Of Field and Forest

Preface



My purpose in writing this short account is not to acquire anything for myself, but rather to put down my personal experiences in so that others, having never had the privilege to see these things for themselves, might have a slight knowledge of some of the animal life in the prairie, scrubland, and forested area of southern Wisconsin. It is in this hope that I present this short work, which, in the production of, I learned the truth to the saying, “writing is easy, all you have to do is stare at a blank sheet of paper until great drops of perspiration roll down your forehead”.





                    August 4th, 2008

























Chapter 1

It was one of those summer evenings that often characterize the Northern Midwest, in which, while the sun sets in a brilliant burst of yellow-orange, giving that color to everything it’s rays fall upon, cooling evening breezes descend into the small valleys and meadows and bring a fresh breath to the fields and forests. On such an evening a lone turkey cock was strutting his way along the border of a soybean field. With caution he slowly walked up a small knoll, bobbing his head at every step, and making little noises of uncertainty deep in his throat. The only sounds were that of the zephyrs’ gentle whispers as they moved through the grass, and the evening program of songbirds singing their nightly benediction to the sun.



As the turkey moved up the hill, his view of the field expanded, and leaving the shadows, he proudly paced the distance to the summit. As he did so, the sun, in a last farewell, burst from behind a momentary cloud, casting its rays on the turkey and giving him a yellow-orange hue. The cock, hearing an uncertain sound, stopped his march briefly to listen, and standing there, still as the night and straight as a jack pine, looked as though touched by the hand of Midas. The turkey, vain as he was, did not know this, for his mind was preoccupied with other cares, particularly, a faint distant swishing sound in the grass that, as measured as a clock, was making its way toward him. After a slight hesitation, instinct prevailed, and the cock, with a short precursory bound, took flight for the far side of the field, leaving only a small bronze pin feather floating in the breeze.



The hiker, rounding the corner, saw nothing of the turkey, except for the feather, which a vivid blue swallow was now playing with, diving down and seizing it in his beak, carrying it a short distance, then releasing it. This process was repeated until the feather had lost enough altitude that the swallow would have been foolhardy to retrieve it. The hiker, not caring about this, passed on, leaving the field in the cool hush of night, for the sun had now set. Except for that, the area soon settled back down to its former state, and wrapped itself in the folds of night.







Chapter 2



The turkey, after the quick flight across the field, now deemed it time to find a suitable limb for his nightly repose. He soon found one in a safe place, but to his dismay it was occupied by that arch-enemy of the turkey, the gray fox. The fox, whose reputation for slyness is renowned, proved the fact in that he triumphed over the most wary member of the bird clan, the turkey. The turkey’s superb sight was of no avail in the dark, and the fox, seizing his opponent by the throat, drug him down the tree to his grave.





  The fox was not the only one to profit from the cock’s demise, for the turkey population was abundant, and if it was not reduced, would result in much worse than the loss of a few. As it was his ‘funebre et triomphale’ was not to be enjoyed solely by himself, for as soon as he had buried the remnants from his feast and left for his midnight nap his seal was broken and his cache was most criminally opened. The convict, whether out of fear or not, was in a gray jacket and wore a black mask. The raccoon is infamous for the ungentlemanly habit of robbing the caches of both man and beast, (in fact, some wonder if it was he that taught the wolverine) and this time he was not going to break the habit. Contrary to popular opinion, the raccoon does not wash all of his food, especially when he is some distance from a water source. Downing his stolen meal, he crept off to find another unwitting host.



  His crime was not unnoticed, for a Great Horned Owl was sitting above him, watching the whole proceeding through his spectacles with the air of a sage. He had learned that the best way to hunt is create as few disturbances as possible, so it follows that he would maintain a political silence during the theft. Spreading his wings, he glided down silently to examine the scene for scraps before continuing on his eerily noiseless patrol of the fields and forests. For hours he winged his way across the night, until, as the first cry of the meadowlark broke through the night, he returned to his roost, and tucking his head in his wing, prepared for the coming day. 









Chapter 3



The coming of the day was heralded first by a slight glowing on the eastern horizon, which, as it brightened, turned a light pink, gradually changing to a vivid red as the sun unfolded on the horizon.  The surrounding area also awoke. The meadowlark sent his cry across the land first, then, as the sun warmed the morning, the entire bird choir awoke with one long, sweet cadenza.



  If you can imagine this, see also that the trees and grass are black, silhouetted against the rosy-scarlet sky. In the middle of this the lady of the field and her fawn emerged from the woods and walked across the ridge to the field, in turn being silhouetted against the sunrise. The fawn, in his first year of life, still possessed the velvety nut-brown coat with the characteristic spots.  His mother, though more plain, had a sleek chestnut coat that glistened in the morning sun.



  Their descent down the path to the field now being over, the doe and fawn broke from what cover they had been in, and testing the wind for warning signs of an enemy, began browsing through the herbage for their morning repast, while the birds serenaded them from the surrounding brush line. They made a picture familiar to any woodsman, the mother slowly taking dainty bites while her young son took turns running circles around her and trying his own breakfast. Every so often the peaceful stillness was broken by some strange sound, and the doe, raising her head and freezing in an alert position, would ascertain whether it was a branch falling, two playful squirrels in their morning game of “Capture the Nut”, or just the wind causing the two branches on a large Weeping Willow to rub together and make a sound not unlike that of a very large hinge.



