Tag Archives: Wildlife Gardening

Skulk

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noun: skulk; plural noun: skulks

  1. a group of foxes.

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.

Ice Arrives

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27

This winter has seen plenty of overnight light freezes in my garden, but only in the last few days were the conditions ripe for the formation of Frostweed, Verbesina virginica, ice sculptures. Two mornings ago, the day dawned cold, bright and sunny, with icy, exploded frostweed a new addition to the garden.

As I trundled around the garden, I observed many low-to-the-ground ice sculptures revealing themselves in light and shadow. Many plants produce ice sculptures during the first hard freeze of the season, but none with quite the drama of frostweed.

Morning sun highlighted fanned crystal formations, held firm along broken stems, as sturdy braces

The temperature never rose above freezing that day and into the night, the fragile ice sculptures held. Indeed, by the next morning, many of the sculptures had expanded. The second day was cloudy, no sun rays to brighten the ice. Some newer sculptures, instead of traveling upwards the stems, remained close to the ground, the ice reminiscent of floral decorations from warmer days past.

I haven’t pruned the winter garden, at least not in any major way. But here, it’s clear that stems were cut, the ice crystals limited to hugging the ground, swirling around the stems, snuggled on fallen leaves.

Frozen water proves stronger than sturdy stems.

This frostweed created the tallest of the ice formations in my garden, whirls around the stems, some 2 feet up from the ground. Green winter grass, coupled with some evergreen wildflower foliage, is a fetching background to the ice and winter-dormant stems.

Compare this photo with the first: it’s the same plant with more ice, less intact stems. Such is the way of frostweed ice sculpture work, rendering a new paradigm for the plants’ seasonal life. It’s an end, of a sort, though in reality, only a resting time. The roots below are priming for spring green.

This morning, snow is a light blanket in my garden. It’s not a powdery substance, but instead, sleet and snow mixed. It’s also quiet, the birds mostly still asleep or too cold to sing, except for the Carolina Wren–he’s awake. The Grey Fox, a regular night visitor to my garden, was out last night, caught on the wildlife camera prancing around the white ground, probably hunting. I hope it’s now in some warm, protect place, resting for the adventures to come.

This winter ice, whether snow, sleet, or busted plant stems, is fleeting–like so many things in the garden.

Hermit Thrush

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21

As summer wrapped up and autumn commenced, the neighborhood birds quieted their activities. They’re around–nibbling here, noshing there–yet have been infrequent visitors to the sunflower and safflower feeders that hang in the garden. I do see plenty of bird activity midst the seed and berry producing perennials–that’s why I planted them! As I stroll through, rustling in the underbrush produces a flight of feathers to higher perches, but it’s difficult to catch good glimpses or clear photos of these winged wild things.

Autumn’s migratory season is a memory. I observe fewer birds in both number and variety during autumn migration compared with during spring migration. This autumn there was a quick look-see of a Baltimore Oriole, Icterus galbula, and brief barely-there view of a Yellow-breasted Chat, Icteria virens. Smaller, muted-colored birds are always a challenge to watch, but they were here, in limited numbers: Nashville Warblers, Lincoln Sparrows, Common Yellowthroats, and the like. Some moved on to winter homes south of Central Texas, but others remain, settling in for winter, before spring beckons to recreate their families. There’s at least one Orange-crowned Warbler, Leiothlypis celata, and one Ruby-crowned Kinglet, Corthylio calendula, in my back garden on a regular basis. Whether these two are males or females, I have yet to discern.

The migrant who stayed long enough for the watcher to watch was this handsome Hermit Thrush, Catharus guttatus. What a sweet little face it has and how about those breast/tummy spots?

It mostly hunted and pecked along the ground, looking for seeds and small insects as its busy beak swept back and forth along the ground and through mulched areas. After a while, it took a break from its meal-finding to splash in a bath. Here, resting, it shows off its rufous backside. Hermit Thrush’s tails show a redder hue than other thrush tails.

September through November is a quiet time, an empty nest time, for the resident birds and I miss their feathery antics and calls. During this time, they rest, their adult bird needs minimal. As the days grow shorter, then lengthen, the birds become more active, preparing for the territorial-defending and calorie-consuming seasonal mating and chick rearing responsibilities revisited on an annual basis in spring and summer. The increased attentiveness in the garden, coupled with winter-visiting migratory birds, will make for interesting bird watching in the coming months.