widely variable.  If you want to identify a garter snake you need to pick it up and count the scales just above its mouth. It will have 7 or 8. If it has 7 its probably a Common. If you pick up a snake, grab the tail and the head at the same time. Otherwise you will find yourself  dabbed with a smelly black substance which is the snakes defense.  This is acidic so don’t get it in your eyes or mouth, and it stings like crazy in a cut.  It can also get you investigated by every dog which passes as the smell seems to be very interesting to canines.

There is a commotion at the edge of the forest. A downy woodpecker is moving around a tree giving a series of high pitched, “peeek” calls.  There are two of them, and around and around the tree they go.  They fly after each other with an odd looping flight, at the top of the loop the woodpecker hovers with its wings at an almost impossible upward angle, sort of dangling in space, then it drops to a more normal flight.  It’s as if the woodpecker was trying to imitate a butterfly to impress its future mate.  Many birds have very detailed sequences of courtship behavior which can be likened to dances. These behaviors are ingrained in both genders and help avoid similar species from cross mating. Some are very dramatic.  A pair of Red tail hawks soar in tight circles high above.  Then suddenly they come together and grasp talons and plummet towards the ground. At the last second, at about  the level of the tops of the trees they break off their hand hold and the male powers into an undulating line of flight, sort of like a roller coaster,  before slowly circling up and up and around again.

In the shadows of a curl of cedar bough, a clump of moss suddenly comes to life!  It is a female Rufus hummingbird, making her nest.  She zips off like an arrow and shortly returns with a wad of lichens and moss which she expertly weaves into her nest. A few years ago as I was sitting on a sunny hillside I watched as a hummingbird zipped up and nabbed a spider right from the middle of its web. The hummingbird then hovered and moved back and forth about the spider web.  It flew off and a bit later returned and repeated the movements.  It was collecting spider web silk which it uses to wrap around the mossy nest to hold its shape.  Soon this tiny hidden cup will hold 3-4 eggs, the treasures of the hummingbird world.

The bright yellow hoods of Skunk cabbage are up. The hoods protect the club-like flower inside. If you poke around in here you will very likely find a menagerie of flies and beetles who take shelter in the hood while also spreading around the pollen.  

There is a flurry of squeals from the large cedar as a pair of Douglas squirrels do their mating chase. They run around and around the trunk, over branches and leap after each other, the female in the lead.  The male stops briefly, perhaps to catch his breath, the female starts calling to him, and swishes her tail as if to say: “Come on big boy, you’re not tired already are you?”  Off they go again, madly dashing around and around. A Coopers hawk in a nearby tree watches with interest but makes no attempt to interfere with the distracted couple. In a couple of weeks the female squirrel will find an old woodpecker nest or other secluded hole and line it with moss to make a soft bed for the squirrel babies which are born in mid May.  The male ignores the family until they emerge and then he might try to chase them off his territory although the female will defend her young vigorously enough to keep the male away.

The Maple trees are in full flower and busy. I turned my binoculars from bird watching to bug watching and counted 14 different species of insects flitting about the maple flowers. Any large maple tree in full flower supports an estimated 5,000 insects. Only a handful of these actually pollinate the tree, the rest are free loaders. It is no coincidence that the migrating warblers, who are mostly insect eaters, tend to show up about the same time the Maples are in flower. I watched a yellow-rumped warbler work a maple, stabbing its sharp beak with expert precision to nab some lunch.  The crows work another part of the tree, the branches.  Inside the thick  mossy blankets which cover many of the older Maples is a smorgasbord buffet of tasty insects and larva. In places the crows will lift and remove as much as 30% of the moss and other plants, creating untidy mossy piles below the tree. 

In the middle of May as the Maples flowers fade the sky will fill with the seed from another tree, the Cottonwood.  The snowstorm drifts of seeds will fill every breeze, sending the tiny gossamer parachutes into every nook and corner.  These trees both produce huge quantities of seeds and only a tiny fraction will germinate, and only one a several tens of thousands grows up to be a tree.  This bounty of excess feeds many of our resident creatures.

 I was hiking along a lake when I heard the constant crying kewww keewww keewww of some bird. It was a loud voice and I could hear it more than a half mile away.  The origin of this plaintive voice was a young osprey, perched on a dead tree at the edge of the lake.  The parent bird was flying around it, carrying a good sized fish in its talons.

