Rather than maintain a separate blog here, future reflections, observations, and lessons emerging from this landscape will be shared through Field Notes on rgdodson.com, where they naturally connect to my broader writing, teaching, and stewardship work.
I hope you will follow along on my efforts and updates on Field Notes and more importantly I hope you will start you own home-based conservation landscape management project.
This is one of those times of year when the backyard feels
almost empty during the day.
Most of the birds that filled the air and hedgerows just
weeks ago have moved on—following ancient migratory paths south toward warmer
habitats and more reliable food sources. At the same time, some more northern
species have drifted into our region, pushed south by even harsher conditions
farther north. But they are far harder to see right now. Bitter cold and
constant wind keep activity low, and birds that are present are conserving
energy, staying sheltered, and moving quietly through cover.
If you judged the landscape only by daytime sightings, you
might think very little is happening.
But the cameras tell a different story.
After dark, the backyard comes alive in ways we rarely
witness directly. Our trail and security cameras continue to capture images
that remind us just how active this landscape remains, even in the heart of
winter.
White-tailed deer are everywhere. Their numbers are, frankly, overwhelming—an unmistakable sign of how adaptable they are and how altered landscapes often favor large generalist species. They move confidently through the snow, following familiar routes between the adjoining farm field and the edges of our restoration area.
More striking still are the coyotes.
Recent nighttime images captured a clear view of three
coyotes moving together across the snow. What stands out isn’t just their
presence—it’s how they are moving.
The images show unmistakable use of a habitat corridor: a
narrow strip connecting the open farm field with the shorter-grass area along
our side yard. Even in winter, even under harsh conditions, these animals are
using predictable pathways that offer cover, visibility, and efficient travel.
This is exactly why small landscape decisions matter.
When we talk about habitat restoration, it’s easy to focus
on flowers, birds, and pollinators. But winter strips away the color and leaves
behind structure—and structure is what wildlife depends on year-round.
Shrub lines.
Unmowed edges.
Transition zones between land uses.
These are not messy leftovers. They are functioning
corridors that allow wildlife to move safely across a fragmented landscape. The
coyotes don’t need lush vegetation right now; they need continuity. A way
through.
What we’re seeing on the cameras is proof that even modest
restoration efforts can have real, measurable effects—especially when they
connect one habitat type to another.
It isn’t only large mammals that leave their stories behind
in winter.
On the surface of the snow, delicate tracks tell another,
quieter story. Thin lines and looping paths—likely made by a field mouse or
vole—appear briefly on top of the snow before disappearing again. These small
mammals spend much of the winter moving through tunnels beneath the snowpack,
where temperatures are more stable and food is easier to find. Every so often,
they emerge, crossing open ground quickly before dropping back into cover.
It’s easy to miss these signs if you’re not looking for them. But they are reminders that even in the harshest conditions, life persists—often unseen, often unnoticed.
What’s especially meaningful is that these tracks appear
within and alongside our backyard restoration area. The same features that help
coyotes move across the landscape—edges, cover, and transition zones—also help
small mammals survive winter. Shrubs, grasses, and undisturbed ground create
insulation, protection from wind, and escape routes from predators.
Taken together, the evidence is clear.
Birds may be scarce right now. The cold may silence much of
the landscape. But this place is far from empty.
From tiny rodents skimming across the snow, to deer moving
in overwhelming numbers, to coyotes traveling established corridors under cover
of darkness, winter reveals how wildlife actually uses the land when survival
is the only priority.
This is why stewardship is not a seasonal activity.
What we allow to grow, what we leave undisturbed, and how we
connect pieces of the landscape matters every day of the year—even when the
world looks quiet and frozen.
At the Dodson Bird Observatory, winter is a reminder to slow down, look closer, and let the land show us what’s really happening.
Dodson’s Bird Observatory is an ongoing, home-based conservation landscape management project — from my backyard to a few hundred acres of ...
