phe·nol·o·gy
noun /fiˈnäləjē/
1.The study of cyclic and seasonal natural phenomena, esp. in relation to climate and plant and animal life
In the modern era everything is political. It shouldn’t be. Some things simply are. Thus, I assert that spring is coming a bit early and it doesn’t have a goddamn thing to do with global warming. I just had to get that out of my system!
This winter was within the range of normal but a bit on the mellow side. I sure appreciated it. After the man-made hell that was 2020 I was reeling and I’m glad either God or nature cut me some slack. It is important to recognize good fortune and acknowledge it.
Further good fortune in relation to the mellow winter? I made it this far on a mere four cords of firewood. I burned damn near every stick… but I made it. Home sweet hovel has been more or less toasty warm all this time and (as with most years), I get the satisfaction of having personally wrestled most of our BTUs from the forest.
In other news, I went scouting some distance from Curmudgeon Compound and found a nice little gem. I stumbled into a valley I hadn’t heretofore explored. It was near a village I’d heretofore never visited. What a treasure I found.
A mere speck on a map, it was a place time forgot. There was a campsite handy too. It was so pretty that I was inspired. Unfortunately, camping was not the purpose of my travels and I was not in my truck (a pox on Detroit!). So I didn’t have my usual and ridiculously overprepared level of gear. No tent. No sleeping bag. Not even a fishing pole! (Not that it’s the right season for fishing, it’s just that I always have a fishing pole handy. Without one, it feels like I’m wandering around naked. What if there’s a trout emergency?!?) Anyway, the point is I found a place so peaceful and mellow that I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to camp right there.
I stayed a few hours, soaking up springtime, but then, alas, I returned home. I smell as many flowers as I can; but I can’t smell all of them.
Thinking of that, and thinking of nature and my role in it… I camped out… on my fuckin’ lawn. Sure, it’s cute when you’re six and creepy when you’re a grown ass man but I don’t fuckin’ care. I need to chill out and a night in a tent is as good as a bender at the bar (cheaper too!). Folks, you’re never too old to park your ass in a sleeping bag and snooze!
I told myself I was “checking and airing out” my tent. Which is bullshit. I was pretending I was nine again. There’s no shame in that. Plus, I needed a good night’s sleep and I like my cot and “supertent”. (Some of the best “investments” I’ve ever made.)
I set it up in late afternoon. I was under the watchful eye of one barn cat (nicknamed “Evil”) who would love to scratch a new-ish tent to shreds and another (“Tardo”) who would love to lay on my sleeping bag purring and shed until the whole tent was a nylon homage to car fur.
I explained to the cats that if there was so much as one scratch on my tent, I’d broil both their asses and feed ’em to my chickens. I think they understood.
Meanwhile, it was the earliest I’ve ever heard a ruffed grouse. They have a distinctive non vocalized low frequency sound I call “starting a lawnmower engine half a mile away”. Other people call it “drumming”. Regardless, this is pretty early! It seemed like only one. I think he’s got cabin fever like me. (I say “he” because I think drumming is the way males attract females.)
I thought nothing of it and got distracted with other things. I turned in around midnight. The moon was obscured. It was kind of eerie out. Very dark.
As I drifted off I heard the silly grouse drumming. Just one. Drumming. At midnight?
I have always thought ruffed grouse don’t drum in the dark. I’ve never noticed it before. Yet it was clear to hear. I lay there listening to the wind and that silly damn grouse. He kept it up.
“Jesus bird, you’re going to attract an owl and get eaten. Call it a day.”
Whump…. whump… whump whump whump…whumpwhumpwhumpwhumpwhump.
“Dude, check your calendar. The females aren’t ready yet.”
Whump…. whump… whump whump whump…whumpwhumpwhumpwhumpwhump.
“I admire your moxie. You’re going to get eaten but you’re clearly horny and don’t care who knows it. Are you mental?”
Whump…. whump… whump whump whump…whumpwhumpwhumpwhumpwhump.
I checked my thermometer. It was 37 degrees. “Dude, you’re not going to attract a decent mate at 2:00 am in 37 degrees. Try again in the morning.”
Whump…. whump… whump whump whump…whumpwhumpwhumpwhumpwhump.
It wasn’t an annoying sound. It was merely that I thought I understood that one basic part of grouse behavior and apparently I need to learn a new understanding. He was still at it when I drifted off. It was sometime around 2:00 am. I dreamed about ruffed grouse and how they were using the wrong clocks.
Then the coyotes kicked in. Two groups were competing. They woke me up.
“We’re the sharks!”
“We’re the jets!”
“This is our hill! We rock!”
“This is our swamp. We’re cooler.”
I’ve a theory that wolves and coyotes don’t co-exist. A lot of my neighbors say they’ve seen wolves but I’ve seen no sign that I can personally vouch for within a good 5 mile radius. So far I’ve been ignoring my neighbors. But I did get a good report that I d consider reliable. That’s a sighting of a wolf about 8 miles away… which is real close by wolf standards. I’ve been listening to hear a wolf respond to the coyotes. Something like this:
“We’re coyotes! Lets party!”
“I’m wolf! I will eat you!”
“We’re coyotes… we’re going to run away now. You’ll get your comeuppance when our Acme order comes in.”
I was thinking this but there was no audio evidence of wolves. Instead I got to hear this:
“We’re coyote team A. We’re super cool. Join us.”
“We’re coyote team B. Those other guys suck. Join us. We have better pay and a superior dental plan.”
“Whump…. whump… whump whump whump…whumpwhumpwhumpwhumpwhump.”
“What the hell was that?”
“The birds are weird. We’re done howling.”
“Same here. Peace out.”
“Whump…. whump… whump whump whump…whumpwhumpwhumpwhumpwhump.”
As soon as the coyotes stopped their party I drifted off. I have no idea what the hell that grouse was thinking.
So there you have it folks. Grouse don’t “drum” in the dark… except when they do.