In viewing the videos and photos capturing the night antics of various critters who visit my garden I noticed that each of the species use the same pathway as they arrive at, and then exit, the pond area. The fox(es) always travel a certain path, through the back edge of a garden, as they leave the pond area for other fox adventures.
While most nights foxes are the main attraction, the raccoons also show up to enjoy the yummy, fishy pond water. When they leave to continue their rounds, they usually follow the fox route.
There are fewer visits from Opossums that are caught on the camera, but they too like traipsing through the winter touched plants, rather than taking a less leafy track.
It’s not entirely clear from the videos, but the back fence is at the far left of the frame. There is a gardener-made path, nothing formal, just a well-worn trail going from here to there, and I would have assumed the nocturnal beasties would use that path as it’s available and easy to travel. But they all prefer ambling through the herbage, sticks and branches and pokey plants their walking companions. My best guess for the walkabout choice is that the plants provide cover and protection and I suppose they feel safer than in an open area. For myself, I don’t like to bumble through the garden too much (unless I’m working). Inevitably, a branch I move aside will pop back to whack me. I guess the low-to-the-ground animals don’t have that problem!
Interestingly, I have seen each species take the start of the back trail and make their way to the open area at the pond, politely skirting the wooden beam.
And sometimes it’s just easier to crawl over the back side of the water fall.
Like humans, occasionally a varmint will shake things up and travel a different path. This fox seemed comfortable in the garden, no doubt having cut through it before.
It’s been a week since I’ve seen a fox and longer since the raccoons were spotted on the camera. The Opossums are still around, though the pond camera hasn’t captured them; I’ve observed them in the early mornings before sunrise, crunching through the fallen leaves and sometimes walking along the top of the wooden privacy fence. Mostly, the rats have been on the camera and I’m not thrilled with that, but they’re out-n-about at night too, so it’s not a surprise. I expect that as I’m pruning many freeze-damaged plants the night walkers prefer areas with more cover. They’re still attracted to water sources though, and my garden provides plenty. I’m hoping that the rats that are now at play will become an inducement for some wily hunters.
I don’t know if two foxes are enough to equal a skulk, but there has been, on two occasions that my wildlife camera will testify to, a pair of foxes visiting my back garden.
For my October birthday, my husband gifted to me a wildlife camera, which wasn’t set into action until late November. Before setting up the camera, I assumed we’d see raccoons and opossums on a regular basis, sprinkled with appearances by rats, and only rare visits from foxes or owls. As it happens, the opposite has happened: almost nightly, at least one native Grey Fox gracefully ambles through the pond area, with somewhat rarer sightings of the other three critters. I should add that I see foxes during the daytime hours and have had them visit my garden, but those daytime sightings are only occasional. I never dreamed that fox(es) came into my garden most nights. I couldn’t be more pleased that they’re comfortable in the environment that I’ve created.
With the term skulk, I usually think of the other definition (verb: keep out of sight, typically with a sinister or cowardly motive.). I don’t see the foxes as that kind of skulky but instead, shy and alert to danger at all times. Their graceful, sinuous movements along the pathways, and through the garden itself, is delightful to observe.
Are these two siblings, or a mother and almost grown kit? Or are they mates? Whatever their family ties, I suspect that during the day they sleep under one of the many outdoor sheds belonging to surrounding neighbors and situated in back yards, though maybe the foxes change sleeping locations from time-to-time.
Will there be kits in the spring? I sure hope so! I’ve observed foxes in our neighborhood for many years, but I’ve never seen a family with kits–a skulk–or a fox that is clearly a juvenile. But the foxes are around, year after year and in all seasons, so some successful breeding is happening.
There are other terms for a group of foxes. I could call these two a troop of foxes, or a leash of foxes, or a lead of foxes, and or an earth of foxes. I think I like ‘earth of foxes’ the best!
Whatever they are, as singles, couples, or groups, these beautiful animals are very welcome in my garden to rest, catch rats or insects, drink water, or just hang out.
Bee Daddy and I have been honeybee keeping for 10 years, hiving our first bees in April 2014, which you can read about here. As 2024 winds down and another year of beekeeping is under our veil, a review of this year’s bee happenings is in order. I’ve learned much about bees in this last decade; they keep us on our toes with their fascinating and complex biology, each season teaching (or confounding) us with behaviors we haven’t previously seen from them.
Last February, an odd little swarm hung out on our Mountain Laurel tree for about a week. As I recall, the weather was cold and wet and the small swarm just stayed–until they were gone. We’ll never know if they went back to the original hive or if they moved on to find a new home. If they chose the latter, it’s doubtful that the small group survived, but I always hope for the best. In October, I wrote about our hive, Woody, which absconded in June, leaving us with only one very productive hive, Bo Peep.
