Winter Wildlife at the ODC

Photos courtesy of Educator Carl Heitmuller

A deceased young buck (male deer) was found on one of the trails of the Outdoor Discovery Center, unable to survive this year’s harsh winter. So out of curiosity, Educator Carl set up his trail camera near the deer and captured images of a cottontail rabbit, red fox, and our resident Bobcat!

While the rabbit was likely just passing through, Red foxes are scavengers and will naturally gravitate toward carcasses to fulfill their nutritional needs. Foxes do not prefer to engage in combat for their carcass, and will instead wait their turn nearby a carcass for the other animals to finish eating.

Bobcats are efficient carnivores and mostly nocturnal, or active at night. They feed primarily on small mammals such as mice and voles, rabbits, squirrels and woodchucks. However, as opportunistic predators, they sometimes feed on carrion (decaying meat) and may on occasion even take larger animals like deer. Bobcats are very stealthy hunters that move through the forest silently and can remain motionless for long periods of time while stalking their prey. One interesting behavior is that they will cache their food, covering it with dirt, leaves, sticks or even snow to hide it from other scavengers so they may return for another meal at a later time.

Together Outside: Blazing a Trail in Two Feet of Snow

By Kerrilee Hunter -YN Preschool Director

This morning, I write while the snow falls outside. 

Last week, I was with the Early Bird Lunch Club kids, and as part of our morning, they told me they wanted to go to the pond as we had on previous days. 

Looking out at the undisturbed snowfall from the nor’easter, I told them that it would take us a while to get there. They were determined, and so we broke some icicles off the roof as our special items to take with us on our journey, and set out across the field. 

The going was slow. 

Blazing a trail in two feet of snow, it turns out, is a lot of work. 

We took turns being the one in front (though it was mostly me, as the tallest), boots sinking into the snow up to our knees or higher. We stopped frequently, taking what the kids called “icicle breaks.” They would lay in the snow, one child slowly eating her icicle, while I crunched a more thorough path than a single bootprint; several times, shaking the snow out of boots was part of the icicle break. There was no way to keep it out completely. 

We looked for landmarks to get us there - the fallen tree branch being really the only good one, from the ballroom to the pond. Halfway from the fallen tree branch to the pond, we had to change course and divert around the geese moving about the one bit of unfrozen water. 

When we finally arrived, what was normally a minute’s walk had been a 20-minute process. 

And now, there have been two snowfalls since then, including the one in progress. That trail we blazed? Filled in, I am sure. If we want to go to the pond again, we’re going to have to do it over, and in even deeper snow this time. 

If anything feels like a metaphor for this past year… wow, does that ever. It has felt to me that any and every time we collectively find our footing, something happens and our ability to do anything is slowed, halted completely, circuitously redirected, and/or undone almost as fast as we do it, demanding that we work ever harder to get to the same place we know we have reached so many times - and so easily! - before.

It’s maddening. 

I know I feel this, and I bet you feel it too; whatever your days consist of, just getting to the very basic tasks of personing is that much harder, that much more taxing, than it was a year ago. There is little in the way of a reliable routine. The fatigue is real, the feelings of frustration and helplessness are real, all of it is more real than we allow ourselves to admit most of the time, because we still have the next hour to get through, and the next one, and the one after that. 

My commute takes me by the Hudson River each day. Last night on my way home, I felt a call to it. I stopped at the ferry terminal in Newburgh, where there weren’t any other people around, and I stood by the water for a few minutes. I actually walked a step or two in the river, at its frozen edge, before coming back to the snow-covered shore and just watching and listening: two ducks, hitching a ride on an ice floe in the middle of the river; distinct prints of mice and squirrels and gulls and one other person who had come before me in the snow; I could actually hear the ice sporadically crackling as the water flowed southward. It was peaceful in a way I haven’t felt in a long time. I did not once think about making the call to close school today, or any of the gazillion tasks that go into piloting a preschool through a pandemic, or the piles of dishes and laundry that awaited me when I arrived home, or how I haven’t seen a single one of my friends in months. 

Like me and the Lunch Club kids last week, you are all blazing a trail through two feet of snow, as we live through this strange time. I hope that you also, somewhere, some time, have something like I did last night, where the world feels steady rather than disjointed and overwhelming, where it is your most inner, peaceful gaze that looks out at the landscape and just is, for a moment. We all need as much of that as possible. May those moments find you, and during all those other moments, I’ll be out here with my boots on if you need an icicle break. #TogetherOutside

Together Outside: Winter Nature Weaving

Nature Weaving is a wonderful activity that works during any season (especially in a winter light on snow!). It also combines creativity with the outdoors, and encourages the exploration of textures, colors and shapes in nature, even in colder weather! Tag us on Facebook or Instagram with your Nature Weaving creations and don’t forget to use #TogetherOutside

• Go on a nature walk in your backyard, neighborhood, at HHNM, or your local park and collect interesting grasses, wild flowers, leaves, seed pods, nuts, and pieces of bark that you find on the ground. Collect sturdy 1/4 to 3/4 inch diameter sticks to make your loom frame. Make the loom any size or shape you want- the length of the sticks will depend on the size and shape of the loom you plan to make.

