Stories from

There's plenty to be said for rising early. In the above photo, rays of sunlight permeate our yard as the sun begins its ascent.

The calm of early morning provides a mirror image on a placid surface.

Mist rises from a stretch of Tonawanda Creek. Regardless the time of day, this is always a nice spot to take photos as little light penetrates the treetop canopy.

Gathering clouds have a filtering effect and cast a pale-orange glow on the horizon.

The full moon looms large immediately after rising...........

but not until the full moon climbs high in the night sky are we bathed in soft lunar light and moon shadows.

Murph and Charlie were on their way to dig tunnels in the flower bed when Murph spotted trouble approaching from the rough growth at the edge of the yard. "Uh-oh -- look who's back," he said. "Do ya think two of us can handle 'im?" asked Charlie. "No way -- he didn't get that big eatin' just bugs," Murph said.

Slinking through the rough that bordered the lawn was a slithering nemesis who had time and again menaced the local chipmunks. Having spotted his potential quarry, the sinister creature mused to himself, "Isthmus be my lucky day! Little fur balls! Boy oh boy! This should be a piece of cake!"

"Listen," whispered Murph to Charlie, "we're gonna need help. Go fetch the Muldoon brothers -- they always enjoy a good scrap -- and be quick about it."

"Hey Seamus, Rory, we need your help -- the snake is back!" As expected, the Muldoon bros pledged their support, no questions asked.

"Count us in" chorused the Frawley clan, sensing the excitement and eager to join the fray.

With reinforcements on the way, Murph is temporarily on his own when he comes face to face with the adversary.......

"Hello there, my little furry and tasty friend.......why don't you come a little closer, hmmm?" No sooner had the sinister menace lisped those words when he heard approaching movement in the grass.

Raising his head to better scope out the situation, the slithering reptilian suddenly sees the potential for a one-sided melee, and the odds are no longer in his favor.

Subtle, stealthful, and none too foolish, the serpent retreats to the rough from whence he came. As for the chipmunks, they went happily about their business of once again making holes in the lawn and flower bed.

Whether one views them as weeds or wildflowers, they are colorful nonetheless and for the past month or more they have pleasantly tinted the roadsides of Genesee County. The red clover pictured above was one of the more prolific plants springing up along country roads, in some cases clusters of the red bud could be measured in acres. Said to be a good source of vitamin C, chromium, magnesium, niacin, potassium and more, fresh buds are great in a salad, while dried they are used to make tea. 

Daisy fleabane -- when dried -- was once believed to rid a household of fleas.

Canada thistle resembles a miniature version of bull thistle but its bud is not nearly as colorful as the magenta flower of the bull thistle.

Crown vetch interspersed with red clover.

Wood sorrel

A streak-winged red skimmer rests atop a Rose of Sharon leaf. A couple summers back my grandson Joshua and I came across a large spiderweb with three of these dragonflies wrapped up cocoon-style and set aside for a meal at a later date. Joshua wasn't real happy about that -- he likes dragonflies. Come to think of it, he likes all bugs, period!

This daddy long legs, aka "harvestman," also decided to scour the Rose of Sharon leaves for a meal.

It must have been good hunting -- this green stinkbug wasn't about to pass up a meal. 

A white tail dragonfly rests atop a riprap embankment.

The translucence of a dragonfly's gossamer-like wings is evident on this Twelve-spotted Skimmer.

The wood frog is actually not so much a creature of summer -- he just happened to show up while I was mowing the lawn. Along with the spring peeper, the wood frog is one of the first amphibians to make its presence known in the early spring when it makes its way to vernal pools to procreate.

The Viceroy, pictured above, is nearly identical to the Monarch butterfly. Because the Viceroy so closely resembles the Monarch, which contain a toxin that is poisonous to birds and certain other predators, birds will thus avoid Viceroys...but only if it has previously sampled a Monarch -- otherwise it will readily make a meal of the Viceroy. 

Donning her "summer reds," a doe casts a wary eye in my direction.

Early season larch cones.

This butterfly is called a Question Mark -- honest! Taking nature photos is something Claudia and I enjoy. Identifying a species is satisfying in itself even if it leaves you wondering. I have no idea how the Question Mark got its name.

An Indigo bunting perched in the pines.

The remains of last year's teasel.

