Leaping to conclusions #phenology

Late yesterday afternoon, the air behind the house was full of some light-colored flying insect that must have just hatched. I kept watching for birds such as swallows to arrive and start feeding. They didn't arrive before dark, but the insect hatch may help account for an unusual overnight event of which we'd be unaware if it weren't for the awesome humidity that's returned.

a trail across the window's condensation

Photo by J. Harrington

The humidity had coated most of the outside of the house windows with a layer of moisture. On the second floor picture window, something had left a track through the moisture. But, what? At first I thought it might have been the trail of a small bird flying along looking for an opening. With the consumption of more coffee, my ability to think rationally increased and I rejected that option. The trail didn't look right for the bird scenario. What else could leave a trail across vertical glass coated with moisture? Slugs? Probably not. Then, I remembered that we often have residents inhabiting the space under our deck-railing bird bath. Those residents have been known to eat a bug or two. They also have sticky pads on their toes, pads that let them climb the glass of walk-out doors. We don't have the proverbial smoking gun evidence, but I believe a strong circumstantial case has been made that the perpetrator of much befuddlement is or resembles the individual in the mug shot below.

the gray tree frog trail-maker?

Photo by J. Harrington

I know more about tree frog's Spring mating patterns and sounds than about Summer foods and Autumn's "hibernation" triggers. If not for this morning's tracking exercise, I'm not sure I'd every have become interested enough to see what I could learn about them. (A few days ago we mentioned a lack of Autumn phenology reporting. The situation described herein could make a case study and serve to increase interest in that season.)

Sightings

• Ruby-throated hummingbirds continue to arrive at the nectar feeder yesterday and today.

The Frog

By Hilaire Belloc

Be kind and tender to the Frog,

   And do not call him names,

As ‘Slimy skin,’ or ‘Polly-wog,’

   Or likewise ‘Ugly James,’

Or ‘Gape-a-grin,’ or ‘Toad-gone-wrong,’   

   Or ‘Billy Bandy-knees’:

The Frog is justly sensitive

   To epithets like these.

No animal will more repay

   A treatment kind and fair;

At least so lonely people say

Who keep a frog (and, by the way,   

They are extremely rare).

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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Mist-defying moon #phenology

This morning's full moon shone brightly on local mist-covered fields. Some call it the sturgeon moon, others, the ricing moon, the corn moon or the red moon. Names often derive from what's important in the place from which the moon is seen. You can explore for yourself by looking here or here or here. Truth can be found in many forms.

Full August moon on mist-covered fields

Photo by J. Harrington

I felt at home and comfortable surrounded by ghostly mist while walking the dog this morning, probably because I grew up with frequent fog on the East coast. On land there was usually a yellow or white line to follow along the road, or at least a shoulder or ditch to track. On the water things got more interesting and you trusted your compass and your ears before your eyes, and wished you could afford a radar unit and a bigger boat to go with it. Listening to an approaching motor on a boat you couldn't see but hoped wasn't bearing down on you set nerves and teeth on edge. Field-walking is a comparative piece of cake.

2015 acorn crop

Photo by J. Harrington

All the moisture we got this Summer doesn't seem to have done anything good for this year's acorn crop. I've read that some years are much better for mast than others and last year compared to this seems to prove it. Maybe it's just a few trees around the house that are so sparse, but I fear it may be a hungry Winter around here for the squirrels, turkeys and whitetails.

In Mist

By Laura Sherry

From “Ridge People” WHEN you can see the ground’s breath, And the sky goes muggy And drops before the world Like a perspiring window-glass; When beasts and humans creep to cover         5 And the steam-boats speak fog-language; The farm buildings sit still Folding their hands As if they hadn’t a thing in the world to do. A chimney’s belch smudges into nothing;         10 The earth’s breath noses around the roots of trees; Heaven-mist seeps through branches And wraps the country’s heart.

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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.