Color Changes

July 16, 2012

When the kids were in elementary school, one form of disciplinary action was to receive color changes. Throughout the day, if caught in mischief or other misdeeds, a strip of construction paper of a certain color would be swapped out for one of a different color. I believe there were five levels, and the final stop--the worst--was black.  To this day, we still joke about color changes.

Today, those words crossed my mind as I drove home from town.  It had nothing to do with anyone's behavior. Instead, I was noticing a seasonal color change that often appears at this time of the year, and that is in the underbrush.  Along the road, I saw bits of yellow and red, as the leaves on the bushes near to the ground begin their progression towards fall.  It's often a bit startling to see this, as it jolts me into thinking that it is too soon--why, summer just started, didn't it?  But then I remember that the calendar says it is mid-July, and I realize that it is like this every year.  Fall still arrives on its usual schedule, and there is no reason to panic.  After all, that wonderful month of August lies ahead, not to mention two more weeks of this onr.  So I calmed down, and admired the color changes in the ferns and other small plants.

Another quite noticeable color came from some balsam and spruce trees.  Last spring, we could see brown needles amongst the green on several of the conifer trees.  It was a widespread situation, as reports came in from the west near Ely, and from the north in Canada.  A radio story identified the culprit as winterburn.  This occurs when it has been a particularly dry fall, and in our case, a winter with little snow.  Combined with an unusual March warm-up (remember, our ice went out on March 24), the trees became stressed enough that several needles died, even while new spring green ones began to pop out.  The word was that most trees would be able to survive this, once the rains began to arrive.

As we all know, rain it did.  We haven't kept a tally of the total, but we are enjoying high water levels like not seen before at this time of the year.  Still, some of the trees didn't seem to make it. And that was what I was seeing when I drove today. Full balsams, standing tall, covered in coppery brown needles.  They were relatively isolated, but still noticeable every several hundred feet or so.  Some had fallen over. Most were surrounded by strong, fully green pines and other spruce and balsam.  I did see one white pine that looked as though it was barely hanging on.  Those trees grow so slowly compared to the balsam. It was sad to see one ailing.

I suppose that this is another way for nature to cull itself. A stand of densely packed trees can result in weakness and disease. For that reason, Greg has been doing some thinning of trees on our property, to help prevent the spread of blister rust. By opening up areas around healthy, vigorous trees, he increases the chances of longterm viability for a few, rather than short term growth, followed by disease and death. I've had a hard time in the past, seeing trees fall by way of a chainsaw, but now I understand the merit in it.  If the trees left behind grow stronger, I'm all for it, as these will be the ones for my grandchildren to see and enjoy.

Loon Surprise

During the busy summer days, it sometimes is not easy for me to sneak away.  On a recent morning, Greg asked if I had twenty minutes to spare, as he had something he wanted to show me.  He told me to grab my camera, and that we were going by boat. It was only 7:45, and my schedule allowed for it, so I grabbed some yogurt, thinking I could eat breakfast while we rode along.  After pushing the  boat into the water, Greg started the motor and we skimmed across the lake.  

It was a beautiful morning, filled with sunshine but little wind. We boated into a nearby bay, and he started to make large swipes and passes, near to shore.  Finally he told me what he was looking for:  a mama loon and her baby.  Some neighbors had seen the pair in this bay the day before, and Greg was hoping that she was still there.  I've never seen a baby---it looked promising that I was going to

get my chance.

Soon, we spotted them, and we carefully crept closer.   We kept a respectful distance and cut the motor, allowing us to drift along quietly.  I was grateful for the bit of zoom capability on my camera, so that I could capture a few photos and some video, too.  I was also glad that we didn't seem to be disturbing the little family at all.  They just kept swimming back and forth, mama keeping an eye sternly fixed in our direction.

I had expected the little one to be grey in color, but it was a drab brown. Better camouflage, I supposed. Considering that the winter plumage of a loon is brown, I guess it isn't surprising. This one actually seemed  to be a little older, so it didn't need to ride on its mother's back.  It kept close to the parent, and she often shielded the chick from our view.  When I could see the two clearly, I noticed that they had a similar profile--long, low bodies and the same crook to the neck and set to the head.  Distinctly a loon.  I liked that.

