What The Hay?

 It all begins innocently enough, the stuff that fairy tails are made of really.  Birds take wing to the rolling hills of Vermont in hopes of finding that perfect match by calling out, "Cheerily, cheer up, Cheerily, cheer up" loosely translated as I am here my love, be happy! They become lovebirds if you will, and together they feather their nest in which to raise a brood or three. Young children everywhere are lifted up by adults so that they may peer in with wide eyes to count a clutch of Robin blue eggs and witness first hand the miracle of the birds and the bees - sigh.

I used to hand write an annual letter in the spring to Wayne's Gram Thelma, first from Florida and then from South Carolina in order to announce to her that the Robins had begun to make their way up to Bellows Falls.  After Gram's passing, a few of these letters were returned to me, reminding me of the hope that the first robin's of spring bring to all generations- double sigh. 

And so it was with eternal optimism that I requested of Wayne that he install our brand new outdoor carpet into our newly renovated gazebo. Wayne and I accomplished two big projects last summer, one was to scrub and paint our deck and the other was to scrape, prime, paint and finally put a new roof on the gazebo. Unbeknownst to me, one woman's gazebo is another's birdhouse. 

At first I assumed it was an innocent miscalculation and with a little redirection things would work out.

I removed the strands from the gazebo, thinking that the Robins would get the hint and move to the nearby tree. This only resulted in them becoming more determined.

Not to worry, they only thought that I meant move it over to above the door. I gave them a little more encouragement and they returned the favor in kind.

Wayne called from the road as I was drilling a pilot hole in a ceiling beam to install a hook. Though I had him on speaker, I was much too flustered to carry on a conversation about my plan of action. I retrieved my colander from the shed that I use to wash garden vegetables before bringing them into the house to wash again. I hung it from the hook and stuffed it with the grass I had gathered from the...well everywhere.

They began to bring in what appeared to be shredded lawn furniture, produce nets and strands of tarp. I'm not sure where they found them, but they even brought in cassette tape! The worst of it however, was when they deposited beak full after beak full of mud on the railings which promptly cemented onto and removed some of the fresh paint. 

Clearly an eviction notice was in order and as any observer can plainly see, these birds had options. Even so, I lugged out the old wood step ladder, placed the colander in the tree and filled it with their treasures. 

At last a compromise was struck, and all that I needed to do was sacrifice my rose bush.

Well this went on for some time and to the point that I thought that the poor creatures would die of nest building exhaustion. I waffled between wanting to remove their haystack, sympathy, and being curious about how all of this would end.

It was about this stage in nesting, when my daughter Helen dropped in to surprise me on Mother's day. Now Helen works in shore and seabird conservation and so I frequently use her as a resource for posts about birds. It was when Helen informed me that she had "never seen anything like it", took a picture and remarked, "It doesn't even have a nest cup yet" that I finally understood the breadth of revenge exacted by these angry birds. If revenge wasn't the reason for this Picasso in progress, than I honestly didn't know what the hay was going on here!

Hay is right, for while these birdbrains were still gleefully building, I came upon this broken robin's egg with a partially developed chick inside (sensibly) beneath a Horse Chestnut tree. While I took several pictures of the eggs contents, I won't post those here.

The discovery of the spoiled egg, was soon followed by the most beautiful pictures of perfectly rounded and cupped nests with bright blue eggs inside of them as posted by joyful birders on the Vernon VT Facebook group page. When the chicks arrived one by one, I cringed and graciously issued heart emojis to each and every one of those pictures. Tick tock, clearly either the rosebush robins or myself had been driven cuckoo! 

Fearing the former, I went in search of more traditional feathered friends and noticed a pair of Eastern Phoebes perching near our woodshed and making frequent flights into it. You can imagine my elation at discovering a perfectly dainty and cupped nest made from moss and mud in the rafters!

The Phoebe nest, being such a conforming and beautiful nest, I reasoned that I could blindly snap a picture and of course I could expect perfect results worthy of posting in the Vernon Facebook group.

"Helen, do you think it would be okay if I removed the cowbird eggs from the phoebe's nest?"  I argued my case to no avail when she informed me that Cowbirds are native birds and it would against the Migratory Bird Treaty Act. 

Brown Headed Cowbirds are brood parasites. They go around sneaking their speckled eggs into other birds nests, sometimes destroying or removing eggs already in the nest. Because they don't have to build nests or care for growing chicks, they can spend their free time laying more eggs. The rightful owners of the nest must feed (in this nest) two additional chicks which hatch sooner than their own chicks do. The poor nestmates must then compete for food with the much larger, faster growing cowbird chicks.* So much for perfect.

As I write this blog, the robin's nest measures in at 18x15x20 with no end to construction in sight.  So while my neighbors share chick pics, I arguably host the largest birdhouse in town. I already have a plan for next spring's nesting season. I'm going to locate the gazebo screens that I had Wayne take down when we first moved in and have him reinstall them (sigh). 