When our apple tree blossoms we're assured of seeing a variety of songbirds. Most years see plenty of "return customers," but every so often we're blessed with a "newcomer," like the yellow warbler pictured above.

In past years I've seen the yellow warbler in good numbers while canoeing Oak Orchard Creek where it flows through the Alabama Swamp. This is the first time we've seen them in our yard. And like every other species that shows up in the apple tree, they've come to feed on the insects found in the apple blossoms.

An Indigo bunting probes the blossoms for a meal. 

An oriole samples what's left of the suet.

A rose-breasted grosbeak interrupts the oriole's dinner.

Then there was the unexpected visitor at the feeder who had scaled the shepherd's hook and jumped onto the feeder.

He precariously worked his way downward...note how he's clinging by one paw!

Having settled in, he proceeds to stuff himself.

Hardly the mental image conjured whenever one hears the word marsh, Ringneck Marsh has greened up considerably in recent weeks.

A young angler tries his luck from the shoreline...........   

while his brother fishes from the dock. Part of Iroquois National Wildlife Refuge, Ringneck Marsh is home to northern pike, largemouth bass and panfish.

A variety of furbearers and birdlife also call Ringneck home. An osprey nest is seen in the above photo ......

and a pair of adults tending to the nests occupants. To give you an idea of how big this stick nest is, an osprey is a large fish-eating bird with a massive wingspan -- perched atop this nest they look pigeon-sized. For much of the morning this pair alternated between visiting the nest and soaring high above the marsh.

Discovery! When the fish failed to cooperate, this young angler took to exploring among the shoreline rocks and was rewarded for his efforts.

These fellas stuck it out a bit longer.....then joined their brother exploring the shoreline and searching for frogs, snakes and aquatic bugs.

Calling it a day!

This is a what Mohawk Pool looked like when Claudia and I took our first hike at Iroquois National Wildlife Refuge this year. It was April and cattails were brown and trees devoid of foliage. 

Later in the day the surface of Mohawk Pool reflected less sky while the early evening sun cast a glow on surrounding flora.

A pair of Canada geese swim slowly past.

Dusk along Feeder Road.  

A towering sycamore stands out in contrast against a blue sky.

A classic mallard photo....irridescent green head as vivid as could be, and a leg band to boot. Bands provide valuable data for wildlife biologists. Nice photo, Claudia!

A great blue heron stalking its next meal.

Companions for life.

This photo of black-crowned night heron was taken by Claudia along the Feeder Ditch on the Tonawanda Wildlife Management Area. The Tonawanda WMA borders the western perimeter of the Iroquois National Wildlife Refuge while Oak Orchard Wildlife Management Area lies to the east. Together they compromise more than 19,000 acres of wildlife habitat that beckons to the springtime outdoor enthusiast, be it hiking, bird watching or nature photography. And so it was that Claudia and I spent several days this spring partaking of all three activities at the three locations.   

Our takeoff point for Tonawanda WMA -- facing west on the Feeder ditch.

The black-crowned night heron was hidden from our view by tall reeds as it stalked the shallows. Finally aware of our presence it made quite ruckus as it took flight, emitting several loud guttural squawks, literally one after the other.

Hard to say who was more startled, my wife and I or the heron. Anyway, as disturbed as it seemed to be, we were surprised when the heron alit in a tree and allowed us to take its picture.

It's that time of year when female turtles are making their annual trek to deposit eggs. This gal doesn't look so pleased with the delay, does she?

I really enjoy wild mustard greens and having come across an abundance of it atop one of the berms, the day's hike turned out to be a bit longer than planned.

A great blue heron perched atop wood duck nesting box

A great blue heron perched in the tree tops.....saw more blue herons on this day than ever before, most of which were on the wing.

A gust of wind reveals a red-winged blackbird's scarpular

To be sure, there is quite a history behind what the locals refer to as, "the Feeder Ditch."

Hard to say for certain whether this yellowlegs is of the "greater" or "lesser" variety. Both are quite similar in appearance and, as you might have guessed, the long bill is perhaps the first thing you notice about this migrating shorebird -- at least in this photo. 

This photo plainly shows how the yellowlegs got its name... and those legs come in handy for stalking small fish in the shoreline shallows.

The yellowlegs' long bill also proves useful when seeking a meal.

