Palouse Outdoors: Weathering the Storm

Ali and I had been looking forward to our winter vacation since we booked the flights in October. Heading south for a week of good food and scenic beaches ranks high among the options for properly ringing in the new year. But Mother Nature had bigger plans, as she often does.

Airlines were strained by the volume of holiday travelers and our beloved COVID "Omicron" variant sweeping through flight crews. Hence, it was no surprise that our flights were canceled with no opportunity to rebook as feet of snow deposited across the Northwest. On the bright side, we weathered the storm on the homestead rather than a cold concourse at LAX.

While I didn't care for ten below zero, I found the snow calming and appreciated the landscape transformation. Flakes gently fall and settle silently, masking the drab terrain with a pristine veneer. Everything appears smooth and delicate, and trees and wildlife contrast beautifully with the bright white. Although sushi on the beach would have been equally welcomed, sipping coffee, and watching quail each day offered its own rewards.

Songbirds, quail, and pheasant all hunker closer to food when the snow begins to build. Every brush pile surrounding the house held a covey who remained mostly within the confines. The blackberries along the road sheltered a covey that visited the bird feeders several times each day. I placed a game bird feeding block beneath a songbird feeder, and as the snow deepened, the quail would excavate down to the seed source. They dug around the block what resembled a moat surrounding a castle, and at times, only the tip of their little black top knots could be seen bouncing as they scuffled their feet to uncover seeds.

Pheasant are ever-present over winter, but when the snow reached a foot deep, a half dozen roosters and a sole hen arrived to feed with the quail. They never missed a meal at the deer feeder, which scattered scratch grains morning, noon, and night. Similar to the quail, the pheasant dug their way beneath the feeder until only tail tips could be seen and the occasional top of the head as the birds popped up to check their surroundings. Pheasant are dazzling birds in general, but their colors pop radiantly against fresh snow.

As the second front moved in, a bald eagle and ravens camped on the edge of the property. "Blue tongue" and epizootic hemorrhagic disease ravaged the white-tailed deer herd this past September, and the scavengers reaped the benefit. It's a rare winter when these birds and the coyotes fare well with easy pickings.

White-crowned sparrows joined the onyx-capped Oregon juncos and rosy House finches around the bird feeders while olive-backed goldfinches pecked at weed seeds. The white-crowned sparrow was late to the party, but announced its arrival with an unusual high-tailed scurry between feeders and the game bird block.

The chickens never left the roost, which suited me fine. The missus loves her roving gang of fowl that bully the songbirds and quail. On the other hand, I have a distaste for the feathered filth as they defecate across every inch of our yard, porch, and driveway. Between bouts of fertilizing the lawn, they work to unearth the foundation of the house, digging for dry soil in which to dust bathe. I appreciate their foolishness when they do emerge from the roost. Twilight lingers with snow, throwing off the chicken's sense of time. A few failed to make roost before the solar door closed them out. Unfortunately, the great horned owls missed their opportunities.

A plastic tote on the porch (among other things) marks ours the home of the hillbillies, but it affords our inherited outdoor tortoiseshell tabby a windbreak with cozy swaddling and a pressure-triggered heat mat, which she greatly appreciates. Her vacancies were rare with snow on the ground, and it was good to be home to keep her fed and in fresh water through the worst of it. By the looks of her girth and robust winter coat, I would say this winter has been particularly easy on her. Perhaps she is getting spoiled.

My only gripe was the eight inches of heavy almost-rain that piled up on the second go-round. My little thirty-horse John Deere did what it could, which was more than I expected, but a shovel and creativity were commonly needed to keep it moving. The road slopes away from the driveway, and at one point, as I attempted to turn around at the top, I slid out into the road with no hope of clawing my way back in. Wheel speed is important to keep traction and momentum, so I wrenched the gearbox into "high range," shifted in high gear, and dumped the clutch. Upon speeding down to Stonecipher Road, I threw the little green machine into a slide, spun a U-turn, and fish-tailed my way back up the hill. I impressed even myself by timing the driveway entrance and speed perfectly, lowering the bucket, and clearing the last strip clean before escaping the path of the County plow truck.

Drifts still linger as they had grown to over four feet high, but with temperatures back to normal, life on the homestead has returned to routine. Still, something is soothing about warm beverages and viewing wildlife in the snow and dashing across the lawn in my shorts to photograph a sunrise as it warms on the frozen horizon. I may be crazy, but I hope winter offers one more chance to weather the storm before trout season.