I wrote about wood storks, Mycteria americana, back in August of this year after a trip to Isle of Palms in South Carolina (www.smokymountainnews.com/archives/item/8361-stoked-for-storks). It was really cool to see these large prehistoric-looking birds cruising over the marsh in undulating lines. And it seems that more stork lines must be undulating over more marsh and/or wetlands across the Southeast because the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service just announced that they planned to upgrade the wood stork’s status from endangered to threatened.

The Great Smoky Mountains National Park is a great wilderness of about a half-million square acres. It has been the mission of the Park to preserve the thousands of species of plants and animals that live there and, where and when possible, reintroduce species that used to occur there but are now gone.

Ladies and gentlemen, return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts. Spaceship Earth will be screeching to a stop at 6:12 a.m. EST, Dec. 21. After we’re stopped, feel free to unclick; go to the restroom; get up and stretch your legs; we will be stopped for awhile to gather supplies, refuel and prepare to blast off for our southward journey.

First Mate McConnell: “Cap’n the ship is headed straight for that iceberg and there’s no way we kin stop her in time!”

Captain Boehner: “Don’t worry mate. I have a plan.”

FM McConnell: “What kin we do?”

Don’t know why, but the last two birding trips to Tessentee Bottomland Preserve in Macon County — one last Sunday and one in November a year ago — have been rushed affairs, allowing about two-and-a-half hours of birding from 9:30 a.m. to noon. Now, of course, two-and-a-half hours of birding at Tessentee is much better than no birding at Tessentee, but I would love to have more time to chase more LBJs (little brown jobs) from thicket to thicket and more time to hit more of the trails.

Back in spring of 2011 I wrote about a wetlands restoration project at Lake Junaluska - www.smokymountain news.com/archives/item/3686-a-perfect-fit. Candace Stimson, in order to fulfill her Low Impact Development degree at Haywood Community College, unearthed Suzy’s Branch behind Jones Cafeteria and created about 100 feet of free-flowing stream and wetlands.

Early mornings kind of go with the territory around here. With work, kids and the never-ending list of chores, every homeowner know the wee hours are often the only time one has to exhale. But I’m a crepuscular creature, and that suits me just fine.

Last Sunday morning (Nov. 11), I took my coffee out on the deck just as the southeastern sky was beginning to turn rosy around the peaks of the mountains. Sitting in the not dark but not light, just out of the sun’s grasp, was a crescent sliver of light clinging to the bottom of a dark round shadow moon. And beside this waning crescent moon was shimmering blue Venus. The two danced together teasingly just ahead of Sol as he lumbered over the mountains to start the day.

Last Saturday (Nov. 3) was this year’s annual fall hike in the Waynesville watershed. The hikes started back in 2007, and I’ve been fortunate enough to be invited to tag along on most. The Waynesville watershed comprises nearly 8,600 acres, most of which are protected by conservation easements. The watershed is off limits to the public except for these annual (spring and fall) town sponsored hikes. The hikes are a way for town residents and other interested parties to get a glimpse of this wonderful resource that has been protected to insure the town has an ample supply of high-quality drinking water for generations to come.

Finch irruptions are not that uncommon. They generally occur in some numbers, in some locations almost every year. But in some years the movements are larger and more widespread. The winter of 2012-2013 is shaping up to be one of those years. Irruptions are not necessarily caused by inclement weather. It appears to be more associated with a lack of available food.

This morning when I had coffee on my deck, I did not hear the hooded warbler that nests in the tangles in the young woods below my yard. I did not hear a northern parula singing from the tops of the tulip poplars. There was no buzzy black-throated blue song emanating from the rhododendrons along the little creek. I did not hear a single raspy “chickbuuurrrr” anywhere in the forest. There were no schizoid red-eyed vireos talking to themselves as they bounced from tree to tree, and no wood thrushes graced the early morning with their sweet flute song.