Ponkapoag bog and Franklin park

Yesterday was such a great day. In fact, I have a hard time coming up with a name for this blogpost because it feels the day was so rich and full of adventure. It begun with this view outside my window: a redwinged blackbird, returning to my backyard as they always do in March. It is about two weeks earlier than last year, but aside from what this means in terms of global warming and climate change, it was still a happy awakening.

 

The little boys spent the night on a sleepover and I had the whole day to myself, and although the house could definitively have used some TLC, of course I couldn't wait to get outside. After some thinking I decided to go back to Ponkapoag pond bog. I was hoping to see animals and birds, woods and adventures and open skies. 

It started already in the parking lot. The spine and some bones from a deer. Every bit of tissue had been carefully gnawed off, probably by a number of creatures, each taking their turn. Somehow it was satisfying to see how nothing was left except the bare bones. No waste in nature - the matter that was once a deer is now transformed into other beings and life forms.

 

Then I marched through the woods down to the bog boardwalk area. 

The heavy planks were sometimes submerged in water, sometimes completely covered with icy snow. For a moment I wondered if this was perhaps not such a good idea, but I carefully went on and it got slightly better after the first red maple swamp area.

 

In the woody part of the bog grows mainly red maples and Atlantic white cedar trees. Highbush blueberry, swamp azalea and leatherleaf are also common.

It seemed that the bog was more colorful than the regular woods.

Trunks of white cedar. At the sound of a gentle chirp I turned my head and saw a brown creeper just four feet from my head at eye level. I also heard the calls of mourning doves.

Although dead deer is interesting in its own way, I'm glad to see traces of living ones as well.

Cedar twig

Colorful fungus

 Highbush blueberry have twigs both red and green.

Last time I visited the bog was in June. I remembered this clearing where the skies opened up and how happy that made me feel. It was the same yesterday.

 

 

 

The Atlantic white cedars often have Witches brooms on them, curious deformations of branches.

 

 

 The sphagnum moss were still a vivid mix of red and green.

Finally I reached the end of the boardwalk and could take in Ponkapoag pond. 

 

Sweetgale, maleberry and leatherleaf grew at the shore. 

It was while pondering the ID of this twig that I accidentally stepped outside of the snow covered planks and fell into the water with my right leg, up above my knee.

While drying up a bit I could enjoy the sky getting clear and the sun coming out. Somehow the sky is bluer here.

 

The sundried old planks soon sucked up a lot of water!

After I was back home and with dry socks on, I still wanted more outdoor time. A few days ago I witnessed three redtailed hawks soaring, clearly some territorial game going on, involving a mating couple and a hopeful intruder. Eventually the third one went its own way and the couple took off toward Shattuck hospital. I thought it would be nice to see them again and maybe even see where they are nesting. It took me through the park and back home again until I saw the same threesome game. Redtailed hawks soars on winds for minutes without a single wing flap.

In the park the little fresh water brook has already expanded and is covering a weedy lawn area.

I'm not happy to share this: dying hemlocks - only the very top is still alive. This is how it looks in Boston woods these days. I guess in a few years all of the Eastern hemlocks will be completely gone because of the Hemlock Woolly adelgid pest, an invasive little insect from Asia. It sucks the life out of majestic old trees and young ones alike in as little as 5 years, and only wealthy property owners and botanic parks seem to be able to pick up the tab for the treatment.

I also noted that the great horned owl seems to be at home in its pine grove, by judging from the fresh bone-fur mixes of pellets under the trees.

Winter magic

 

Winter has had us in its grip lately. Between shoveling and driving on precarious roads, and staying dry when all the mush rains away, we've been just chugging along. But this early Monday morning I knew it was only a matter of time before the magic of Sunday night's snow fall would melt away, and after school bus drop off I stayed just enough in Franklin park to take these pictures. By midday all the snow on branches and twigs were gone.

 

The little busy brook, stemming from a fresh water spring hidden in the golf course. Add to the sound of running water all the cardinals singing, and it was such a lively and glad morning.

Looking in the shade direction, all was blue.

 

Facing the sun however, the most beautiful light shone.

The color of tree trunks are suddenly standing out in this sea of white.

Buds of silver maple are swelling every day.

I saw some snowdrops in a garden today, but I'm not sure if I'm ready for spring just yet.

