Despite last week’s chill and blustery snow, we are in the throes of spring migration. Actually, migration never stops. There is a bird somewhere on its way to somewhere else every month of the year. Purple martins have reached Florida by January. In June around the Cape May Migratory Bird Refuge you might find red knots headed north and least sandpipers headed south.

No, I’m not late. I’m not talking about puking green beer or waking up with Leprechauns — I’m talking about green with a capital “G.”

People say the corporate world has no soul. Corporations don’t give a rat’s behind about their employees, especially after they’re gone. And the flip side is employees are just there to get a paycheck. They do what it takes, and if they’re lucky, they have a job that pays the bills while they can’t wait to get the heck outta there. Well, I’m here to tell you it ain’t always so. I mean, we have a great example right here in North Carolina.

A river of burnt umber flows every year from southern Canada through the U.S. to the oyamel fir forests in the mountains west of Mexico City. This river tumbles along in a kind of bubbly joy reserved for kids, fairies, hermits, counterfeit curmudgeons and anyone whose soul is pricked by unimaginable beauty not trying to be beautiful — simply being.

No better way to celebrate a big thaw than an impromptu field trip. We rounded up kids, friends and friends’ kids and headed for the North Carolina Arboretum in Asheville. Our first stop at the Arboretum was the Baker Exhibit Center. Denise had checked online before we left and said there was a dinosaur exhibit there. I was curious to find out how dinosaurs were going to be exhibited at the Arboretum. Like most things at the Arboretum, it was totally cool. 

In my youth, never did a B-western movie make it to the end without the bad guy being cornered and denounced for the “yellow-bellied sapsucker” he was. Yellow-belly and/or yellow-bellied has, for various etymological reasons, been associated with cowardice. Sapsucker, I don’t know, maybe it just sounds kinda lowlife. 

Looking for something fun for the kids on a cold and/or rainy winter’s day. The Discovery Place in Charlotte has got you covered. We spent three-and-a-half hours there this past weekend with our two daughters Izzy (12) and Maddie (8) and we never heard a single “I’m bored” or “I’m tired” or “Can we go now.”

I mentioned the fact a couple of weeks ago that N.C. House Bill 74— the Regulatory Reform Act of 2013 — was set to begin the process of reviewing, readopting and/or repealing all state rules and that the first rules under the dissection scope would be those related to surface water quality and wetland regulations.

The annual Balsam Christmas Bird Count (CBC) took place Saturday, Jan. 4. In the weeks prior to the count many regular Balsam CBC participants, like me, had been crying in our eggnog. Bob Olthoff, long-time compiler for the count, was calling Lake Junaluska a “liquid desert” due to the lack of waterfowl.

This appears especially true in the Old Home State where the (first in over 100 years) Republican triad used the 2013 session of the General Assembly to lay waste to decades of progressive environmental policy and programs that produced a state that was a leader in outdoor tourism, retirement destination, second-homes, environmental policy and protection, quality of life and — prior to 2013 — ranked number 4 on CNBC’s “America’s Top States for Business.” North Carolina has since been relegated to number 12 on CNBC’s list because of its declining “Quality of Life.”

We touched on this winter’s irruption of snowy owls a couple of weeks ago, but these birds continue to pop up, not only in the Carolinas but across the South and into the mid-section of the country. I recently heard of one sighting in northeastern Oklahoma and one in Arkansas, near Little Rock. The count in North Carolina is around 15. The latest I have heard of was seen in Washington, N.C.

I believe Lake Junaluska has spoiled local birders like me. I spent about an hour and a half poking around the lake and nearby areas last Sunday morning. I ran into a few other birders and we were all of the same opinion — the lake was dead, not much going on. But then I got home and looked at my list. Twenty-seven species for an hour and a half of birding in mid-December is not a terrible showing.

This snowfall is measured in feathers or bodies, not inches. This year is turning out to be a major irruption year for snowy owls in the eastern U.S. and at least four have been reported from the Carolinas. Snowys, Nyctea (or Bubo) scandiaca, nest in northernmost Canada, Scandinavia and Siberia.

Orion the Hunter has taken to the late autumn skies. One of the loveliest and most easily recognized constellations will be stalking the heavens until he slides into the daytime sky early next spring. Astronomers believe the Hunter, in his present form, is more than a million years old and think he will continue to stalk the heavens for another couple million years.

I believe it was in 2010 when the Town of Waynesville signed off on a plan to thin the stands of white pine in the Waynesville Watershed. Today (11/25), Cecil Brooks began doing just that. Brooks said that, weather permitting, he would probably be hauling the first load out tomorrow. The problem has been that there was no viable market for white pine.

It will likely take awhile for the smoke to clear after the Table Rock Fire near Linville Gorge in the Grandfather District of the Pisgah National Forest either burns out or is suppressed. The fire was first spotted Tuesday, Nov. 12 — the very same day that prescribed burns were scheduled in the Linville Gorge Wilderness Area. Those burns had been cancelled previous to the discovery of the wildfire due to high winds.

I can be standing five feet from my girls and say something simple like, “wash your hands,” “brush your teeth” or “clean your room,” and not even an eyebrow will twitch in acknowledgement. But put those same girls down in the basement with TV or ipad/pod blaring at decibels that would make NASCAR jealous and the tiniest thump at a window anywhere in the house will bring them flying upstairs clamoring, “Dad, did you hear that? Sounded like a bird hit the window.”

Traveling from east to west, the Mississippi River Bridge is a time portal for me. 

I drive for hours squarely focused on the here and now, then I reach the bridge and in a breath I’m suspended above the Big Muddy, the river stretches for as far as I can see to my right and my left. When I slide off the span onto terra firma I’m in ‘Loosiana,’ a strange world of memories, nostalgia and anticipation.

