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Outdoor

Too Well Hidden

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I spend a lot of time and money every year trying to convince wildlife that I do not exist.

By bow season, I’ve got it down to a science. The right camo pattern for the terrain. Face covered. Hands covered. Everything sprayed down with whatever scent is supposed to make me smell like dirt, leaves, or possibly a rock that hasn’t been disturbed since 1987. I climb into my stand well before daylight and settle in, careful not to bump metal or do anything that would announce my presence to every deer within a quarter mile.

That morning, I was feeling especially confident about my setup.

The wind was right. The stand was tucked in perfectly. The camouflage blended so well with the tree that even I had trouble finding my own knees when I looked down. I remember thinking, If a deer spots me today, it deserves to.

That thought turned out to be a little premature.

It was still dark enough that shapes were more suggestion than detail, and the woods had that quiet, holding-its-breath feeling that only exists right before daylight. I was leaned back against the tree, bow hanging on the hook, watching the woods slowly come into focus.

That’s when I heard wings.

At first, it was just a soft rush of air. Subtle. Close enough that it registered, but not loud enough to make sense. I tilted my head slightly, trying to locate the sound without moving too much. The last thing you want to do in a tree stand is start acting suspicious.

Then it got louder.

Much louder.

I looked up just in time to see a large shape coming straight at my face.

There’s no graceful way to describe the reaction that followed. I didn’t scream, but I also didn’t not make a noise. It was some sort of half-grunt, half-gasp that came from deep in my chest as I instinctively leaned back into the tree.

The owl pulled up at the last second.

We were close enough to make eye contact, which is not something I recommend experiencing unexpectedly while twenty feet off the ground. His wings flared, feathers spread wide, and he hovered there for a split second like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

To be fair, neither could I.

We stared at each other, both clearly shaken by the encounter. I’m fairly certain he had planned to land on the tree right where my head happened to be. My camouflage had done its job so well that I had successfully fooled an apex nighttime predator.

There’s a strange mix of pride and terror that comes with that realization.

He banked hard and flew off, disappearing into the timber with a few annoyed wingbeats. I stayed frozen against the tree, heart pounding, trying to convince myself that my soul had not, in fact, just left my body.

I sat there for several minutes afterward, replaying the moment and wondering how close I’d come to becoming part of some owl’s story about “the weirdest tree I ever tried to land in.”

Once things settled down, daylight finally started to creep in. Birds picked back up. The woods returned to normal. I eased back into position, telling myself the worst part of the morning was over.

It wasn’t.

About an hour later, I caught movement to my right. A doe eased through the trees, cautious but unbothered. She passed under my stand without ever looking up. A few minutes after that, another deer followed. Still no alarm. No snorting. No busted hunt.

Apparently, owls are pickier about personal space than deer.

By the time I climbed down that morning, I hadn’t loosed an arrow, but I’d gained a healthy respect for just how invisible you can become when everything lines up. We spend so much time worrying about deer seeing us that we forget the rest of the woods is watching, too.

And sometimes, if you’re really doing things right, they won’t see you until it’s almost too late.

Next season, I might still wear the same camouflage.

But I’ll probably keep one eye on the sky.

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Outdoor

Working the Night Shift

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By Ann Asher

Bats have never had the best public relations team.

They come out at dusk, fly in quick, uneven patterns and have spent too many years being tied to scary movies, old barns and Halloween decorations. For a lot of people, the first reaction to seeing a bat is not appreciation. It is usually something closer to ducking, squealing or hurrying back inside.

But out in the real world, especially across Texas, bats are doing quiet work most of us never see.

While we are closing gates, turning off barn lights, watering the last few plants or heading toward the house for the evening, bats are just getting started. Many of the bats found in Texas feed on insects, including moths, beetles and other night-flying insects.

That makes them part of the natural system working across farms, ranches, ponds, creeks, barns and backyards after dark.

For farmers and ranchers, that matters. Insects are not just a backyard nuisance. They can affect crops, gardens, livestock comfort and the general balance of the outdoors. Bats are not a cure-all, and they are not going to wipe out every mosquito or pest insect on a place, but they are beneficial wildlife. They eat at night, when many birds and other daytime predators are no longer active, which gives them a different role in the landscape.

One of the biggest misconceptions about bats is that they are blind. They are not.

Many bats use echolocation to help them find insects and move through the night, but that does not mean they cannot see. Another old fear is that bats want to fly into people’s hair. They do not. A bat flying low or

That said, bats are still wild animals. They should be respected, not handled.

Rabies is the main safety concern people think of with bats, and it is a serious one. Not every bat has rabies, but any bat that is found on the ground, acting strangely, unable to fly or found inside a home should be treated with caution.

No one should ever pick up a bat with bare hands. If a person or pet may have been bitten or scratched, or if there is any chance of contact while someone was sleeping, local health officials or animal control should

close is usually chasing insects or trying to navigate away, not looking for trouble.

be contacted for guidance.

Common sense goes a long way. Keep pets vaccinated. Teach children not to touch wildlife. If a bat gets into a house, do not panic, but do not ignore it either. Close off the area if possible, keep people and pets away, and contact the appropriate local professionals if there is any concern about exposure.

Around farms and ranches, bats may roost in trees, bridges, barns, old buildings or other sheltered places.

Sometimes that is not a problem. Other times, especially if bats are entering living spaces or heavily used work areas, they may need to be excluded.

