Summer is no more than a glimpse in the rear view mirror of fall now.
The birds continue to gather for migration, leaving backyard feeding stations and trees void of their gregarious chatter and song that was so obvious just three short months ago.
A growing population of Monarch butterflies are moving through the Valley in their fall migration. This is one of the best populations in the past decade. This is the "Methuselah generation." In late summer, aunique generation of Monarch butterflies is hatched. Unlike their parents, grandparents, all of whom had ephemeral lives measured only in weeks, the migratory butterflies survive seven or eight months.
This generation performs the incredible feat of flying from Canada and the United States to the center of Mexico to winter. This same generation will begin the trek north next spring. Once they reach the United States next spring, a kind of relay race begins. Their short-lived offspring lives only four or five
weeks. They continue the trek northward over several generations. Old feathered friends slip away under the cloak of darkness to avoid predators in the daytime sky. Many songbirds migrate at night, landing in early morning to rest and feed before continuing on their southward journey.
On the mountaintop there is a flock of flickers debugging the front yard, and down on McCoy Cove Road, the robins are congregating. Some will move farther south around the Atlanta area, but others will winter in the Valley. Overhead, there are at least a half dozen broadwing hawks riding the warm air currents of the
Valley. All of them are restless with the fall urge to move.
September's chill is beginning to reach over into the daylight hours, quickening the pulse of humans and wild critters alike. There is renewed vigor in the air. For insects the fires are beginning to burn prettylow. The first frost will thin their numbers out tremendously. On a balmy August night the tree crickets
fiddle around 160 notes a minute, and now they are down to about 40. As fall's chill deepens, theslowdown in the insect trickle to a close for another season. A few katydids and crickets will survive the first frosts, and proclaim their good fortune weakly, but by late October they will fall silent.
Then there will come the long, deep annual quiet until another spring breaks the silence that is so intense that one can hear a snow flake falling in the night, and an owl a half mile away proclaiming its territory.
Fall officially arrives on Friday, September 22, with early wintering sparrows landing in the Valley. When the autumnal equinox arrives, the sun crosses the equator and the lengths of day and night are equal.
Fawns have lost their spots, adult white tail bucks are rubbing the velvet off their antlers in anticipation of another rut season, and persimmons are starting to ripen. Acorns are falling like shots from the skyand squirrels are busy bury as many of them as they can. Snakes begin their winter dormancy, and bittersweet starts to ripen. Black gum, bittersweet and dogwood are showing rich fall colors.
May you always hear the whisper of wings.
© Copyright North American Wildlife Health Care Center
P.O. Box 155
Black Mountain, North Carolina, USA 28711
A non-profit 501-3-C organization dedicated to wildlife research and education
August brings subtle changes in nature in the valley
August brings a change in the light of day. The changes are subtle, but they are there at midday and at dusk. You see the light changes most clearly in the early morning hours just after dawn arrives.
It is still the light of summer, but the shadows lie differently than they did a month ago. There is a feel and a look of gathering haze.
Sunset no longer has its June clarity, and leans more toward a brassy color. Rain-washed air is more dazzling than it was in July.
Each season has its own light. Spring dawn literally sparkles with clarity. During May the middays are tinged with a subtle green to match the color of the new leaves. Fall days are golden, reflecting the season's haze. Winter's light is frosted and silvered. Winter dawns and dusks are wrapped in shades of blue light and purple. The shadows of winter are long, regardless of the time of day. The light of July and August dazzle with heat.
The sphinx moths are busy working the flower gardens now. Some folks call them hawk moths while others refer to them as hummingbird moths. They are winged marvels wearing quiet beauty of dark grays and browns and some have a dab of olive green. Each has a long sucking tube, coiled beneath its head. When it prepares to feed, it uncoils the tube and plunges it deep into the nectar of flowers. At one time it was a
hungry caterpillar attacking the tomatoes.
Goldenrod is in bloom, and mikweed is in its shed stage, sending silk parachutes carrying seeds floating on summer breezes. More sumac than usual is showing early color. The summer's drought is beginning to catch up with the season, allowing us a glimpse of the face of Autumn ahead of the calendar.