 The young bird was hungry and almost jumping up and down in excitement. The parent bird dropped the fish and it fell with a splash in the lake right below the young bird.  The young bird deflated at once, drooping its wings and having a moment of silence. Then it craned its neck to peer at the lunch several feet below.  I noticed there were 3 other dead fish floating on the lake in the same vicinity. Apparently Jr. Osprey was not quite ready and instead of flying down to grab the fish it starting crying again, this time with a almost angry note to its voice. The whole lake basin echoed with the cries of the bird. I continued on my hike and when I returned to the scene there were 8 fish floating below the still complaining youngster. Eventually hunger would give the young bird reason to work with its new wings to gather a meal and shortly after it would be on its way, following its parents south.

 One of the applications of microtechology is the ability to place small tracking beacons on larger birds like hawks and eagles which then can be monitored via satellite. As the bird migrates, its progress can be accurately displayed on a map and some of these migrations can be followed daily on the internet. For our young ospreys, shortly after they leave the nest they are faced with an arduous journey. Based on the satellite tracking data, our Osprey make an almost non-stop flight from our lakes to the waterways of southern Mexico and Central America. 
 

I came across a dead mouse the other day. To my astonishment it moved!  Upon close examination I found a pair of interesting looking beetles who were busy digging underneath this small carcass. These were Burying beetles and they are especially good at sniffing out the delicate scent of the newly dead.  The female usually arrives at the carcass first, and she thoroughly examines it to see if other insects, such as flies, have beat her to it.  If it’s suitable, she fires up her own scent machine and sends love messages out into the breeze.  A male quickly arrives and they mate and then get to work preparing for the next generation. If the dead animal is not in a good place they may move it by laboriously digging out one side and heaving it from underneath until it is in contact with the right sort of soil. They may move a carcass, which is several times their size, more than five feet away, a task which may take them up to three days.  Once the bounty is in the right place they dig under it and within a day or so have completely buried the animal and themselves. The female lays her eggs  and then both adults constantly search the carcass to eat and remove any competing larvae such as flies. They have some help with this task.  If you examine one of these beetles carefully you will notice tiny red or clear mites scurrying over the body of the beetle. These tiny scavengers hitchhike on the beetles, using them as transportation from carcass to carcass. The mites also lay their eggs on the carcass and then join in the hunt for eggs and larva of other species, leaving the beetle larvae alone but attacking the eggs of competing flies.  The larva of both the mites and beetles grow up consuming the carcass and as the new adult beetle emerges from it pupal state there is a handful of mites ready to climb aboard and head off into the world.

The Pacific Chorus frogs are winding down their symphonies and each day egg masses are hatching into tiny algae eating tadpoles who will eat and grow and over the next 30-60 days transform into tiny frogs. The warmer the water, the faster they develop so those in shallow puddles hope to just make it to froghood before the puddle dries up.  The Red-legged frogs are now singing their deep, soft rooonk calls and they too will follow the same pattern. The adults in June will move into the woods and quietly take their place with the other insect hunters.  The Pacific Chorus frog is also known as the Tree frog, and canopy researchers have found them hundreds of feet up in the tops of conifers. This frog is an adept climber, using tiny suction cups on the end of each toe to move up any vertical surface they choose.  I was startled once by a falling object which landed on my hat with a thud. It was a tree frog who had somehow been dislodged from above me. The frog was apparently unhurt by this skydiving experience and I wondered how far it had fallen and if  these little frogs have some sort of adaptation to survive falling out of trees.

May and June blend together with a long stretch of warm, dry and mostly sunny days. Light comes early, around 4am now and stays late, lingering well past 9 pm.  The morning bird chorus starts at 4:06 with the lilting song of the Robin who seems to be saying: “Get up, get up up, Get up”.  The summer visitors, the warblers, tanagers and vireos start up their songs about ten minutes later and by 4:30 it is a full symphony of bird song.  Then one by one the voices fade as the days work begins.

