Times like this I love that we don’t have power to go out, because it surely would. We’re getting a storm more appropriate to January, not March. After a month of no snow, lots of sun, and temps so warm I was able to feed my bees (so glad of that now), wham! Dumping snow, howling winds.
Sticky snow, that looks so cool stuck on the windward side of everything. The house is being battered by wind, but really, sound is dampened by the think blanket of snow on all the trees.
And in the peaceful woods, there’s a chickadee bopping around. It popped out of one of the laden spruces, which strikes me as an excellent choice of hideout:And in the middle of it, some birds still avidly feeding. From bed we watch the horizontal snow, and birds riding it out on the waving branches, beaks into the wind.
Getting a load of this snow today. The Christmas card variety, that makes everything look good.Even a pallet. It’s very cozy in the greenhouse right now, banked up like this.The hens always come for sno-cone time. They love snow and ice. I can only assume it’s the texture and variety, the same reasons we like ice cream. My bees. I don’t know if they’ll make it. I lost my original hive, the big hive, at the end of summer, and this is the new hive, the late summer arrivals. Stronger stock, but will they be infected by what killed my other hive? Fingers crossed for the winter. So far, they are still humming in there.I love seeing the little bird hops through the snow. The little birds are so familiar, hopping along our paths, the deck, so close when we’re not there to see them. Here one went up to the door and along, behind the shovel…Some birds can only side by side hop – both legs doing the same thing at the same time. There’s so much going on in the brain to enable one-leg-at-a-time walking, like we know walking (balance, coordination, shifting), that birds capable of striding instead of hopping are considered to have greater intellects. There’re ravens and crows, birds of prey and pigeons, that walk, well known for their big brains, and… ahem, chickens! Not usually cited among the mental giants, but they are definitely one leg at a time walkers. The perching rooster was tightrope walking the guinea swing today. Not quite Philippe Petit, but impressive (Hmm, I think he just got his name).Very few birds at the trough today. Just chickadees and juncos today. The ground seeds were getting covered up quickly and I was re-casting, so it will be a big feast when it all melts. I love capturing transitions. The juncos are camera shy.Hey, deep snow!
Last evening was windy, and the guineas were twitchy, and several of them escaped. They flew up into the mesh and scrambled against it to find a gap and then got out. I was watching them, and I didn’t think they could get out, right up until they did. Then it was a long round of persuading them back into the area of the opening in the fence (they wanted to go back in), until they darted back in one by one.
The only keet is now at that stage where they think they’re all grown up and are paling around with the big birds, but they are still little. So the keet was out with the other escapees, but instead of staying with them, it ran straight into the big brush pile, waited for the coast to clear (of us), and then peeped a little, calling out for the others, and then sprinted back out to rejoin them.
After a long patient wait, finally all the birds were back enclosed. Until an hour later, just before dark, when I went in the yard to close the greenhouse door, disturbed them, and three guineas escaped again! And the keet. Good grief.
This time I propped the fence open, waited until I saw the keet make its run out of the brush pile to reunite with the others, and they were all milling around by the open gate. I left them to it, confident they were fine.
After dark I closed all the coops, and all the guineas were back in the greenhouse. No keet. You’re kidding me. I rarely do see the keet at night, it tucks itself away somewhere, so I told myself it may be in there but it’s hiding. Worst case scenario it didn’t find its way back in, it’s in the brush pile, but it will most likely be able to survive the night, since it’s got a full suit of feathers now.
The night started with hard blowing snow pellets and froze, with our first lasting accumulation of snow.
This morning I open up and feed the hens (the guineas are always already up and about), and there’s no keet. I look around the edges of the brush pile but see nothing. I hear nothing.
I’m sick about it.
I carry on taking care of the chickens, back and forth, and then I see what I’ve been hoping to – little bird prints walking out of the brush pile. I almost miss the little brown bird huddled, still, in one of my footprints.
It was on its way, struggling back to the greenhouse, but it did survive the night!
I shoved it in my shirt, hastened back to the house and transferred the patient to under HW’s shirt, and went back to work.