Here the yellowlegs uses its bill to probe for food, moving it back and forth to stir up the silty bottom and in the process locate snails and other aquatic morsels.

A sandhill crane makes a rare appearance along the Feeder Road at Iroquois National Wildlife Refuge.  

According to the "Audubon Field Guide to BIrds," there are isolated populations scattered in places like the Rocky Mountains and northern prairies, the majority of sandhill breeding takes place in regions throughout Siberia and across the Canadian arctic.

The mating dance of the sandhill crane is said to be spectacular. A mating pair will face each other and suddenly leap into the air with wings extended and feet thrown forward. Having done that they will then bow to each other and perform an encore. 

Seconds before I snapped this photo, the red-tailed hawk pictured above was perched on a tree limb. And that's usually where it's situated whenever I've set foot into its domain. From its lofty vantage point it can detect movement in the goldenrod field, the grassy meadow or the swale.

But no matter where it's perched, whether it be in the big oak tree or an adjacent cottonwood, whenever I enter his hunting ground the red-tail immediately takes wing, giving me a wide berth and soaring high overhead in ever-widening circles that take it in the opposite direction before eventually disappearing over a distant woodlot. 

But on this day it showed no sign of alarm as I approached. Instead of paying me any mind, it seemed preoccupied with a potential meal.

In the blink of an eye the hawk departed its perch and was on the ground  investigating its intended prey. It turned out to be a snake slithering beneath the remains of last year's goldenrod.

The snake is an unwilling participant, making a hard right in its attempt to elude the hawk.

Finally, the red-tail lowers its head to the ground to administer the coup de grace. 

The snake minus its head is protruding from the left side of the red-tail's razor-sharp bill...

while a smaller portion dangles from the right side.

Apparently even swallowing a dead snake is no cakewalk for a raptor. The red-tail did this several times, twice with its head tilted back and at the time it looked as though it was gargling -- I'm guessing he was giving his dinner a bit of prompting on its way "down the hatch."

Pussy willow, one of the earliest harbingers of springtime and perhaps the most short-lived. Within a couple days the catkins will turn yellow and flowery in appearance.  

Oxbow marsh on Oak Orchard Wildlife Management Area. A stopover for both migrating and nesting waterfowl.

Phragmite reflections on the surface of a vernal pool. How long the water lasts here depends on the seasonal rainfall. But the creatures whose procreation depends on such a pool are great barometers and get things under way accordingly. Wood frogs, spring peepers and salamanders are among the visitors who come here to breed.

A late afternoon sun illuminates the trees along Oak Orchard creek on a calm spring evening. Though placid-looking, the water level is presently well above normal as is the current.

Pussy willow stands out in contrast against background evergreens.

It was just about dinner time last Saturday when we received a call telling us about a big flock of snow geese in a Byron field. According to the caller, there were reportedly "at least 200" snow geese out there.

Either the caller underestimated the size of the flock or else we took a wrong turn and came across an even larger gathering of "snows."

It isn't that unusual to see snow geese occasionally in Genesee County. Normally, however, if one wants to view sizeable flocks of "snowies" during spring migration they take a drive down the Thruway to Montezuma National Wildlife Refuge or one of the Finger Lakes. But this was an opportunity to view a flock of snow geese close to home.

When we first spotted them they were more than a mile away, yet there was no mistaking the high-pitched chorus of snow geese on the wing. There must have been upwards of 2,000 of them with a smattering of Canada geese along for the ride. The massive flock had taken flight only moments before and from a distance the main concentration appeared as a sold band of brilliant white oscillating above the eastern horizon. 

Whatever the reason for their departure from the Byron location, it was soon apparent they were not yet ready to continue on their migration northward.

Within minutes they were in Elba, and by that time the main flock had dispersed somewhat, breaking up into several small flocks, each of which still numbered in the hundreds. These flocks settled down into fields along Norton and Edgerton roads, as well as fields adjacent Bank Street Road, seeking any leftovers from autumn's corn harvest.

Whether migrating or simply making a temporary change in feeding locations, snow geese call the entire time they are on the wing.

Two thousand geese may seem like a lot, but where snow geese are concerned it's hardly a drop in the bucket. The snow goose migration is one of the longest in terms of time and distance and flocks sometimes number in excess of 50,000.

