wild turkeys Archives - NorthStarNature

Flour and Ice Water (+ Butter = Pie)

November 28, 2021 by Denise Brake 4 Comments

What do the largest flour mill on the banks of the Mississippi River, Grasshopper Chapel in Cold Spring, MN, and a state forest have in common? John Pillsbury. Pillsbury was co-founder, along with his nephew Charles, of the Pillsbury Company, which boasted the largest flour mill in the world in the early 1900’s. John Pillsbury was also the 8th governor of Minnesota (1876-1882). After years of a devastating grasshopper plague that destroyed hundreds of thousands of acres of wheat, oats, barley, and corn, Governor Pillsbury called for a day of prayer on April 26, 1877 to help end the plague. A subsequent sleet and snow storm killed many of the grasshopper eggs, which brought an end to the plague in the coming months. The little chapel in Cold Spring that was close to our previous home, was built in honor of the ‘miracle’ and nicknamed Grasshopper Chapel. Then in 1900, Minnesota’s first state forest was established when Governor Pillsbury donated 1,000 acres to the state. It is known as Pillsbury State Forest, has over 25,000 acres now, was the first state tree nursery, has managed timber harvesting, reforestation, and recreational development. It has 27 miles of trails for horseback riding, hiking, biking, and snowmobiling.

Last weekend Chris and I traveled up the west side of the Mississippi River to Pillsbury State Forest. The snow that we had had at home was mostly melted, but as we got closer to Pillsbury, there was more snow on the ground. We bundled up for a small hike around the Rock Lake campground. The Lake was ‘building’ ice but still had areas of open water.

Trumpeter Swans were lying on the ice, their heads and necks folded into their feathers to protect their sleeping bodies from the chilly wind.

Autumn meets Winter when the beautiful rusty-brown Oak leaves floating on the water get captured by the forming ice.

The campground is small, first come, first served, and has 18 campsites along the shore of Rock Lake under a stand of Pines.

The forest ground is large and interspersed with private land. We drove from the campground to a day-use area for canoeing and horseback riding. We were slowed to a stop by Wild Turkeys crossing the road. They had a gathering place on the sunny south side of some big round bales, and a few were crossing the road to the farm place on the other side. They seemed quite confident of their place in this forest.

We traveled by road to another trail called Section 27 Road and ski trail. The trail was an old logging road that cut into the forest. We wondered if the whole area had been Pines at one time. Now it was mostly Aspen, Birch, and some older Oaks. The ‘ski’ trail continued when the logging road came to an end, and it became apparent that the trail had not been maintained for quite a few years. Fallen logs crossed the trail, making skiing pretty much impossible unless there was feet of snow.

At this time of year, the sun stays low in the southern sky on its dawn-to-dusk trajectory, so there are always shadows that stretch out from the trees and from the smallest weeds. The Oak leaves make a pretty pattern on the snow, and the tracks of all the animals can be ‘read’ by passersby.

John Pillsbury made a huge impact on Minnesota with his businesses, his philanthropy to the state and to the University of Minnesota, and his political career. The state forest that bears his name offers a great place for recreation, especially the many miles of horseback riding trails. This transition time as we slip from late Fall into Winter brings a change that is difficult for some people. The very short days, the often cloudy skies, and the cold temperatures create a ‘hibernating’ quality that is accompanied by low energy and sometimes depression. I combat that with actually getting out into the cold—when one is dressed appropriately, it can be invigorating and calming at the same time—something that Nature is good at! It’s a time to pray for the end of the pandemic, to ‘build’ on our relationships, to be kind to ourselves, and to make plans for next Spring and Summer. It’s also a good time to sit by a southern-facing window, soak up some warm sun, and eat a yummy Pillsbury baked good. Enjoy!

