Hillside burn.
What a lovely fall day. Chilly but brilliant, with in-and-out clouds and a landscape all bronze and coppery-colored, and with a crisp, sharp smell in the air of fallen leaves and tree seeds and wood smoke and season’s-end decay. I love this time of year.
However, we didn’t manage to hike early, Jack and I, on account of a degree of laziness on my part and some work that needed doing and the fact that it’s election day. I.e., stuff had to be plotted out. I really wanted to ride my bicycle up to the Rockport Town Office to vote—as I have the past two Novembers—but the air felt nippier than I’d preferred to ride in, and I didn’t trust my cold-weather cycling attire unequivocally.
But then, in early afternoon, the sun came out. So I went for it.
Mount Desert.
Sure enough, en route to Rockport I found myself heading into the teeth of a stout northwest wind. Most of my attire fended off the chill respectably—all except my fingerless gloves. By the time I’d gone the four or five miles to Rockport Village, damn, were my fingers cold. Hit the post office, hit the polls. (Not overly crowded, the polls.) Enjoyed voting. (I had a late change-of-mind in Maine’s governor race, which is one reason I don’t do the absentee-ballot thing that’s been growing in popularity lately.) Then immediately rode three of four minutes out of my way to Maine Sport, where I plunked down some bucks for a pair of bike gloves with fingers. And the ride back (granted, with the wind) was way more comfortable, for sure.
While cycling, I saw and/or heard these bird species: herring gull, American robin, black-capped chickadee, American crow, tufted titmouse, northern cardinal, blue jay, house sparrow. And I learned that I can survive a good long ride at 40 degrees (F).
Soon after returning, the sun being on its way down, Jack and I headed for Beech Hill.
Not a lot going on up there in late-afternoon these days, bird-wise. But the wind had calmed, and the day seemed warmer. A chickadee’s call, a white-throat’s note, the voice of a robin erupting from a tree. I also heard a hairy woodpecker’s sharp cheep!—but not much else until a sudden, small flock of finchy birds flew over, peeping. Their undersides were light, and their voices were bright, but I couldn’t tell you what they were.
Looking west, I spotted an obvious burn on one of the inland hills. Twisty columns of smoke were rising from fires in several spots, and you could even see the flames across the wide Oyster River Valley. Some controlled deforestation up there, I figure. Fire is a miraculous thing.
Several others were walking the hill today. In fact, I ran into a friend coming down and we chatted during our descent. I heard a blue jay. And then Jack and I headed on home.
Immediately on arriving back, I realized I’d lost one of my gloves. My regular gloves, which I’d stowed in the front pocket of my hooded sweatshirt, thinking I might need ’em. Because of the late stillness, I didn’t need ’em—but I’d somehow got home with only one of the pair. I didn’t even let Jack out of the pickup. We headed back up right away.
Red and gray squirrels.
As we were arriving again, I saw a solitary junco fluttering across the road and into the preserve. Soon after we started up the trail again, I ran into little dog Lucy’s mom (a fell0w Beech Hill dog walker), whom we’d seen as we were leaving, and asked if she’d come across a black glove up there. And she had. Someone had stuck it—like a head on a pike—on of the stakes along the trail. So Jack and I hiked up the hill again but for some reason did not see my glove. We got all the way to the top and circled Beech Nut without finding it. However, I did come upon two or three yellow-rumped warblers flitting about the stone hytte, as the sun set behind the southwestern ridgeline, the little birds hunkering down in the dimness below the rock wall. I got within about four or five feet of one of them. But I’d left my camera.
So then we came back down, and I paid special attention to every single stake along the path. Sure enough, I found my glove, lying at the base of one of them where it’d fallen for some reason.
It felt, at some points, like a harsh day of running gauntlets. But it ended as a gentle day full of the promise of warmth and gloves.
Beech Hill List
Beginning at 4:15 p.m.—and again at 5:15 p.m.—I hiked the open trail.
1. Black-capped chickadee
2. White-throated sparrow
3. American robin
4. Hairy woodpecker
5. Unidentified finch
6. Blue jay
7. Dark-eyed junco
8. Yellow-rumped warbler
9. Northern cardinal
Elsewhere
10. American crow
11. Herring gull
12. Tufted titmouse
13. House sparrow
Tags: American crow, American robin, black-capped chickadee, blue jay, dark-eyed junco, finch, hairy woodpecker, herring gull, house sparrow, northern cardinal, tufted titmouse, white-throated sparrow, yellow-rumped warbler