Owls, owls, owls. Finally.

This blob, my friends, is a Screech owl, perching on a tree above my head about 6.15 am today, in central Jamaica Plain.

He or she was lured in by a speaker playing screech owl trills repeatedly, which is known to make the owls respond with their own voices, and sometimes to fly in to take a look.

This year I participated in the annual Christmas Bird Count for the first time, and with four other devoted birders (two of them devoted enough to get up at 4 am for the Owl count) we were responsible for our part of town, Jamaica Plain. There were few counters this year, and there were also considerably less birds to count since the day was cold and gray and sort of just waiting for the rain and snow to start, the kind of weather that makes the birds go quiet and just hide in thickets. Jamaica Plain has many large green and wooded areas, so the experts made some decisions based on their experience where it would make most sense to go.

I on the other hand was tremendously excited, although a tiny bit worried that my bad luck in spotting owls would have a negative effect on the whole project. I've followed experienced birders around to places where I was supposedly guaranteed to spot one. A great horned owl once landed in a tree I had climbed down from 5 minutes earlier, and lately Boston has been invaded by Barred owls in downtown public parks and subway station entrances. But I never saw one.

But I shouldn't have worried! Today's Screech owl count was 8, which is a very respectable number. The two first I didn't see, but they both were attracted to the sound from our speaker and vocalized through the dark. The third and fourth ones I eventually got to see - they started tussling with each other up a tree and tumbled down to the ground. Number five we heard from a close distance. Number 6 and 7 were great because they were in my own neighborhood at the end of my street, and I feel confident that I now will be able to hear them and maybe once or twice try to call them in.  You don't want to do it too often, it can stress them.
Number eight we had to wait for - we almost gave up when I first heard the soft sound. Then it came flying in and sat over our heads, as if to say Hello, and perhaps Good Day - it was getting bright and its night was about to end.

Other than that, the Owl count was nothing impressive, the Great Horned ones did not respond to calls and the Barred Owl in Arnold Arboretum that has been around for weeks did not show up for the party either. After owls, my team went back to Franklin park and after that we headed to Forest Hills Cemetery.

Other than Canada Geese which we counted about 1700 of at the Franklin park golf course, the numbers were low, but I had a great time nevertheless. I got a really nice view of the cute Golden crowned kinglet, and four different redtailed hawks were great to see. The woods were sparsely populated with the regular winter foragers like chickadees, Downy woodpeckers, titmice, goldfinches, blue jays, robins and so forth. Red- and white breasted nuthatches, white throated sparrows and song sparrows. And a great Blue Heron stretched his wings by Scarboro Pond.

Lots of long lists to compile.

Now back home, after a hot shower and tea, I will enjoy thinking of that little owl turning its head as if to say Good night to us - gentle, curious, really really cute.

Woods in sunset, moonlight

A day in the woods. The noise from I-95 was never quite gone but we were far enough away from roads and trails to experience real peace. We heard woodpeckers, winter wrens, chickadees, red nuthatches. We heard a deer exhale loudly. When dark fell, we saw hundreds and hundreds of winter moths, and in the light from our flash lights, we caught several deer's eyes around us.

I wish I had taken a picture of the giant pine tree that we ended up climbing, or the enormous red oak that we were considering as well. Rarely trees in the wild get to such dimensions.

The hike went through rolling terrain on not very wellknown paths. Musclewood, Hornbeam tree, was everywhere as well as birches and oaks.

High bush blueberries were old and tall.

Sun was already low at three pm. I was pleased, hoping for a sunset climb.

And I was not disappointed!

My usual tree climbing face: the widest grin possible.

This enormous tree had a view in every direction. Looking East, Boston skyscrapers in a gentle glow.

Last of the oaks still in foliage

The sunset almost had a tropical feel.

Following every change in scenery

Finally the conclusion in pink.

After that dark quickly came. We were prepared for descent with our headlamps in place. To keep our senses in tune with nature, we only turned on the lights when we hooked and unhooked our carabiners.

Safely on the ground, we were guided by the shining moon.

In the glow of our headlamps the woods looked different. Here is a young cherry trunk.

Yellow birch. In the background the lights from the highway.

And the strangest of all, the musclewood again.

And I just had to include this at the end: the prettiest guy, my very own resident house finch in the reddest of red.