Nature Photo Essay:
January Morning, Southwest Ohio

January 18, 2003 in rural Montgomery County. A winter storm had blown in the previous day, ending sometime during the night. I awoke early as is my tendency, the view out the windows black except for the ambient light of neighbors' lights. Wondering what the morning snowy scene would look like. Anticipating.

The morning, when it finally arrived, dawned clear and cold. Perfect powder snow and hoarfrost covered all they could. Looking outside, I could see the tracks of cottontail rabbits where they had explored in the yard, searching alertly for food during the night.

Obviously, there was only one course of action in this situation: get out there and photograph. Breakfast can wait! (Can't it?)

So I bundled up, grabbed my photo vest and tripod, and headed out to the back fields just as sunrise was clearing the trees along the creek. The low angle of the sun backlit the hoarfrost covering the fence weeds and brush, turning them orangish-yellow. Two rusted steel fence posts leaned into my side of the field, rimmed by frost. They made a nice visual contrast to the sunlit-frost-weeds and the bluish snow in shadow. The fence posts had probably been bent over by a piece of heavy machinery long ago. Maybe a farm tractor or combine that swung a bit too wide?

As the sun got higher, it reached down to the snow-covered, frosted meadow grasses. I got down low so as to better appreciate the intricate beauty of the scene. Often the grandest spectacles are small, right beneath our feet. It's simply a matter of scale.

I quickly became enthralled with the sunlit, snow covered, frosted meadow grasses. The autumn had been dry enough that it had not been worth it to harvest another gathering of hay, and so the grasses had grown fairly high. The weight of the hoarfrost had gently bent the grass blades over into arches, and the gently drifting snow had gathered around their bases. Now the sunrise was making them glow as well. I shot as quickly as I could, trying to take advantage of the quickly-unfolding scene.

Graceful curves of grass, some yellow or brown, some still green. Slender blades arching upward toward the sun during the growing season, now gently bent in concert with the wind and the snow. Adapting, fitting in, persevering. Thriving.

Moving to the lawn, I inspected the rabbit tracks more closely. Rabbits, of course, hop rather than walk. Their little front feet are placed down together, then the large hind feet are swung forward. In this photo, the rabbit is turning. Can you tell which way? I wonder why he or she decided to turn there. Did something in the brush look like it might hold a bite of food? Maybe it was doing its rounds, checking out the same areas it usually did. With grasses covered by snow, maybe the shrubs and tree seedlings look more tasty.

Out back, beside the stately old white wooden barn, the tall, majestic blue spruce cradled miniature snow drifts in its boughs. To attract me even more, the rising sun lit up the orangish twigs with a reddish glow. The blue-green needles were sharp as, well, needles. Conifers such as spruces, pines, and junipers are major bird roosting places during the night. I wondered how many called this big spruce their home throughout a winter such as this one?

I decided to cross the fencerow and explore along the creek, with its protective shelterbelt of tall trees and brush. I walked along the edge of the field. The cornfield had been cultivated after harvest, leaving long rows of furrows and dirt clods that were now frozen solid. The unevenness of the frozen soil, covered with slippery snow, made for ungraceful walking. Soon I was annoyed at all my slipping and stumbling. Then I remembered that this was a perfect situation for the technique called "fox walking". Instead of stepping in a heel-to-to fashion, fox walking uses a ball-to-heel motion. Furthermore, you touch down with the outside of the ball of your foot first, then roll to the inside of the ball, and then the heel comes down last. This is the method that native peoples used before we all became civilized and cut off from the Earth by flat, paved and cemented surfaces.

Using fox walking, I became far less preoccupied with looking down to where I was going to step next. Instead, I could look around, keeping my vision wider so as not to miss any sights of animals. I let my feet adjust to the jumbled, slippery frozen surface by letting the ball of my foot hit first, letting my foot slide to the left or right down into the plowed furrow. This was much more enjoyable than fighting the land.

A line of fresh tracks followed the edge of the trees. Dog-like tracks. They looked too big to be a fox, so I assumed that they were probably made by a coyote. I put the macro lens on my camera and got down on hands and knees in the snow to photograph them from a low position with the tripod legs spread-eagled out nearly flat.

At one point I could see where the coyote had paused to put both front paws on a frozen, snow covered dirt clod. In my mind's eye I could see it there in the cold night, the front part of its body up higher than its reare end, using the slightly higher vantage point to look and listen for its next meal.

I wonder if it finding anything to eat, and if so...what? Coyotes are such a beautiful creature. So in tune with their environment. While we stay in our heated homes, they cruise around in the frigid night as if things couldn't be better. Or so it seems.

All this time I had been working my way along the treeline toward "Deer Alley". It's a bend in the treeline that juts out into the field due to a small side channel to the creek. It can't be cultivated, so the machinery has go around it, leaving a bend of brush that sticks out into the field. The deer like it there, because it's midway between farm houses and affords a clear view of the field from three sides. They can feed in the field, retiring to the brush to lay down.

Although I hadn't seen any deer out in the field, I had been making my way toward Deer Alley to see if any where there this morning. When I came upon the coyote tracks, I became so absorbed in them that I looked up to see two deer suddenly standing out in the field next to Deer Alley.

Uh-oh. Caught flat footed again, because I had the macro lens on instead of the telephoto. I hadn't been paying as close attention to my surroundings as I should have been. Too caught up in the coyote tracks. I was not well hidden, and would have to be careful not to spook the deer.

I slowly removed the macro lens, putting it into my shooting vest pocket. One of the deer caught my movement anyway and turned straight toward me, ears spread wide, using all its senses to try and figure out what I was. Slowly I found the telephoto lens in my vest, put it on the camera, and managed to get one shot as the deer bolted for the brush.

With the deer vanished, I walked up to where they had been. I studied their tracks where they had been milling about in the open field. Moving into the weeds and brush along the creek I could see where they had been laying down after their night's feeding.

I turned around and headed back toward the house. A flock of robins was working around in the tree-brush belt along the stream, eating berries. As I came back to a brushy corner of the field behind the barn in the noontime sun, I saw the brown and white flash of a rabbit as it disappeared into its hiding place. Thus my morning ended with the same kind of animal it had begun with.

I went inside, fingers and toes cold but heart and spirit warm from the enjoyable exploration and fresh air in the countryside. Time for a nice hot lunch. Breakfast can wait until tomorrow. Unless the dawn is as enticing as this one was!

RECOMMENDED READING:

The Science and Art of Tracking: Nature's Path to Spiritual Discovery - Tom Brown, Jr.

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