Fortunately, the snow geese are just passing through and their stopover is sure to be brief since they breed on the open tundra, well above the North American timberline -- and still a considerable way off.

They seem to have delayed their migaration as long as possible. Now, their biological clocks ticking, large flocks of Canada geese have begun to return  to their breeding grounds - even if the weather isn't fully cooperating. The problem? Presently there is  little open water to accommodate the thousands that have already arrived.

With a shortage of open water there's bound to be an occassional squabble.

Bottoms up!  The water is shallow enough for the Canada's to dabble for remnants of last autumn's corn.

Geese aren't the only waterfowl in search of open water. Note the barely visible Redhead in front of the Tundra swan.

Unlike the migratory species, whitetails have had to endure a long, hard winter. Until recently these cornstalk remains were buried beneath a thick snowpack. For deer, foraging for meals the past couple of months was a lot of work. 

Life for Frankie's RocknGirl began on a frigid, if not inauspicious note. She made her entrance into the world at the Goodwin Farm in Byron in the wee hours of February 28th, the last day of what was the coldest month on record in Western New York. The air temperature outside the barn was 1 degree Fahrenheit. But no problem there -- within the hour the newborn filly was standing alongside her mom, Azorean Sky.

In addition to the foal's mom, there was plenty more TLC support despite the early hour. Keith and Karen Goodwin, owners and operators of Goodwin Farm, were there to make things as comfortable as possible for both mom and her foal. Besides a thick matting of fresh straw in her stall, Keith Goodwin had placed a space heater nearby to combat the frigid night air.

Batavian Shelley Falitico arrived shortly after the newborn's arrival. She and her husband, Paul, are the owners of Azorean Sky, a 6-year-old standardbred broodmare who once held her own on the racetrack.

"Sky" had a successful year as a 3 year old," she said. "The reason we decided to breed her was because of her lineage. Her father was named Horse of the Year in 2005 by the Harness Writers Associaton."

Shelley was referring to Azorean Sky's sire, RocknRoll Hanover, who was also named Pacer of the Year and 3-Year-Old Colt Pacer of the Year. Among his 12 wins that year were the Meadowlands Pace, the Breeders Crown and the North America Cup, making him only the second horse to sweep all three of those prestigious races. He was a powerhouse that year, most notably in the Meadowlands Pace when he covered the mile in a blistering 1:48.3.

Though they've been involved with standardbred horse racing for a number of years, this is the first time the Faliticos have bred one of their horses. And rather than go the route of the professional horse breeder, they opted for the "home bred" method of fertility.

Since they have boarded all of their standardbreds at the Goodwin Farm, the Faliticos spoke about their plans with Keith and Karen Goodwin who have a combined 75-plus years in standardbred horse care.

"They have been completely on board with us and have provided outstanding care," Shelley said. "So when we decided to breed 'Sky' I researched New York State stallions eligible for breeding last year and 'hypo-matched' to see what would be a good breeding match for her."

A couple of potentially good matches caught her eye and she and Paul selected Village Jove who was standing at Winbak Farms.

She added, "By breeding Sky with Village Jove, the foal would be eligible for Sires Stakes when she made it to the race circuit." 

(Above, "Frankie" seems to have discovered her shadow.)

Shelley Falitico's own father, the late Frankie Scanlon, has already figured prominently in the foal's life. The foal is obviously his namesake and the sire, Village Jove, was chosen not only for his blood line, but because he and Shelley's dad shared the same birthday.

A rather sad twist to this story is the fact that both sires involved, RocknRoll Hanover and Village Jove, passed away unexpectedly in recent years, 2013 and 2014, respectively. This makes Frankie's RocknGirl a unique kind of filly, one whose mold has been broken. 

So what does the future hold for this standardbred filly? Well, for starters they already have a trainer lined up. Jim Mulcahy has trained the Faliticos' horses for the past nine years and will continue in that capacity.

"He's the reason we got into harness horse ownership," Shelley concluded.

While it's way too early to predict what's in store for Frankie's RocknGirl, aren't hopes and dreams what help to make life bearable? Then too, there is her lineage, such magnificent blood lines going back decades to the likes of Most Happy Fella and Meadow Skipper. More than that, I can't help pondering the fact that she came into the world on a night befitting neither man nor beast. That being said, I'm thinking that maybe, just maybe, she's going to be a hardy sort, a filly with a whole lot of heart -- a filly who can give the boys a run for their money.

