Today is the last day of February and I have been enjoying the farewell party, nature has prepared. Rain has been falling since last night with sweet soothing drops. Heavy at times, the pattering sounds on the metal roof of the cabin are comforting. The driveway is being overtaken by bare stones once again. Piles of snow are shrinking much to my delight, too.
This morning I grabbed my camera to do some road hunting for wildlife. I had wanted to give Toby one last chance to flush a grouse or rooster pheasant. Unfortunately my truck gave up the ghost, so to speak. The battery needs replacing after sitting idle in the drive for several weeks, in subzero conditions. I saw no point in taking my dog in Sandy’s car as he would muddy up the interior and most likely land me in the dog house.
As I drove around, fog was rising above the melting snow that once covered the fields. A patch work quilt of bare open spots, exposed ground that expanded in between dirty drifts. Crows and starlings were present in good numbers, picking the ground for sustenance. They appeared cheerful and dry as they cascaded through the air below the dreary, saturated sky. I found one red tail hawk perched atop a telephone pole. It did not look too pleased with the current conditions. It was huddled up in a tight package, a dark silhouette, a patient hunter.
Several flocks of turkeys also were actively scrounging in the fields for something to eat. They worked in groups, heads bent down low to the ground pecking and investigating. One or two long bearded gobblers with rosy colored heads, kept a keen eye out for any approaching danger. Each individual bird appeared dark, almost black, like roving statues in a cemetery. Turkeys are wildlife’s version of gypsies; they are always on the move and settle briefly to utilize an attractive location. I think that is the reason for their rapid increase in population. If food is unavailable or the environment changes so do the birds. The success of their recovery across the State is in large part due to their ability to adapt to the season at hand.
I think that we in the Islands have spent enough time adapting to this winter season! I know it when the sighting of a mere blade of grass gives rise to excitement! It has been a long season for all of us. I was seriously considering hanging the snow shovel on a wall in the cabin. It would serve as a reminder during the “take it for granted” days. You know the ones, when the days are long, hot and laid back, the times when we say there is always tomorrow?
Today the River is consumed by dark grey skies and intermittent fog. There are times when the shore lines of the Islands beyond are obscured from sight. The snow lies upon the Rivers surface like mashed potatoes to which too much milk was added (speaking from experience). Rain runoff is meandering to her shores like small pulsating blood vessels renewing life. It’s nice to have something falling from the sky that takes care of its own removal. It’s nice to hear its beating heart, its sweet familiar breath and the new season it awakens.
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