When I Wasn’t Looking

September 22, 2019 by Denise Brake 6 Comments

How much does the internet rule our lives? What would we actually do without it for a day, a week, or a month? (Maybe I should back that up to an hour also.) Even those of us old enough to remember that we had full, awesome lives before the internet, get caught up in the necessity of it. Like when we weren’t looking, it sort of took over our lives. This post began in my head more than a week ago and ended a week ago when I could not open my webpage to upload pictures and write. Not enough power or signal, or there was interference or disturbance. Whatever.

After Paul’s memorial service over Labor Day and sweet times of relaxation and mourning-tempered fun with the Brake family, we headed home to Minnesota. Our wrecked hearts were a little less wrecked, bandaged over with hugs, precious memories, and laughter. The healing had begun.

On the trip home, we stopped for a walk and a break at Sakatah Lake State Park near Waterville, Minnesota. It was a nourishing detour around the rush-hour Cities traffic. The first thing I noticed when we started walking were dark, leaping little toads all over the place. It had rained quite a bit while we were gone (and much of the summer), so the frog and toad populations were booming.

Upper Sakatah Lake was full to the rim and evidence of flooding was everywhere. Trees along the shore had toppled into the water, and debris was high in the lower spots. This area was named Sakatah by the Wahpekute tribe of the Dakota Nation. It means “the sights and sounds of children playing on the hill,” and sometimes translated to “Singing Hills.” Don’t you love that!?

Looking out over the lake, the most striking view was to the east where Double-crested Cormorants had perched and made nests in dead trees on tiny islands of Wildlife Management Areas. Cormorants are colonial nesters and often perceived to be messy, nuisance birds.

They are fish-eaters, so do not make good game birds, and their community living seems to make them messy and troublesome. (For whom?) But we saw much preening and cleaning going on as they perched in their alabaster tree-houses together.

The vegetation in the woods had decidedly turned to Fall. It seemed to happen when I wasn’t looking. Clusters of red-fruited seeds of the Jack-in-the-Pulpit, amid the tattered leaves, shouted out to passers-by after two seasons of discreetly hiding in the forest.

Sunflowers, Asters, and Goldenrods grew from every sunny spot along the edge of the woods, and juicy Wild Plums hung from the trees.

The forest gave way to wetlands and prairies as we hiked along the Singing Hills State Bike Trail that traversed the Park.

It was a short but welcome break to get into the woods after driving the Interstate for hours through the fields of Iowa. And when we were home again, our Fall visitors began to boldly traipse through the yard. The Wild Turkey population seems greatly diminished this year—only four babies with two, sometimes three females. Other years we have had twelve to eighteen young ones trailing behind their mamas.

The spotted baby fawns are now big enough to graze in the open and look for apples that have fallen to the ground.

Our surprise this year, is that there are triplets!

This Spring and Summer have slipped by me—when I wasn’t looking—when insidious, unseen influences sort of took over our lives. We blindly believe that all-or-nothing technology is in our best interest (all=good, nothing=bad). But what are we losing in the process when we are complicit to the ‘lifestyle’ of the internet and our ‘smart’ phones? How have we isolated ourselves from our community of people for the (and I don’t know the word for this exactly) thrill/ satisfaction/ seduction of all that the internet supplies? I spent many days in the last two weeks not looking at the internet. It was a relief. I’m not so attached to technology that it was uncomfortable for me to do so. In fact, it actually felt like I became more of myself. As the Brake family mourned the loss of a Dad/ brother/ uncle, we didn’t do so on social media—we did it in person. It was the face-to-face, the tears and laughter, and the hugs and stories that sustained us. When we weren’t looking for it, the healing had begun, and we were a little bit less wrecked, thank the Good Lord. So, where are the disturbances in our lives? What interferes with us feeling like ourselves in a grounded, nurturing way? I say don’t let the power in our lives be about the internet—it is unsustaining and in fact robs us of our energy and creativity in the long run. We need more Sakatah in our lives—the sights and sounds of children (and we are all children of God) playing and singing in the hills.