Thanks in large part to a constantly filled bird feeder, the Winter of 2015 has seen an abundance of feathered visitors in and around our yard. This cardinal waits on a snow-covered spruce bough between feeding forays.

The smaller birds, like this junco, begin to arrive at first light -- not at sunrise mind you -- but when the first hint of gray light begins to permeate the darkness.   

The blue jays arrive a bit later. After a pit stop in the apple tree to make sure the coast is clear, they will flit back and forth between the tree and the bird feeder....

as does this cardinal.

A trusting sort, the chickadee will occassionaly take seed from your hand.

Not so with the tufted titmouse....it flits about rapidly; It's been difficult to take its picture.

A blue jay in the "crow's nest" of the apple tree. The apple tree is the closest bit of cover to the bird feeder. There are small brambles and thickets just inside the small woods, but the apple tree is usually where all of our "guests" bide their time while waiting a turn at the bird feeder.

There was a time when the red-bellied woodpeckers never ventured into our yard, instead choosing to scour the bark of the big cottonwood, as seen here, or sidling along the branches of the box elders and walnut trees along the edge of the adjacent woodlot.

In the hardwoods the red-bellied woodpecker was something of a loner, but he doesn't mind sharing space at the bird feeder.

Often mistaken for a red-headed woodpecker, the red-orange streak on its abdomen indicates how the red-belly got its name.

A bluejay joins the red belly for a suet feast. No doubt attracted by the slabs of suet we've put out in recent winters, the red-bellied woodpecker has become a freqent visitor to the bird feeder.

While it may not qualify as a "blue moon occurrance," I haven't seen a red belly in the apple tree until this day. Being in close proximity to the bird feeder, the apple tree provides thick cover and protection from winged predators.

Long migratory flights have been put on hold in recent days. Here a drake and hen mallard take advantage of the open water on "celery brook" to do some dabbling.

Downstream from the River Street bridge, a pair of Canada geese appear to be feeling their oats.

Framed by phragmite plumes, these Canadas enjoy the open water of the "sandwash." 

The placid surface of a local pond creates a mirror image of this lone cormorant.

Even domesticated critters are taking advantage of the warm weather -- apparently in this case the grass is greener on the other side!

What are the chances strains of Silent Night will permeate this little valley in Middlebury tonight?

Wishing you and yours a joyous Christmas!!!! 

It was a time when much of the country was still feeling the effects from the Great Depression. In rural America the contents of a hunter's game bag greatly helped add to the family larder. Water fowl bag limits were quite liberal at the time and shotgun shells nowhere near as costly as they would become. A box of birdshot cost $1.25 -- a mere farthing by today's standards.

According to the Minnesota Public Radio archives, the autumn of 1940 was unseasonably warm throughout the state. The area had experienced a real Indian Summer during October that year and November began much the same way. Because warm autumns aren't conducive to great duck hunting, the wing shooting hadn't been much to write home about -- at least not until this day.

The morning of November 11th dawned sunny with the thermometer reading 50 degrees -- almost balmy for Northern Minnesota so late in the year. The temperature would climb to near 60 degrees. For outdoorsmen it was practically shirtsleeve weather. A good number of sportsmen heading out to the backwaters of the Mississippi where it flows past Winona were dressed accordingly -- nothing more than a canvas hunting jacket over a light shirt. 

In addition to the sloughs and backwaters of the upper Mississipi watershed, the river is dotted with a maze of islands where it flows past Winona, making the area ideal habitat for duck blinds. And this is where a good number of duck hunters headed that November day. 

By early afternoon the sky clouded over and a wind came up. It was a light wind at first and with it came the rain -- prime conditions for hunting ducks. The temperature began to drop and sure enough, the ducks began arriving in good numbers. Big flocks numbering in the hundreds at first, but before long the ducks were funneling into the backwaters of the upper Mississippi by the thousands. After a while the rain turned to sleet and still the ducks poured into the sloughs and backwaters. The sky was black with ducks and a few geese mixed in as myriad waterfowl all across the upper Mississippi flyway were silhouetted against gray storm clouds.

