Early winter woods wander and discoveries

 I entered the Woods through the NW entrance Monday mid afternoon to enjoy some of the peace and quiet there. Just thirty feet into the Woods, I caught a glimpse of fur, thirty feet down slope, and stopped to investigate. It was a recently dead opossum resting on the fallen leaves. No sign of injury, fur coat unruffled, small black ears folded down and face composed, as if it had just gone to sleep. I remembered the recent discovery that mink are being infected with corona virus and rabbits in North America are being decimated by a new highly contagious rabbit hemorrhagic disease virus, and wondered if this could be a result of some spread of a virus into wild animal populations. So much about the lives of wild animals that we don't know. Beyond the first trail junction, the peaceful 'toe slope' pond, swamp wetland is well-filled (2.5 ft) with water rising from the water table, a good sign. The water was covered with winter pollen. I saw no sign of the small minnows or insects that live there.

  South of the big tree grove, I stopped to watch a brown wren hopping from branch to branch in a tangle of fallen branches beneath a big cottonwood. The bird seemed not to fly but to 'pop' or levitate, jumping from branch to branch, active and energetic. I wondered how they find enough food to sustain themselves on a late December day.

  I decided to walk most all the non-flooded trails and see what the Woods were like, on a mild afternoon in early winter. By the old Elm Bridge crossing, bunches of Allium wild chives were bright green. Early winter chickweed and unidentified crucifers were producing small green leaves, low against the soil. A flock of a dozen robins were foraging, hopping about, turning over dried leaves, looking for small snacks, invertebrates, worms, pill bugs, etc. Various patches of the Woods' dried leaf litter, have been vigorously turned by foraging armadillos, leaving characteristic trails like small vacuum cleaners pushing through the leaves.

Above beaver dam, the water was backed up in small shallow pools around the roots of the elms, not flowing. 

In the center of the Woods, a quiet piece of soft dried leaves looked inviting and I laid down for a nap. Not many places now where you can do that and listen to robins foraging around you. 

Fifteen minutes later, opening my eyes, I looked at the forest of trees, many bent or broken, trumps snapped, major limbs lost. I enjoyed thinking about the multidimensional kaleidoscope of green leaves that standing living stems will produce in the spring. Their above-ground stems, trunks, and branches have been severely damaged, but the roots below matter the most for longevity. They will produce the new crop of leaves to sustain rapid new growth in the coming April.

Time to head home. I stopped again to admire the huge structure and massive bulk of the summer 2020 fallen cottonwood. Then made my way out of the Woods.