I believe the annual treks into the Town of Waynesville’s watershed began back in 2007. They have provided a unique opportunity for interested parties to get a glimpse of the property, learn a little about the history of the watershed, the new management plan and the native flora and fauna. The hikes have been well received, and this fall was no exception.

Last week we talked a little about how mountains can influence climate. Lenticular clouds are often created when warm air masses bump into mountains. Mountains can create rain shadows — point in case, Asheville, surrounded by temperate rain forests, is the driest city in the state of North Carolina. We know that traveling vertically from the valleys to the peaks of the Southern Appalachians is biologically comparable to traveling from Georgia to Canada.

Millions of years ago America and Africa rubbed shoulders and the Appalachian Mountains were created. The ancient Appalachians, at one time as high as the Alps or Rockies, created quite an east-west barrier from Canada down to central Alabama. Today’s kinder, gentler Appalachians eroded and for the most part still impact us in myriad ways. A lot of it has to do with weather. As most of our weather patterns come from the west, we on the east side of the Appalachians often have to wait and see what we get.

I was at the Allens Creek soccer fields Saturday morning watching Maddie play when my eyes were drawn to the mountains across the way. Red splashes like watercolor brush strokes climbing a mottled green canvas were shinning from the forests. It was Virginia creeper ablaze in autumn splendor. The hues ran from yellowish-orange to a deep burgundy-red — and a lot of really bright red.

Freedom may not ring Tuesday.

At least not from the Liberty Bell. I know, I know, the bell doesn’t ring any more, but freedom surely emanates from it — at least if it’s open to the public and the way things were looking as I wrote this column Monday night, it wouldn’t be come Tuesday.

The rains came Saturday. It was a good day for a soaker, from my perspective. I had writing I needed to catch up on and it’s not as hard being stuck away down in the dungeon when it’s pouring. We had seen the forecast for Sunday, and I remember remarking to Denise — on one of my trips upstairs to the world of the living — that I bet Sunday was going to be a big day for migrating hawks.

Thanks to an invitation from a friend — Blair Ogburn, senior naturalist at Balsam Mountain Trust — I was able to spend a few hours last Saturday (9/12) morning looking for fall migrants at Balsam Mountain Preserve.

Sorry, I couldn’t help it – I saw Hamlet at Montford Park this past weekend. 

But to be more specific, get thee to City Lights Café this Friday, Sept. 13, at 6 p.m. for “Land of the Crooked Water.” The event is the inaugural offering of the Southern Appalachian Office of the Wilderness Society’s LAND/SCAPE project.

The loud, piercing keee-eeeeerrrr jerks your head up involuntarily to see the essence of wild freedom — a red-tailed hawk, wings outstretched banking slowly in the blue. It stops you, if only for a second or two, it stops you.

Roger Tory Petersen called it, “one of the most breathtaking of the world’s weirdest birds,” and it was John James Audubon’s “rose-coloured curlew.” But the name that has stuck is roseate spoonbill. The roseate spoonbill is one of only six species of spoonbills in the world.

Like the breathing in and out of newborns; like the ebb and flow of the tide, and like the cycle of day and night, the spring and fall migration is part of the pulse of the planet. 

Once again, through the gracious hospitality of a dear friend the Hendershot family found itself on the Isle of Palms — one of the South Carolina barrier islands just up the coast from Charleston. We have been here before and I have written about it before. It is always the same; it is always different; and it is always wonderful.

Now don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against Dallas. And I’m sure that if you like big, hot, crowded cities, the big “D” has lots to offer. But when I met my guest — from Dallas — on the Blue Ridge Parkway last Friday morning, with the temperature in the 60s, she wasn’t missing Dallas much.

North Carolina House Bill 94 (Amend Environmental Laws) has passed the House and Senate and awaits the governor’s signature. HB 94 is a large (43 pages), unwieldy piece of legislation, much of it aimed at dismantling tried, true and effective environmental policy that has pushed North Carolina to the forefront when it comes to highlighting the role good environmental protection plays in creating successful, sustainable economic growth while protecting the vibrant cultural and natural settings that create community and a sense of place.

Purple martin “scouts” are some of the earliest harbingers of spring. I recorded one in February at Black Bayou Lake National Wildlife Refuge in Louisiana during last year’s Great Backyard Bird Count, and it’s not uncommon for them to show up in Florida in January.

Carolina birder Matt Daw from Raleigh was videoing a least bittern last week as it foraged at Bosque Del Apache National Wildlife Refuge in New Mexico. In an interview, Daw said he was looking through the viewfinder at the bittern when suddenly an interloper sauntered by behind the bittern.

The regional environmental group Wild South has a hike planned for July 13 into the heart of, what they hope will soon be, one of the wildest national scenic areas in the country.

And ye elf and sprite lovers and lovers of the Bard whose words have seeped so deeply into the fabric of our language that even those who’ve never seen them toss them out with a knowing nod – get thee soon to the Hazel Robinson Amphitheater at 100 Gay Street in Asheville where you can watch and hear as the Montford Players give voice to those wonderful words while the sun slides westward leaving the sky to “… these blessed candles of the night.”

I’ve written about these small nocturnal hang gliders before, but I posted a pic of a group from my home, on Facebook, the other day, and it produced more than 70 likes in one day (and I know it wasn’t the quality of the photo), so I thought I would share our little adventure with you.

Every year as summer approaches and the days begin to heat up, I marvel at the beautiful orange explosion that protrudes from an unkempt patch of daylilies and Queen Anne’s lace that was once (BC – before children) a more kempt flowerbed.