Scientists used to think that almost all our Common Loons spend the winter on salt water. From across the northern lakes, loons migrate to both coasts and the gulf each fall to avoid ice-up. Now we know that more than 100 loons spend each winter on a large freshwater lake in South Carolina. In this relatively small area, it becomes easier to carry out research on loon behavior.

As mother nature slowly begins to tease us with the occasional warm day, and longer periods of sunlight, I can't help but dream of warmer days spent exploring outside, underneath the forest canopy. One of my favorite things to do while exploring the forest is to take in the intricacies of the forest floor, and discover the diverse life that inhabits that space. Between the litter layer, growing mosses, and decaying logs, a utopia full of life is waiting to be unearthed.

Seeing a moth seemed to signal that evening was coming, and our thoughts turned to owls. Sax-Zim Bog is famous for hosting rare owls. Last year was an incredible irruption year when great gray owls, boreal owls, and snowy owls visited from their homes farther north. This year has been much quieter. A few great gray owls nest here, but lately they've been secretive. We'd heard that a northern hawk owl was hunting at the edge of a field on some of the private land that makes up the patchwork of ownership in Sax-Zim Bog Important Bird Area in Northern Minnesota, so off we went!

The Canada jays swooped from the feeding station, back over my head, and disappeared into the forest behind me. Were they taking peanut butter to their chicks? These intrepid birds nest in February and March! That's one reason their food caches are so important.

Early spring is when male fishers travel widely in search of mating opportunities. I often see their tracks in the softening snow as they tour their 9-15 square mile home ranges that overlap the smaller territories of several females.

I stared open-mouthed in disbelief at the cat crossing the neighborhood street in front of my new house in Silver Bay, MN (I'll be moving up full time in 2027). Trotting purposefully on long legs, with a body almost three feet long, this was no housecat. "Bobcat!" I exclaimed, eyeing the black tip on their short tail and dark blotches on gray-brown fur. Bobcats are common in Northern Wisconsin where I've been living for the past 15 years, and are often spotted around homes and roads, so that was the most likely identification my startled brain could find.

But as the cat climbed up the pile of dirty snow on the curb and into my neighbor's yard, the size of their huge, furry feet came into full view. That, along with long black ear tufts visible against the white, confirmed their identity: Canada lynx.

Evening grosbeaks are colorful members of the finch family. These bright birds travel widely toward the best food sources in movements known as "irruptions." In 2016, the evening grosbeak was cited as the steepest declining landbird in the continental United States and Canada. Together, networks of scientists and legions of bird-lovers are working to make sure that the Sun isn't setting on evening grosbeaks.

How can you help? If you see grosbeaks, post your photos to iNaturalist or eBird where scientists can use them as data to determine where the birds are and what they are eating. Or if you're lucky enough to see one with a colored band, report it to the USGS Bird Banding Laboratory. Learn about ways to prevent birds from colliding with your windows from the American Bird Conservancy. Keep cats inside. Keep your bird feeders clean and take them down if you notice sick birds. Support the Finch Research Network and other conservation organizations with your donations. Scientists have come together in an Evening Grosbeak Working Group to fill the knowledge gaps across priority areas like diet, causes of death, migratory and population dynamics, habitat, and climate change. Among other things, scientists are outfitting grosbeaks with satellite and radio transmitters and colored leg bands to help track their movements.

As my boots crunched and sunk into the snow, the trees were shedding bits of snow that littered their branches, dispatched by the wind. In my attempts to avoid getting showered by falling snow, I found myself walking among scattered giants. Standing next to the old eastern hemlock, staring up at the towering trunk, I began to feel very small as I imagined what this tree has lived through and the things that they have seen. How many generations of songbirds have nested in their branches, or found food in their cones? How many generations of deer, bears, wolves, and other wildlife have they seen treading beneath their branches? How have they seen us change, and do they like what they see? How have they watched the world change around them, as they stand rooted in place?