In My Dream, I Am a Mother

November 4, 2018 by Denise Brake 6 Comments

I attended a dream workshop last week. We learned about the biblical dreamers, the history of dream study, and how brain science has confirmed the times during our sleep cycle when our unconscious sorts through our daily experiences and extends wisdom to our consciousness in the form of a dream. The most profound part of the workshop was when we experienced the practice of group dreamwork, when one person shares her dream with the others. Each of the others ‘takes the dream as their own’ for a short time, and says what their associations are “in my dream.” And thus began the outpouring of profound words by a circle of women about motherhood, the deep, intense love for our children, our instinct to protect them, the painful knowing of them leaving the nest, guilt, loss, pride, the passing on of knowledge and values, the ones who stand with us, and who we are as a person in the midst of it all. We then ‘gave the dream back’ to the dreamer, and she could make whatever meaning resonated with her. We were all deeply touched by the dream and the process.

Motherhood, and all that goes with it, is not just for humans. Witnessing the mothering abilities and instincts of cats, cows, sheep, birds, deer, and even research mice has made me admire all mamas of creation. One mother we have seen frequently this year is a turkey and her young ones. At the beginning of August, she had taught her little ones to fly to the branches of an Oak tree to roost for the night.

At the beginning of September, they were following her through the woods in search of tasty insects, grasses, and seeds.

photo by Aaron Brake

By the beginning of October, the young ones had adult-sized bodies with awkward feathers and heads, and were still roosting in the Oak trees.

They were back this last week. The matriarch was heavy-bodied and mature in her rich, Fall feathers. She had laid the eggs over a month’s time, brooded them for another month, protected the poults before they could fly, lost a number of them before that time, joined with others into a family group, and was always watchful and protective as her young ones grew and developed.

She and her young ones have walked hundreds, if not thousands, of miles in their grazing pursuits in the last six months. What dangers they must have encountered in all those miles!

Because we know who also travels through the front yard…

The turkeys have also had many peaceful times in our yard and woods where acorns and maple seeds are plentiful.

I love this picture of Mama Turkey. She looks like she has ‘come into her own.’ Her young ones are big enough to fend for themselves but will stay with her until the next mating season in Spring. She has grown and developed also, during her motherhood.

Then it’s time to move on… More miles, more foraging, more watchfulness. The roles of motherhood are deeply ingrained.

Motherhood. It encompasses the deepest of emotions, the hardiness of body, the strength of spirit, and the burnishing of our soul. Perhaps our children are like dreams—they are shared with us, and we take them as our own. In my dream, you are loved beyond measure. In my dream, you are protected from harm and have all the essentials of life. In my dream, education and spirituality are daily practices. In my dream, the ones who stand with you will help you reach your greater good. In my dream, I am always with you…. And then, we have to give them back, and they make meaning out of their own lives. In motherhood, we start out rather unconscious, and as we walk the miles and live the years, we gain consciousness and wisdom. We come into our own. We move on—more loving, more letting go, more watchfulness. What a profound dream. What a profound process.

Down the Road With Me

August 12, 2018 by Denise Brake 4 Comments

“An early-morning walk is a blessing for the whole day.” –Henry David Thoreau

These past days have been the epitome of Summer—very warm, slightly humid, and sunny. But we are past full-on Summer; when we roll the calendar over to August, we see changes. The Ash trees have a tinge of yellow in places, Sumac and Poison Ivy leaves are turning red, Goldenrod is blooming gold, Crabgrass grows and goes to seed, and the noisy chatter of the House Wren no longer interrupts the sounds of the day. The mornings have been still—in movement and in sound. Into that stillness I walk with my pal Tamba—she limps now, groans when she lays down, has lumps and bumps, so I know that our twice-daily walks are numbered. Yet every morning she pulls herself up and eagerly heads down the road with me. I hear the low, melodic call of Mourning Doves, and instantly my mind transports me back to my Grandma and Grandpa’s farm. What amazing brains we have that we can time-travel when we hear or smell something! The stillness and humidity allow dew to form on everything during the cool night, and the morning sun freely transforms all into a treasure of shining gems.

