Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, June 26, 1995 TAG: 9506260023
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A5 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: MONTY S. LEITCH
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
Each year at about this time, our yard becomes a natural menagerie. All the birds and beasts in the neighborhood appear for treats.
This year, the wealth of berries has yielded a wealth of visitors.
Last week, three little grey foxes sported in and out beneath the low-hanging branches. We've often had fox visitors at mulberry time, but never in such multitude.
These three chased and nipped each other, when not too busy nipping mulberries; and leapt with great abandon and grace through the long grass of the pasture next door when the cows snorted distastefully.
They've returned singly since then, and once we saw a pair of them down at the fence - teasing the cows, no doubt - but the trio came just that once. On the evening of the very same day that a pair of pileated woodpeckers had flown through.
I hear these beautiful black-and-white birds calling with some frequency. They start in the trees on the ridge to the north of us, then move into the cut-over woods to the east.
``Peterson's Field Guide to Eastern Birds'' describes their call as ``kik-kik-kikkik-kik-kik, etc.'' I suppose that's as good a way as any. It's a loud, sharp, insistent sound; and these birds, who usually travel in pairs, keep earnest track of one another as they fly.
But though I often hear them, I seldom see them. And then, last week, there they were - a pair of them, rifling the mulberry tree. Just a quick pass, though, and they were gone.
This is the way, it seems, I always see these woodpeckers: in glimpses so quick, so magically beautiful, that I doubt their reality.
But the box turtle is real. The one who's foraging under the mulberry tree every day. There he is, plodding along, whenever I pass under the biggest tree with the mower.
Our yard is such that these passes come at intervals of about five minutes. The turtle has moved on a few feet, a few feet, a few feet. The mower doesn't seem to bother him; it doesn't seem his motivation for trudging along. So I remember to watch for him.
He's easy to spot, this particular box turtle. As brilliantly colored as any I've ever seen. His head and neck shine golden in the sun. And on he plods. He plods.
While I slow down, watching for him, giving the heavy purple mulberries ample time to drop from the tree into that very narrow space between me and the seat of the mower. Every pair of work pants I own is stained.
All day long, the mulberry trees rustle with birds. The cardinals and goldfinches think they've found heaven. They sit in the dense foliage, and sing and sing and sing. Even robins swoop in and out. Bluejays, too, of course; and crows, swallows, starlings, doves, sparrows. Occasionally, a hummingbird zips by the font porch. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd been visiting the mulberries, too.
A skunk has dug many holes all over the yard, including under the mulberry tree; and likely 'possums lumber through after dark. The groundhog that lives beneath the barn is so fat, he's probably gorging on mulberries, too.
The only critter around here who's abstaining is the cat. But he happily sits on the front porch for hours, watching, watching, the tip of his tail twitching with delight.
Monty S. Leitch is a Roanoke Times & World-News columnist.
by CNB