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HomeMy WebLinkAboutJuly 14, 2005 - On wrens and roughing itServing Long Island's North Fork since 1857 On wrens and roughing it Focus on Nature By Paul Stoutenburgh How did you like last week's Fourth of July weather? I can't remember when we had such perfect weather. The clouds held off as if someone had control of the string that opened the curtain to those days of wonder. I remember getting up before sunrise and walking out into the garden to capture the awakening of the day. Dew was dripping from every leaf and limb. As I walked across the lawn, my cool, wet sneakers told me the dew had not skipped the lawn. Like many of us who dress up for special occasions, when there's heavy dew things take on a "dress -up" look, as we see on this sparkling spider web. Times /Review photos by Paul Stoutenburgh We had to scale down our once - productive garden because the deer had taken over. The once- productive orchard of dwarf apple trees, peach trees and pear trees looked like skeletons, with little clumps of green trying to come back. But it' s no use — as soon as those new leaves show themselves, the deer come in for breakfast, or is it dinner? The only things we now try to raise are a few tomato plants and a goodly crop of flowers that we can pick for the house, and those are behind a specially built wire cage six feet high that sits over my raised flower beds. My early - moming walk was heralded by a chorus of bird songs. The friendly catbird does its best at this time of the day. It's a bird that is busy right now hunting for inchworms that have dropped from the treetops. They've eaten their fill of tree leaves, and now, for their next metamorphosis, they drop out of their leafy feeding grounds on their almost invisible thread of silk to the earth below. Ifs here the catbird and others hunt them out and feast on them. It's all part of the so- called balance of nature. Without these checks and balances, we would be overrun by unwanted pests of one sort or another. Of course the robin sings its joyous song, but by now there is less of it because it's nesting time and birds don't sing quite like they do when courting. Let's hope we can all relate to those never to be forgotten "courting days." But of all the bird calls, the one most persistent, if not the most vocal, is the chatter of the house wren. It seems it wants to be heard above all. It has spent most of the previous days filling every bird box on the place with sticks and debris of all sorts. Does it do this house stuffing to keep away the competition? One can only speculate. The energy the little wren puts into singing and flitting about is something we humans can hardly comprehend. No matter where we are on the property, the call of this ever- moving little brown wren can be heard. As a matter of fact, I believe this male house wren has another partner, for now I see a chasing game going on. My mother always called this little house wren "Jenny wren." Once it built its nest in her clothespin bag, which she had left on the clothesline. Clothes were draped over the line for the duration of Jenny's domestic duties, leaving the clothespin bag unused The Suffolk Times I On wrens and roughing it The North Shore Sun except for Jenny's nest. Our garage door is never shut and this offers Jenny a place to explore and nest. Was 1 ever surprised to have her fly from in back of an oil can, just as t went to get it. She had used the shelf, with all its trappings of rags, oil cans and old sprinkler heads, to build her nest Again she won out, and another source of oil had to be found. I get many calls from readers telling me of "their" bird that built its nest in a hanging flower basket, which brings to mind the lady who was shopping for a colorful hanging basket for her front porch. She found just what she was looking for and took it down from where it hung amongst other flowering baskets when one of the attendants working there called out: "You can't have that onel It has'our bird's nest in it" Sure enough, Jenny wren had chosen one of the best hanging baskets to build her nest In. Everyone working there made sure nothing would happen to Jenny's castle unfit all her domestic duties were over. Needless to say, the fatly found another hanging basket for her front porch. Heavy dew reminded me of years ago when my son and his cousin wanted to go camping. It was a time when few people were around and no one minded if you camped overnight on one of the many beaches we had in those early days. It was their hope to "rough ft," like they'd seen In the movies. They would sleep on the ground in front of a fire and have bacon and eggs fried on a hot skillet That was fine with me but I thought I'd do some extra packing just in case. All went well. We cooked bacon and eggs on the skillet and put potatoes in the fire to cook — mic les" we called them. When the potatoes looked like charcoal briquettes we took them out, opened them up and the steaming white potato inside was there to enjoy. It was a perfect night and we swapped Dad and boys' talk until the fire went low. The boys slept on the sand and 1 climbed into my sleeping bag. About 4 or 5 in the morning, the dew had started to engulf everything, and it felt as if it were really raining. Needless to say, everything was wet. That is, everything but Inside my sleeping bag, which 1 was thoroughly enjoying. But I had to give those two boys credit; wet, sandy and barefoot, they cooked bacon and eggs again. This time with a bit more sand In them but nevertheless we survived, and I think we all learned something about "roughing ft." The next time they'd use sleeping bags I'm sure, and I learned never to doubt the enthusiasm of the young. 