A mama song sparrow hops along the Salmonberry edge, closely followed by 3 nappy feathered fledglings who toddle behind her.  She flies up and nabs a big Crane fly in her beak and is immediately assaulted by all three eager and hungry youngsters.  One is triumphant and scurries off with its prize, legs still wriggling in the beak,  only to be set upon by one of its siblings who insists upon a share.  Again the female finds another snack and all three jump her, a flurry of frantic feeders.  The beleaguered mom is joined by the adult male who swoops in with a mouthful of legs and wings and doles out lunch for the impatient crew.  The female flies off for a moment of peace and the young  run after  the dad, wagging their heads and telling him they want more. And so it goes, the life of a parent bird, 17 hours a day with scarcely a moment to catch a bite for themselves.

A garden poppy starts waving wildly which is odd since there is no wind on this bright morning. .  It is the scene of a small but intense drama.  A crab spider has ambushed a bumblebee and it is holding onto the bees head with a firm grip while her other legs are locked onto the flower. Her fast acting poison quickly subdues the bee and it will be consumed fresh.  Crab spiders change colors, yellow or white in order to blend in with the blossoms where they hide.  If the spider moves to a new plant, within a day or so it will change its color to match.  Some species of crab spiders can color themselves almost any hue, but the ones in our area can only muster white or yellow.  This spider does not build a web but it does have the ability to draw out a single line, which it uses for escape. Should a hungry bird appear  the spider  bails out of the flower, then swings on its life line to flip up under a leaf or flower petal.

On a warm morning I sit in the garden sun with my eyes closed to listen to the chorus of the daughters. Although it was an exceptionally cold winter, this June the Bumble bees have produced an abundant first generation. These are all female bees, and serve the queen mother by bringing back nectar and pollen for the next series of young.  There must be thousands of bees this year and their collective hum makes delightful garden music.  Occasionally  you can see the queens, they are considerably larger than the daughters.  The bumbles are cheating the Columbine flowers. The nectaries  in these flowers are located well out of reach inside long upright pointed tubes, a design which reserves the nectar for the hummingbirds, which are the primary pollinators.  However the bees bite into the outside of the flowers, stealing the nectar inside, which avoids all the pollen laden stamens and robs the plant of its ability to reproduce.  This is an ineffective process for the bees and a single flower is tended to by more than 20 bees in 30 minutes, each probing the same small holes in search of nectar.

The forest floor is full of flowers.  The tiny pink Star flower elevates its single showy little flower above the leaves far enough to get noticed. The False lily of the valley has many tiny white flowers on a stalk, and since it grows from underground stems, it tends to dominate an area with dozens of plants, making a showy white patch easy to find by the nectar seeking pollinators.  The warm days have started the first ripening of Salmonberries, the orange and red fruits are eagerly harvested by Robins, Cedar Waxwings and the gorgeous Western tanager.  The berries make a good high energy snack for the foraging parents,  natures fast food for the busy parents who are gathering insects to feed their hungry young.

On the muddy shorelines of lakes, rivers and Puget sound, small squads of shorebirds skitter ahead of the waves.  These birds are a touch from the Arctic, some of them having already traveled more than a thousand miles south on their journey from their breeding grounds up north.  I stand along the shore and they feed around me, obsessed with fueling themselves for the next stage.  Soon there will be thousands of them, drifting quietly through in small groups.

Out of the shadows a large insect zips in a straight line and intercepts a honey bee and knocks it out of the air.  On the ground a shiny Bee wolf in the family Crabronidae is resting on the back of the thorax, the victims wings are neatly pinned and the honey bee is paralyzed by the mid air sting it received.  Bee wolves look like wasps that have been through a car wash and wax, shiny and smooth with yellow and black markings.  They are aerial predators, fast and deadly taking down honey bees to use for food for their young.  The bee wolf has a small tunnel somewhere nearby and it will wrestle the honeybee over the ground and into the burrow and once it is in a nest cell, the female bee wolf will lay an egg on this fresh food and cover it up.  The larvae egg will hatch and the larvae will consume the honey bee, pupate and wait through the winter to hatch into an adult to join the hunt next July. To protect her unborn young, as the female lays her eggs she dabs a bit of Streptomyces bacteria on her egg. As the larvae hatches it will ingest some of this and as it pupates it will carry some bacteria into the cocoon as well which will help protect it from the molds and fungus of winter.  As the pupae develops into an adult, if it’s a female, it will concentrate a small pocket of the bacteria in a special chamber in her abdomen, so when she rises, she too will have the ability to protect her young.