The intense sunlight soon dries the dew, but the late summer flowers—Gray-headed Coneflower, Liatris, Sunflower, Purple Coneflower, and Allium—shine on in all their glory.

On the other end of the day, when dusk was settling around us, it was still quiet and calm. Tamba lay in the grass. We sat on the patio as the smokey sky turned the sun red. The setting sun streaked through the trees and shone on the rose-colored Joe Pye Weed and etched burning embers onto the live Oak trees.

Soon we heard noises in the woods—a Blue Jay was tapping on a branch with an occasional squawk. Then bigger noises—was it squirrels? It seemed too loud for squirrels. Then I saw a big tail in an Oak tree—a big, feathered tail. It was a turkey! Two mama Wild Turkeys and their chicks were flying from tree to tree. Wild Turkeys love acorns, and we wondered if they were eating the acorns from the trees since few have fallen to the ground yet. Like chickens, Wild Turkeys have a crop for storage of food and a gizzard where grinding of nuts and seeds occurs. When the mama flew to another tree, she and the chicks would cluck and chirp to one another and soon the little ones followed. At dusk, Turkeys fly up into trees to roost for the night for protection from predators like coyotes, foxes, skunks, and raccoons. Soon the turkeys in our trees settled down for the night. At dawn, they will fly down to the ground again to begin another day.

The sounds and sights of August, despite the heat and humidity, allude to the waning Summer and the upcoming Autumn. Summer in the North is indeed short and sweet. But Nature prepares us always for the transition. We are gathered up in the progression of time, seasons, and lives whether we are aware of it or not. Just as an early morning walk can tune us in to the blessings of a day, silent stillness can hone us in on those things in our lives that matter, that are important, that are the shining gems in our treasure box. One of those gems for me is a big, Black Lab dog who has walked with me for ten years now. Her transition time, our transition time, is nigh. Dusk is settling around us. And each day I am so very grateful to walk down the road with her, as we are, where we are, in all our glory.

Zero to Sixty

May 27, 2018 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

In two weeks’ time, we have accelerated from Spring to Summer. The normal progression of leafing out and blooming has been disrupted this year—things seem rather confused. The very warm temperatures of these last days have pushed some things to bloom, while at the same time the early bloomers are just catching up from the delay a late snowstorm produced. So now the daffodils, honeysuckle, lilacs, crabapples, viburnums, flag irises, and anemones are all blooming at the same time! Instead of Spring slowly unfolding in its progressive, orderly way, it’s been like a tire-spinning Ferrari going from zero to sixty in 2.9 seconds!

On Mother’s Day two weeks ago, we took a short hike around Rockville County Park. The leaves were just emerging from the trees, which made bird watching easier. We saw a Baltimore Oriole and a Rose-breasted Grosbeak and heard their beautiful songs.

An adult Eagle floated in the sky above us looking for food to feed the two hungry ‘babies’ in the nest. They have a few years until they grow into the elegance of their parents.

A tall, showy Serviceberry was blooming in the woods, looking almost out of place with the other bare, brown-with-green-tinged trees.

Later, back at home, a lone turkey wandered through the front yard. She circled around the garage, then was scared by a tractor going down the road. She ran to the backyard and flew up into the oak trees, defying her size! She stayed there for quite a while, cautiously looking around to determine her safety. Finally she opened her wings and glided to the ground.

We had a few rain showers in the last two weeks, though it still seems very dry, especially as the temperatures have gone so unseasonably high this past week. The rainy days helped the Purple Leaf Plum leaf out and bloom, helped the Purple Flag Irises open their tissue-paper-thin flowers, and gave the Baltimore Oriole a shower.

