I’m not a fan of late autumn. In fact, fall is my least favorite season. As the colorful leafy spectacle that ushered in this period fades into the depths of our memory, the landscape is replaced by solemn shades of greys and browns. Temperatures plummet. Things die and go dormant. The word “bleak” comes to mind. Yet, as the leaves exit the trees, I can’t help but be captivated by the hidden secrets that suddenly become exposed. First of all, I can once again see the topography of the land. It’s refreshing to look out through the woods and see the rise and fall of the landscape, the ravines, the streams, a full view of the forest and the changes that occurred throughout the prior year. I feel less claustrophobic at this time of year.
I also marvel at the things that have taken place right under my nose that I never noticed in my busy daily routine. A red-eyed vireo nest hangs down between the perfect horizontal ‘V’ of a limb, the structure woven securely to the attending branches. I heard this little migratory songbird singing its tireless song this past spring and early summer. Its persistence in our woods made me suspicious of a nesting somewhere in the area. But to suddenly discover it within 50 feet of our front door has me shaking my head. How could I have missed this beautiful family as it flourished and fledged so close to my own abode?
In another part of our property, a large grey football-shaped structure has become exposed directly above a well-traveled path. The amazing architecture of a bald-faced hornet nest has grown and flourished throughout the summer without any hostility whatsoever. Now that the first frosts have hit, the insects have perished, and birds such as chickadees, titmice and woodpeckers are tearing into the papery construction, making short work of any larvae that remain inside.
I anxiously await the leaf drop so that I can search for giant silk moth cocoons attached to exposed branches. The Promethea moth caterpillar takes great pains to select a particular leaf and expertly attach it to a branch with its strong silken threads. This will prevent it from falling into the duff below. Wrapping itself tightly inside, the caterpillar then forms its cocoon. The leaf, with its internal secret, hangs freely from the branch, exposed and swaying in the winter breezes.
Cecropias, the largest moths in North America, spend the winter in large brown cocoons attached lengthwise on substantial branches. Well camouflaged, the caterpillar will overwinter as a pupa inside its cozy dwelling for nearly 10 months before it emerges as a stunning adult in early June.
When I was a child, searching for cocoons nearly always resulted in a variety of specimens that I would bring home to safely overwinter. Yet nowadays, I must traverse miles of ground, searching high and low, just to discover a single cocoon. Sadly, the effects of air pollution, light pollution, parasites and loss of habitat are all taking their toll on our lovely lepidopteran species.
Looking upward into the treetops, my attention is drawn to large, unkempt globs of leaves resting in the crotches of the branches. These are the nests of our local squirrels. Known as “dreys,” their size and position in the trees reflect the species that constructed them.
Unlike larger birds which utilize sticks and construct their nests farther out on the branches, dreys are often constructed closer to the trunks at a height of at least 20 feet from the ground. Many of these nests have been in the trees all summer, obscured by the foliage. Other nests are the result of recent construction in preparation for winter. With an outer surface of leaves, small branches and vines, the nests appear disheveled on the outside. Yet the interior is a cozy room lined with soft moss and pine needles, with thick walls impenetrable to the wind.
Fox squirrels, grey squirrels, red squirrels and flying squirrels all utilize dreys but also prefer the shelter of cavities in which they are more likely to rear their young. As the chilly autumn breezes whip the tree branches into a tizzy, I think about the squirrels all cozy in their dreys. Just watching those leafy nests dancing in the wind makes me queasy, as I am one who is seriously prone to motion sickness.
I suppose late autumn isn’t that bad after all. The more I pay attention to my surroundings, the more is revealed to me. This is not a time of death, but a time of discovery. It’s a time for Mother Nature to reveal the secrets that she has harbored throughout the spring and summer; it’s a time to absorb the happenings of the previous year and to become wiser about the secrets of the future.