An odd lump on a huckleberry bush turns out to be a young Townsend’s chipmunk.  I am able to walk right up to the busy plump little squirrel who is preoccupied with stuffing its cheeks. Finally it notices me, and as  it tries to get away it seems to lose coordination. It falls off the branch and ends up hanging, undignified, by a hind foot while its front paws comically run in the air trying to reach a nearby branch. Finally it lets go with the remaining foot and crashes into the branches below, squeaking with either pain, fright or perhaps embarrassment.  It ducks under cover and I wait. After a short time, the striped head pokes up, scrutinizing  me.  Since I am now not moving, the naïve little one makes the assumption that I am not a threat and climbs back up to the berries.  The chipmunk has mastered balancing on slender branches and using flicks of the tail to keep in position.  It swings through the branches of the huckleberry like a kid on a monkeybars and takes up position amid the thickest of the berries and all too close to me. I shift my weight and  the chipmunk gives an astonished squeak and leaps into the tangle of branches.  As I continue my walk I chuckle to myself and hope this foolish chipmunk becomes a bit more alert in the future.  Not all who get close are friends.

The first wave of summer berries are ripe and ready.  The wrinkly blue Indian plum berries are at their best, and make a great savory candy to hold in your mouth.  The large seed from this berry  prevents it from being a quick eat, instead you have to savor it slowly, like a lemon drop. Some of these shrubs have better tasting berries than others depending upon their exposure to sun and nutrients.  You might have to taste several to find a good one.  The Red huckleberries are at their prime, fat juicy berries so thick they weigh down the branches.  The soft Thimbleberries are also at their best and the Trailing blackberries, often hidden on the forest floor, yield tiny sweet treats, adored by the mice and chipmunk tribes.

Soon in the early evening hours the woods will resound with the lovely spiraling calls of the Swainson’s thrush.  By the end of August this bird will join the others heading south and the juicy blackberries will be some consolation for the loss. Enjoy the warmth of summer and take a walk.

 August is berry month.  In 1885 a well respected botanist named Luther Burbank introduced a new plant into California from a seed exchange in India. Actually the plant originated in Asia, was raised in Germany, spread to England and was brought to India by the English.  This plant produced tasty nutritious fruit and had deep roots and formed thorny thickets which made it good for eroding banks.  This alien from Asia does so well here it has been known to completely engulf and cover up houses, cars, and just about anything which does not move or get mowed.  Of course I am talking about the Himalayan Blackberry.  They are paying their rent this month in juicy berries that are much coveted by all the local creatures, including us.  During the six weeks of fruiting we forgive this intrusive invader for its trespasses and eagerly fill our buckets for jams and pies. 

Although these squirrels eat a variety of foods, the cones are critical because they can be stored and used in the winter when other foods are scarce. The squirrels typically will collect more cones than they actually eat, caching them in a moist stump or under a log. 

In the warm early evening skies of late August  the air is full of  large flying insects.  These are the reproductive members of Pacific Dampwood termite colonies.  These slow, clumsy fliers are like flying cheese burgers for the spiders who will double in body size with all the high nutrient food that bumbles into the webs.  As I watched a termite flying toward me in the twilight there was a sudden flash of movement and a bat zipped  down and nabbed it, leaving only the pair of wings fluttering to the ground to mark the fallen. Life is short. Pay attention.

One morning a Robin continuously alarmed for several minutes and finally I went to investigate.  At the edge of the woods, very close to the calling Robin there was a broken nest on the ground and as I approached, up flew a Coopers hawk, with the last of the nestlings in its talons. It seems cruel to us, but nature keeps a balance.   This was the second brood for this robin and all that investment went into energy for the hawk rather than a new generation of Robins.

If you are interested in expanding your bird watching skills the fall the Warblers that are now drifting through the trees are a good challenge.  Many of them are first year birds and lack many of the field marks of the adults.  They come in waves, often flying out to nab insects.  One morning the trees are full of birds, the next the trees are empty again.  One of the well attended bird trees of the late summer  is  the Cascara, which are full with sour black berries. This feast  is enjoyed by squadrons of Cedar Waxwings, Robins, Thrushes, and Western Tanagers.  Even the Pileated Woodpecker can sometimes be seen, dangling from a slender branch to  gobble down a few fruits.