On another trek to Eagle Park, we saw Purple Martins sitting on the porches of their house. Just as we got out of the car, they all flew away, and I saw a Hawk capture one in the air, going zero to sixty! He flew to a branch of a tree with the Purple Martin in his claws.

Then he dropped it! He looked down at his fallen prey but did not fly down to get it as we watched!

It seems like we waited so long for Spring to come this year, and then when it did finally show up, it zoomed into summer—what crazy weather! I remember when the kids were younger how we waited for milestones—when they walked, talked, tied their own shoes, started school, and dozens of others. While the waiting seemed long, when they finally passed a milestone, things started to move faster, and we looked back thinking how time had zoomed by so quickly! How could ten years, twenty years, now thirty years have passed since we held these dear babies in our arms? Crazy time. These children of ours—we try to keep them safe, provide food, shelter, learning and love, help them to bloom, and teach them to fly. Sometimes desires and dreams fall from their grasps—from our grasps—and we look down and decide whether or not we will pick them up again or let them go. We all take a couple of years or a lifetime to grow into our elegance.

No Holding Back

May 6, 2018 by Denise Brake 2 Comments

“No matter how long the Winter, Spring is sure to follow.”

Three weeks ago we had a foot of snow. But Spring will no longer be held back! On Monday, two turkeys foraged along the road pecking at emerging leaves of green grass and tender new buds.

It was so wonderful to see the grass finally turning green and the chives pushing their way up!

Two visitors passed through on their way North—a White-crowned Sparrow and a Yellow-rumped Warbler.

April’s end-of-month full moon illuminated buds on a tree, and a colorful sunset shone through the silhouette of trees where soon leaves will occlude the splendor.

The Bluebirds returned this week! Their swift, swooping dives and chattering songs fill the front yard as they check out the nesting boxes.

On Thursday, I finally got to my annual Earth Day ditch clean-up. Once again, with most of the trash being plastic, I urge everyone to ‘ditch’ plastic shopping bags and use paper or reusable bags. It will make a difference! I also found this unfortunate creature who didn’t make it through the winter—one of our resident opossums who waddle back and forth from the quarry to the woods.

By Friday, the Forsythia and Bergenia were blooming! The lemony yellow Forsythia flowers shone in the morning sun along with one orange fall leaf that had held on through the winter.

The Bergenias send up a study flower stalk between green leaves that have weathered the winter and those that dried and died. No holding back.

Ferns with their rolled fiddleheads emerged by warm rocks, casting shadows just as intriguing as the fiddleheads themselves.

The most amazing bud to me is the terminal bud of a Buckeye tree. I’m always incredulous that such a huge amount of leaves can be coiled into one bud—and they are beautiful as they unfurl!

One sign of Spring that I always look for is the ‘green blush’ of new leaves on the Aspen trees down by the river. Thursday, no green blush, but Friday morning, it was there!

The floppy, fragrant petals of the Star Magnolia opened on Saturday. So beautiful!

For the first time, I saw a Baltimore Oriole come to our feeder! No holding back the Goodness of Spring!

I think most of us up North would agree it’s been a long winter, but Spring sure has been sweet this week. It’s as if all the power and potential can no longer be held back, even as the last piles of blackened snow melt and the frost recedes from the ground—Spring has come bursting forth! There are many times in life when we feel the holding back and comfort of what is known along with the pull of a new adventure. A baby is happy to sit or crawl until the urge to walk implants itself in mind and body—there is no holding back. Children are eager to learn and ‘do it themselves’ after years of parents doing it for them and teaching them motor and mind skills. Adolescents oscillate between being a dependent child and pushing their way to adult independence. At some point, there is no holding back the desire to live one’s own life. A similar thing happens in mid-life after decades of striving, achieving, raising children, putting plans on hold, paying bills and doing the necessary matters. We wonder if we have lost ourselves, if there is something more to life, if we have fulfilled our potential—we forage for new ways or remember something from the past that we have carried with us like a lone, orange leaf. Some parts of our lives die—by our own hand or by the hand of a higher power. We explore intriguing shadows that lead us back to our own intriguing selves. No matter our age or circumstance, we are beautiful as we unfurl.