I came back in to find the chick bedded in a bowl, clearly labeled:)
Sleepy and not out of the woods, but will likely be fine.I put a towel over her later in case she got ideas about hopping out. And HW uncovered her later to peek. A transformation! Up pops the head. Yes, I am feeling better.Oh, maybe I still am a little sleepy.
A proper storm’s blowing up. The kind where snow swirls in the door when you open it and the wind is biting. Sleet is skittering on the steel roof and the white stuff is starting to accumulate.
The hens are conserving their energy. Only two eggs today – two! Today was a nice days, but obviously their inner barometers consider the future, and said to hold on to their egg energy.
We’re supposed to get 30-40cm (1ft), which will be cool in ways- it will be normal; feel like a proper Canadian winter. The winter so far has been weird as heck, with yoyo-ing temperatures, and not very much snow. It might be a snow day! It’s fun to be snowed in. It would be nice for the ground to get a blanket on it.
Not so cool – it’s bound to knock half the province out of power again and make it dangerous and miserable for anyone who can’t have a fun snow day. Plus it will be mad drifted with the wind.
We got snow today, and are now properly snowed in, which is the best.
We were both out in it for awhile too, as more than 15cm fell in a few hours, from 8ish to lunchtime. It was kind of fun to be out in, in a creeping along an un-plowed rural highway in a blowing whiteout through snow deep enough to rub the belly of the vehicle kind of way. Things that are funnest once you’ve made it home safe and warm. Then for extra fun the temperature suddenly rose to change all that snow to heavy snowball snow in the afternoon.
On warm days, I let the chickens out to play. Whoohoo!
They resent their incarceration in the greenhouse in the winter. They glare balefully. We are bored out of our tiny skulls! They do not buy that it’s for their own good. We’ve got survival skills, yo!
Which they do. They make themselves at home all day in the forest, scratching. They can take care of themselves outside, even doing some winter camping, but I prefer them to have more protection against the raptors that are hungrier in the winter. So they must mostly stay in.
This winter has been weird. Three times now, all the snow has been swept away in a big rain and warm spell. It’s not a good look. But the hens are happy. They get periodic outings. Not like last winter, when the snowpack stayed a meter thick, and no one came out of the greenhouse for the entire season.
The snow is deep, but the voles should not feel relaxed.
The Mighty Vole Hunter rests not in the winter.
I don’t know if he hears them mousing around or smells them, but without warning, he will suddenly leap in the air off the path and come down, plunging his head into the snow and sometimes snuffle-plowing around for a while.
Depending on the surface of the snow, he may smack the crust with a paw to crack it, and then thrust his head in and burrow around.
If he’s lucky, he comes up masticating ostentatiously with disgusting crunching sounds, tails or feet hanging out the side of his mouth. EWW!
If the vole’s lucky, he comes up only with a face full of snow.
He is really very good at hunting voles. As good as a cat. He gets one almost every day, sometimes two. In the “grassy” wasteland adjoining the Walmart parking lot, of all places, he caught the vole of voles, a trophy the size of a squirrel! Proving some things are flourishing around Walmart.
Sometimes the vole escapes. Yesterday he flipped the tiniest of voles out of the snow next to the path. Somehow, it escaped between his back legs, flopping around while he was looking under his front paws- Where’d it go?
Barely two inches long, it righted itself and darted to take refuge- under my boot, where I stood behind him. I saw the tail slip in under my foot and was standing there thinking Seriously? Is it hiding? Under my foot? Yep. I lifted my boot and it dashed away a second time, while Snowy snuffled around mystified. It was right here. I had it!
What we want to know is: Does he keep his eyes open under the snow?
On the way to the greenhouse in the morning, to let the hens out of the coop, I was surprised to find one lone, chilly chicken outside already.
What the heck? Obviously she roosted in the pine tree for the night, and it seems a rabbit came by as well. It’s just strange that she chose to leave the greenhouse at all yesterday, let alone not return to the coop.