Pretty much all of the access places to the Snohomish River are lined with cars so the Pink Salmon must be in the rivers.  This is the smallest of the Salmon species, spending less than two years in the ocean. By mid September the banks of the Sultan river will be lined with a smorgasbord of dead fish.  Salmon are nutrient barges, moving nitrogen, calcium and phosphorous from the oceans to the forests of the NW.  The Raccoons, Bears, Eagles and other salmon predators move the dead fish from the river into the woods, and as the fish decay they fertilize the forest.

Another returning animal are the Vauxes Swifts which take refuge in the Frank Wagner chimney in Monroe as they migrate south.  Each night at dusk thousands of these birds swirl into the chimney, flipping up and entering backwards just before dropping inside.  At the peak as many as 10,000 may pack themselves in for the night.  They will stick around until well into October.  On September 12^th will be the second annual, Swift Night Out, a celebration of the swifts with events starting at 5pm, a good opportunity to get a look at this local wildlife extravaganza. 

The tilt of the earth is now oriented in such a way that light hangs briefly in balance, day and night are equals today.  In our hemisphere, starting tomorrow,  the night lengthens and the day shortens.  Fall is officially here.  The cooler temperatures overnight coalesce the moisture in the air and its quite wet each morning. In the early morning there is a softness to the light which gives an amber hue to the sparkling dew covered world.  A soggy  bumblebee starts its day buzzing  itself warm enough to fly. Like a tiny dog, it shakes off the water on its furry back before it can venture out into its last days of foraging. Soon the cold rains will close the curtain on most of the flying insect world.

The wind picks up and deposits a smorgasbord of debris from the tree tops.  A variety of lichens drop from the sky, leafy, soft, stiff and spiky are some of the many forms.  Amid the tree top flotsam is a large brown insect, a Western conifer seed bug.  This large beetle-like bug sometimes enters homes looking for a warm refuge for the winter. They do not bite, in fact they do not eat at all during the winter, they find a snug corner and go dormant, living off their fat reserves.  In the spring these bugs move into the Douglas fir trees and feed on the flowers and developing cones.  As the eggs of spring hatch and the  larva grow, they feast on the needles until  they mature and then they switch to feeding in the cones.  To avoid becoming lunch for some bird, they can produce a noxious liquid which smells bad but more importantly makes them taste awful.  I don’t recommend licking one, the bad taste lingers and is hard to get out of your mouth.

There is a sudden large movement past the bird feeder and the chickadees splash into the brush in all directions as a Coopers hawk works for its breakfast.  The hawk circles back in a tight bank but the opportunity has passed as all the birds are now securely tucked into the salmonberry and ferns.  Bird feeders create a fly through diner where hawks can peruse a menu of  choice edibles from the concentrations of birds.  There is also a bit of safety in numbers as the potential prey birds scatter in front of the hawk it is harder for the hunter to focus on any one bird, thus all may escape the predators grasp.

The early rains have brought forth a smattering of mushrooms, and one of the more distinctive is the Shaggy parasol.  This is a large mushroom often growing in troops in compost piles or other rich humus.  The top is covered with soft shingle-like scales which easily rub off and when bruised the flesh turns a dull orange.  There are actually three species of mushroom all similar and all edible, separated mostly by habitats.  If you want to try this mushroom always eat a small portion on first tasting in case it disagrees with you.
 

Under the forest duff there is a tiny set of tunnels, no bigger than a thumb fingernail. Curious as to who makes this miniature subterranean labyrinth I set up a pit fall trap, which is simply a yogurt container buried below the surface of the ground. The next morning my digger is revealed as a shrew mole, the smallest of the moles.  This tiny creature makes extensive burrows just under the top of the soil in search of worms and other tasty snacks. These little mammals are not much for sleeping, they are active 24 hours a day and take, uh..mole naps, short little snoozes of 8-20 minutes.  Because of their high energy lifestyle they are pretty much on the hunt 24/7 and often forage above ground and even into the lower reaches of shrubs.  A shrew mole on the hunt is fun to watch because they use their long sensitive nose much like a blind man uses a cane, tapping the ground, constantly moving their head back the forth touching things with their whiskers.  They have sharp little teeth which make quick work of crunchy beetles and when they bite you, you notice.