Walking With Those Who Came Before Us

January 21, 2018 by Denise Brake 4 Comments

My Grandma Anna arrived in America at Ellis Island on July 9, 1907. She was four years old and had traveled with her mother from Osterild, Denmark. She remembered the boat trip being long and how the blaring foghorn scared her. What a journey for a child and her young mother!

Seventeen years later my Grandma, her whole family, and all their possessions traveled from Mott, North Dakota to Arlington, South Dakota by covered wagon pulled by a pair of horses. They crossed the Missouri River at Bismarck, headed east to Jamestown, then south to Arlington. They walked 450 miles back to their extended family in South Dakota.*

Every morning I walk with Tamba—at the most, we walk a mile. When the temperatures are well below zero, we don’t get that far. One morning after a fresh snow, I realized that we were walking with the animals that had come before us! The prints were fresh in the fresh snow, and I wondered how many minutes ago they had walked this very same path. The deer will walk down the road, the fox crosses the road from the quarry land, circles through the neighbor’s woods, and often treks through our yard.

Deer tracks and mine

Fox tracks

The deer and turkey have a path under a pushed up section of fence that gains them access to the protected quarry land.

Turkey track

There’s also an opossum, a skunk, raccoons, squirrels, rabbits, cats, and dogs who travel down and across the road we walk along.

Skunk track

Rabbit trail

Occasionally I see the deer or turkeys or fox, but mostly they walk their journeys without my awareness. I follow their paths, and they follow mine. I cross their paths, and they cross mine. Unknowing. But fresh winter snow illuminates the animals’ paths, and I can see us walking together. It makes me feel connected to them in some primitive way. Their quest for food. Their pathway to shelter. Their trek to safety.

Part of the DNA I carry came across the ocean on a ship to Ellis Island and walked across the Dakotas in the hot July weather. *Thanks to my aunt Faye and my dear cousin Marvel, may they rest in peace, we have stories and genealogy from the generations who walked before us. With that history of our family, we are aware of how we follow their paths and how they cross our paths. I am connected to my Grandma and to those who came before her. With the history of inspiring words and realistic pictures, we celebrated Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. last Monday. With that history and celebration, we are reminded of the quest for freedom, of the pathway to equality, and of the journey to a better life. Our pathways are illuminated, and I can see us walking together.

A Return to Balance

July 23, 2017 by Denise Brake 6 Comments

It was a week for the emotional highs and lows record book. Aaron finished the stone patio outside our screened-in porch, and we had our first guests and first fire in the fire ring. A new marriage began. Cancer took a life. Progress was made to honor my Dad’s life and passing. There was a fight using old wounds as swords inflicting new wounds. A baby was born.

It was a week of highs and lows in Nature’s world also. The pinnacle month of summer brings a great abundance of flowers fit for wedding bouquets, table decorations, or just panoramic beauty. But the weather was dry—the grass was turning brown, the rains were missing us, and Chris was busy running the sprinklers.

Last summer our sun garden was dominated by Rudbeckia, but this year is the Year of the Purple Coneflower!

Fragrant Lavender flowers attracted butterflies and bees. Hummingbirds are also seen almost every day when the Hostas are in bloom.

The top leaf of the Ligularia, a plant that suffers here without plenty of water, is enveloped with a spider’s web and nest for the young ones. New birth on a tiny, yet prolific scale.

Daddy Longlegs was resting on a leaf hammock, renewing his energy for the continued search for food.

Aaron made a balanced rock sculpture by the path at the edge of the yard. This will be the location of a new bed of Eastern Blue Star after Chris dug out an invasive white-flowering plant that served us well for a while.