Katydids are green grasshoppers with built-in fiddles that play a somewhat monotonous three-note tune. They are in full voice every evening now. In nature, the katydid has a reputation to live up to as a prophet. Supposedly when you hear the katydid's first tune in late July, it is three months until the first frost. When one hears the katydid call during the daytime, usually in mid-August, it is supposed to be just six weeks until the first frost. There is no doubt that when the katydid begins to scratch the night with its tune,
the bloom is definitely fading from the roses of summer.
The katydid is heard at night, and the cicada plays a tune during the daytime. To some, the katydid seems to make the call, "Katydid, Katydid" over and over.
During the later part of July and throughout August until frost, katydids join a host of night criers, making the time of the year the noisiest. Only the male sings, and the female hears with ears located near her knees. It is the first frost that silences the night criers for another hear.
As August progresses,the katydid is joined by other night scratches.
Some resemble the katydid, and others are kinfolks, like crickets. All saw away at the night making sounds that only insects can make.
Joe-pye weed is in bloom and with its unfolding come the swallowtail butterflies floating lazily above the big pink heads. They land frequently to siphon nectar. The female looks like a dark shadow of a tier swallowtail. She is smoky-black with marginal yellow spotting at the bottom of the wing. There are squadrons of bumblebees accompanying the swallowtails.
The Joe-Pye-weed is named for a Native American, Joe Pye, who used the plant to cure typhus. It is a plant of short-lived beauty. Its flowers fade quickly, and give way to the ragweed plant. Ragweed is in its glory when the early fall's breezes work as a pollinator. The sneezes start, and drive those allergic to carrying boxes of tissue with them for several weeks.
Hummingbirds are beginning to migrate so look for more and more around the feeders fattening for the trip south. Wild grapes are ripening, and snapping turtle eggs are beginning to hatch. Copperhead babies are at least a week, and some are two weeks old. Bluebirds and robins are beginning to feast on the berries of dogwoods.
May you always be blessed with the whisp of wings.
© Copyright North American Wildlife Health Care Center
P.O. Box 155
Black Mountain, North Carolina, USA 28711
A non-profit 501-3-C organization dedicated to wildlife research and education
It is still the light of summer, but the shadows lie differently than they did a month ago. There is a feel and a look of gathering haze.
Sunset no longer has its June clarity, and leans more toward a brassy color. Rain-washed air is more dazzling than it was in July.
Each season has its own light. Spring dawn literally sparkles with clarity. During May the middays are tinged with a subtle green to match the color of the new leaves. Fall days are golden, reflecting the season's haze. Winter's light is frosted and silvered. Winter dawns and dusks are wrapped in shades of blue light and purple. The shadows of winter are long, regardless of the time of day. The light of July and August dazzle with heat.
The sphinx moths are busy working the flower gardens now. Some folks call them hawk moths while others refer to them as hummingbird moths. They are winged marvels wearing quiet beauty of dark grays and browns and some have a dab of olive green. Each has a long sucking tube, coiled beneath its head. When it prepares to feed, it uncoils the tube and plunges it deep into the nectar of flowers. At one time it was a
hungry caterpillar attacking the tomatoes.
Goldenrod is in bloom, and mikweed is in its shed stage, sending silk parachutes carrying seeds floating on summer breezes. More sumac than usual is showing early color. The summer's drought is beginning to catch up with the season, allowing us a glimpse of the face of Autumn ahead of the calendar.
Katydids are green grasshoppers with built-in fiddles that play a somewhat monotonous three-note tune. They are in full voice every evening now. In nature, the katydid has a reputation to live up to as a prophet. Supposedly when you hear the katydid's first tune in late July, it is three months until the first frost. When one hears the katydid call during the daytime, usually in mid-August, it is supposed to be just six weeks until the first frost. There is no doubt that when the katydid begins to scratch the night with its tune,
the bloom is definitely fading from the roses of summer.
The katydid is heard at night, and the cicada plays a tune during the daytime. To some, the katydid seems to make the call, "Katydid, Katydid" over and over.
