Tiny seeds are scattered over the snow covered canyon floor. Where had they come from? There are no plants nearby which might have shed this type of seed. No wind stirs the cold, early December morning, so the seeds had not blown in.
The answer comes from above, in the cheerful song of a small, gray-brown bird with a reddish striped breast. A female "house" finch. Hopping from one snowy bough to another, she is reinforcing a nest tucked into a sturdy fork of a towering ponderosa pine. Repairing minor damages from last night's storm probably. A cache of winter
seeds must have sprung a leak in the process.
Before nightfall, the seeds will be regathered and put safely away. Most finches build strong compact nests with tightly woven stash holes for food, and a snug family room in the center. They are a mini-home of impeccable form and function that the late, great architect, Frank Lloyd Wright could appreciate.
Upon closer inspection, the original source of the straw-colored seeds becomes clear. Where this particular canyon trails off to the right, is Lake Roberts, aptly named the Emerald Jewel of the Gila Forest. Flowering cattails along the Upper End shoreline provide a late summer crop of high protein seeds for several species of full-time feathered residents of the region.
On this frigid a.m., local waterfowl seem to be having a convention at the Upper End. Flapping wings, quacks, sputters and squawks echo from the snow-laced rushes and cattail stalks that shelter these birds year round. I'm well acquainted with this gang of noisemakers. It doesn't take much to ruffle their feathers en masse. Perhaps they are agitating each other into motion just to stay warm.
Later, back in my hilltop home, layers of outer clothing peeled off, a hot cup of coffee and crackling hearth quickly thaw several frozen body parts, inside and out. A gratifying reward for being brave enough (Or impossibly dumb, I'm not sure which!) to leave my haven of comfort, in favor of hiking in nose-numbing temperatures and slippery terrain.
So...why did I do it? For the same reason I venture forth every December. To get into the spirit of Christmas.
There is no better way to prepare the mind and body for this cherished holiday of giving and sharing, than observing the approach of the Winter Solstice, first hand. Our Gila Forest is the poster perfect place to get in the mood.
Sometimes, this season's special magic is revealed in a sudden glimpse of deer in a clearing, the wise stare of an old gray fox who knows you mean him no harm, or the startling clarity of a blue sky after an icy rain or snowstorm.
No more peaceful place on earth exists than a forest during a gentle snowfall. To walk through such a pristine landscape is to have a better understanding of the words, well-being and serenity.
If I could bottle the clean fragrance of the Gila, winter-washed of the dust and lingering impurities (mostly produced by us humans) from the three preceding seasons, everyone in Grant County could retire comfortably.
Occasionally, a reminder comes along that it is smart to be careful when enjoying nature's largess. No matter what season it is. Last December, my adrenaline got an unexpected jump-start when I found fresh cat tracks imprinted in the wet ground, way too large for those of a domestic feline. I chose the better part of valor, as the saying goes, and scrambled back to the safety of my hill. My plans for lunch did not include being part of the menu for a hungry cougar!
Rare near-encounters with the wildest life of the Gila aside, Lake Roberts is a good place to be all of the time. Though I enjoy every month that comes along, December is up there at the top of my list of favorites.
At first thought, it may seem strange that this is so. The days are short, the nights long and cold. All the radiant springtime things are gone. The perfume of flowers that lured our senses in the summer past is but a wistful memory.
After a glorious autumn of brilliant foliage, December trees are leafless and plants are bare. Except for the hardiest of creatures, all of nature lies asleep. Most of the birds have gone south, taking their music with them.
Which is why the sweet song of one winter bird can fill the heart with such joy.
This Christmas, I will take my two young grandsons who live in a large city, to visit the ponderosa where the "singing" nest is. Several finch families have come and gone since I first discovered it. My grandsons and I will sit on a fallen log close by and listen, then leave an offering of ground-up fruit and seeds. It is the least we can do...for the gift of a December song.
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