Winter Birds

Sitting here watching the bird feeders, I've identified some winter specialties and others that are year round residents.  American Tree sparrows (Spizella arborea) are a lovely winter visitor dressed in warm browns and greys with a jaunty rusty cap and clear breast with a central spot.  They are often referred to as the Winter Chippies because of their resemblance to their cousin the Chipping Sparrow, a summer resident. The Tree sparrow's name is ironic as it breeds north of the tree line in the wind swept tundra across northern Canada and Alaska.  The settlers thought they resembled the Eurasian Tree Sparrow they knew from home.  I love the Tree Sparrows jaunty posture and soft colors.  As a winter resident we rarely if ever hear its sweetly whistled song. 

The other common winter visitor is the Junco.  We get the Dark Eyed Junco, once know as the Slate-Colored Junco (Junco hyemalis).  Over the years the Juncos have been split and then re-grouped with others into one large "complex".  Juncos are the classic snow bird, arriving as early as October and staying well into spring.  They travel in large flocks like dark grey snowflakes.  As they feed they often utter soft twittering calls.  In the spring their trilled song often overlaps with the Chipping Sparrows more mechanical trill.  The Junco's song has a bell-like quality with a more musical note than the Chippie's.  Juncos practice a differentiated migration, with the females moving farther south than the males, and the males further south then the first-year birds.  The result is that most of the birds we see in winter are males.  The males are darker than the females, so if they do mix you can usually pick them out.  Because of their abundance and frequent use of feeding areas in urban areas, Juncos are one of the birds I watch for each year as a sign of the changing season.  Joining these two at my feeders are Chickadees, Gold Finches, Tufted Titmice, House Finches and House Sparrows, all year round residents.

Solstice Dreams

At 12:30 AM this morning we celebrated the Winter Solstice, the moment when the Suns' path crosses the Tropic of Capricorn in the southern hemisphere.  This is its southern most point and marks the longest night in the northern hemisphere.  Many refer to the Winter Solstice as the first day of winter, while to others it is mid-winter.  I'm a mid-winter guy, counting Samhain (Oct 31/Nov1) as the beginning of winter.  I spent the evenings on either side of the Solstice at CNC hoping to spot one of the otters seen recently around Six Island Pond.  No otters, but the muskrats were active, and a juvenile Bald Eagle flew over.  The warm weather we've experience so far this winter has been a boon for my heating bill, but the lack of snow is a little disappointing.  I'm looking forward to more snowshoeing this winter, but Snow is the operative word.   However, it makes it easier to imagine the spring to come.  I've planted a few flats of native seeds and they are tucked in under the front steps where I know I can get to them in the spring.  I cut some plants back and left others for the birds.  The evergreen herbs like sage, lavender, hyssop and rue are looking weak and wilted, but I know they will perk up in the spring.  The bulbs I planted rest beneath the dark soil, holding the promise of color in March and April.  Plans for next year's garden simmer in my mind, along with planned birding trips, wild flower walks and another summer at the CNC Homestead and Heritage Garden.  I'd like to try the new "bare foot" shoes and do more trail walking.  I've never been bothered by the long nights of winter.  In fact I revel in the slower pace and excuse to spend more time reading and dreaming.  One drawback is that it leaves me only about an hour a daylight after work so trips to CNC etc are pretty limited.  With the outdoor garden put to bed I content myself with indoor gardening.  The Dendrobium orchids have been blooming since I brought them inside two months ago, and the Phalenopis in the kitchen window has just begun to open it's dark rose blossoms.  I've been very please with the success I've had with these two, but my wish to to grow Paphiopedilums, the lady slipper types.  I've tried a couple times with no luck.  The jugs I filled from the rain barrel will carry most of the plants through.  I make sure to reserve it for the orchids since they are more sensitive to city water than some of the others. 

Winter - Bring it On

I’m a garden squatter – I admit it openly.  The vacant lot next door includes a long narrow bed across the front.  The previous tenant removed all but a few of the plants, leaving a fallow space just calling out for some attention.  It was here that I planted basil this past summer.  I decided to take over the bed for next spring but first it needed amending.  My neighbor’s big pile of chopped leaves provided loads of free organic matter.  I took a Saturday afternoon to dig over the bed.  Minutes into it, I realized why the basil struggle so.  The bed was choked with tree roots from the neighbor’s large silver maple.  Every shovel load had to be cut from the ground and the roots pulled out.  They ranged in size from mats of small feeder roots to larger ones the size of coaxial cable.  The largest, running tight against the front of the slab, was three inches thick.  I proceeded by digging trench the length of the bed, then mixed chopped leaves into the bottom and into the soil before refilling the trench.  I worked from front to back.  I had to remove some small perennials along the way, and found several clumps of bulbs.  After digging the whole bed, I spread several inches of leaves over the top.  My plan is to rent a tiller in the spring and work everything in well after it has “cooked” for the winter.

I had an opportunity to see how effective my sheet composted beds turned out.  I bought some spring bulbs to plant in the bed I created last fall.  Some of the bulbs also went in the small areas I converted this spring.  The difference in the soil in the two areas was startling.  The areas that were mulched with chopped leaves were loose and crumbly.  The new spaces were still heavy with clay.  After planting all the bulbs, I added another thick layer of chopped leaves to all the beds, including the bed across the back of the house.  I even added a sprinkling to the front beds.

I practiced a partial cleanup this fall.  The small plants I chopped up where the stood and left them lying to add to the organic matter.  The taller plants I cut down and hauled to the yard waste dumpster. 

Finally, I planted four flats of native plant seeds – Jack in the Pulpit, Red Bane Berry, Lesser Solomon Seal, Rattlesnake Plantain and Wild Quinine.  The flats will winter over beneath the front steps.  From this point on, most of my outdoor energy will go into filling bird feeders and shoveling snow.

Putting the Garden to bed

One of the greatest joys for me as a gardener is the direct connection to the changing seasons.  Gardeners in the north have to come to terms with a finite growing season.  While our comrades in the south and on the west coast may enjoy 12 months of growing, here in Michigan winter inevitably follows fall, and frost eventually wipes out all those tender plants.  Most years, the first killing frost comes around the end of October or early November.  By then, I'm ready to put things to bed for the winter, and even enjoy the tasks of pulling up the now dead plants I spent five months tending.  By now I have harvested plenty of tomatoes and know which varieties I will grow again next year (not Pearly Pink - too bland and mealy for my taste).  I realize that the four tomatoes I planted were too close together and next year will go in the planter boxes that housed my pumpkins and gourds.  The hot peppers were fun, but how many does one person need.  Next year I want to try some of the heirloom sweet peppers.  The cukes at work did so well I'm inspired to grow some at home next year.  My poor showing on the basil planting inspired me to amend the bed they were in this year - the soil was very heavy and compacted.  I hope to get some minor spring bulbs planted this weekend for early color next year.  I've also collected seed from some of my natives.  Most native seeds need a cold spell before they will sprout, so I will set up some flats to winter over.  They ones I planted last fall did very well.  I like to leave some of the plants standing for the winter.  Their stems add interest, and the winter finches feed on the seeds.  There are a few, however, that I won't leave.  Boneset and tick trefoil both self sow much to vigorously to leave in the garden.  The asters, goldenrods and sunflowers all provide winter food, and any seedling that some up and easy to move and welcome in other places.  My neighbor has left a pile of chopped leaves for me to use as mulch and soil amendment.  Tomorrow's forecast promises plenty of fall garden work.