Oh, and to answer that age old question, "Is nest building innate or learned?" Even though I posted further reading arguing both sides, based on the mess in my gazebo, I'm guessing that the answer is learned. - Norma Manning

Further reading:

* The Cornell Lab of Ornithology, Brown Headed Cowbird

The Cornell Lab of Ornithology, American Robin Range Map

Journey North, Robin Life Cycle

Journey North, How to Build a Robin's Nest

Psychology Today, How Birds Nest

Audubon, The Migratory Bird Treaty Act Explained

Sundays are for Fishing

 Where do you want to go fishing? "Any place in Vermont" was my reply, and that's how we ended up walking down Jacks Brook with fishing gear in tow. One minute I was putting worms in the back of the Jeep and five minutes later I was taking them back out again. To people who know the area well we must have seemed somewhat peculiar unloading our gear on the side of the road. Jacks Brook flows under 142 through a small culvert between Tyler Hill rd and a cemetery on its way to the river. What we found picking our way through that muddy narrow ravine, reminded me that Vernon is just as good a place to adventure as "anyplace" Vermont.

I'll show you more of Jacks Brook later because that's when I once again tested my bone density. On a trail for the first time, nothing ever goes exactly as expected, and to our dismay we found that at the opposite end of Jacks Brook is a second culvert and a steep climb. It seems that both Wayne and I had forgotten about the train tracks that separated us from our destination. It's an unwritten rule of the woods to pretend that these sorts of things are entirely planned. I suppose this is exactly why Wayne and I typically spend the end of the day discussing exactly where it all went wrong. 

I don't know how it is that Wayne always gets so far ahead of me! 

Well it looks like Wayne in his hurry to get up there, missed this little gem.

 Where did Wayne go?

This tree was fun climbing over with fishing gear in hand.

Things started to look familiar at the top.

Clearly our journey on Jacks Brook had come to an end as there wasn't a chance that I was attempting the bank on the other side of the tracks. Oh I promise you, the brook is down there somewhere in this picture.

A change in plans had us walking up the tracks to Miller's Cove which is a perfect spot on a perfect day to do a little fishing. The thing about being adults with no children at home is that we get to decide when the weekend chores and errands are finished. The difficult thing about being an adult with no children at home is wishing that we had spent more time fishing with them instead of doing chores and errands. We were welcomed by a beautiful family of Canada geese and later by a wary beaver.

Do you see that dark spot in the clouds? I hadn't noticed it until posting it. I wondered if I had gotten dirt on my lens, but it only shows up on the next two photos. 

I don't have the patience to repair equipment, but Wayne doesn't seem to mind. The last time we went fishing below the dam, he pulled in another fisherman's line and gained a lure in the bargain. A few casts later and the river claimed his favorite lure. It's a good thing that Father's Day isn't too far off.

There are a lot of fishermen who have spent years honing their skills. My brother Doug has ten poles and a bass boat. My brother Charles won a tournament on Lake Champlain with a 12lb Bowfin. I prefer to use a bobber and worms when I fish, it reminds me of my childhood days fishing on Lake Champlain with my grandmother's bamboo pole and no reel. I once caught a Freshwater Drum on one of those poles, mostly I caught Rock Bass, Pumpkinseed and Yellow Perch. Wayne likes lures and today he chose a froglike surface lure. I can't help but think about a time when we tied a fishing line with a bobber and worm on it to the dock ladder for our daughter Kayden who then caught a really big bass. I still have Helen's list of all the fish she caught as a kid. I couldn't tell you about the biggest fish I ever caught or how many, but these stories I remember. 

Several boaters traced the bank with rods casting under the trees. I had my eye on a weedy patch on the opposite side of the landing where Jacks Brook's and the river's current merged but Wayne had already claimed it while I was texting pictures to the kids.

I found my opportunity to move into Wayne's spot by way of invitation from the residents there. 

Canada geese in Millers Cove

By the looks of it's mouth, this Perch had been caught more than a couple of times, I tossed it back in after Wayne took our picture. 

Rain clouds had been playing cat and mouse with us since we arrived and it appeared that our luck was starting to run out. With wet shirts and gear, we decided that it was time to head out.

Wayne thought that it would be a good idea to cut through the cemetery and avoid that steep bank again. I wasn't about to be caught walking through a cemetery with fishing gear, so once again I convinced Wayne to take the wrong trail. On the way up the bank, it had given way under our feet and so Wayne warned me to be cautious on the way down. I was navigating fairly well with a large stick that I had found to be my third foot. I even informed Wayne that I would be the first to go down the steepest part near the bottom and then hand up my stick to him.  I clearly remember standing on riprap purposefully positioning my stick and then three days later informing my Physical Therapist that I had taken another fall on the trail.