During the later part of July and throughout August until frost, katydids join a host of night criers, making the time of the year the noisiest. Only the male sings, and the female hears with ears located near her knees. It is the first frost that silences the night criers for another hear.
As August progresses,the katydid is joined by other night scratches.
Some resemble the katydid, and others are kinfolks, like crickets. All saw away at the night making sounds that only insects can make.
Joe-pye weed is in bloom and with its unfolding come the swallowtail butterflies floating lazily above the big pink heads. They land frequently to siphon nectar. The female looks like a dark shadow of a tier swallowtail. She is smoky-black with marginal yellow spotting at the bottom of the wing. There are squadrons of bumblebees accompanying the swallowtails.
The Joe-Pye-weed is named for a Native American, Joe Pye, who used the plant to cure typhus. It is a plant of short-lived beauty. Its flowers fade quickly, and give way to the ragweed plant. Ragweed is in its glory when the early fall's breezes work as a pollinator. The sneezes start, and drive those allergic to carrying boxes of tissue with them for several weeks.
Hummingbirds are beginning to migrate so look for more and more around the feeders fattening for the trip south. Wild grapes are ripening, and snapping turtle eggs are beginning to hatch. Copperhead babies are at least a week, and some are two weeks old. Bluebirds and robins are beginning to feast on the berries of dogwoods.
May you always be blessed with the whisp of wings.
© Copyright North American Wildlife Health Care Center
P.O. Box 155
Black Mountain, North Carolina, USA 28711
A non-profit 501-3-C organization dedicated to wildlife research and education
June is the year at one of its best times
June is the maturing year at the altar - a bride with a bouquet of wild roses and sweet peas.
An early morning mist veils June. Webs of dew are her sparkling jewels. She is gowned with breathtaking sunrises and trimmed with a romantic full moon. It is the year becoming its best.
June is cornflower blue and day lily gold with the white lace of Carolina daisies. June is bridal wreath mixed with mock orange.
June is a time when the year settles down to the business at hand-growth and maturity. The frenzy of preparation is past. Now comes a more leisurely time. June is a time when nature pauses to catch up. The drive of July is yet to come.
June is a time of lush ripe strawberries in the mountains. They are tempting to man and bird. June is a time of peas in the garden, first lettuce and string beans in blossom. June is a time of sweet and fieldcorn pushing green spikes toward the sun, to the delight of resident crows.
June is a melodious, full throat wren singing at the window at 5 a.m., promising more for a few mealworms for her babies. June is wood thrushes in the evening, singing their sweet contralto songs. Dusk is a silky time of day waning into soft starlight. In nature, life is good in June.
The brown thrashers are plentiful this year, coming to feed at dusk on the ground under the bird feeders. They have come to expect an unclaimed peanut or two that a careless squirrel scattered. It is a too full squirrel that occasionally overlooks a favorite treat.
Mother Nature continues to surprise nature lovers with the unexpected. Recently, while preparing the dogs their dinner, I noticed a brown whatever scurrying across the driveway and start to climb an oak tree. The dogs are thoroughly modern ones, each one eating a prescription diet taliored to its needs. Where did the dogs go that could eat anything and thrive?
My first reaction to the brown whatever was that it had to be a raccoon. Closer observation proved the creature to be a groundhog making its way up the tree with a skitter of claws. I've never seen a groundhog climb before, and assumed something was after it.
No predator showed up. Soon the groundhog was 30 feet off the ground, surveying its world from a lofty perch. Occasionally it nibbled the lichen growing on the tree, and tasted various leaves. Obviously it was in no hurry to move on.
The groundhog clung to the tree in a fork of an Oak limb, eyeing me suspiciously. It turned around head down to get a groundhog's focus on me.
Of course, the creature wasn't about to come down with the biggest predator of all standing at the base of the tree with a gadget in her hand-camera. Mother Nature came to its rescue with a thunderstorm that sent me inside. The groundhog clung to the tree and nibbled, riding out the storm. Occasionally it shook, riding its hair of excess water and spraying an arched area of several feet of nothing but air with a shower of water.
