80AcresOnline

Ice on the lily pond this morning–very clear, very cold last night.  The birds all look bigger, as  they’re all fluffed out.  One of the white-wings tried armpitting a blue jay while feeding on the ground, and the blue jay took offense.  Come on, dove: look at the relative beak size.  And there were three jays…you’re outnumbered.

Red oak leaves against the cold blue sky–gorgeous.

Self in multiple layers against the cold and wind–not so gorgeous.  Horses and the cat grow nice dense winter coats (as do the wild critters) but humans aren’t so lucky.   (Though the shedding problem if we did–ugh!)

Yesterday morning was warm (70s) with a damp, strong southerly wind.

Then a brief period of relative calm, still warm.

Then the norther–strong north wind (dryer at first) with “possible rain”.  Ha.  This is Texas.  What we got was thunder, rain, hail, sleet, and snow…and sleet and snow mixed.

Today?  Cold (below freezing), nearly clear skies, and strong north wind.

A norther blew in this afternoon, so we have blue sky and sunshine–and the red oaks near the house are the reddest they’ve ever been, brilliant in the slanting light.

Most of these started as acorns collected from other oaks whose color we’d noted while driving around the countryside.    Then we’d watch until “red oak acorn season” and see if any had fallen on a roadside verge where it would be legal to collect them.   They’re not all the same–some  a deep, deep red and others more scarlet or even orange-red.

The ones nearest the house have had some supplemental water (when the town’s not on water restriction, which it is right now)  and are larger and more colorful than the ones we’ve put out on the land here and there.   Red oaks are more subject to the local oak diseases than bur oaks, but it’s worth the risk of losing them to have this glorious late fall/early winter color.

Of course, they’re also a great wildlife  resource–acorns for deer and wild turkey, nest sites for some songbirds, and plenty of insects for the little insect-eaters to go after.   Thirty years ago, late November into December showed the hillsides in dark green (live oak and juniper) and varied shades of red from red oaks, but about ten years ago one of the diseases killed many of them.  Oldtimers say it happened before and new oaks grew up.  Maybe by planting acorns every year (even if replanted by squirrels) we’ll eventually get more out on the land.

For those new to our project (those who haven’t already read about it on my other blogs, where posts about the land are mixed in with other topics)  here’s a quick overview.

We live on the edge of a small town (literally on the edge–the city limits cuts through our house.)   For twenty-two years, the field north of our back garden was someone’s cow pasture, leased to various people, some better managers than others.  When it came up for sale, we were in a rare flush period, and bought it (well, we and the bank bought it…)  because we’d  always hoped it would stay undeveloped.  The original field had one corner occupied by a construction company (they have about 10 acres, I think) and a house and yard occupies another half acre.

When we bought it, the person then leasing it was not the best manager…he leased both it and an adjoining, larger place, but overstocked them.   Overgrazing had taken its toll; in places, the only vegetation left was what cattle wouldn’t eat, and the nubs were separated by several feet of bare dirt.  Dirt that eroded rapidly in every rain.

It’s basically a long skinny rectangle with the long axis roughly east-west, with a notch cut out of one corner of the highway frontage, where the construction company yards are.   About three-quarters of the way to the far end, a seasonal creek (dry all year this year) cuts across it, north to south.   About ten acres of riparian woods borders the creek and one tiny tributary.  Another nine to ten acres of brush tops a low rocky knoll along the north (higher) long side.   Originally, it was tall-grass prairie (historical data plus the evidence of old-prairie plants still remnant here and there) but the grass land had been used for cotton first, then corn, then grazing, with some terracing and the planting of “improved” non-native pasture grass and (by one of the earlier managers) winter oats for forage.   The original drainage of the main grassland was temporarily changed by a ditch (probably at the time of terracing) leading water from a highway culvert to the south fenceline; years  of neglect and trampling by cattle allowed a more natural alternate drainage to form again, but highway runoff dominates that end of the place, including copious runoff from the construction company–turbid with roadbase from their parking lots.

For wildlife management, the existence of varied habitats on one relatively small  piece of land is a great help.  Winter resident songbirds segregate by preferred habitat–some like the brush, some like the woods, and some like the grassland.   The same is true of the breeding bird population in the spring and summer.

