The woods are brimming and alive as we approach summer. Life is busy happening all around us. Untold daily struggles and survival exist in our complex Appalachian food web.

I experienced and saw a lot in a relatively short hike today at Grayson Highlands State Park, including several surprises along the way. After passing by flaming azaleas and their explosions of peach, orange, and red I set off on a trail.

I start my walk by seeing a crushed robin egg on the ground, always sad to see, all the hard work from the parents, but in nature death always brings life to something else, from scavengers and decomposers to hungry soil microbes. A preoccupied fox squirrel flicks its long tail in the distance, caring little of such things. 

Earlier that day I watched a male robin offer a gift to a female in the form of a tasty treat, perhaps showcasing his fitness, perhaps just assisting his mate. 

The first surprise on my hike involved a ruffed grouse, a large ground bird, shooting off like a rocket, sounding like a motorcycle from beating wings and making me about jump out of my hiking boots, as they often will, when unexpectedly walking by one.

Next I stumbled upon a fawn, cute as a button and tiny. Sometimes they remain still to reduce the chance of detection by predators, but this one hopped from its bed and pranced away to safety rather quickly for being so small.

Soon after things became still again, the occasional clumps of bluets and flowering hawthorn with thorn studded branches adorning the trail, bird song of magnolia warbler, blue-headed vireo, and the cool fluid jazz of wood thrushes echoing throughout while boulder sentries stand stoically. A spider seems to be moving oddly sideways, until I figure out an ant is hauling his find back home. I was witnessing a shift in the forest as higher elevation evergreens became more common. I saw a yellow birch tree with impressive gnarled roots, and one wonders the story of this tree and rock. 

I began topping out now up at 5,000 feet above sea level on Haw Orchard Mountain, walking by soon to be developing blueberries, a bumblebee pollinating one in that age-old mutual dependence.

While daydreaming about blueberries, I noticed a game trail through a large patch of ferns. Inquisitively walking over, I happened upon the nest of a mother turkey and her clutch of "youngins." Two feet in front of me they went flying like a feathered firework, all exploding up in an instant and swerving in different directions. The 8 young, or poults, disappear quickly, and remain quiet. Mother turkey lands and makes a wide half circle staying within sight, perhaps aching for my attention as a tactic to divert me towards her as she curves around the opposite side from her babies. Mother animals have to be sneaky and ingenious to increase the odds of their offspring surviving, and diversions are a common trick. The grasshoppers around me are safe, for now.

I wanted to hunker down and observe, but didn’t want to distress the mother who would be lost calling and herding her clutch soon. I also didn’t want to delay their reunion as dusk approached. Not 100 yards down trail from the turkeys I saw some large, hairy scat (excrement) and think whatever left this sure would enjoy a young turkey for supper. The scat is too large for a fox, but just right for a coyote. A coyote that would quickly gobble up a poult while it is that small. I wonder how many of the 3-4 week old turkeys will reach adulthood, and if the hen started with more than 8, which they often do.

It is difficult to say if the coyote in this area scavenged or killed another coyote, but the 3 fingernails of its own kind in its scat suggest they do not mind eating their own. It was most likely an instance of scavenging, taking less than ideal parts. A small lizard scampers by and somewhere in the distance a pileated woodpecker laughs while I’m hunched over the nails, trying to piece the strange evidence together. 

I also saw a majestic overlook with mountains as far as the eye could see, and it is hard to fathom all the life hidden in these hills, all the untold stories of daily meanderings and interactions. I saw other things walking through these woods. Everybody is trying to survive, plant and animal, predator and prey, inside a delicate dance of interconnections and there are a lot of hungry mouths to feed. Luckily Appalachia is rich and bountiful.