It’s cold - minus 13 Celsius when I woke up, balmy compared to the minus 40 of a few days ago. It’s snowing lightly, the village a smudge on the horizon that periodically fades out of view, and then it’s a blank, the bare trees etched against a white landscape. My bird friends bring the prospect to life – almost 30 Mourning Doves, around 20 Goldfinches, a pair of Blue Jays, two pairs of Juncos, a few Chickadees, a Downy Woodpecker. The numbers and composition of the little flock have remained constant all winter, with an occasional appearance by a passing Chipping Sparrow or Grackle.
Yesterday brought a surprise, though – a thud against the window, and I looked up to see a Cooper’s Hawk soaring away, with a stunned Mourning Dove left on the ground. The hawk, which I have seen several times this winter, circled the house and I rushed to the back to see it making a strong flight away, hopefully uninjured. The Mourning Dove was gone when I returned – so it had a lucky escape. I have decals on the window to alert birds to the fact that the tree reflections on the glass aren’t habitat, and I find they need to be about 8 inches apart. A couple have fallen off, leaving a larger clear space, and that’s where the hawk thought it could get through. It’s too cold to get the decals to stick, so I took a wax pencil and scribbled a pattern on the glass. Not elegant, but it should do the job for now.
The red squirrels are active, racing along the fence carrying black walnuts from their cache by the Manitoba Maple to wherever it is they live in the evergreen windbreak. I was shocked to learn, on a recent visit to the Angus Tree Seed Plant, that seed collectors look for squirrel caches to raid, it’s the easiest way of gathering the nuts. But I was assured that squirrels always cache way more than they need and they are not left to starve. My squirrels have been infrequent visitors at the bird feeders this winter, so between the walnuts and the cones on the spruces, they must be doing well. I pour maple syrup onto my morning yoghurt and hope the jug will last till April, when my sugarbush neighbours will have this year’s harvest for sale.
I don’t remember it being this cold or this snowy for this long since I moved to Huronia in the 1980s. On Wednesday, the thermometer had dropped to minus 40, Celsius or Fahrenheit. I also recorded minus 40 on January 3. Hard to take, especially with the long stretches without sun which always make winter wearying. On the plus side, pests like the Emerald Ash Borer are killed at minus 30, while this excellent snow cover keeps plants and trees protected.
The end of January marks the beginning of the coming year’s work in the garden. The perennial seed that I saved or ordered last year is soon to be started, at least those seeds that need cold treatment. See
last year’s blog for perennial seed-starting advice. I'll do a final examination of the seed catalogues and a check of specialty nurseries’ websites for possible last-minute additions to this year’s orders. My own website listing won’t be complete until April, when I see what has made it through the winter and what new material is ready to be listed. It won’t be long. I can feel the pulse. Spring is on its way. My sale will be May 31.
I just went out, and I take it all back. The bird feeders are hanging at waist level because of the height of the snow and the compost bin has to be dug out of a snow drift. It’s wicked. There’s wind, there’s snow, there’s a penetrating cold. The only pulse is the pulse of a vengeful Arctic, trying to obliterate us. Winter has us in its grip. Hibernate.
