Skunk dens and fox holes

Fox hole surrounded by tracks

Close-up of print

On today's walk we returned to the edge of Sun Valley by the road where I smelled a strong musty odor on my ski trip yesterday evening. The smell was still strong today, confirming the presence of one or more skunks, and most likely a den. I read afterwards that up to twelve female skunks may den together during winter.

Examining all the tracks on our way back through the fields, the ubiquitous whitetail trails were suddenly replaced by a smaller, furrier set of tracks - fox or coyote - along the irrigation ditch separating the Prairie from Oat Field. Hard to tell the difference between the two, but then I found the den, exactly where I've seen a fox disappear into two summers ago. So, I'll have to reexamine the tracks, but will suppose they belonged to the resident fox(es). And finally, a big set of turkey tracks nearby made for a delightful morning adventure.

Turkey track

Pileated Woodpecker

The bird life on the farm is just spectacular, even more so with all the feeders around the barn during winter. Today on our snow-driven walk in the fields we startled a pileated woodpecker from its roost, where it was seeking protection from the snow. A gorgeous bird with its deep black coloring, white trim and shock of red comb, big yet graceful in flight. Here's a photo from the internet.

New environment, new animals!

Today we went on two wonderful walks here on Echo Valley Farm, and we saw ten wild turkeys, three whitetail deer and a weasel-like creature. The turkeys were roosting in the trees between the Prairie and Deer Field, and they were scared to the ground by the sound of your stroller wheels breaking the thin crust of snow on the winter rye in the fields. Rather backwards logic, as they are nowhere as safe as in the trees, but hey - maybe that's why we eat them for Thanksgiving! Three young whitetails were furtively skirting the edges of the fields, and bolted when they heard us, but I observed their deep tracks in the not-yet-frozen ground when we passed by the places they had been. And finally, a flash of bushy white tail underneath the bushes and brambles that most likely belonged to a weasel, ferret or marten (recently observed by a local hunter). The winter moon rose over the fields and the clouds hurried home in the last of the pale sunlight, tiptoeing over the tallest bare branches of the trees that guard the creek, cold and flowing and dark.