2023 is the year I start attending a series of residential weekends to become a Southern Appalachian Certified Naturalist.
I have no idea where this course or these new skills might lead, but it will be fun to learn more and get out into the wild with some fellow explorers.
Some topics (such as birds), I know a bit more about, and some (like amphibians), I know very little about, but I’m excited to discover more about this region and its inhabitants and to learn better observation and ID techniques along the way. The first weekend - in February - is on ‘naturalist skills’, and I strongly suspect that my stick-figure-esque sketching ability will not be hideable!
One of my goals this year is to simply pay a bit more attention to what’s around me. I intend to take at least one photo a week of something outside, even if it’s only in my backyard, and I want to do a better job of documenting and noting the seasonal changes.
So, naturally, I thought I would share that with you too! I will try to capture broad changes as well, so even if you’re not in the southern Appalachian region, you should recognize some of what’s ‘out there’ for you too.
So, early January.
January is an interesting time to start these little nature notes, because by the time February rolls around, there are already so many more signs of life, but January….it’s a little, well, dead.
For us here in East Tennessee, the warm season grass is now a solid tan. After days of temperatures in the single digits or teens (Fahrenheit) right before Christmas, the landscape has taken on a decidedly roasted and toasted look. Even the normally greenish magnolias have been scorched.
But the cedars and pine trees remain unperturbed by the fluctuating temperatures, and their fluffy greenery is a welcome respite from a sea of brown.
I do like being able to see more of the landscape in the winter though. Views open up that are normally caped in leaves, and all the detail of tree bark becomes visible.
The little tulip poplar ‘cups’ - the seed heads - remain stubbornly attached to the end of the branches, bobbing around in the breeze. They will drop each ‘petal’ of the tulip-shaped cup throughout the winter, distributing their seeds on the wind. But for now I enjoy the visual reminder that actual tulips - with all their colorful announcement of the end of winter - will pop out of the cold soil soon(ish).
In the cold, the bird feeders are bustling. Cardinals and juncos and a single white-throated sparrow pecking and hopping (and in the case of the white-throated sparrow), scurrying on the ground, and the chickadees, house finches, and woodpeckers lining up to have their turn on the perches and at the bird bath. A northern flicker is enjoying the back yard this morning, and a few starlings waddle their way across the grass.
As the early January warm-up happened, the bird feeding became less urgent, and the warmth only seemed to highlight how very brown all the plant life had become in the cold snap. I fear our rosemary bushes will not recover. But the warmth also brought the storms. Tornadoes across parts of the south, though ‘only’ severe thunderstorms for us. The result of clashing warm and cold air, these destructive storms are more common in April than January, though a warm spell is actually not unusual in January.
The ground is still thirsty from a dry fall though. Even prolonged heavy rain is still absorbing into the ground. I’m glad. A wet winter will be a much better beginning for the spring, even if it makes for slippery hiking trails in the meantime.
This year, the sandhill cranes at Hiawassee Wildlife Refuge, an hour or so south of here, have been well-documented and photographed, and I aim to go on my own errand to witness them within the next week. They will move on mid-month. They only started stopping at this spot in the 1990s, but have been a reliable winter visitor ever since, now numbering around 20,000. The migration and nesting sites of the sandhill crane have been evolving in the last few decades, but one of the most spectacular gatherings is still in Nebraska, on the Platte River, in February and March. They assemble there in the hundreds of thousands on their way north to breed in Siberia and northern Canada.
While there is so much in dormancy in east Tennessee at the moment, even now, there are signs of life. The buds on the dogwoods and the tulip poplar are becoming more visible. It is breeding season for the foxes, coyotes, and the opossums, and if you are able to have a window open and live near foxes (many of us, even in urban areas do), you may hear their eery screams at night as they court each other.
And while the bears and chipmunks and raccoons hole up and snooze away some or much of the winter, the skunks and deer (and many of our squirrels) are still at large, eating stored food and finding a few tasty morsels to keep them going.
So, there is still a lot happening in January, even if we have to look a little harder to find it.
Enjoy the winter views!
Certainly red maples. Not positive about silver. Bees are very resourceful. They can find food in all sorts of places. There is definitely pollen moving about (tree pollen, I suspect) in N Florida.
Start watching the buds on the maples. Major food source of honey bees in winter. January here, probably February, there. I remember them blooming in February in NE Pennsyvania. Not usually noticed.