Is there an Ides of April? Yes, indeed. Apparently the Romans had three significant date markers in the month, all of which were linked to lunar phases. The Kalends was always the first day of the month; the Nones, was the day in the first week of the month when the moon was a quarter full; and the Ides, marked the day near the middle of the month when the moon was full. Did the Ides always fall on the fifteenth? No, only in March, May, July and October. The Ides in all of the remaining months falls on the thirteenth. It apparently depended on which day was the eighth day following the Nones. I learned all of this while searching for the answer to 'should we beware the Ides of April?', if there actually is one. So, April 13th was the Ides of April. Is it to blame for the widespread meteorological havoc taking place outside my window? Possibly not.The whole 'Beware the..." was not a Roman thing anyways, it was a particularly clever and memorable phrase created by Shakespeare, who would never have dreamed that it would affect the generations of calendar watchers to follow. Therefore, in the pursuit of an explanation for the inexplicable, what I decided was; having recalled that there was a snowfall in April 1983, when I was in hospital having given birth to my son, so this is a cosmic re-creation in celebration of his 35th name day on April 14th.
Living in Southern Ontario one has certain expectations of the seasonal weather patterns. It should be spring..it is not. Things are not budding or blooming or tweeting as they should be. As I look out the window there are robins huddled in the shrubs looking decided disgruntled as the rain that they had warbled for, has arrived in stinging, pellet form. There is a cardinal holding onto a lower maple branch for dear life, as clearly the upper canopy is a dangerous place to be today. He straightens up, puffs his chest out and his crest extends as he makes his spring announcements regarding his territory and social availability, then gives up and heads to the safety of the hedge.
Taking a chance that the weather predictions might actually be accurate for the weekend, I decided a walk by the river would be a good idea last Friday. It was dismal; the sky was overcast, the forest was colourless, and truthfully, I was feeling pretty dismal too. It seemed important to walk more slowly and just take time to look a little more carefully; to try and focus on being in the moment and change the trajectory of my thoughts for a while.
I saw a case of 'Gnawus interruptus' on this twig showing that the rabbit either didn't like its flavour, or was startled away. Rabbits usually girdle a branch when they feed, which means that they chew all the way around the twig leaving it completely bare for large sections up as high as they can reach. Apparently voles will do the same but the sections chewed are low, usually beneath the snow.
Then I saw a sign that, despite most other evidence, spring was making some effort. The skunk cabbage has been visible for weeks because it creates its own micro climate; it heats up its own little area melting the snow around it. But on several plants leaves were emerging, providing a little greenery in the swampy area beside the path.
Skunk cabbage provides some of the first colour of spring with their purple spikes poking through the snow. The mottled purple part is called the spathe and its shape helps to create a warm environment that can be up to 25 degrees higher than the outer air temperature. The rounded inner structure is called the spadix. If any part of the plant is crushed or bruised, the aptness of its name will become apparent.
I saw a chickadee land on the top of a sapling whose top had recently broken off.
As I watched, it flew off only to be replaced by another one that completely disappeared into the tree. There is obviously a hollow inside that narrow trunk, that is big enough for a wee bird looking for a nesting spot.
There was some recent excavation work done beside the path; maybe a spring remodel in progress by one of these busy little creatures.
This unassuming little brown bird is a female cowbird who has wandered into the neighborhood for nesting time. She is considered a brood parasite, which means that she watches where the songbirds nest, then sneaks in like a ninja and leaves an egg in their nest where it will hopefully hatch and be raised. This fascinating, but atypical bird behaviour is being studied in an effort to understand why it happens, and the effect on the cowbird eggs as well as the host family. She may not seem like a Mother of the Month candidate, but I will not judge.
While our winter friend the Tree sparrow flies to regions in the north to nest, the Song sparrow is arriving here to nest. These sweet little birds have a streaky breast with a dot on it, and a lovely trill that announces their presence.
One might think that in the midst of the aforebemoaned drabness, that something bright yellow would not go unnoticed. I did not, however, see the Colt's-foot patch until I was walking back from the bridge. Its common name of Coughwort, comes from its Latin name of Tussilago, "tussis" meaning cough. Pliny describes the burning of its leaves and roots over cypress charcoal as a remedy for cough, so its use is quite ancient. I could find no enlightment as to why it is then called Colt's-foot.
I happened to hear this Red-bellied woodpecker and actually locate it before it flew off. I don't know if it was making a new home or inspecting work done on an existing one. Maybe just house hunting.
In an ongoing search for weird stuff, I happened to see this. It is about the size of a grapefruit and I think a fungus, but as Google and I are not finding a match, it shall at this time remain nameless. Sometimes it is hard to know if this is what it is supposed to look like, or the remains of something.
At first glance I thought this muskrat was a beaver because it was so much larger than the muskrats that I usually see, and his tail was so long and wide. It was across the canal and I watched it climb up the bank to forage, then make its way back down to the water's edge to eat. Such lovely table manners too.
This is an adult male nuthatch because his markings are darker and more distinct than those of the female. He has a seed in his beak that he may be going to cache under the bark. They spend their time foraging in the bark of trees for insects and other treats.
There was a second White-breasted nuthatch on this tree. As they typically navigate a tree in a downward spiral, it was interesting to catch this one heading up. This is may be the female of the pair. Apparently male nuthatches espouse the belief that what is mine, is mine and what is yours is also mine, so the female might just be keeping an eye on where her less generous spouse is.
By the time I was winding up my walk, I decided that although the vegetation seems not to have got the memo that it is spring, there is definite evidence that the wildlife is on schedule. I saw a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker in Sherbrooke, Quebec last spring, but this is the first time I have ever seen one here.
While Sherbrooke is in the nesting region for this bird, we are in a migration path, so to see this one was pretty exciting. Sapsuckers are about the size of the red-bellied woodpecker, and just as a red belly is absent on the woodpecker, so is the yellow belly absent on the sapsucker. Nomenclature is a strange and wondrous thing. I do however know that this is a male because he has a red head and a red throat.
If you see a tree with a pattern of holes drilled in it similar to this, you will know that sapsuckers have been in your area. They feed on the sugary sap that gathers in these little wells, along with any insects that may have got stuck there.
So I have walked for over an hour; not a long time in the scheme of things. The sky is still dismal and the forest mostly colourless, but tucked away, if you look, there are things to brighten the spirit. Things to marvel at, and wonder about. Am I still dismal? No. The pause has refreshed.