 

At first I could actually see myself starting to fall, then the most dreadful thought crossed my mind! Wayne's phone was in my pocket and Jacks Brook was directly below me. When I hit, I hit hard; but I had lost Wayne's phone to the river before and I wasn't going to have that happen again. I heard Wayne yell, "Norma are you alright!" My back, my ribs, my shoulder my arm, my stomach, my hip, just about everything had hit the rocks and I was lying in the brook attempting to push myself up. No, I wasn't alright but got to my feet and fished through my soaked pockets looking for his phone. 

My Physical Therapist questioned me again on why I thought I had taken so many falls in the past year ( I was seeing her for a torn bicep from our canoeing incident). Wayne informs me that my center of gravity has shifted with age. Gravity must be the answer. 

Aside from being a poor choice for those interested in fishing, Jacks Brook is an interesting place visited by deer as evidenced by numerous tracks along the brook. There is also an abundance of interesting plants like the Jack In The Pulpit posted earlier, ferns and this plant that I don't know the identity of yet.

Water in VT is a public trust and people are within their rights to be within the low water marks. Jacks Brook is not posted private land, though there is a house being built above the brook. Wayne and I did our best to stick close to the waterway. 

 

It's almost a week after that I am writing this blog, tomorrow is Sunday. I'm still very sore from last weeks expedition and Wayne's phone is intact. I also survived the embarrassment of emerging from Jacks Brook soaking wet, carrying fishing gear and knowing once again that Wayne's trail pick would have been the better bet.  In the end, I highly recommend casting a line at Miller's Cove on a Sunday with your family and I recommend visiting Jacks Brook; but perhaps make it two separate adventures.  Oh, and one more thing Martin, do you suppose Jacks Brook is named for the plant found there? -Norma Manning

 Full text of,  A history of the town of Northfield, MA (1875) in which Jack's Brook is identified under Introduction 9.

The Falls on Island Meadow Brook

 If you're in search of a waterfall without the long hike in, where Island Meadow Brook empties into the Connecticut River may be a perfect outing for you. However, if you relish a reward at the end of a longer hike, then I encourage you to pick up the Green VAST trail that connects to the Vernon Rec trails. Either way, I think that you will agree that these falls are worth checking out. Before we get started, if you are the sort who loves a good back story to an area prior to visiting, I suggest that you read Volume five of The Vermont Historical Gazetteer, The Towns of Windham County, Vernon, 1861

A couple of notes before you go; though a short walk to the falls, some areas are steep and the ground is covered with loose leaves. Make certain that you have appropriate footwear prior to entering the area and I recommend trekking poles. This may not be the place to explore with small children. Additionally, this area is not posted (yet) so please respect it so that its owners keep it open. 

When traveling south on 142, just past Vernon Green is the north end of Stebbins Road on the left. On Stebbins Rd, look for the fire pond on your right with a small pull off. Directly across the road from the pond's damn is a worn path to the left of the ravine which leads to the falls. This path will give you a vantage point above the brook and falls. On the way back we walked along the brook.

A look down river from where the falls empty into it.

An Ideal location for a selfie with my daughter Helen

A steep narrow path perhaps made by fishermen goes down to the river. 

The river current and level varies depending on the hydroelectric plant's outflow from up river.

We first noticed these falls in August of 2020 while canoeing from the Vernon Damn towards Stebbins Island. On that day we lost our canoe when we capsized after being forced up onto a fallen cottonwood tree. Unfortunately, I also lost Wayne's cell phone and all of my pictures of the falls during that event. You can read about that adventure in Our Lifejackets Saved Us.  

We decided to descend the bank and walk along the brook's on the way back to Stebbins road. 

Eastern Hemlock is a major tree in south eastern VT and makes up much of the forested land here in Vernon.  I was alarmed to see the high level of infestation of  Hemlock Wooly Adelgid in this area. This insect kills Hemlock trees in four to six years by feeding on it's sap. Given that it has also been found in the Town Forest, I hope that Vernon has a plan to save our trees. 

Eastern Hemlock are the predominant tree around the falls.

I turned around to take a last look at the river and was surprised at how the view changed dramatically from viewing at brook level versus looking down on them from the top of the ravine.

A marker on the opposite bank

A leg bone from a deer

Deer hide

As I mentioned above, this area comes with noted history, some of which involves conflict between Native American's and the settlers here. This story begins in the Gazetteer with, "Aug 20, 1756 Capt Joseph Stebbins of Hinsdale (Now Vernon)... were harvesting wheat upon his farm" Abby Maria Hemenway author of The Gazetteer, also retells in the same paragraph, the finding of a Native American skeleton unearthed in this area.*

Weather you are looking for a pleasant place from which to view the river, a fishing spot, or perhaps interested in imagining the life of the indigenous people and settlers of Vernon, this nature find has something for everyone. -Norma Manning

Resources:

* Vermont Historical Gazetteer, Volume 5

VAST Trail Breakers Map 

Water Features In The Windham Region South Eastern VT (map)

NYS Dept. of Environmental Conservation, Hemlock Wooly Adelgid

Entomology Today, Biological Control for Hemlock Wooly Adelgid