The heat and dryness has taken a toll on some of the ferns, with parts of fronds or whole fronds drying up and turning brown—Nature’s self-pruning.

The Daylilies are in their full glory; this one is providing a rest stop for a Grasshopper.

The mulched path through our woods is a favorite trail for the turkeys as they browse for food. We don’t usually see them, but this time one left behind a part of herself.

With all the watering in the dry and sunshine, every once in a while, there’s a rainbow.

Mother Nature has a way of providing balance, of bringing things back to homeostasis, of allowing rest and renewal, then energy and growth. We are made the same way. Every moment of every day our bodies are regulating temperature, minerals, hormones, water, and blood sugar to bring us back to homeostasis. It truly is a miracle. So what happens after days, weeks, or months of being enveloped in a web of worry or suffering from lack of love or realizing that an invasive presence that once served us well no longer does? The answer is sometimes harsh in the process of saving the whole. Parts of ourselves dry up, a sort of self-pruning in order to make way for eventual new growth. We lose parts of ourselves along the journey, often without us knowing but other times with hard, intentional work. And hopefully the parts we lose are the old wounds that persist in hurting ourselves and others. Then we add rest, creativity, good food and fun, self-care and self-love so we’re no longer beating ourselves up and running on empty. And ever-so-gradually, we return to homeostasis, to balance, to ourselves, and to Love.

Gleanings from September—One Way then Another

October 2, 2016 by Denise Brake 4 Comments

I’m not very good at making decisions. I try to avoid the shampoo aisle at Target. I will think about all the possibilities and outcomes of choosing a particular thing, then look at the alternative in the same analytical way. One way, then another. Pros and cons lists. No wonder nobody likes to shop with me; heck, no wonder I don’t like to shop! It’s exhausting! Ask me to go somewhere? Let me think…. I also tend to make decisions based on how it affects other people in my life, which of course, is usually pure speculation on my part. I suppose that beast Perfectionism is involved–I don’t want to make the ‘wrong’ choice, but the beast’s offspring Procrastination often ends up the winner.

Ah, September! It is a month of one way, then another. The days are warm and sunny, then chilly and rainy. It is State Fair fun, then back-to-school schedules. It is green leaves, then daily changes to red, orange, and yellow. But there are some constants in September, like the does and fawns who make a path from the woods to the apple tree to eat up the sweet, fallen treats. Mmm, apples! And the fawns ‘losing’ their spots as their winter coats grow in long and thick.

September most often houses the Harvest Moon–the full moon that falls closest to the Autumnal Equinox.

Obedient Plant blooms in September. Each individual flower on the square stem can be moved one way, then another and remains in the new position.

Monarch Butterflies get late season nectar from the pretty Sedum flowers.

Tall, wispy-stemmed Cosmos flowers outside our picture window sway one way, then another in the breeze.

September brings the combined family groups of Wild Turkeys to our yard and woods. We can hear them scratching through the leaves on the wooded hillside searching for acorns before they emerge and stroll through the yard. The young ones are almost as big as their mothers, and they all make an impressive troupe.

They walk in a trailing group, heads down, pecking at things as they go. The mothers stand sentry to the group with raised heads, looking for potential danger.

Then they see something! A couple of the young ones see it, too.

The sentries stop and watch as some of the unsuspecting young ones head down the driveway. A black dog runs down the road, not seeing or minding the young turkeys.

Quickly the whole troupe turns around and walks in the other direction with purpose. No time for grazing with the threat of a dog around! They take a different path through the woods on their daily grazing journey.

September ushers in the harvest season–a time to reap that which has been sown. All the plants and animals, including ourselves, follow the instinctive, unconscious ways of Nature to prepare us for the winter season. We pick apples and pumpkins, corn and squash–whether from the orchards and gardens or from the markets and stores. We make sure we have our winter coats and boots. We check to see if the furnace works–and if it doesn’t, the freezing forecast moves that to the top of the ‘important and urgent’ list, beating Procrastination. Maybe this season for me is the season of ‘pretty darn good’ instead of perfect. Perhaps my internal sentry needs a vacation. The Autumn season ‘lets go’ of one way of doing things and shows us another way, a different path. “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.” Ecclesiastes 3:1.