Terrain is gentle–there’s only about 20 feet in elevation difference between the highest point and the lowest, and only where former owners gouged out gravel and “road base” from the rocky knoll is there a steep slope (obviously not natural.)   Soil varies from solid rock to deep black clay, with areas of brown clay, red gravel, and exposed subsoil (from erosion.)   The land is subject to flash floods on the creek (due in part to the rainfall patterns, but also to bad land management upstream that’s led to less permeable soil.)

In eight years, we’ve increased the species count to over 800 (animals and plants) and within taxa counted in the original survey, most have doubled.  Though most of the grassland is still dominated by the introduced non-native King Ranch Bluestem (KRB), it’s being invaded by native grasses including meadow dropseed, little bluestem, sideoats grama, white tridens, knotroot bristlegrass, Indiangrass.    We’ve also seen the reappearance and spread of original prairie forbs–plants no farmer/rancher in the meantime would have planted, such as Mirabilia alba, four different milkweeds, three different gentians,  and many others.  We’ve been able to reintroduce some of the original prairie dominants: big bluestem, switchgrass, eastern gama, seep muhly.

Long-term, the plan includes eliminating non-native plants and re-introducing natives missing from the present array.  Some re-introductions have been successful  and some not.  Yet.   We use rain-barns to supply water for wildlife and for plantings in the first season (when we collect enough extra water.)   Our wildlife management plan, written and carried out to conform to the laws in Texas, requires activity in seven categories (habitat management, provision of supplementary food, water, and shelter, predator control, erosion control, and census.)  In addition, the prairie restoration project focuses on maintaining existing “pockets” of original vegetation and increasing the extent of it.

Last year we hosted visits by a nearby Audubon Society group (a bird walk) and a few others interested in specifics, and next year will host a visit by the Texas Native Plant Society (and, no doubt, others.)

Our area is at least sixteen inches below average annual rainfall this year–that’s means we’ve had less than half the average.    The “at least” is because what rain we’ve had has been spotty–one place might get four inches and another none, from the same weather system.

In addition to the lack of rainfall, aquifers and reservoirs both are sinking.  One of our town’s four wells isn’t producing at all, and the other three are pumping less than normal.  A development-friendly county government has supported rapid growth, both residential and commercial, with the predictable (but not to them) growth in demand for water…hence many new wells, all tapping the same resource…shallow wells tapping the groundwater that used to supply springs and small creeks in dry years, and deep wells (to Trinity Sands, the main deep aquifer) for “permanent” water.   Creeks and springs–even one river–have dried up completely in the past year.

From the land manager’s perspective, rainfall is THE water resource in this part of the world.   We have two “rain barns” to collect and store rainwater (and are working on another–trusses for its roof are finished and being painted.)   This stored water provides permanent (we hope) water for wildlife at three different sites and each site is optimized for a different use.

Wildlife (and re-introduction of native plants to improve natural food supplies and habitat) must have reliable water.  This year, it was all we could do to keep the wildlife supply going.  We lost approximately 90% (maybe more–we’ll know next spring) of the past two years’ worth of plantings because we could not provide enough water…what we could provide, we allocated to a few of the plantings easiest to reach with a bucket.

But if it doesn’t rain…there’s nothing to collect.   I designed the collection area/storage capacity for a little below the previously recorded worst-case–ten inches a year–but that’s where we are right now.

The bright spot in this is the response of the original (and re-introduced) natives that didn’t croak.   The deep-rooted tallgrass dominants stayed green: big bluestem, switchgrass, Indiangrass, little bluestem, even eastern gama (the water lover of the bunch) are all fine (so far.)   Up on the dryest area (a rocky knoll with very thin soil, if any) some didn’t make it–even agarita, which normally grows out of rock anyway–but some did.  We have more two-leaved senna and partridge pea than before.   We have a new odd milkweed (the experts are still arguing over it.)  The Mirabilis alba and Pitcher Sage have both spread this year, and the Maximilian Sunflower, though less than half the height in an average year, has continued to spread sideways in its clumps.

One of the nature listservs I’m on carefully notes the first sighting of migrants (going or coming) at each location.

With that in mind, I saw the first Fox Sparrow of winter at Owl Pavilion today around noon. As usual, it was shyer than some of the other birds (cardinals will practically part my hair; Bewick’s and Carolina wrens have perched on the hammock I was in) and tried to keep stalks of grass between itself and me. But I know my winter sparrows and that russet back and boldly striped breast belong to no other.

Our wintering sparrows include White-crowned, White-throated, Field, Lincoln’s, Savannah, Song, Harris’s, Vesper, and Fox. Spring and fall migrations sometimes drop another one on us briefly, but never in great numbers. I like the winter sparrows a lot–used to think “small streaky brown mysteries”, but spent one winter studying them and another practicing.

