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HomeMy WebLinkAboutJanuary 13, 2005 - Let's take a winter walkOfficial Newspaper of Southold Town Let's take a winter walk Focus on Nature By Paul Stoutenburgh The morning had started out as one of those dull, overcast days that don't do much to spur you on, but, nevertheless, jobs had to be done and the routine of the day moved on Later on in the day you could almost feel the snow hanging above you. waiting to fall. Then it started, first as an occasional flake, and then more and more, until by late afternoon the frozen ground was white. Why don't you come with me? We' ll walk out from the house to the little bam where we keep the hay and feed the animals_ By now the one big animal has let the neighborhood know he wants to be fed. You've heard the term "bullhorn," the device used to amplify voices so they can be heard over a crowd? Well, this bull has his own " bullhorn" that really echoes through the neighborhood_ Most animals put on extra fat and fur as the cold winter sets in The snow on the backs of these cows doesn't even melt, as the added fur of winter acts as the perfect insulator_ Times/Review photo by Paul Stoutenburgh Glad you could join me on my walk. Let's start out across the lawn and then through a Me patch of woods to the old bam we brought here from up on the Main Road some 40 years ago. In those early days, you could do things without much red tape. You just let the building inspector know what you were doing, and that was 4. And so we borrowed a contractor's heavy-duty trailer, jacked up the building, put it on the trailer and pulled it across the frozen farm fields to where it now rests in our woods. The bam's 14inch -wide siding tells a story of days gone by. I'm sure the siding was cut from native white pine that, 100 years ago, could be found right here on our island. White pine is still found in some groves over on the south shore, in back of Sag Harbor, but that's another story. The chickens are jabbering away in their pen, wanting a fresh scoop of grain. Three of them won't go in the pen, but weather the night outside in the cold. Later, as the temperature drops and the frigid air sinks in, well find these 'outside" chickens losing their combs to frostbite, but they want it that way, and so we leave them out to roost in the trees. When the others go into the little henhouse, their bodies will give off enough heat to keep them all warm_ But it's the cows that need our attention, so well step inside the bam and grab an old kitchen knife that' s kept in a special spot and cut the bale open_ Once cut, the bale sort of pops open, as it was tied under heavy pressure. We throw some hay into the manger and the two big cows move in to feed. The smaller one waits outside because the two bigger ones push him around, so I feed him outside_ Once they' re all fed, silence takes over, except for the munching you hear as they indulge in their daily allotment of hay. By now there's a light coating of snow on the backs of the animals that shows how well insulated they are from the cold_ In the winter the cow's fur increases in thickness, so it' s like putting on another coat The Suffolk Times I Lets take a winter walk Page 2 of 2 The chickens get fed next They're always glad to see me. Wflh the chickens fed, l go in and pick up their eggs, put them in my pocket, and hope 17I remember them. There could be a problem if 1 don't I speak from experience. Years ago, while chaperoning a group of school kids to the planetarium, I had gone out as usual to feed the animals, and picked up a still -warm early - moming egg and put it in my pocket, planning to take it out before I left. The day was busy, as it always is, with keeping youthful teenagers together and, in general, aiming them in the right direction. UtHe thought was given to the egg in my pocket. Most of the day passed without incident but then, somewhere along the way, my egg got crushed. How did I know it was crushed? I put my hand in my pocket to get my handkerchief and felt something wet and slimy. What a mess! Enough of chickens and crushed eggs. Our chores now done, let's wander down by the pond. With the snow still coming down, it makes everything special, particularly the pond, but watch your step, for you could twist your ankle on the uneven ground. Down at the pond, everything is white with the exception of the unfrozen water, which is jet black. It has resisted freezing up to now. Ducks and herons visit here on warmer days. The branches of the trees and shrubs are starting to acquire their own coat of white, giving our world a fairy-tale look. Well walk by the pile of old irrigation pipes and 171 recall years ago when I had occasion to use it It gave me an appreciation of what the farmer goes through, slopping around in the wet ooze of earth saturated by irrigation, requiring the pipes to be moved to the next location every three hours or so. All night long the roar of the engine would go on. I can remember when the engine's manifolds would get red-hot as it did its job of pulling water out of the earth and putting it on the parched land. We're up back now, where the land was once farmed, but you'd never know it, for Ws all pasture now. Everything here is coated with white. Everywhere the whiteness takes over and we walk farther along until we come to the windmill, which has now been tied down for the winter. It awaits spring, when it will once again come alive and start pumping water. Its winter job is to ad as a weather vane. It points into the wind and tells its story of the weather to come. Now we pass through the little orchard, separated from the pasture by a rugged fence. Once the cows got in and stripped the bark off two of my choice apple trees. Some nerve. They can actually kill a tree, which I can vouch for, as we once had a large willow I'd planted down by the pond. One day one of the cows decided to have willow bark for lunch. It completely debarked that willow and, sure enough, in time the tree died. The orchard stops and we walk through the garden. Without the snow that brightens it up, irs a sad sight in the winter. IWII finish our walk by passing under the arbor that's covered with roses in the summertime and ads as an entrance to the garden. IYs been fun being with you. Let's do it again come spring. 