Before the Sun: A Bobcat, a Deer, and the Quiet Value of Rewilding

Early this morning, before the eastern horizon was painted with first light, a motion-triggered thermal camera at the edge of our backyard pollinator meadow captured a quiet yet powerful scene. On the near side of the rewilded fence row—a bobcat, low to the ground, moving with deliberate grace. Just beyond the fence, in the managed grassland of the adjoining 80-acre hayfield, stood a white-tailed deer, still and alert, separated only by a thin ribbon of habitat we’ve been restoring over the past year.

These two animals—so different in form and behavior—met in the same moment, drawn by the very landscape we’ve been working to reimagine.

The fence row, once trimmed and tamed, is now being allowed to revert to a more natural state. Tall native grasses, goldenrod, elderberry, and saplings are slowly reclaiming space. A buffer strip, yes—but also a lifeline. A corridor. A crossroads.

When we began rewilding this strip of land, we did it with pollinators in mind—bees, butterflies, moths. But nature doesn’t operate in isolation. What benefits the insects also benefits the birds. What benefits do the birds draw from the small mammals? And what draws the mice and rabbits will eventually attract the quiet-footed predators, such as the bobcat.

The image was brief. But it tells a story of ecological restoration already at work. It reminds us that even small patches of rewilded habitat can have outsized importance—serving as shelter, transit routes, or feeding grounds for wildlife we might never see with our own eyes.

This isn’t just about one bobcat or one deer. It’s about creating opportunities—for life to find its way back, and for us to witness, just now and then, what that return looks like.

I’ll be saving this image for the records, but more than that, I’m holding onto the message it carries: rewilding works. Even in the quiet corners of our backyards.

—Ron Dodson

Dodson’s Bird Observatory

Rewilding the Backyard: A Half-Acre Return to Nature

Dodson’s Bird Observatory Field Journal

Date of Observation: June 21, 2025

Location: Feura Bush, New York

On a calm summer evening, with the sun dipping low behind the trees, I took a slow walk through the half-acre section of our backyard that we’ve chosen to let return to native vegetation. These photos were taken on June 21, 2025, as the golden light filtered through a mosaic of grasses and emerging wildflowers—evidence of nature’s quiet comeback.

Long before we moved here, this property was part of a working agricultural field. Today, it sits adjacent to an 80-acre hayfield that is still harvested at least twice a year. Earlier this spring, I broadcast roughly 18,000 wildflower seeds across this plot. Now, in early summer, tiny white blooms and splashes of color are beginning to dot the tall grass.

We're managing this rewilding effort by mowing a few meandering paths through the area. These paths offer us a way to experience the field up close—observing wildlife, tracking plant progress, and simply enjoying the peacefulness of a space being given back to nature.

We're also encouraging the natural restoration of an old fencerow along one edge of the property. Once choked with brush and broken limbs, it is now becoming a sanctuary, with native shrubs, saplings, and vines creating shelter and food sources for birds and other wildlife. A simple birdhouse nearby helps support cavity-nesting species.

This space is transforming before our eyes—not through force, but through patience and observation. We're not just watching nature return; we’re participating in its renewal.

Mowing Practices to Benefit Ground-Nesting Birds

 On May 28, 2025 I heard the distinctive sounds of a tractor in the 80 grass pasture located just to the east of our property here in Feura Bush. I was dismayed to see that the landowner who allows farmers from somewhere in our area to mow and harvest grass for cattle feed (I assume) was out in the field mowing down the grass. This, in my opinion was WAY to early in the season to be harvesting grass, particularly since we have been swamped in recent weeks by never ending rain. Not to mention there are numerous species of ground nesting birds that use the field for nesting. Interestingly just this morning I received an email/newsletter from the NY Department of Environmental Conservation that included the informational piece that I have copied and pasted below. Good reading if you care about ground nesting bird conservation and conservation landscape management practices. 

While grasses are getting greener and flowers are blooming, New Yorkers are beginning to think about their spring-cleaning to-do list. High on many people’s priorities is pulling out their mower and beginning the summer-long cycle of mowing their fields or larger lawns. However, the timing of mowing can have significant impacts on a variety of bird species. Small grassland songbirds nest on, or close to, the ground in grassy and shrubby fields. Mowing and bushhogging during the spring and early summer can destroy nests and remove the habitat required to successfully raise their young.  

In New York, the time where ground-nesting birds can be critically impacted by mowing runs from April 23 - August 15. Some recommendations by DEC:

• Delay mowing fields greater than 25 acres until after August 15 to help these species nest successfully.
• Mow as soon as possible after August 15 can help reduce the spread of invasive plants before their seeds spread.
• Also note that mowing later than October 1 can interfere with overwintering birds in fields.

While these larger fields are particularly important for grassland songbirds, even smaller grassy and shrubby openings can contain songbird and wild turkey nests. Landowners should carefully consider when and where they focus their mowing efforts during the spring and summer.  

Although saving mowing until late August means that the spring-cleaning to-do list remains unchecked well into summer, these best management practices can have great benefits for some of our most vulnerable bird species. Across the state, grassland birds have been declining for decades and the timing of mowing can make a huge difference. Save mowing for the end of the summer and enjoy the sight of turkey poults looking for bugs in your fields and hearing the songs of grassland birds floating on the morning air. 

Have a small lawn not suited to grassland nesting birds? Check out these tips to help pollinators or backyard birds.

he Language of Rain: June at The Dodson’s Bird Observatory

Sometimes nature speaks in the rustle of leaves, the chatter of wrens, or the distant call of coyotes at dusk. Other times, it speaks in quieter—but no less powerful—ways. This month, it spoke through rain.

Since installing a new weather station at The Dodson’s Bird Observatory on April 22, 2025, I’ve started keeping a closer eye on what the skies are saying. And this past month, they’ve said quite a lot. According to the station, June brought 8.16 inches of rainfall, bringing the total since installation to 9.43 inches.

One notable rain event dropped 1.53 inches in a single day. That’s the kind of soaking that fills vernal pools, deepens the green of the grass, and triggers a chorus of frogs that hadn’t made a peep in weeks. But it’s also a reminder of how sensitive the landscape can be to sudden changes in water—especially when those changes are fast and heavy.

Walking the trails after these rains, I noticed something subtle: the pollinator meadow was buzzing louder, the grasses were thicker, and birds seemed to be shifting their routines. Swallows skimmed lower to feed on emerging insects. Ground-nesting sparrows kept closer to the brushy edges, wary of the soggy field bottoms.

This is the kind of real-time environmental storytelling that a weather station makes possible. It doesn’t just collect numbers—it connects the dots. From rainfall to runoff, from puddle to pollinator, every inch of precipitation shapes the way this landscape functions. And now, I can watch those patterns unfold with a new level of insight.

As I continue to monitor rainfall, temperature, and other changes here at The Dodson’s Bird Observatory, my hope is to better understand the subtle and not-so-subtle shifts in the rhythm of the land—and share them with you. Because when you listen closely, even a rain gauge can tell a story.