When I felt I had made enough attempts at photographs, I switched to the video button on my camera.  Perhaps the adult knew this, because she started to talk a bit.  It wasn't the traditional long calls we are accustomed to.  Rather, it was just some short little notes, almost like a quick greeting.  For all I know, it could have been a warning, but she certainly didn't seem agitated.

The twenty minutes were definitely up, so we began our ride back to the lodge.  But when we rounded the point, I spotted an eagle in a tree, just down the shoreline.  We motored over for a closer look.

This guy REALLY watched us.  It wasn't even thirty seconds, and he determined that he didn't want to hang around, and we saw his massive wings unfold and lift him into the air.  He swooped away, and landed in a tree further down the lake.  I figured that was a good thing.  It meant that he was that much farther away from that lovely little loon chick that I had just seen. 

Seeing a baby loon has long been on my list of things to see here in the Northwoods.  I'm grateful to Greg for having given me that gift.

Early Morning Songs

Early morning in July....the birds beginning to wake, the ravens carrying on their conversations.  Through the years of living here, we've always had quiet mornings inside.  But that is not true of the outside world. So far today, I've heard white throated sparrows singing to each other, blue jays cawing, an oven bird proclaiming the day, and of course, the ravens.  Their full-throated calls as they fly by easily wake a person trying to catch a few more minutes of sleep. It's as if they are wondering "Why isn't everyone up?"  

And when I did get up, I could see why they feel that way. It's beautiful out.  The sky was patterned with lingering clouds, reflecting the last edges of the night's grey shadows.  Soon the trees were glimmering with the early traces of the rising sun. More quickly than I expected (even though I've seen this countless times by now) the sun was full up, in my eyes, as I sat here on the couch with my morning cup. How is it that this basic, often repeated ritual, can bring such happiness?

People seem to have a favorite season. Many say fall because of the colors that paint themselves across the landscape. Others say winter, presumably due to the snow. I love summer, because it gives me an energy that is different from the other seasons. Maybe it's because of the continued warmth I feel, so that I don't have to bundle up to stay comfortable.  Maybe it's the abundant sunshine, that magnificent source of energy for so much in the plant and animal world. Maybe it's because of the simple pleasures that I see all around me. Whatever it is, I take it and I savor it.  It's not unusual for me to repeat this phrase at this time of the year: Soon enough, it will be winter again. I'm going to love this sunshine and heat while we have it.

Settling in to Summer

Now that the wild rains of the previous week have passed, we've been settling in to summer.  Mornings are generally calm like this photo taken from Diamond Willow.  Today, Greg woke me about six o'clock, and motioned to an eagle sitting outside. The bird was perched on the top of a spruce tree within direct sight of our window.  He sat there for a while, turning his head this way and that.  I was hoping that he was looking for a meal of fresh fish, rather than a baby duck or loon.  Not that I have any say over the matter!

My wish to see a baby loon has still gone unfulfilled, but I have been able to watch a mama goldeneye duck with her two little ones.  They have been swimming happily in the bay in recent days, bobbing up and under while she keeps a watchful eye.

It was impossible to get a family shot, since the little ones were mostly intent on diving under water, as though they were showing mom how well they could do it.  She occasionally took a dive as well, but it looked more like swimming lesson time than mealtime.  These little ones are actually well-feathered, so I expect they are more than a week or so old. 

Whether or not the eagle was successful in fishing this morning, I do know someone else who was, last week.  After eating pizza with us one evening, this fellow wanted to go out and try for some lake trout.  No sooner had he left, when it seemed he was back....to ask one of his buddies to take a photo for him.  He had already snagged some fish, and landed this beauty.  I got in on the photo opp, too.  Two of his companions decided that they had to join him, and they were all in the boat catching more trout. It was so fun to see them reeling one in right before my eyes.  They ended up with three decent fish, including a ten-pounder.  Some days, it's only a matter of being in the right place at the right time, and they had nailed it. 

 

The flowers are blooming profusely, and some people were already able to enjoy blueberry pancakes with maple syrup.  That's a promise of good things to come, since it looks like a decent berry crop this year.  It must be the right combination of rain, sunshine, and just enough heat for the berries to be ripening this early.  I've noticed lots of raspberry blossoms, and some thimbleberry flowers, too.  If the weather continues on this path, we should be picking those within a few weeks. I find it much easier to hit the sweet spot in the berry patch than at the fishing hole.  Fortunately, either place holds wonderful rewards.