Unlike their larger mole relatives, who are solitary, you can sometimes find groups of shrew moles foraging together. These are probably family groups and sometimes a couple of families will join together and it will seem like these tiny foragers are everywhere.  These hyperactive moles have a fatal flaw in that they seem unable to stay hidden when a predator spooks them into cover. 

A bit of breeze rattles the tree and a shower of leaves drifts through the cloudy autumn skies.  The Vine maple is in the process of discarding its leaves and to do this it grows a layer of cells at the base of each leaf. This cuts off the flow of water and nutrients from the roots.  Before the door closes however the tree wants to move as much sugar into the trunks and branches as it can. There is a set of chemicals, anthocyanins, which draw sugars out of the leaves once the green chlorophyll starts breaking down.  The anthocyanins react to sunlight and convert the remaining sugar to the reds of the fall colors, which are especially noticeable in the Vine maples.

The cold temperatures brings the mice into my house. I have never been able to figure out how they get in, but they do. One has made repeated trips to the bird feeder outside and filled the toe of shoe with sunflower seeds.  An offering? 
 

On a sunny day on  Little Bear creek the water is clear and in the afternoon sun the edges of the riffles sparkle as it passes over the rocks. Holding the center of this 7 foot wide and inches deep stage are 3 bright red Sockeye salmon, locked into an age old drama. 

They joust and shove each other, circle and poke, trying to hold the middle of the flow. The water is so shallow here that half their back is in the air, but that does not matter.  This small stretch of  creek is one of the few places with the right mixture of flow, temperature and gravel.  They were born here, they will die here. But not just yet.  The largest of the males seem to grow impatient and turns on his side, and mimicking the female, he dances on his tail, moving a bit of gravel.  From the dark shadows of the deeper water in the shade a female holds still. She is a shadow among shadows, only her moving gills betrays her position.  Knowledge of  the  treasure of eggs she holds within her has been passed down by the genes of grandmothers uncountable and she bides her time, waiting for the bright sunlight to fade before she makes her move.

 It’s late, the air is cold and the shadows long and finally she makes her move, sliding into the current just above a patch of small rocks.  She may have been waiting for days but now is the time.  She starts her work, moving rocks with her tail and  the day shift males have been joined by a rapidly moving and splashing set of others.

In this dark light its impossible to count them but they are not placid.  One male will claim the right of fatherhood here, and this is the moment they have all been waiting for.  It’s a bit like a football scrimmage, but not clear who is winning. Lots of splashing, chasing and outright collisions.  One large buck torpedoes straight ahead into the flank of a smaller fish with a fleshy thunk that can be heard several feet away.

This battle will go on through the darkness of night, finally as the female finishes her nest, the victor will swim beside her as she releases some of her eggs.  Prudently, she doesn’t put all her eggs in one basket, and when finished here, will move upstream to find another gravel patch to invest her treasures.

There are big gaps in the thick mossy blankets that drape the Big-leaf maple tree behind my house. This moss has been carefully gathered and shoved into a gap in an outbuilding wall. This soft, warm bed will keep the Flying squirrel cozy during the coldest nights.

Unlike their cousins, the Douglas squirrels, Flying squirrels have no big food cache to get through the lean times of winter. They do cache individual items and appear to have a remarkable ability to recall several hundred locations spread over several acres but this ability is probably aided or enhanced by their keen sense of smell.   They sail on their kite-like wings for several acres in search of food, climbing up high in a tree then launching into the darkness.  There is a thin membrane of loose skin on their sides between the front and rear paws and by stretching this tight it forms a sail. By adjusting the angle of the paws they can turn and slip amid the branches and other obstacles.  As they land they pull up vertical to touch down feet first on the trunk of their target tree.  As soon as they land they immediately scurry around to the opposite side of the tree as a defense against their main predators, owls.

High on the squirrels menu is a odiferous fungi which makes a succulent underground fruit called a truffle. These underground mushrooms send off a distinct odor which alerts animals to the ripe fruit.  The fruit is eaten and the spores pass through the squirrels gut, gathering yeasts and bacteria, and then get pooped far from where the fungus started.  This is perhaps one of the most effective means a mushroom has to move its spores to new areas.   Flying squirrels are master truffle finders and you can often find the small holes they dig in the forest floor in search of this gourmet mushroom.  In Europe, people employ dogs and pigs to sniff out these round black ovals, some of which sell for hundreds of dollars a pound. So our parasailing rodent has a pretty pricey diet.

