Mid-spring in the far north brings wild turkeys down from the woods, and torrents of rushing water down from the hills. One month into the three-month season called Spring, the changes come slowly. In photos and captions, the continuing record of seasonal changes on Huron Bay in Michigan’s U.P.
Turkeys are an ancient bird; some turkey fossils found in North America are dated at least 5 million years old. (Learn more about wild turkeys here.) I passed this guy on the road near my house…
…and he fanned his tail feathers to show dominance. No worries, your hens are yours! (It’s mating season.) They’re in the nearby wooded hills in winter but don’t show up at my waterfront until spring.
This guy has apparently argued with another male over mating rights. Look at those busted-up tail feathers! He strutted right up to the south patio door…
…and then appeared at the east patio door, unruffled by the passing deer….
…and then puffed up at that door, too. He circled a long time here, right against the glass. Perhaps he saw his reflection and thought it was competition.
A flock of hens is never far from the toms during mating season…
…and they peck at the birdseed that falls from my feeder.
Watching a tom strut is always entertaining, even if his tail feathers aren’t spread out.
Turkey struts aren’t the only sign of spring’s arrival. Snow melt fills the local rivers to bursting, such as the Sturgeon River near Canyon Falls, about a half-hour from my place.
I hear that people jump from this cliff during summer, when the river is calm. I might try that–after a hard look at the water depth, rocks on the bottom, and water flow. (I said might. 😉 )
There’s something about rushing water that’s both calming and frightening. I think of my white-water rafting days, and falling overboard a few times in rapids bigger than these. You’re taught what to do when that happens–stick your legs downstream, keep your head up, and float until you can pull to the side. It’s easier than it sounds, but I wouldn’t want to do it in a cold river like this!
Our hiking group walked about two miles to Plumbago Creek, then back again. It was interesting to meet two female Ph.D. students at nearby Michigan Tech who are from Nigeria and Iran, plus a few locals from India. The presence of universities in this remote area brings a touch of the international.
Small patches of snow remained in the shady parts of our wooded walk on April 26.
This large patch remains on the roadside near my house on April 27. Snowfall totals nearby almost met the record (1978-79), so some patches will remain in the woods into May. I sure enjoyed the quiet deep-winter at my remote cabin. Now, let the world come alive. Sprouting ferns next!
To make a cleaner backdrop for those ferns, I continue the clean-up at Camp Many Moons. I’m grateful that my little green chainsaw makes quick work of small trees and branches. I’m grateful for use of Jeff’s four-wheeler. And I’m grateful to live in such a beautiful place, among warm people who remind me that kindness still exists in a world seemingly riven by anger. It’s the nature of wild turkeys to mate in spring. It’s the nature of water to seek its lowest point. And it’s the nature of some (not most) people to choose power over partnership and conquest over compromise. The rest of us find ways to co-exist, enjoy the gifts of nature, and clean up the mess when necessary. God-speed!
For Many Moons 