Occasionally groundhog sounded off with a high pitch-piercing whistle, giving meaning to its folk name of "whistle pig." The whistle confirms that the creature was concerned about its predicament
Groundhogs spend 80 to 90 percent of daylight hours asleep. This guy was having a high altitude adventure in an Oak tree, when others of his species were snoozing. When the groundhog descended the mighty oaktree, he did so unceremoniously and let go of the tree about six feet from the ground, landing with an ungraceful thud, but no worse for the adventure.
May Mother Nautre be kind to you, and bless you with the whisper of wings.
© Copyright North American Wildlife Health Care Center
P.O. Box 155
Black Mountain, North Carolina, USA 28711
A non-profit 501-3-C organization dedicated to wildlife research and education
An early morning mist veils June. Webs of dew are her sparkling jewels. She is gowned with breathtaking sunrises and trimmed with a romantic full moon. It is the year becoming its best.
June is cornflower blue and day lily gold with the white lace of Carolina daisies. June is bridal wreath mixed with mock orange.
June is a time when the year settles down to the business at hand-growth and maturity. The frenzy of preparation is past. Now comes a more leisurely time. June is a time when nature pauses to catch up. The drive of July is yet to come.
June is a time of lush ripe strawberries in the mountains. They are tempting to man and bird. June is a time of peas in the garden, first lettuce and string beans in blossom. June is a time of sweet and fieldcorn pushing green spikes toward the sun, to the delight of resident crows.
June is a melodious, full throat wren singing at the window at 5 a.m., promising more for a few mealworms for her babies. June is wood thrushes in the evening, singing their sweet contralto songs. Dusk is a silky time of day waning into soft starlight. In nature, life is good in June.
The brown thrashers are plentiful this year, coming to feed at dusk on the ground under the bird feeders. They have come to expect an unclaimed peanut or two that a careless squirrel scattered. It is a too full squirrel that occasionally overlooks a favorite treat.
Mother Nature continues to surprise nature lovers with the unexpected. Recently, while preparing the dogs their dinner, I noticed a brown whatever scurrying across the driveway and start to climb an oak tree. The dogs are thoroughly modern ones, each one eating a prescription diet taliored to its needs. Where did the dogs go that could eat anything and thrive?
My first reaction to the brown whatever was that it had to be a raccoon. Closer observation proved the creature to be a groundhog making its way up the tree with a skitter of claws. I've never seen a groundhog climb before, and assumed something was after it.
No predator showed up. Soon the groundhog was 30 feet off the ground, surveying its world from a lofty perch. Occasionally it nibbled the lichen growing on the tree, and tasted various leaves. Obviously it was in no hurry to move on.
The groundhog clung to the tree in a fork of an Oak limb, eyeing me suspiciously. It turned around head down to get a groundhog's focus on me.
Of course, the creature wasn't about to come down with the biggest predator of all standing at the base of the tree with a gadget in her hand-camera. Mother Nature came to its rescue with a thunderstorm that sent me inside. The groundhog clung to the tree and nibbled, riding out the storm. Occasionally it shook, riding its hair of excess water and spraying an arched area of several feet of nothing but air with a shower of water.
Occasionally groundhog sounded off with a high pitch-piercing whistle, giving meaning to its folk name of "whistle pig." The whistle confirms that the creature was concerned about its predicament
Groundhogs spend 80 to 90 percent of daylight hours asleep. This guy was having a high altitude adventure in an Oak tree, when others of his species were snoozing. When the groundhog descended the mighty oaktree, he did so unceremoniously and let go of the tree about six feet from the ground, landing with an ungraceful thud, but no worse for the adventure.
May Mother Nautre be kind to you, and bless you with the whisper of wings.
© Copyright North American Wildlife Health Care Center
P.O. Box 155
Black Mountain, North Carolina, USA 28711
A non-profit 501-3-C organization dedicated to wildlife research and education
May is busy putting the icing on the season’s cake
From mid-May to June reminds me of being in a bakery where cakes are being decorated with frothy pastel colored icing. It is a confectionary time in nature.
