Life On the Lake 

Dedicated to the Joys of Waterside Living

And here they are, a few days ago

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Seasons are fleeting, and it is just as well, otherwise we'd get sick and tired of it always being. . . whatever it is.

Meanwhile, the wood duck hen is on the nest, and most of the day the males swim around alone or in lonely male pairs. But at daylight and at dusk, she leaves the nest in order to feed (and probably to breed again and produce another egg). The male is in close attendance.

Ah, aren't we all?

And then there is the short wait until she appears with her brood in tow. Some years it is as few as one or two ducklings. But other years she surprises us with a near dozen. And then the sadness comes when that large breed begins to shrink from predation. Twelve becomes ten, nine, seven, five, four . . . .

The red-winged black birds have been here since February. Their brood has long been hatched and it is hard to tell the young from mature females. Size is, of course, on indication, but they are growing fast and approaching full size. And we are doing our part, we think. A full feeder of birdseed lasts about a day. Then it is time to buy more and fill it up again. And we have five or six, all going strong from day to day.

Muskrat, looking hostile. But they are shy

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Until lately, the weather had been too cool to sit comfortably outside at dusk and admire the beauties of the lake under the dying of the light. But two nights ago, I did, and saw and heard things I had not been privileged to see and hear for a year or longer.

A new neighbor across the lake's dog barked furiously at its next door neighbor, an infrequent visitor and one of the so-called Summer People. The white Samoyed's owner apologized profusely, but could not corner the dog nor quiet it. The visitor was politely tolerant, but then what else could he do--bark back?

And then I saw a furrow in the water moving quickly across the lake and to our shoreline, where it moved along rapidly, its head out of water. At first I thought it was a baby river otter, but then, no, that could not be: too small to be without its parents. So it must be something else.

And of course I knew, I knew. It was a muskrat. Its snaky tail, its slick head, its tapered body. Not much different from an otter, but different enough. And I had seen them before at this time of the year, when they made their nightly outing.

But why then, and not earlier?

You'll have to ask the muskrat.

Don't worry about all the tulips, they will soon be gone. No more util next year. But then, what'll we do for pictures in the meanwhile?

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All the birds and ducks are paired. We are blessed with eight pair of wood ducks. The male is never far from the female. They come to our feeders and are quite demanding. I've timed the  hen and she makes a peep about every fifteen seconds. What she is saying is way beyond me. But they are communicating, clearly. And they remain shy.

At the same time, the hen is feeding steadily. Soon she will be on the nest or in her wood duck box in the vast wetland that lies to the North and East. The drake seems hardly to feed at all. She loves the particular brand of birdfeed my wife buys. Never has there been a year in which the wood ducks are so addicted. I've seen her gathering up the spilled seeds from the feeder in the morning and again in the evening. To me the seeds look like nothing special--not the acorns and nuts they supposedly prefer. Just the same stuff the juncos have been feeding on all winter.

My wife maintains they are breeding and she is laying an egg a day in her nest. I see no sign of breeding, though, but know it takes only ten or fifteen seconds. But they are a devoted pair, all eight or rather sixteen of them. They look and behave exactly alike, yet I can discern (I think) three from a previous year. I do this by their behavior. And one of them is an extra male. I don't think he breeds with her, as on the porno sites, but is more of a caretaker, after the eggs start to hatch. The other male ignores him. Or else he is a not quite mature male from their brood of last year, and will not separate cleanly from his parents until next year, when he will bond with a female at their winter site. Or so I glean from the books I have consulted. But duck mating is not my specialty.

Nor are tulips.

Trout have been hitting steadily all winter long. They average about fifteen inches, which is maybe a pound and a half. Fat, bright, and scrappy, on a good day I will catch and release four. Wednesday was such a day. Today, three. Yesterday, none. But the average is high. And it  does not take a long bite out of the day.

It will end, the good fishing for large trout, as soon as Fish and Wildlife make the annual plant, which I am told will be later this year, perhaps not until May. So maybe we will  have another week or two of superlative fishing. Hope so.

Hope it lasts as long as the tulips.

Thanks for the visit,
Robert C. Arnold, Editor