In spring, with mama Eastern Screech owl in the nest box, but before her eggs hatched, I observed scout honeybees buzzing in and around the box, mama owl vigilant and nervous. I wouldn’t have noticed the bees if we hadn’t installed a camera inside the box, but thankfully, we did! Once I saw the buzzy bees on my computer screen, Bee Daddy and I sprang into action, as we guessed the bees were looking to swarm, owl boxes being a favorite real estate for honeybee swarms. An owl box is a ready-made spot for a bee hive: up in a tree and safe from predators, enclosed (except for one entry, well guarded by the guard bees), and a cozy spot in which to build comb.
We belong to two local beekeeping groups and we sent out a notice requesting advice about the situation. A beekeeper in a nearby neighborhood responded with an offer to lend his swarm trap.
A swarm trap is any type of wooden box with an opening at the bottom of the box, so that the bees have access, but can protect from invaders. Bees like enclosed spaces where they can safely and efficiently build their hive. Professional and hobbyist swarm traps usually have some frames installed, so that the bees get right to their obsessions: making honey!
Initially, we set up the swarm trap near (just under) the tree where the owl nest box resides, but decided to move the contraption a little farther away, next to the house.
We set up the swarm trap and dabbed some lemongrass oil around the trap. Bees are attracted to lemon fragrance, so we hoped they’d find the lemony box an appealing place to hive. Additionally, we painted some almond oil, which bees do not like, around the entrance to the owl box, to discourage the bees from further exploration of that potential hiving place. Within hours, a swarm of bees moved into the swarm trap.
The next afternoon, the beekeeper came to close up the swarm trap and deliver the bees to his brother, who owns some land outside of the Austin area, the bees guaranteed a chance at building a healthy hive. Because it wasn’t near sundown (which is the optimal time to close up the trap, as most foraging bees are inside by nightfall), some bees were out doing their thing with flowers. When our wayward–and now homeless–foragers returned, there was no home for them. Just before dark, I noticed lots of bees aimlessly flying in the area where the trap had sat; they were clearly confused, looking for the hive that had been a temporary home. I quickly set up a safe haven for these abandoned bees: a regular bee box with a plywood cover. I dabbed lemon oil on the box and the the bees moved in for the night.
For the next few weeks the little band of bees (maybe 200?) hung out in that box, some foraging during the days, others staying in the box. Over time, the population dwindled, and eventually, the bees all died. Honeybees only live about 6 weeks and though most of their hive mates had left for parts unknown, at least this group had a safe enclosure to spend the rest of their days.
One afternoon in September I noticed bees crowding in the hole of the owl nest box.
Bee Daddy had built a sliding door over the the entry so that critters–like honeybees–couldn’t get into the box during the owls’ off season. At some point last spring, the door broke, life happened and we forgot that the door needed replacing. This vagabond bunch of bees noticed the attractive box and settled in. I watched them for a few weeks, thinking they would move on, but they stayed. We attempted to attract the bees with a makeshift swarm trap, sweetly anointed with lemon oil, but the attractant was ignored. These bees were clearly pleased with their owl box hive. Weeks later, we decided that we had to take the house down and figure out what to do with (what we thought) were a few bees in the owl nest box.
As Bee Daddy was up in the tree (let’s hear if for dangerous home projects!), he suggested there were lots more bees than we had assumed.
He lowered the nest box and yes, there were lots of bees and some stunningly beautiful comb.
Those darn bees!
We placed the owl/bee box near Bo-Peep, hoping the bees would go home, since they likely came from Bo. Instead, they remained in their newly hived home, so we simply put the roof back on the box and let the bees be.
From the time I first noticed the bees in the nest box to when I saw the last few dead in the box was about 6 weeks. This band of bees was a ‘late swarm’ and realistically, had no chance of surviving winter. There were too few of them to stay warm during the coldest days and there was no queen, so no hope for growth or replacements for aged bees. I’m baffled why they left the safety of a large hive, but honeybees do weird things. I guess that’s really my take-away from beekeeping: honeybees are weird. Beekeeping is three-fourths science and one-fourth art, the art part being about accepting that honeybees have their own agenda and humans play (at best) a limited role in honeybees’ lives.
As we enter 2025 and a second decade of keeping bees, I continue humbled and awed at our bees’ drive and sense of purpose and community. Bo Peep, a lonely sentinel in the back of the garden, still active in this mild winter, is also resting for the upcoming season of growth and honey production.
Will Bo have a new hive neighbor? I’m not sure. I would be content with just one hive, but since hives abscond or decline for a variety of reason, I would have to accept that if Bo disappeared (whatever the causes) we’d be left with only one hive until spring of ’26. I’m not ready for that decision. I am sure Bo’s bees are content to live their lives this winter, safe in their cozy hive when it’s cold and wet, spreading their wings to pollinate and gather nectar during mild days, and waggling to communicate with their sisters.
Honeybees may be weird, but they’re also wonderful and it gladdens my heart to see them in my garden, as they collect pollen and nectar, knowing that they’re fulfilling all of the other responsibilities inside the hive which humans are not granted daily witness.
My Gardener Says... 