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?

"'I know the moon,' said the fox"

My colleague read this title line aloud from a children's book recently, as part of a staff training. At first, I was just as enchanted with the story as she was. The fox goes on to describe how the Moon is like a rabbit that he can chase across the night. The moth disagrees with the fox, though, as does the owl, the mouse, and the bullfrog. The animals start bickering about who's right. They decide to visit A Man of Science, and each Being hopes that he will confirm their perspective. But the Man of Science declares that the Moon is made of sand, and nothing more.

I sensed that the author was trying to make some point about how the facts and figures of science are out to squash wonder in the world. How horrible that would be! I realized that the author had constructed a strawman argument by setting up a simplistic imagined opponent that's easy to knock down. Giving children an incorrect view of science and scientists isn't going to help them navigate our changing world. It isn't going to help them to know the Moon.

https://radiolab.org/podcast/the-moon-itself/transcript

https://cablemuseumnaturalconnections.blogspot.com/2021/06/whip-poor-will.html

https://cablemuseumnaturalconnections.blogspot.com/2018/09/stranger-than-we-can-imagine.html

https://www.sciencealert.com/our-moon-is-curiously-lopsided-and-a-massive-impact-could-be-to-blame

https://www.amnh.org/exhibitions/permanent/meteorites/meteorite-impacts/on-the-moon

https://science.nasa.gov/moon/tidal-locking/

https://science.nasa.gov/moon/weather-on-the-moon/

https://science.nasa.gov/moon/formation/

https://science.nasa.gov/moon/composition/

https://www.universetoday.com/articles/moons-insides-still-hot-hot-hot-after-billions-of-years-of-formation-study

The idea that a woodpecker's tongue provides cushioning for their brain as it wraps around their skull has come into question. The newest calculations, made with the most accurate modern technology, refute the idea that a woodpecker's brain is cushioned at all!

Of course, any of these conclusions might be proven wrong or incomplete as scientists discover new information in the future. The beauty of science is that it requires us to be able to change our minds in light of new evidence. One thing that doesn't need to change is the magic we feel when we watch a great black bird with a flaming topknot spread their broad wings and with a few swooping beats disappear into the forest.

Brown creepers are cute little bits of camouflage with white bellies. This one moved upward in staccato motions, a bit to the side, around to the back, back to the front, and up some more. Pausing, the bird used their thin, downward-curving bill to explore a bark furrow. Perhaps they had spotted an overwintering insect larvae or antifreeze-protected spider for their lunch. Near the limit of my view out the window, the creeper suddenly launched off the tree and fluttered downward toward another tree trunk, out of sight.

As snow continues to blanket the ground, and the plummeting temperatures cause the air to bite at exposed skin, I can't help but reminisce on warm summer day adventures. One adventure in particular had me exploring local wetlands, those special places where water and land blend together to create exquisite, diverse ecosystems. One wetland gifted me with a memory I won't soon forget, and reminded me just how beautiful even the simplest experiences in nature are.

This is the season for lists highlighting our most-listened-to or best-of-whatevers at the end of the year, so I decided to dig into the stats on my Natural Connections blog. To my surprise, the most-read article in 2025 was one I wrote in February of 2016 about a plant called mullein. In August 2025 it spiked in popularity, far above my normal readership. I have no idea why. I recently told someone the story of finding the chickadee-cached seed in the mullein stalk, but I'd forgotten about the rest of the article. It's fun! And appropriate to this season. So, I hope you enjoy it as much as the 1.24K other readers did, too! Happy New Year! –Emily