What appeared to be dream conditions for the duck hunters was really an omen, a forebode warning. In their zeal the gunners totally misread Mother Nature's danger signal. The ducks, countless thousands of them, were seeking shelter from an imminent storm. The hunters, meanwhile, merely thought it their good fortune to be afield for a waterfowl movement such as was taking place before their very eyes. They had no clue what was bearing down on them.

Predicting the weather in those years was not the science it would one day become. If those early meteorologists had at their disposal the sophisticated weather-predicting equipment of today, they would have known a strong storm that had originated in the Pacific Northwest had barreled across the Rocky Mountains and, instead of weakening after crossing the Continental Divide as is usually the case, it tapped into an intense low-pressure system carrying plenty of rain from the Gulf of Mexico before colliding with a frigid arctic air mass from Canada. A recipe for a weather disaster was in the making.

As the temperature continued to drop, the sleet turned into snow and what had become a stiff wind began increasing in instensity, growing ever stronger. Still, the waterfowl kept coming, providing the gunners hunkered down in the cattail-lined sloughs the duck hunt of a lifetime. The bag limit at that time consisted of 10 ducks and for those who had yet to fill their quota, with so many birds on the wing, it appeared to be just a matter of time before doing so. Thus, in the excitement of the hunt, shotguns continued to boom throughout the backwaters of the upper Mississippi.

"THE WINDS OF HELL"

The time eventually came when those who had refused to abandon their duck blinds earlier would have to pay the consequences one way or another. Mother Nature was about to unleash her fury.

The wind continued to strengthen and the hunters who had yet to leave, those still in the elements, knew they had made a dire mistake. For the hunters on the river islands, blinding snow and 70-mph winds made getting back to shore next to impossible. While a scant few somehow managed to get back to shore, for most it was an exercise in futility. Without outboard motors, wooden rowboats and skiffs were no match for the whitecaps and five-foot waves that stood between them and safety. It would prove to be at best a harrowing ordeal for those stranded anywhere among that maze of islands.

By nightfall the temperature had plummeted to 2 degrees but hurricane-force winds created a windchill of minus 55. In desperation, boats, decoys and duck blinds were burned in an attempt to provide warmth. Some repeatedly walked in circles to keep their blood flowing, others struck themselves over and over, pounding themselves in the arms and torso to keep the circulation moving.

What awaited rescue personnel the next day were a series of grim, surreal scenes. Throughout the region hunters were found lying prone, some beneath their duck boats, others covered by the drifting snow. One man was found standing in waist deep water -- he was frozen solid, his arms still clinging to a tree. Raging winds had driven the river up and over what little dry land, if any, was to be found on that particular spit of land.

One teen survived only because the family's two black labs had nestled on either side of him and remained that way throughout the night. The boy's brother, father and uncle weren't so fortunate. While many froze to death, others drowned in their attempt to cross the river sloughs in low-slung duck boats that were no match for five-foot waves and 70-mph winds.

The deadly storm ravaged parts of three states and was the reason for a head-on collision between a freight train and a passenger train loaded with duck hunters. Unable to see in the white-out conditions, the passenger train's crew missed a trackside signal. On Lake Michigan three freighters and two smaller boats sank, claiming 66 lives. All told, the storm was responsible for 160 deaths. Of that total, nearly 50 of them duck hunters, the majority perished in the upper Mississippi watershed near Winona.

The cataclysmic weather phenomena which struck the Upper Midwest on Nov. 11th, 1940, has since been labeled in many ways. For some it was the Armistice Day Blizzard, others called it the Storm of the Century. One newspaper's headlines referred to it as The Winds of Hell.

However that tragic event is recalled, in the annals of waterfowling and for the family and friends of those who perished, it will no doubt be remembered as The Day the Duck Hunters Died.

This gray squirrel found a weathered and wrinkly apple on the ground and decided on taking it back into the apple tree before gnawing away.

The red squirrel stuck with more traditional fare -- a black walnut.

A nuthatch is waiting to have a turn at the bird feeder.........it might take awhile.....

or until this gray squirrel is done gorging itself.....there has been a variety of birds coming to the feeders: cardinals, juncos, chickadees, blue jays, etc.....and quite often they all have to wait for the squirrel to finish.  

A "well-insulated" mourning dove.........

and a finch that seems to be contemplating whether or not to head South.