There are apple blossoms and lilacs It is time between new leaf and full leaf canopies. It is a time of anemones and roses. May is a dainty time in nature.
The day starts early on the mountaintop with birds singing from their hearts. Soon after first light they begin to celebrate the dawn. It is easy to wake and for a few minutes listen and identify who is up and about. There is one male tufted titmouse that begins to call and announce his territory before the light arrives. Obviously he wants everyone to know who and where he is, especially the opposite sex.
The trees shimmer in the early light with their fresh new leaves that are still celery green. As the season matures, the leaves will become shades of darker green. Roadside grass is lush with newness, and hurries toward June's maturity. For those who suffer allergies to grass, it is not a comfortable season.
Wisps of silver mist hug the Valley. The busyness of the day has not intruded yet. One can hear the breeze whispering through the treetops as it tussles the young leaves. It is the sunrise hour, the beginning of another new day. June bugs are already out. These big, blundering beetles respond to spring with a hum all their own. They appear at dusk and linger into darkness, buzzing a greeting to
porch lights and lighted windows. They come from soft white grubs in the soil, but to look at their armored bodies and oddly stiff wings, one might think they are a product of a whimsical workshop.
If you stand outside near a light, one of the beetle bombers is likely to land on you, craw up your arm or crawl under your hair. Many young boys who didn't know any better used to tie a string to a leg and have their own beetle flying machine. Such behavior is much too boring for young boys today. I'm sure the June beetle is thankful that boys find it boring.
When a June beetle finds its way inside, it doesn't take long to hear it blundering against a wall or scratching with its six pairs of claws. The beetle lays a few dozen eggs in June or July with each egg tidily enclosed in a little ball of dirt. The eggs are placed in a shallow burrow in a garden or field and lawn. Each egg hatches into a white grub that as trouble crawling because of its large abdomen curled under the body. The grubs feed on roots of grass and other plants, often damaging crops and lawns.
Raccoons, skunks and bears enjoy a snack of beetle grubs when they can find them. In the fall the grubs burrow down to two feet in depth to spend the winter. In spring they surface to continue feeding and growing until fall arrives again. Once again they burrow deep in the ground.
In June or July of the following year the grubs become pupae, and in August or September the adult beetles hatch. Obviously, in the world of June beetles, Mother Nature takes her time.
The adult beetle continues to stay buried in the soil and does not emerge until the following spring. On a warm late May or early June evening, it emerges and flies to a close tree where it chews on the leaves and waits for mating and egg-laying time to arrive.
The June beetles have many predators. What raccoons, skunks and bears don't get, shrews, blackbirds and crows move in for a snack. It is the grubs that attract predators not the mature beetle. Black wasp burrows and paralyzes a grub by stinging it. Then the wasp lays an egg on the paralyzed victim's back. The wasp egg hatch and the larva fed on the body fluid of the living grub-finally consuming all of it. Surely the grubs and wasps would make great characters in a horror movie. Fishermen discovered long ago that a big fat white grub with a brown head makes good fishing bait.
When you see a June beetle in flight, it makes one wonder how the insect accomplishes the feat. The beetle shares the category of nature's impossibilities with the bumblebee.
When a beetle lands on its back, it is almost helpless, looking much like a tiny mechanical toy. They blunder into walls and furniture inside, and make a buzzing fuss that drives house cats insane until they locate the beetle. The claws make cats step back and ponder the bug. I have a Maine coon cat, Minnie, that can ponder a June beetle for at least an hour, before she gives up her beetle prey to one of her brothers, who is too lazy to do more than stare at it. It is the buzzing sound and the flailing claws that entice a cat to at least touch the bug.
The June bug persists in nature. They aren't pretty like butterflies, and wasps and bees are more industrious, but the beetles hold their own in nature's hierarchy.
May Mother Nature always be kind to you, and grant you the whisper of wings.
