May 04, 1989 - The Cycle Has StartedFocus on Nature
The Cycle Has Started
By Paul Stoutenburgh
It only takes a trip away from home and
a stay in the hospital to rekindle the wonder
of your own backyard here on the East End.
As I write, looking out the big picture win-
dow that never tires of showing me some-
thing new each day, the overpowering green
of the lawn and pasture almost numbs the
eye. The cows now spend endless hours graz-
ing on their new -found nourishment. Longer
days, temperatures above 50 degrees and
rain are all that nature requires to spread her
magic.
With these ingredients of spring a whole
new complexity of actions start to take place.
The visible sleeping earth of winter now
comes to life. Below, the worms work their
way from their deep private dungeons of win-
ter to riddle the ground in their endless
search for food. We've seen their pale
pinkish -grey twisting bodies slip between the
wet leaves as we rake the windrows from
winter's wind along the edge of the woods.
But these are the visible signs of life. What
we do not see is the wonder of bacteria, fun-
gus, enzymes and a host of knowns and still
unknowns working in the soil that make our
earth so productive. They are the genius of
life.
Through our woods the shadblow, with its
grey smooth bark and often oriental shape,
is awaiting the magical time to burst forth
with its delicate white petals. Nutrients have
been building up in its swelling buds from the
magic components below. It will be our first
flash of native color in our still wintry - looking
woods. Other buds are also swelling in the
woods and, of course, our gardens are ablaze
with introduced daffodils, tulips, azaleas, for-
sythia and an endless array of new additions
that brighten our man -made landscape.
What with all the cultivated splendor of our
gardens, there is always for me something
special about the native plants and trees that
show their wonder to those who can see.
The gradual yellowing of the willows down
by the pond, the deep red of the swamp ma-
ple buds that will later burst into a glorious
orange -red, and the green of the skunk cab-
bage with its earliest flower —those all take
a bit more to see for those who know where
to look. In the moist woods the quivering
wood anemone hurrys its delicate whits blos-
soms along before the trees shade it with
their new greenery from above. The trailing
arbutus or maypinks awaken the spring
world with a fragrance of beauty that few
flowers will ever know. Patches of this leath-
ery prostrate evergreen were once common
throughout our East End but today only a few ,
secluded remnants have escaped the never-
ending sprawl of man.
Besides the greenery and blossoming
world the workings of longer days, warmer
temperatures and bountiful rains have
brought into our area a change in bird life.
Forty -two robins move about probing the
well - grazed pasture as I try to count them.
Run and stop. Are they stopping to see or to
listen? Their head is cocked intent on the
ground. Surely there's something there for
now one picks and probes, looks about and
runs and stops again. They have moved up
from the south. Some will stay to nest while
others will move much further north, but first
they must rest and replenish themselves.
A lone brown creeper, a bird seldom seen
in our area, has also just moved in. It gleans
the bark of my hickory trees in a meticulous
feeding pattern in working its way from the
bottom of the tree, spiraling up around the
tree checking every crevice and corner
where its specially formed bill can pick out
dormant insects and eggs that make up its
continuous diet. Few nest on Long Island but
there are a few of those rare places where
shaggy barks of trees still give protection for
nesting sites.
Many of the birds that have stayed with us
all winter are joining in with our new mi-
grants in nest building. A blue jay has started
his quiet construction in one of the ever-
greens near the garage. The mourning doves
make no bones about their activity of nest
building. I see them fluttering outside one of
the pines in the hedgerow. I know they are
building there. Over my son's porch the rasp-
berry male house finch looks down on the
already brooding female as she huddles over
her eggs. Our pond below is the arena for a
redwing who has pronounced his claim to the
area.
The cycle has started. The job of a new out-
doors is here for us to enjoy. To me it exem-
plifies, what life is all about.
Davison
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