Haven’t seen a thrush or thrasher yet this year, but did catch sight of a flicker, though not today.

Squirrels on a metal roof sound like a herd of goats…it’s possible that goats would sound even louder, but we have no goats and we do have quite a few squirrels. These are Eastern Fox Squirrels, pleasantly brindled on top, with pumpkin-yellow fur on their bellies.

They mate in winter–in December (sometimes even in November, the scamps)–and this involves a lot of dashing up and down trees in a spiral, usually closely followed by another squirrel. Also leaping in place, leaping up and reversing direction, leaping up and turning flips…anything to attract the attention of a squirrel of the opposite sex. They leap on the ground, from trees to ground, from ground to trees, from trees to roof, from roof to trees…and they seem to think the roof is the perfect playground for galloping up to the ridge and down again, scuffling in the gutter and then pouncing on one of the water tanks (or a tree) and then back again.

Dawn in winter begins not with bird song but with the thud and gallop of squirrels. I’m convinced we have a five pounder up there some mornings–or a twenty pounder–as it thunders across the roof, boomity-boomity-boomity boom!

We call them bushy-tailed rats when we’re annoyed with them, but I do enjoy watching them signal with those big bushy tails. Flirt-flirt–“See my tail? it’s a fine tail! It’s bushier than your tail! Look what I can do with my tail!” They warn of hawks and other possible dangers (“Chuck! Chuck-chuck-drrrrrattttt!) Of course they steal feed from the birds…not a serious problem for us, as they would rather steal pecans off the trees and the ground, and acorns, and so on. Watching a squirrel negotiate the matter of spilled cracked corn with a flock of White-winged Doves is instructive. One dove–the squirrel intimidates it. But when the full flock is here, a heaving gray carpet on the ground, the squirrel lashes its tail madly in the tree and scolds. The doves ignore. The squirrel sneaks closer. The doves armpit…the squirrel backs up a few inches and tries again. Eventually the squirrel is eating a little corn in its own cell…a dove-body-width away from any of the doves.

Doves, to some people, symbolize peace. Those people have never watched doves–especially white-winged doves–around other birds. Doves have a habit of “armpitting” other birds (and sometimes one another.) Somewhere in my files I have a photograph of a white-winged dove armpitting a cardinal who dared to land on the same branch.

What’s arm-pitting? The dove showing dominance lifts the wing on the side where the other bird is–the higher the lift, the more annoyed the dominant dove is–and reveals what would be, in a person, the armpit. I’ve seen doves stick the armpitting wing straight up, the wingtip high above the bird, but also lift it less than that.

I’ve seen Inca, ground, and mourning doves “armpit” as well as white-wings. I haven’t seen other species do it (they may–I just haven’t seen it.) Sparrows showing dominance hop towards the other bird, and peck. Mockingbirds extend both wings out a little sideways (not up) and peck. Cardinals threaten with body posture and extended beak.

Armpitting doves look silly while doing it–that one wing stuck up high, while the rest of the bird appears to be calm and composed.

At a town meeting to discuss the new “weeds and trash” ordinance, I stood up for the value of natural “wildscaping” over manicured (and water hogging) lawns, and “nuisance water” rules.

You win some, you lose some. Traditionally, city governments have been told by health authorities that all standing water (bird baths included) are dangerous because of mosquitos, that tall grass and “weeds” (usually defined as any flower you don’t buy at the nursery) are unhealthy and unsanitary because they harbor rodents and snakes. The new ordinance–which our council insists they toned down from the version another town used–treats natural plants in the same way as human-generated trash. “Brush” is one of the things they prohibit.

Brush is habitat. Brush is valuable food and cover for desirable wildlife (and some less desirable, but the same could be said of a town–food and cover for humans, both the desirable ones that bring joy and the undesirable ones who bring misery.)

Here beginneth the 80 AcresOnline blog…where I’ll be talking about our wildlife management project and other nature-related topics from time to time.   Construction’s still going on at the website, so expect only short bits here for awhile.

Today’s walk?   Color, color, color: flameleaf sumac (aptly named), yellow elbowbush and Mexican buckeye, rich red rusty blackhaw viburnum,  pink-through-rose-to-purple roughleaf dogwood.  Yellow and orange butterflies, including one lone monarch vainly trying to fly into a stiff north wind.