• To create the frame, attach the sticks together at each corner by pulling tightly as you wrap yarn in a criss-cross fashion around the sticks to join them into your desired shape. Tie the ends off at the back to complete the frame.

• Make the loom by tying a piece of yarn around one of the corners of your frame and begin wrapping it around the frame. Wrapping it around the sticks twice will help keep the yarn taught and prevent it from sliding on the sticks. Get creative! Use colorful yarn or ribbon, string beads along the yarn as you wrap it, or paint the sticks with your favorite colors. Tie the yarn off on one of the corners when you reach the other side of the frame.

• Now it’s time to create the design of your Nature Weaving! Weave your treasures through the strings of the loom. You can make a pattern or go willy-nilly. As the seasons change and new natural materials are available, you have the ability to redecorate them anytime you please!

Together Outside: On the Street Where You Live

One bright spot of the previous year is that so many of us spent more time outdoors with friends and family than ever before. Let’s safely continue that trend in the new year! We’ll be sharing tips and stories to inspire you on our social media channels (Instagram, Facebook , YouTube) and once a month here on our Good Natured blog. We hope you will share your adventures with us by tagging us on our social media platforms and using #TogetherOutside.

On the Street Where You Live

By Joanna Marvel- HHNM Marketing Manager

“Connection, in an isolating age” is a lyric from Johnathan Larson’s 1996 masterpiece “Rent” that I’ve sung from the top of my lungs a thousand times over the years, but has resonated with me recently unlike ever before. Human connections are my job. Be it through email, radio, press releases, social media posts - my ultimate goal is to join children and families with HHNM’s amazing staff. But like most people, I feel the best connections are made in person. Feeding off each other’s energy or excitement, and learning from one another’s expertise can take a project or idea to a whole new level. All of that came to a grinding halt in March of last year. As a person who lives with several lifelong health issues and a compromised immune system, my world suddenly became very small. While I will forever be grateful for my ability to work remotely during this time, it does not come without its drawbacks, namely, human connections.

With older parents who live 2 hours south, a sister 1,300 miles away, and a husband who is an essential worker, it can be very easy to feel isolated and anxious, and to pull away. But  I found a wonderful solace in daily, and sometimes twice daily walks with my dog Marty McFly. Getting exercise, fresh air, and taking in the beauty of nature, were (are) a wonderful break from the screens dominating my days. I saw species of animals, including birds, snakes and turtles I had never seen (or more likely, never noticed) in the neighborhood before, and explored along a creek in a way I hadn’t since I was a kid.  In addition, these walks led to a very exciting but unexpected result - new friendships.

My neighbor and I had been casual acquaintances for years. We always happily said hi while passing each other when walking our dogs or wished one another a good day while grabbing the mail, but I didn’t know much about him besides his and his families’ first names and the fact that he works at a local college. When his teaching job became remote, he found himself in a similar situation to me. We would occasionally end up walking our dogs at the same time, and began to stop to talk to each other at a distance. I quickly realized he had a lot in common with both me and my husband, as well as a hilarious sense of humor.  We decided to kill two birds with one stone and take our dogs on walks together, walking on opposite sides of the street, while talking all things, family, work, politics, literature, movies, and whatever “tea” he had to spill (Gen Z slang I picked up during our walks).  Our households also began to have occasional masked/socially distant outdoor hangouts in each other’s yards, and my husband and I are now very close (not physically!) with the whole family- it’s like having surrogate parents and siblings- which is a beautiful thing with all of our family members living hours away.

While I absolutely cannot wait for life to resume some semblance of normalcy, I truly appreciate the lessons I have learned and the important reminders reinforced during these incredibly difficult times. The monumental importance of family and friends, to not take for granted a cool breeze on a warm day or the excitement of seeing wildlife, and the magic that can exist in your very own neighborhood. To quote Dorothy from L. Frank Baum’s immortal classic The Wizard of Oz, “If I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own backyard; because if it isn't there, I never really lost it to begin with." So from the bottom of my heart, I say thank you to the birds, bees, flowers, trees, and family and friends, old and new alike.  #TogetherOutside