The darkness comes early now, it is still a surprise to go outside at dinner time and find it’s dark already.  As the days compress the world seems to get quiet, as if all of life has gone to bed.  Then a rollicking band of chickadees drips down from the upper tree regions to dance and balance amid the lower branches.  They are focused energy, these little sprites, and they relentlessly search out insect eggs and other bits of food.

November is the month of clouds. You can collect the whole set this month. They  wrap the world in thick soft blankets, hiding the mountains, and drift through the trees like ghosts, or soar in towers, sometimes banding together to make giant black walls.  The watery wealth of the ocean is transferred to the land and the creek now runs with gusto as it splashes through the woods.  At one point the rains crash hard and it seems there is more water than air, but this passes and shortly later the sun comes out and all the branches drip with raindrop sparkling jewelry.  A cottonwood, the last of the glorious fall colors,  catches the low beams of sunshine and blazes like a yellow torch.

Low on  a branch in the woods an owl sits and scans the forest floor. It turns its head almost backward and catches each sound, listening closely for patterns.  There is a tiny whisper on the forest floor and the big bird launches silently in the air, its wings designed by nature to make no noise as it closes on its prey. As it floats in the air the bird listens, using the two large round facial disks as antenna to channel the precise location of the sound.  It pivots in mid air as its deer mouse dinner makes a leap to the safety of the fallen log. Talons out the owl lands on the log and just misses its chance.  The night woods ring with the loud, who, who who cooks for youuuu as the owl tries using its loud call to spook the mouse from its hiding place. Nothing doing. The bird retreats back to another branch and, still as a statue, waits and listens through the night. Eventually a mistake will be made and the Barred owl will eat. These owls are relative new comers to our forests, but they have quickly become the most common and visible owl in the area.

Later the next day, comfortably perched in the dense branches of a cedar, the owl is discovered by a crow.  The crow calls forth all its friends and soon the owl is being dive bombed and yelled at by more than a dozen crows, all intent on moving the owl away from where they sleep.   The crows antics attract a Coopers hawk  who dives into the fray and the crows scatter in panic, and the woods goes silent again.  Then a huge flock of noisy birds swirls into the top of the trees nearby.  These are Pine siskins, who form large winter flocks.  The siskins land at a nearby bird feeder and in minutes clean it out, then move on, like feathered locusts, seeking new food.

On a cloudless November afternoon there is an odd caw in the air and I look up to see a pair of ravens soaring together.  One is directly above the other and mirroring every turn and swerve of the bird below. Or perhaps the bird below is doing the mirroring.  Together they make aerial ballet, constantly calling with a soft caw as they dance through the sky. They keep up this follow the leader for several minutes and at one point they touch and then separate.  The caw changes to a louder metallic rolling crinnnk as if one was saying, don’t get so close.  They continue their dance out of view, heading east towards the white snowy mountains.

The mountain snow has driven the Varied thrushes down to our elevation. These are vertical migrants, they live in the mountains during the summer then migrate down to the lowland forests for the winter.  They have a odd minor note whistle of a call that seems especially haunting on the dark foggy fall days.  

The popcorn-like balls of  snowberry fruit are easily noticed now that much of the green leafry  has fallen to the soil.  It is interesting that these berries last so long before finally being eaten.  There are fewer and fewer berries left.  The Hawthorns have thick clusters of red berries one day, and then a few days later are barren.  A sapsucker hops awkwardly through the tree top, gobbling up these fruits and then several robins appear and it is clear that they will make short work of this opportunity.

In between storms a sunny patch of air is filled with miniature dancers.  They are so small they look like bits of dust come to life.  Under the microscope they turn out to be tiny Crane flies who choose to mate late in the year when there are less predators about. On a two hour forest walk I see only one spider, gamely setting up shop perhaps for the last time.  Although it’s a sunny day, its only 42 degrees and the spider is moving so slowly it is hard to imagine it will get its web built before the next rainstorm tears it down.

As the winter storms blow in, take a walk in the wild winds, feel the physical force of nature, and let me know what you find out there.

Rob Sandelin
NWnature@verizon.net