The greenhouse was open a few hours in the afternoon, and other than a quick novelty excursion to eat some snow, now that there’s a snow pack the birds generally choose to stay in the warmer greenhouse all on their own.
Except for this one.
She wasn’t sorry to stay under the tree, either, making no moves to go back to the greenhouse even after her sisters started up the food noises. With the “help” of the dog, and cutting well cut up by the brambles around the tree, I caught her, stuck her in my coat, and repatriated her.
It snowed last night, so it’s time to put out a birdfeeder for winter (I’ve cast some seeds out before on the cold November days, but now I’ll maintain this food source so the birds may become dependent).
This means, what’s in the recycling right now I can make a feeder from? Rather than walking all the way to the shop for the one I made last year.
It’s always fun to see how long it takes for the birds to find it. Under an hour for a full banditry of chickadees to show up. Then song sparrows and a purple finch, just like that.
A troupe of Eastern Grosbeaks comes through periodically, every 3-4 days in the winter. They must be making a circuit of local food sources.
I don’t know where s/he’s off to, but it’s still a world of snow out here.
I’m sad for all the animals; this weirdly long winter must be so hard on them. The robins are in a high-profile crisis, and I’ve noticed the dwindling numbers and variety at my feeder, leaving the dauntless corps of constant chickadees and woodpeckers. Even if the birds survive, will they be strong enough, and early enough, to lay eggs? Will the young birds have time to grow up before the next winter sets in?
I will be watching for our robin who set two nests last year. Maybe she was planning ahead for her species.
It’s never the greedy and careless or makers of bad laws that suffer first, it’s the innocent and delicate at the other end of the spectrum.
I was lying on the floor the other, day, probably making a list, when all the chickens came up to the window and started looking in at me. Pecking on the sill and canting their heads to look out of one beady eye then the other, they peered in the window, eye to eye with me. I only got awful pictures through the glass, but this one caught one rooster shaking out his big old mane, as he’s wont to do.
Do everyone’s free range chickens run around all winter?I was leaving their coop closed some days, because I thought it was too cold, but it seems no matter how cold it is (-10C), they come rolling out of the henhouse at 8am and spend all day outside trucking around being chickens. Sometimes they stand on one leg like storks and get pretty puffy, but they definitely like it outside, trolling the compost heap and looking in the front door.
Surely they’ll start spending their days indoors when the snow gets too deep, though.
…the rare Snow Chicken makes its appearance in early winter. It forages under the snow layer for food and has been witnessed consuming snow for water. Its movements may be tracked by the large three toed print it leaves behind.
Just like that, winter announces that it’s really here. A nice photogenic change of colour scheme is one thing, a sudden smackdown is another.
I was doing errands in Nelson and it was snowing all day but it was plus one, so nothing accumulated, but when I was on the boat home, it started to stick with a vengeance. When the ferry landed and the ramp was coming down, loaded with 3” of snow, I thought, uhoh. Made it off the ramp ok, but started swimming on the unplowed road a few hundred meters further and had to go to 4wd just to get up the hill. The snow was coming so thick and fast it made that blizzard tunnel effect on the windshield you can hardly see through- the technical term for snow like that is puking. It felt like a mission to the ski hill on a really good day. I crept home in a line of other creeping cars, I suspect most of them also still on summers; gratefully, made it home without misadventure at 20kph, and now I’m parked until the snow thaws or I manifest snow tires. Trees down everywhere, semi-trailer stuck across the road, and the power flickering but only out for a few minutes. Unbelievable for November. Just past mid-November, even.
There’s nothing like a good big snow to make you feel isolated and wintered in. As long as it’s cozy at home and you need nothing from the outside world, then being stuck at home in the snow is like being snuggled under a big white blanket.
The first snow today is dramatic and picturesque. Giant wet flakes emerging from rain and then thickening to make a lasting blanket. The ground snow was slushy in places but boldly showed footprints and demanded toques and boots.
The school playground was crowded with big dirty rolled snowballs after recess. A perfect, and decisive, first snow!