2005 Times - Review Newspapers Terms of Service - Privacy Policy Page 2 of 2 hq:// www2. timesreview. com /ST /Stories/298409043481417.php 7/14/2005 The Suffolk Times • July 14, n wrens and roughing HOW DID YOU LIKE last week's Fourth of July weather? I can't remem- ber when we had such perfect weather. The clouds held off as if someone had ontrol of the string that opened the curtain to those days of wonder. I re- member getting up before sunrise and walking out into the garden to capture the awakening of the day. Dew was dripping from every leaf and Focus limb. As I walked across the lawn, ON my cool, wet NATURE sneakers told me the dew had not by Paul skipped the lawn. Stoutenburgh We had to scale down our it garden because the deer had taken over. The once- productive orchard of dwarf apple trees, peach trees and pear trees looked like skeletons, with little clumps of green trying to come back. But it's no use — as soon as those new leaves show themselves, the deer come in for breakfast, or is it dinner? The only things we now try to raise are a few tomato plants and a goodly crop of flowers that we can pick for the house, and those are behind a speciallybuiltwirecagesixfeethighthatsits over my raised flower beds. Like many of us who dress up for special occasions, when there's heavy dew things take on a "dress - up" look, as we see in this simple grape leaf and sparkling spider web. Suffolk Times photos by Paul Stoutenburgh My early - morning walk was her- alded by a chorus of bird songs. The friendly catbird does its best at this time of the day. It's a bird that is busy right now hunting for inchworms that have dropped from the treetops. They've eaten their fill of tree leaves, and now, for their next metamorpho- sis, they drop out of their leafy feed- ing grounds on their almost invisible thread of silk to the earth below. It's here the catbird and others hunt them out and feast on them. It's all part of the so -called balance of nature. With- out these checks and balances, we would be overrun by unwanted pests of one sort or another. Of course the robin sings its joyous song, but by now there is less of it be- cause it's nesting time and birds don't sing quite like they do when courting. Let's hope we can all relate to those never to be forgotten "courting days." But of all the bird calls, the one most persistent, if not the most vocal, is the chatter of the house wren. It seems it wants to be heard above all. It has spent most of the previous days filling every bird box on the place with sticks and debris of all sorts. Does it do this house stuffing to keep away the com- petition? One can only speculate. The energy the little wren puts into sing- ing and flitting about is something we humans can hardly comprehend. No matter where we are on the property, the call of this ever - moving little brown wren can be heard. As a matter of fact, I believe this male house wren has another partner, for now I see a chasing game going on My mother always called this little house wren "Jenny wren." Once it built its nest in her clothespin bag, which she had left on the clothesline. Clothes were draped over the line for the dura- tion of Jenny's domestic duties, leaving the clothespin bag unused except for Jenny's nest. Our garage door is never shut and this offers Jenny a place to explore and nest. Was I ever surprised to have her fly from in back of an oil can, just as I went to get it. She had used the shelf, with all its trappings of rags, oil cans and old sprinkler heads, to build her nest. Again she won out, and another source of oil had to be found. I get many calls from readers telling me of "their" bird that built its nest in a hanging flower basket, which brings to mind the lady who was shopping for a colorful hanging basket for her front porch. She found iust what she was looking for and took it down from where it hung amongst other flower- ing baskets when one of the attendant: working there called out: "You can't have that one! It has `our' bird's nest in it." Sure enough, Jenny wren had cho- sen one of the best hanging baskets to build her nest in. Everyone working there made sure nothing would happet to Jenny's castle until all her domestic duties were over. Needless to say, the lady found another hanging basket for her front porch. heavy clew reminded me of years ago when my son and his cousin wanted to go camping. It was a time when few people were around and no one minded if you camped overnight on one of the many beaches we had in those early days. It was their hope to rough it," like they'd seen in the mov- ies. They would sleep on the ground in front of a fire and have bacon and egg; fried on a hot skillet. That was fine with me but I thought I'd do some extra packing just in case. All went well. We cooked bacon and eggs on the skillet Jenny wren and put potatoes had choseninthefireto cook _ "mick_ one of the ies" we called best hang - them. When the ing basketspotatoeslooked like charcoal bri- to build her quettes we took nest in. them out, opened them up and the steaming white potato inside was there to enjoy. It was a perfect night and we swapped Dad and boys' talk until the fire went low. The boys slept on the sand and I climbed into my sleeping bag. About 4 or 5 in the morning, the dew had started to engulf everything, and it felt as if it were really raining. Need- less to say, everything was wet. That is, everything but inside my sleeping bag, which I was thoroughly enjoying. But I had to give those two boys credit; wet, sandy and barefoot, they cooked bacon and eggs again. This time with a bit more sand in them but nevertheless we survived, and I think we all learned something about roughing it." The next time they'd use sleeping bags I'm sure, and I learned never to doubt the enthusiasm of the