A cold rain batters the window panes as Penelope and I stare outside at the frigid deluge thinking all the adventures and chores that aren't happening on it's account. This morning we woke to a dusting of snow which quick melted off and yielded to the freezing rain as the first decent winter-like storm pummels it's way over the Rockies, through the Great Plains and now the shore of Lake Superior.
We were entertained while brushing our teeth the other morning by a pileated woodpecker boring his way through a dead poplar outside our window. Pileated woodpeckers look like a pterodactyl- a relic of the mesozoic. One of the largest woodpeckers in the world (the largest in Minnesota and most likely in North America too as the Ivory-billed in considered extinct) they navigate the tight balsam understory with their two foot wingspans in a remarkably graceful manner; swooping from dead snag to snag to barrel their large beaks into the punky wood in order to find carpenter ants and whatever other grub there may be.
While walking down the road a falcon unsuccessfully assaulted a flock of snow buntings. It always amazes me when a flock of birds or a school of fish manuevers in such a tight formation. How are they able to make such quick turns? Is there a single leader making the turn? As it turns out, there is a lot of research out there about this. Basically, the flock acts as one due to what is known as collective animal behavior. Each individual makes an independent decision based on distance, heading and position of the others. The incentive is to stay in a group where they have safety in numbers. Therefore, if one bird needs to drastically change direction because a falcon swoops in to attack, a succession of decisions would be made by the birds around that one to do the same and the rest would follow. An observer would see the seemingly effortless collective change in course without necessarily realizing all of the individual decisions that were made by each of the individuals.
I spotted a large, gorgeous fisher on a road in the Greenwood country. On it's back it had a brown hour glass-shape patch with a more typically black coat of oily weaselly fur. Fisher are known in the north woods for their fierce personalities. Their claim to fame is that of the porcupines' predator. Think about it: hunting and killing a porcupine! Most animals steer clear of the quilled critter. The fisher, however, is quick enough to stay right in the face of a porcupine where they have no quills and claw out it's senses before going for the kill. Found in the unspoiled and dense forests of the area, they commonly roam a territory of over one hundred square miles.
A meteorite dropped through the atmosphere last night above me. It's green trail plunged right in front of me within a second of stepping outside. I imagined a rock that has been aimlessly careening through space for eons suddenly get sucked in the gravity of earth's mass and burn up in a few brilliant seconds of fame for the few souls whom happened to be looking up at that exact space and time. I'm usually not like this but the timing sent a chill through me.
Around the homestead winter preparations continue. I have been insulating pipes and continue to work on the finishing touches of the plumbing project. Beyond that my time is spent steadily progressing on splitting firewood.
The snow shoe hare are now dressed in their winter whites. Personally, there comes a time every season when I am ready for the next. This is a great thing about the upper Midwest. We get all four seasons so one particular time of the year never truly gets old because by the time it does, you're on to the next! With that said, I'm ready for winter. I'm ready to be packing ski trails, staring down holes in the ice waiting for fish to bite and a change of pace...
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