Gleanings from July–Animal Behavior

July 31, 2016 by Denise Brake Leave a Comment

Animals have always been such an important part of my life. When I was very young, we had a menagerie of farm animals–Holstein dairy cows, a black Mustang horse, chickens, cats, dogs, pigs, and sheep. Later in my growing up years we had a rabbit, ducks, cats, dogs, and horses. (I tend to leave out the hamster who I did not like–he was too squishy and mouse-like.) Horses were the best; I loved everything about them–brushing their dusty coats and tangley tails, feeding them sweet feed and fragrant hay, saddling and riding them through fields and woods, and even cleaning out and shaking fresh straw into their stalls.

July has not only been a month of flowers, but one of animals, too. The young Bluebirds who fledged the nest have been swooping to the ground to pick up insects, then quickly flying back up to tree branches, just like their parents.

The chattering House Wrens are on their second brood of young ones and spend most of the day hunting for insects for the hungry houseful. (See my post of wren babies fledging from the nest.)

When I was weeding the garden one day, a Leopard frog leaped out from under the kale and hid in the grass.

Have you ever seen your reflection in the eye of a frog?

Mother turkeys and their young broods have been wandering through the yard and woods, scratching and pecking for food.

A call from Chris one morning alerted me to come check out a field close to his work. I pulled into a field driveway, walked across the road, and saw a large community of Sand Hill Cranes! There were about forty in all, gleaning the kernels from the grain field.

Sandhill cranes mate for life, choosing their partners based on spring mating dancing displays. They live for twenty years or longer.

The young ones stay with their parents through the winter and separate the following spring, but can take up to seven years to choose a mate.

A pair of sentries closest to me, but still on the far side of the field, started making alarm calls as they watched me.

The others slowly began gathering and walking along the edge of the field.

This photograph of beautiful bird behavior, after the sentries sounded the ‘beware’ call, illustrates a variety of responses. The one in the middle is ‘shaking it off,’ the two adults in the back right seem to be discussing the problem–“what do you think–is that figure holding the black box really a threat?” and the young ones in the front are following directions–“walk to your left.”

I was fortunate to witness another display of articulate animal behavior in our front yard the other day. I saw a doe with her fawn grazing along the edge of our yard. (Look at the line of spots on either side of the spine.)

The doe stayed in much the same spot, and I hoped she wasn’t munching on the hazelnuts Chris recently planted. She was as sleek and healthy-looking as I’ve ever seen a deer, so she must have been eating nutritious food. (Hmm, some of our hostas had been eaten down to the stems…)

The fawn wandered out in front of the doe.

Soon he ventured out into the mowed part of the lawn, bucked, and kicked up his heels.

With cautious curiosity, he walked to the crabapple tree and nibbled on a few leaves.

Suddenly, something scared him, and he ran as fast as he could back to his mom! Immediately she started licking him. He stood close to her and continued to graze as she licked his back, reassuring him that he was okay. After a few minutes of that, he slowly pulled away to wander on his own again.

Then they slipped back into the woods.

I have learned many things about myself and life from all the animals over the years. Anyone who has ever been astride a horse that is spooked by something, knows in his/her body what the fight or flight response feels like. Consequently, one learns how to soothe the horse and let him know that he’s okay. If you have seen a mother cat caring for her kittens–nursing them, hunting for them, cleaning them, keeping them safely hidden when small, and teaching them to be on their own–then you know what parenting entails. We often forget that we are one of the many animal species and that we have much in common with them. So watch closely in the presence of animals–we can see the reflection of ourselves in their eyes.

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