This week we look back at the second week of April in the year 2003. Those who can recall, or who have their calendars scribbled with reminders, will remember April last year was a gentle month; in fact the best April we had experienced in years. By this time snow and ice were lingering only in shaded areas....
Over the years April has had more faces than the neighbourÂ’s children when they go HalloweÂ’en trick-or-treating. Some years, like 2003, April is a gentle, sweet month that works hard preparing the world for the real spring we dream of. Then there are years, unfortunately too many to mention, when March fights its way...
A naturalist in southern Ontario was observing an osprey near a small northern lake when suddenly it drifted from its perch, flew over the water, stopped and hovered in mid-air as is the way with that species, then plunged feet first to capture its prey.
We are discussing a walk along the shore of the river in the latter part of March 2001, and again were reminded that the release of the snow cover reveals much of the activities of the past winter. Sometime after the first snow had blanketed the area in the fall, a beaver had felled an aspen, chewed it into two-metre long logs and dragged its handiwork down to the riverbank where they remained....
Different Marches – different times. The walks of March melt into one huge landscape of memories, most of which contain cold, and snow. On a bad year February walks right through to the end of March without so much as a please or thank you, leaving us wondering if this is the year that snow will smother the ground for a full six months or more lending credence to the saying, “Summer was a nice day that year.” ...
It was on a March day that I ventured into the snow-covered world to visit Osprey Rock, a lookout that offers a commanding view of an osprey nest and the surrounding bushscape. Of course the ospreys wonÂ’t be nesting for another month and a half but since I am a frequent visitor to this site in the warmer months, a late winter visit seemed appropriate....
Our planet is a house of dominoes. Everything has an impact on something else, regardless of how benign it may appear, and how innocent its introduction may have been.
Now, six months later we are standing on that same pond, our boots sunk shin-deep in snow on ice that is at least 33 cm (1 ft.) thick. The summer-scape is barely recognizable in this world of white. The deciduous trees stand naked, their leaf buds prepared for the spring thaw. The skirts of the spruce are layered in snow, bearing the burden of winter snow and cold. Where is the life that brimmed this community not so long ago?
A red fox works its way slowly across a snow-covered meadow. It pauses occasionally, cocks its head in the classic listening pose as it stares at the snow. Finally it stops again, crouches low and then leaps high into the air landing with its front feet first. It buries its muzzle in the snow and emerges with a vole, a meadow mouse, that struggles briefly then is gone
How do they do it? How can natureÂ’s own survive the brutality that we call winter? As beautiful as it is, it is equally as deadly. While the snow insulates, it blocks easy access to food supplies and any effort to gain food uses precious energy. Any walk in the forest at this time of year causes one to wonder where the wildlife is.
