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June 29, 1989 - There's Much You Can See in the FogB20 The Suffolk Times • June 29, 1989 There's Much You Can See in the Fog By Paul Stoutenburah The second foggy day and I awaken at 5 a.m. I can barely see to the back pas- ture fence. Let's take a walk in the fog with its stillness and mystery. Of course the dog is always ready; his tail wags in triumph as I unhook his leash and step out onto the porch. The cat sneaks out between the open door and slides be- Focus on Nature neath the bush nearby, almost like a ghost. The dog did not even acknowl- edge its presence. He's above cats. I slipped my old black boots on and started out across the silvery layer of dew that covered the walled -in world about me. Sounds were muffled. Few birds called. There was no wind. A finch drank at the bird bath. The chickens that roost in the trees behind the house started to flutter down, softly clucking as they dropped, following me to the barn where I'd feed them. I opened the barn door and an old hen glared at me from her box. She's been setting on a clutch of eggs for some time now and as I approached the feed barrel where she sits, she fluffed up her feathers in defi- ance. Her glare said, "Don't tread on me." A scoop of grain and like magic chickens appeared from all around. Again their soft clucking seemed to be a sign of approval. Foggy Sights and Sounds I stop by the raspberries that are now four to five feet tall with their new top growth dimpled with dew. The fulfill- ment of life. I hear the early- morning train in the distance. Its call is the only sign from the outside world. Even the ever - present drone of jets heading for far - flung places around the world is gone. The eastern seaboard is fogged in. It's been this way since last evening. Halfway through the orchard I can Photo by Paul Stoutenburgh FOG- BOUND — Early- morning fog creates a world of silvery dew. Here a grape leaf collects these tiny beads of silver that sparkle in the sun. now see the back hedgerow — the limit of my world today. Each leaf in the or- chard has its velvet coat of dew which reminds me I must once again spray, for this is the time when fungus thrives. Passing the beehives I see they are busy already. One hive in particular is alive with bees at the entrance. I wonder if they are getting ready to swarm. Bees reproduce in such great numbers that the hive can no longer handle the exploded population and must gather a queen and swarm away to find a new home where they'll continue the propagation of their species. A young and probably sleepy starling is startled by my passing and flies on its new -found wings. Its short tail and baby look make it unstable in flight so it The Birdvatcher s Companion 'Everything for the Birder' • Bird Feeders • Field Guides • Bird Baths • Carvings • Bird Houses • Seed • Binoculars • Gifts Open Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday 10 -5, Sunday 12 -5 • Closed Wednesday North Road, (County Rd. 48) Southold 765 -5872 swings back from out over the field and returns to the security of a nearby tree. The windmill that stands guard over the pasture seems to dominate the area. Its presence is shrouded in fog and its long thin legs seem to give it the appearance of some outer -space creature that has landed in a foreign, fog -bound land. No wind directs its great tail. Stillness reigns and the dew is so heavy that I can actually see the tiny particles of silver drifting down. Spreading the News I close the fence gate that separates the garden from the pasture and hear the chatter of jenny wren. She's telling the world her nest has young. Which one I haven't yet found out for she has built in five boxes that I know of. This habit of building in more than one nest chamber is typical of wrens. I can re- member when I was young our creeks had marsh wrens that would build wo- ven grass nests and brood in only one. Marsh wrens are a typical example of a bird that once nested in our area and no longer does. I'm afraid most people feel there are plenty of birds around, but the truth is the birds most seen are the in- troduced starlings, grackles, sparrows, finches and, of course, our common na- tive robin. The reason is simple. Some species thrive amongst people while others lose out against man's increasing activities, so we're left with many birds but not the vari ety of native birds we've had in the past. The pond has never been so full as it is today. Duck weed has started to pro- liferate around the edges and it seems to increase every day. From not a sign of the weed in the early spring, it some- how gets started and multiplies to a car- pet of green by midsummer. Perhaps the introduction comes into the pond via a duck or some wading bird who carries it in on their legs. Or perhaps it grows in the pond from hidden seeds or roots and like all things multiplies as the temper- ature warms. It's still a mystery to me. Now a robin feeds its fledged young. This youngster still relies on the mother to feed it. Hopefully the others have learned to take care of themselves and are already off on their own. This one still carries its speckled look of imma- ture feathers. It sits and begs until the parent returns with the morsel it gob- bles down. Child's Play There's a single, long rope attached to an old cherry tree by the pond. It was put up by my son who remembers the days when he was young and swung over the pond. He now has children and the worn spot beneath the long dangling rope tells that the swing has been well - used. I can't resist the temptation to sit on the rounded board and swing out as far as I can go. Every child should have such a swing and a place to live by the outdoors. How can we bring children up in the ghettos of our cities and expect anything but problems? The dog looks at me from the side and finally barks. I shouldn't be there swinging back and forth — that's for kids. I slow down and get off and he runs up, tail wagging with his approval. From the far corner of the pasture the two cows have been stirred by the dog's barking and look mournfully at us as we walk towards them. What with the rains, the grasses have grown out of control and are far ahead of the cows' grazing. Never have they had it so good. I walk toward the mother and run my hand across her woolly back. Her fat body is warm, almost hot. She hasn't yet rubbed all her winter's coat off. I see signs of it on the trees. Once removed it will be sleek and short and ready for summer's heat. Walking back I can hardly avoid de- stroying the mats of spider webs that have caught the early- morning dew. Be- low a spider awaits a. meal. His trap, once invisible, is now made useless with the silvery dew. A shift in the weather will take it away and once more it will become his wishing well. At home I take off my wet, shiny boots. The dog slumps down on the back porch. Our morning walk is over. Bar- bara's up and breakfast is ready. The start of a perfect day.