2005 Times - Review Newspapers httpJ/ w% vw2. timesreview. com/ ST /community/286837392667562.php 1/13/2005 The Suffolk Times • January 13, 2005 Let's take a winter wal THE MORNING HAD STARTED out as one of those dull, overcast days that don't do much to spur you on, but, nevertheless, jobs had to be done and the routine of the day moved on. Later on in the day you could almost feel the snow hanging above you, waiting to fall. Then it started, first as an occasional flake, and then more and more, until by late afternoon the frozen ground Focus was white. Why don't you ON come with me? NATURE We'll walk out by Paul from the house Stoutenbu h to the little barn where we keep the hay and feed the animals. By now the one big ani- mal has let the neighborhood know he wants to be fed. You've heard the term "bullhorn," the device used to amplify voices so they can be heard over a crowd? Well, this bull has his own "bullhorn" that really echoes through the neighborhood. Glad you could join me on my walk Let's start out across the lawn and then through a little patch of woods tc the old barn we brought. here from up on the Main Road some 40 years ago. In those early days, you could do things without much red tape. You just let the building inspector know what you were doing, and that was it. And so we borrowed a contractor's heavy - duty trailer, jacked up the building, put it on the trailer and pulled it across the frozen farm fields to where Times /Review photo by Paul Stoutenburgh Most animals put on extra fat and fur as the cold winter sets In. The snow on the backs of these cows doesn't even melt, as the added fur of winter acts as the perfect Insulator. it now rests m our woods. The barn's 14 -inch -wide siding tells a story of days gone by. I'm sure the siding was cut from native white pine that, 100 years ago, could be found right here on our island. White pine h still found in some groves over on the south shore, in back of Sag Harbor, but that's another story. The chickens are jabbering away in their pen, wanting a fresh scoop of ain. Three of them won't go in the en, but weather the night outside in he cold. Later, as the temperature drops and the frigid air sinks in, we'll find these "outside" chickens losing their combs to frostbite, but they wan it that way, and so we leave them out to roost in the trees. When the others go into the little henhouse, their bod- ies will give off enough heat to keep them all warm. But it's the cows that need our attention, so we'll step inside the barn and grab an old kitchen knife that's kept in a special spot and cut the bale open. Once cut, the bale sort of pops open, as it was tied under heavy pres- sure. We throw some hay into the manger and the two big cows move in to feed. The smaller one waits outside because the two bigger ones push him around, so I feed him outside. Once they're all fed, silence takes over except for the munching you hear as they indulge in their daily allotment of hay. By now there's a light coating of snow on the backs of the animals that shows how well insulated they, are from the cold. In the winter the cow's fur increases in thickness, so it's like putting on another coat. The chickens get fed next. They're always glad to see me. With the chick ens fed, I go in and pick up.their eggs, put them in my pocket, and hope I'll remember them. There could be a problem if I don't. I speak from expe- rience. Years ago, while chaperoning a group of school kids to the planetari- um, I had gone out as usual to feed the animals, and picked up a still - warm early- morning egg and put it in my pocket, planning to take it out before I left. The day was busy, as it always is, with keeping youthful teenagers together and, in general, aiming them in the right direction. Everywhere the whiteness takes over. Little thought was given to the egg in my pocket. Most of the day passed without incident but then, somewhere along the way, my egg got crushed. How did I know it was crushed? I put my hand in my pocket to get my handkerchief and felt something wet and slimy. What a mess! Enough of chickens and crushed eggs. Our chores now done, let's wander down by the pond. With the snow still coming down, it makes everything special, particularly the pond, but watch your step, for you could twist our ankle on the uneven ground. Down at the pond, everything is white with the exception of the mfrozen water, which is jet black. It as resisted freezing up to now. Ducks nd herons visit here on warmer days. e branches of the trees and shrubs re starting to acquire their own coat of white, giving our world a fairy-tale We'll. walk by the pile of old irriga- tion pipes and I'll recall years ago when I had occasion to use it. It gave me an appreciation of what the farmer goes through, slopping around in the wet ooze of earth saturated by irriga- tion, requiring the pipes to be moved to the next location every three hours or so. All night long the roar of the engine would go on. I can remember when the engine's manifolds would get red -hot as it did its job of pulling water out of the earth and putting it on the parched land. We're up back now, where the land was once farmed, but you'd never know it, for it's all pasture now. Everything here is coated with white. Everywhere the whiteness takes over and we walk farther along until we come to the windmill, which has now been tied down for the winter. It awaits spring, when it will once again come alive and start pumping water. Its winter job is to act as a eather vane. It points into he wind and tells its story f the weather to come. Now we pass through the little orchard, separated from the pasture by a rugged fence. Once the cows got in and stripped the bark off two of my choice apple trees. Some nerve. They can actually kill a tree, which I can vouch for, as we once had a large wil- low I'd planted down by the pond. One day one of the cows decided to have willow bark for lunch. It com- pletely debarked that willow and, sure enough, in time the tree died. The orchard stops and we walk through the garden. Without the snow that brightens it up, it's a sad sight in the winter. We'll finish our walk by passing under the arbor that's covered with roses in the summertime and acts as an entrance to the garden. It's been fun being with you. Let's do it again come sorine.