  This continued on for a quarter of an hour, until, as they were leaving, the doe snapped to attention, carefully smelling the wind. After pausing briefly, she decided that the risk was greater than before, and, calling to her fawn, began to quickly head for the downwind side of the field. Unfortunately, the predator now saw fit to show herself, and a sleek, dull gray-brown coyote appeared. She seemed confident in herself, as she picked an easy lope to take her en route to her victims. The doe and fawn reached the brush line as she was halfway across the field, and pausing, turned and saw her coming towards them at a fairly good clip. As she was about fifty yards away, the two had an opportunity to run. However, as the fawn was not quite to the age where he could use his legs to an advantage, the doe, with a gentle nudge, sent him into the brush to use his only weapon, his camouflage. The doe, an old veteran, turning, headed in a diagonal direction towards the coyote, causing their meeting place to be about thirty yards down the brush line from where the fawn entered. The predator, when she saw that the deer was heading to meet her, slowed her advance to a cautious slinking. The two mothers started slowly circling, and eyed each other carefully. With the death of the deer and her fawn, the coyote’s young would eat, whereas the doe was not willing to sacrifice herself or her fawn. The coyote, about eight feet from the doe, finally grew tired of watching her victim at such a close range, and crouched close to the ground, preparatory for a spring. The deer, taking the hint, also readied herself for the canine’s onslaught. With one bound, the coyote leapt forward, but the doe was ready, and caught her enemy under the jaw with her right forefoot, causing the coyote to be flung on the ground with a yelp of surprise. She quickly rose, however, and tried to outflank the deer, who in turn repeated the performance, just with her right hind foot.  After five minutes of this the coyote tried a feint attack then leapt forward, but the deer jumped back, leaving the coyote to land flat in the dust. The predator, knowing she was taking a great expense and getting nowhere, decided to abandon the attack, and was drummed off the field by the doe. The deer, returning to where she had left her fawn soon was back on her way to their bedding area where they would spend the rest of the day.

 









Chapter 4





With the rising of the sun, the open areas soon grew warm, and although the characteristic breezes were keeping the air from growing stale and hot, the songbirds restricted their activity to the trees and the animals gradually moved into the shady spots.  Occasionally a small ground squirrel would take a quick expedition out to stuff something in its mouth and scurry back to the cover of the grass but these were always short trips, for the area was frequently shadowed by the scout of the plains, the hawk. This particular field was patrolled by a Red-Tailed variety, who personally relished the thought of rabbit or squirrel as an after noon snack. With a four foot wingspan, razor sharp talons that could crush and kill a rabbit instantly, crystal clear eyesight, and a strong hooked beak, he was a foe not to be messed with. As he cruised the skies this sunny afternoon, high above the earth, with the wind rushing through his wings, he scrutinized the ground for any unwary small animals. He had been through the normal problems this afternoon, such as being chased by crows, blackbirds, and sparrows if he got too close to their territory and had witnessed the unsociable meeting between the doe and the coyote. He was now viewing a familiar scene, a lone owl (the same one we are already acquainted with) being chased by a flock of crows. The owl, a fierce predator, is hated by the crow, which will search him out in his daytime roost and chase or kill him. For some strange reason though he never reimburses the hatred showered on him by the crows, although he could easily win any war between their two clans. It is a quite interesting topic in that the owl, with his bespectacled face that has given him the reputation of being wise, seems in that wisdom to have hit upon the Biblical subject of “turning the other cheek”. It has been said that “the truly great are truly humble” and that “the greatest power is to control the ability to commit revenge to the extent that your enemy is incapable of doing further harm”, and these are the lessons that we can learn from this bird, who, lacking a soul, and with a brain incapable of performing the necessary functions to speak, think, and write intelligently, and other distinctly human attributes, has been endowed by the Creator with this characteristic, but not for his own benefit, for all creation has some way of reinforcing Biblical lessons. As previously noted, the owl, in obedience to his instinct, was paying no attention to his tormentors, and after a while glided into a hollow tree trunk to take a nap. The Inquisition, seeing that it was futile to try to follow him into such an abode, soon left him in peace, and noisily squawked their way out of the woods. 



  The hawk, directing his attention back to the ground, soon picked out a good roost to sit for the rest of the afternoon, and tucking his wings beside his body, quickly dropped out of the sky, making quite a picture as he plummeted towards the ground. When he was an eighth of a mile above his target, he spread his wings, and coming to an abrupt stop, landed gracefully on the branch, which, although a four inch thick pine limb, snapped at the end like a whip.







  The sun, having reached its zenith, soon began its descent down the western sky.  As it did this, the intensity of its rays increased, and a silence settled over the scrubland. Animal activity all but ceased, and the only sounds were that of the wind in the grass, crickets, grasshoppers, cicadas, and an occasional bird. Butterflies, the fairies of the field, where still out and collecting nectar from the purple bull thistles, fluorescent orange-yellow Black-Eyed-Susan’s, Chicory blossoms. The Monarch, Mourning Cloak, Painted Lady, and the powder blue Skipper were the most common, although other colorful types frequented the area as well. It was quite a sight, with all of the different colors on each of these possessed, to see them gently floating from flower to flower. This peaceful scene continued on for three hours, while the sun, tired after its long climb up to the midday mark, now quickly descended to its rest.