A Christmas scene or two

The approach of Christmas, plus last night's snow and today's wind make for relatively quiet times. The Daughter Person and Son-in-Law are headed to Hibbing for a Christmas visit with some of his family. The Better Half and I made it over snow-packed and drifted roads to St. Croix Chocolates in Marine. We picked up our Christmas order and purchased some charming, and delicious, decorations. I recognize the little Norfolk Pines in the Christmas Train display, but nor the taller, lighter green plants, such as the one in the second photo. Identification suggestions welcome.

Christmas Train display at St. Croix Chocolates

Photo by J. Harrington

not a Norfolk Pine, it's a ....?

Photo by J. Harrington

Our return trip included a stop at Prairie Restorations to remind ourselves the North Country isn't all snow and cold all the time. Once home, we briefly watched chickadees and woodpeckers piling in to the feeders. Come dog-walking time we'll do a refill of the sunflower seeds and suet and check the heated bird bath water supply. To be candid, I'm not sure whether I'm looking forward more to the arrival of Christmas or the thaw forecast to arrive mid-week. Fortunately, they're not mutually exclusive. With a little luck, we get to have both.

To One Coming North

By Claude McKay

At first you'll joy to see the playful snow,

  Like white moths trembling on the tropic air,

Or waters of the hills that softly flow

  Gracefully falling down a shining stair.

And when the fields and streets are covered white

  And the wind-worried void is chilly, raw,

Or underneath a spell of heat and light

  The cheerless frozen spots begin to thaw,

Like me you'll long for home, where birds' glad song

  Means flowering lanes and leas and spaces dry,

And tender thoughts and feelings fine and strong,

  Beneath a vivid silver-flecked blue sky.

But oh! more than the changeless southern isles,

  When Spring has shed upon the earth her charm,

You'll love the Northland wreathed in golden smiles

  By the miraculous sun turned glad and warm.

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Why don't pocket gophers hibernate? #phenology

Despite a week or so of subfreezing and lower temperatures, the pocket gophers in the back yard are still obviously active. Apparently, they didn't read Kansas State University's Managing Pocket Gophers observation that

"Shallow or sandy soils limit pocket gophers due to tunnel cave-ins, and provide poor insulation from warm summer and cold winter temperatures."

Winter pocket gopher mounds near brush pile

Photo by J. Harrington

Perhaps I should be grateful that the number of those critters tearing hell out of the yard during a Minnesota Winter is "limited?" From my perspective, it's grossly unfair that plains pocket gophers stay active during the Winter, while many of the creatures, especially snakes, that are their predators, become inactive. One of the differences between warm-blooded mammals and cold-blooded reptiles seems to give an advantage to the mammals.

close-up of fresh pocket gopher mound

Photo by J. Harrington

We've seen few hawks or owls around here over the past year or so, to my dismay. Then again, we've seen no skunks in the entire time we've lived here (great horned owl population?), and I am grateful for that. I find it hard to picture a hawk or owl capturing a pocket gopher, since on the few times I've tried, I haven't been able to shoot quickly enough to hit one as it sticks his/her nose out of its mound of dirt.

My vehement dislike of pocket gophers is only partially based on the mounds they leave behind to break mower decks and blades. By my estimation, they've "rooted" (eaten the roots) or girdled (eaten the bark) six to twelve fruit trees we've tried to grow on the hill behind the house. One pear tree is the only survivor and the deer are doing their best to love that to death.

whitetail deer doe eating pear tree

Photo by J. Harrington

Maybe, in keeping with the Christmas season, the 6 to 10 inches of snow we're forecast to get tonight and tomorrow will at least keep any more new mounds from being discovered until Spring. If I can't see them I might forget about them and then stop fussing and fuming about them, right? That's sort of like getting the Christmas spirit, isn't it?

My Dad, in America

By Shann Ray

Your hand on my jaw

              but gently

and that picture of you

punching through snow

              to bring two deer, a gopher,

and a magpie

to the old Highwalker woman

who spoke only Cheyenne

              and traced our footprints

on leather she later chewed to soften.

              We need to know in America there is still blood

for forgiveness.

Dead things for the new day.

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