Fall flight

In my last post I promised to share images from our camping trip to the west. But that will have to wait – fall has arrived in all its glory here in northwestern Wisconsin. The colors started to turn in early October, but we then had a week of unusually warm weather both during the day and the night. With that, the change of colors seemed to stall. And then strong and gusty winds blew all the color onto the ground.

A second phase soon developed, and our rich autumn colors have progressed to peak. It is a glorious time to be out and about. Every road and every field is alight with color. The golds and yellows, reds and oranges, and the deep russet of the oaks – they are all appearing in a symphony of color right now.

With this there is a great migration of birds coming through and starting their journey south. The loons were gone by the first few days of October. The males left first and were followed later by the females, leaving the young ones to fend for themselves and then to head south on their own. It’s amazing to me that these loons that were only born a few months ago can navigate their way south by themselves.

The Canada geese and the wood ducks are gathering. The sandhill cranes are feeding in the harvested fields. Soon all of these will be leaving. The last birds to come through our area seem to be the hooded mergansers. They will arrive and yet leave a short time later. And then our lakes will start to freeze.

But this is the time to know that the cycle of seasons continues once again, and we can appreciate Mother Nature’s palette of colors before we transition to winter.

Wildlife abounds

We’ve had the wonderful opportunity to observe and enjoy nature in northwest Wisconsin. Our small lake and surrounding woods have provided us with stunning sunrises over the opposite shore, menacing storms that roll in over the lake, fall colors that never last long enough, and bountiful wildlife sightings. But for the first time in seven years, we have a loon family that is carefully guarding its new chick from all predators, including the eagles and their young eaglets.

We first saw the loon chick swimming on its mother’s back. It was certainly learning about the lake and seeing the big world around it with fresh eyes. Both parents were nearby and watching carefully. They would dive and get small fish and feed them to the chick – a pretty easy life when you’re young.

And then in a seemingly few days, the chick was old enough (and big enough) to be swimming on its own. We watched the parents dive down into the lake, and eventually the chick learned how to do it also. It was not as dependent on its parents for food, but it was still small enough that it needed the watchful eyes of its parents for safety.

At the far end of the lake is the eagle’s nest, high in the top of a tree. We’ve watched the eagles fly over the lake and swiftly swoop down to catch fish in their large talons and carry back to the nest to feed their eaglets.

We’re looking forward to seeing the young grow and mature. They have many adventures and so very much to learn before winter comes when the loons will migrate south and the eagles will claim their territories.

Spring green

And with the flip of a switch we’ve moved into spring, with it’s lovely shades of bright green. We’ve had heat and sun, cool and rain – everything needed to promote the trees to leaf out, the grass to grow, and the flowers to push up through the ground. It’s a time filled with birdsong, from before dawn to after dusk. The warblers are moving through, the Baltimore orioles have stopped at the oranges we’ve offered, the robins are building nests, the whippoorwills are singing at night, and we’ve even seen some fluffy goslings.

Before long the calendar pages will change, the heat and humidity of the long summer days will arrive, and just as quickly the days will once again start getting shorter. But I’m way ahead of myself now, and I try to remind myself to enjoy this spring – the shortest season of the year.

Awakening from winter

We appear to have turned the proverbial corner from winter to spring. It was not a straight-line trajectory, but it was a snowstorm followed by a warm up and then a cycle of repeat a few times. My attention has been on other things the past few months, and my photography has taken a back seat to those concerns. But it’s never far from my mind, and when I’m “out in the world” and a scene presents itself to me, it sometimes cannot be ignored.

This was the case this past Easter morning. The world was quiet and still before dawn. The air was cold as the temperatures had dropped below freezing overnight. Yet there was the promise of warmth from the sun. I watched as the eastern horizon slowly awakened to the most beautiful shades of blue, rose, and gold. As the light started to glow, there was a cacophony of sounds – turkeys gobbling across the opposite shore, Canada geese honking in the bay to the south, and ducks quacking as they flew towards the shore and then swept back into the air. It was as if a chorus was announcing the arrival of Easter and of spring. And maybe this was the final turning from winter to spring.

Structure in the snow

This has been a hard week. My mind has been anything but calm, and the “news of the world” has not been kind. Sleepless nights and fits of anxiety have not helped.

The other morning I awoke to a fresh layer of snow on the ground. For most winters that would not be unusual, but this year the winter precipitation has favored a track around us. The meager snow has been icy and anything but photogenic. But this new snow had softened the immediate world around me. There was a layer of white covering the grass and lying gently on the pine trees. Even these allium heads welcomed the bits of snow in their centers, cupping it around the delicate stems. I marveled at the intricacy of the seed heads and their ability to weather and stand up to the winter winds and storms. Bravely they stand as a testament to summer and fairer weather.

It was a welcome relief to spend time with the alliums and the fresh snow. I forgot about the “outside world” and focused on the “news of the heart” – the sturdiness and resilience of nature.