As we stopped our cars, these tiny ducks stood up and began to prance daintily across the ice.
Fall is still hanging on, with only an isolated hint or two of the dreaded season looming over us. We try to stave it off, or mask it with celebrations, but let me mention an open secret: winter is coming. Do not avoid it, simply embrace it gently. Approaching winter holds surprises.
Our second trip to the Berkshire Lakes brought one hint of winter, a shimmering surface of delicate ice on some small ponds and backwaters. The larger ponds were still in a softer mood, barely moving under a light southerly breeze. Protected coves were glassy calm, and often home to dabbling ducks.
Our first stop was in the town of Lee, where we a drove past a picturesque landmark of buildings and fields known as High Lawn Farm overlooking Laurel Lake. In the water we discovered a raft of mallards busily tipping up to feed on the weeds in the shallow bottom.
With them were a gadwall and a wood duck, as well as a few hooded mergansers. As we watched, a small group of mallards lifted off from time to time and crossed the road ahead to disappear beyond the trees.
We drove down the road where our first winter scene awaited, a cove covered with a thin layer of ice. In the center of the ice were the disappearing ducks, feverishly dabbling as if it was their last chance before a hard freeze made the weeds unreachable.
At the Stockbridge Bowl the scene was repeated, ice in the weedy marsh on one side of the road and open water in the great bowl itself. There, common mergansers flew off to the far side as we approached, but a few ruddy ducks stayed close amidst a throng of Canada geese.
We passed another landmark, Tanglewood, shuttered and closed for the season. Then, we drove up the steep slope of Stockbridge Mountain, only to descend again into the pleasant meadows and fields of Richmond Valley. As the road emerged from the woods, we came upon a small pond, one nearly covered with glistening ice.
Almost encased in the ice were 200 Canada geese, packed so tightly in the unfrozen part of the pond that they seemed to be one great creature, a many-necked Loch Ness Monster. Nearby, we found one of winter’s surprises, three green-winged teal resting on the ice.
As we stopped our cars, these tiny ducks stood up and began to prance daintily across the ice. Two of them were females who quickly found an opening wedge of water where they settled down to swim, apparently unwilling to fly away.
The male would have none of swimming or flying. He preferred to tip-toe across the ice, even climbing back up when he fell through from time to time. He avoided the open water, seeming to enjoy the slippery challenge. We sat amazed at the sight of an ice-dancing teal.
A few days after finding the teal, I came upon another surprise that bears the very name of winter, and also likes to dance upon its toes. It was on one of my visits to collect water from a spring that is part of a large seep beside a small brook.
This day, my eyes caught a little bullet of feathers that flew down from high on the hillside, only to disappear beneath a large, fallen log near the stream below. I stood still and made the pssshing sound, and a winter wren hopped up on the log.
It is rare to get a look at this little wren. In spring we marvel at its long and lovely song, but still rarely spot the singer. It is also not common to see one in November, when these secretive wrens migrate through on the way from their northern breeding range.
When the wren was coaxed from cover, it began to rise and fall on its toes, uttering a soft brrrp with each little toe-tip. It jumped from perch to perch on the log, moving so fast it seemed to blink in and out of space. I soaked in each few seconds when it paused to twitch its stubby tail and dance upon its toes.
I did not mind the larger meaning of this encounter; the wren was yet another harbinger of winter.
Seth Kellogg can be contacted at skhawk@comcast.net
The Allen Bird Club website can be found at massbird.org/allen