© Copyright North American Wildlife Health Care Center
P.O. Box 155
Black Mountain, North Carolina, USA 28711
A non-profit 501-3-C organization dedicated to wildlife research and education
There are apple blossoms and lilacs It is time between new leaf and full leaf canopies. It is a time of anemones and roses. May is a dainty time in nature.
The day starts early on the mountaintop with birds singing from their hearts. Soon after first light they begin to celebrate the dawn. It is easy to wake and for a few minutes listen and identify who is up and about. There is one male tufted titmouse that begins to call and announce his territory before the light arrives. Obviously he wants everyone to know who and where he is, especially the opposite sex.
The trees shimmer in the early light with their fresh new leaves that are still celery green. As the season matures, the leaves will become shades of darker green. Roadside grass is lush with newness, and hurries toward June's maturity. For those who suffer allergies to grass, it is not a comfortable season.
Wisps of silver mist hug the Valley. The busyness of the day has not intruded yet. One can hear the breeze whispering through the treetops as it tussles the young leaves. It is the sunrise hour, the beginning of another new day. June bugs are already out. These big, blundering beetles respond to spring with a hum all their own. They appear at dusk and linger into darkness, buzzing a greeting to
porch lights and lighted windows. They come from soft white grubs in the soil, but to look at their armored bodies and oddly stiff wings, one might think they are a product of a whimsical workshop.
If you stand outside near a light, one of the beetle bombers is likely to land on you, craw up your arm or crawl under your hair. Many young boys who didn't know any better used to tie a string to a leg and have their own beetle flying machine. Such behavior is much too boring for young boys today. I'm sure the June beetle is thankful that boys find it boring.
When a June beetle finds its way inside, it doesn't take long to hear it blundering against a wall or scratching with its six pairs of claws. The beetle lays a few dozen eggs in June or July with each egg tidily enclosed in a little ball of dirt. The eggs are placed in a shallow burrow in a garden or field and lawn. Each egg hatches into a white grub that as trouble crawling because of its large abdomen curled under the body. The grubs feed on roots of grass and other plants, often damaging crops and lawns.
Raccoons, skunks and bears enjoy a snack of beetle grubs when they can find them. In the fall the grubs burrow down to two feet in depth to spend the winter. In spring they surface to continue feeding and growing until fall arrives again. Once again they burrow deep in the ground.
In June or July of the following year the grubs become pupae, and in August or September the adult beetles hatch. Obviously, in the world of June beetles, Mother Nature takes her time.
The adult beetle continues to stay buried in the soil and does not emerge until the following spring. On a warm late May or early June evening, it emerges and flies to a close tree where it chews on the leaves and waits for mating and egg-laying time to arrive.
The June beetles have many predators. What raccoons, skunks and bears don't get, shrews, blackbirds and crows move in for a snack. It is the grubs that attract predators not the mature beetle. Black wasp burrows and paralyzes a grub by stinging it. Then the wasp lays an egg on the paralyzed victim's back. The wasp egg hatch and the larva fed on the body fluid of the living grub-finally consuming all of it. Surely the grubs and wasps would make great characters in a horror movie. Fishermen discovered long ago that a big fat white grub with a brown head makes good fishing bait.
When you see a June beetle in flight, it makes one wonder how the insect accomplishes the feat. The beetle shares the category of nature's impossibilities with the bumblebee.
When a beetle lands on its back, it is almost helpless, looking much like a tiny mechanical toy. They blunder into walls and furniture inside, and make a buzzing fuss that drives house cats insane until they locate the beetle. The claws make cats step back and ponder the bug. I have a Maine coon cat, Minnie, that can ponder a June beetle for at least an hour, before she gives up her beetle prey to one of her brothers, who is too lazy to do more than stare at it. It is the buzzing sound and the flailing claws that entice a cat to at least touch the bug.
The June bug persists in nature. They aren't pretty like butterflies, and wasps and bees are more industrious, but the beetles hold their own in nature's hierarchy.
May Mother Nature always be kind to you, and grant you the whisper of wings.
© Copyright North American Wildlife Health Care Center
P.O. Box 155
Black Mountain, North Carolina, USA 28711
A non-profit 501-3-C organization dedicated to wildlife research and education
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