June 02, 1983 - Holed Up in the WoodshedPage 12A The Suffolk Times June 2,1983
Holed Up in the Woodshed
By PAULSTOUTENBURGH
If nothing else, this week's article will
be unique because I'm writing it in the
woodshed. I haven't been punished and
sent here for meditation. No, it all came
about while I was cutting wood. Usually
when I get up I take the dog for a walk
around the pasture stopping to feed the
horse and chickens on my way. The loop
takes me around the perimeter of the
area, winding up in the orchard, where I
check the trees and my bees, and then
through the vegetable garden to see how
that's doing.
This routine is fairly well established
except when some unusual event like an
outing takes place or we're going away
on the boat. Then to gain a bit of exercise
I usually chop one or two wheelbarrows
full of wood. They say it's good for your
circulation.
Monday, Memorial Day, like so many
others this spring was overcast and
dreary. Around 6:30 a.m. we had thunder
and lightning along with a good shower.
With this general pattern of dampness
my knee boots haven't left the door edge,
where I grab them on my way out for it is
the only way to keep dry in the pasture's
tall wet grass.
After my round, I headed for the
woodshed, where I started to split some
already cut -to- length logs. I'd been doing
battle for about 15 minutes when the
overcast sky decided to empty and
produce its rain once again. Down it
came with me taking refuge under the
roof of the old woodshed.
Here with some paper I perched myself
on an old wooden wheelbarrow Winnie
Billard had given me when she sold her
place next door. I'm sure it could tell
some wonderful tales. It is one of those
that have an actual wooden wheel and
wooden removable sides. The lines are so
practical I wonder why they don't still
�n1uiSMl��
make them. It must have been built
during the transition period from wood to
steel for there are traces of metal in the
bracing and around the wheel. It's truly a
work of art. As lowly as some might think
the wheelbarrow is, its craftmanship
makes you think twice about downgrad-
ing this simple piece of equipment.
Corners were charriferred and smoothed,
the sides were lightly decorated and it
balances well. As the saying goes, "They
just don't make 'em like that any more."
Raining Again
As I sat watching the rain announce
itself on each quivering leaf, I was
interested to hear how the chorus of bird
calls dropped off. All morning long the
woods were alive with their calling. Now
only the wood thrush called its watery
melody and even this seemed hushed.
Everything took on the look of a tropical
jungle. Lush green everywhere was
dripping with fresh rain. Occasionally as
the wind blew in the treetops above, it
would shower down an avalanche of
raindrops and you could see the greenery
sag for a moment under the additional
weight.
My chickens, who notoriously dislike to
be wet must have found a dry spot under
the eaves of the barn for they too had
stopped calling and the three vocal
roosters seemed to have given up trying
to outdo each other. As time passed, the
1390AM
GOOD MLSIC
. 91
r
WHITE- BREASTED NUTHATCH - -This year -round resident comes to our
feeder during the winter and raises its young in our nearby woods in the
summertime. It's usually seen upside down looking for insects in the
bark of trees. Photo by Paul Stoutenburgh
drops from the shed roof diminished and
the songs and activities of the woods took
up again.
The now shabby food - gathering downy
woodpecker sneaked in to grab a bite of
suet from our now seldom used bag that
is almost lost in the leaves of the tree. A
flash of orange and black told me the
oriole that was weaving her nest was
back. It's been a week building now and
the nest is becoming bulky and stringy.
The strings were put out by my wife who
cut up lengths of cotton cord and draped
them about.
Through the woods I can see the
white - breasted nuthatch as he sneaks
down the tree upside down with a
mouthful of insects. He heads for the old
bird box, where he has a family of young
to feed. Now he pops out with a white sac
in his bill. This is like changing diapers in
the bird world. A mucous sac is produced
which holds the waste while it is carried
away and discarded.
Rain Finally Stops
Now the rain has stopped completely
and the woods once more takes up their
calling. The cardinal, a proud father,
now preens himself by the patio. The
bluejay, usually noisy about the woods, is
quiet now seeing it's nesting time and he
sneaks about looking for food every-
where. He comes down in front of the
woodshed hopping along looking for
morsels to take back to the nest. I blink
and he catches the movement and is off --
in sudden surprise. Off in the distance the
male yellow- crested flycatcher calls its
distinct raspy call. I hope it finds the
open- fronted box I put up for him for he's
a regular nester in our woods.
Mosquitoes now move in to my retreat
and start their probing for a likely spot to
feed. One was so clever I never even
noticed his swelling body and when I
swatted him, it left a patch of blood. One
thing to be said for the rainy day is that
the temperature is up to 60 already -- so
much better than those cold chilly damp
days when it was 40 and 50.
As I sit here contemplating this Mem-
orial Day, I pay homage to those I
remember in a different time. So many
were deprived of the joys I'm experien-
cing. There is no woodshed for them nor
the soft melody of the woodthrush to
hear. There are no gentle rains or
summer days. No, they are gone. It's
difficult to figure out when you look out
on today's world, hear the news and
contemplate the events of the day. How
important I thought it all was way back
then. We all had such high hopes for the
future. Perhaps what it was all about was
merely a buying of time. Time in which
we will be given one last chance to work
things out in this confused world. Let's
hope and pray we can make it work for
I'm afraid we won't have a second
chance.
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