Timing matters. In some

For landowners, the goal does not have to be turning the place into a bat sanctuary. It can simply mean understanding that bats have a job to do. They are part of the same outdoor world as songbirds, pollinators, frogs, owls, deer and the insects we notice whether we want to or not.

They are also a good reminder that not everything useful is pretty, popular or easy to appreciate at first glance.

Some of the hardest-working creatures on a farm or ranch are the ones we barely see. Bats do not ask for attention. They do not announce themselves in daylight. They simply take the night shift.

So, the next time you see one dipping and turning through the evening sky, maybe resist the urge to think of it as something spooky.

Think of it as a neighbor clocking in after dark.

Not a pet. Not a monster. Just wildlife doing its work while the rest of us head inside.

cases, sealing an opening at the wrong time can trap young bats inside or create a bigger issue. Wildlife professionals or Extension resources can help property owners understand the safest and most responsible way to handle a bat colony in a structure.

Some people choose to put up bat houses, and they can be a good option when placed correctly.

However, a bat house is not a guarantee that bats will move in. Location, height, sun exposure, temperature and nearby habitat all matter. Natural roosting areas are also important, which is why dead trees, wooded edges, water sources and undisturbed spaces can play a role in supporting bat populations.

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Outdoor

Why Fall Is the Best Time to Plant Trees

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Every spring, garden centers fill with shoppers loading young trees onto trailers and into pickup trucks. It makes sense. The weather is warming, everything is turning green, and planting season feels like it has arrived.

But ask an arborist or Extension horticulturist when they would rather plant a tree, and you’ll probably hear a different answer.

Fall.

It may seem backward at first, but in North Texas and central Oklahoma, the months between late September and early winter are widely considered the best time of year to plant most trees. While the leaves above ground may be preparing for winter, something much more important is happening below the surface. Roots continue to grow long after top growth has slowed, allowing a young tree to establish itself before the demands of another hot summer arrive.

That’s a tremendous advantage in a region where summer temperatures routinely climb into the 90s and beyond.

A newly planted tree has one job: grow roots. Unfortunately, when it’s planted in the spring, it has only a short window before it must also support a flush of new leaves while enduring months of heat, drying winds, and occasional drought. That combination can place significant stress on a young tree before its root system has had time to spread into the surrounding soil.

A fall-planted tree has a much easier assignment.

As air temperatures cool, the soil often remains surprisingly warm for weeks. Those conditions encourage continued root growth without requiring the tree to produce new leaves or long shoots. Instead of dividing its energy between growing above and below ground, the tree can devote much of its effort to establishing a healthy root system. By the time spring arrives, it is already settled into its new home and better prepared to handle warmer weather. Research and recommendations from both Oklahoma State University Extension and Texas A&M AgriLife Extension consistently support fall as an ideal planting season for many landscape trees in this region.

That doesn’t mean you can simply dig a hole and walk away.

Choosing the right location is just as important as choosing the right tree. Consider the mature height and spread, not the size of the sapling you’re bringing home. A small oak, pecan, or cedar elm may fit comfortably today, but in a few decades it could tower over a house or interfere with utility lines if planted without planning. Likewise, trees that naturally prefer moist soils may struggle in dry, exposed locations, while drought-tolerant native species often require far less maintenance once established.

When it’s time to plant, dig a hole two to three times wider than the root ball, but no deeper. One of the most common mistakes homeowners make is planting too deeply. The point where the trunk begins to flare into the roots should remain at or just above the finished soil level. Burying that flare can lead to poor growth and long-term health problems.

Backfill with the native soil that came out of the hole rather than filling it with rich potting soil or heavy amendments. While it may seem like a kindness, surrounding the roots with dramatically different soil can actually discourage them from growing outward into the surrounding ground where they’ll ultimately need to survive.

Water thoroughly after planting, then continue watering deeply as needed during dry periods throughout the fall and winter. Even dormant trees require moisture while their roots continue to develop. A layer of mulch two to four inches deep around the base helps conserve soil moisture, regulate temperature, and reduce weed competition. Just remember to keep the mulch pulled back several inches from the trunk. The familiar “mulch volcano” piled against the bark may look tidy, but it can trap moisture, encourage decay, and attract insects.

If you’re unsure what to plant, consider species that are well adapted to the Southern Plains. Bur oak, chinkapin oak, cedar elm, shumard oak, bald cypress, Mexican plum, eastern redbud, and native pecan are all excellent choices in many parts of North Texas and central Oklahoma, depending on soil conditions and available space. Native trees generally tolerate local weather extremes better and provide valuable habitat for birds, butterflies, and other wildlife.

Planting a tree is one of the few gardening projects that truly benefits future generations.

Long after this year’s tomatoes are forgotten and next season’s flowers have come and gone, that tree will still be growing. It may shade a porch, shelter wildlife, lower summer cooling costs, or become the backdrop for family photographs that haven’t even been taken yet.

Spring may get most of the attention, but fall quietly offers young trees their best opportunity to thrive. Give them a strong start now, and they’ll spend the years ahead returning the favor.

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Outdoor

The Vine that Won’t Quit

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Most of us have heard kudzu called “the vine that ate the South.” It sounds a little dramatic until you see what it can do.

Kudzu does not politely climb a fence. It swallows it. It does not just grow beside a tree. It can cover the whole thing, blocking sunlight, weighing down limbs and eventually weakening or killing the plant underneath. Given enough time, kudzu can turn a fencerow, creek bank or roadside into a solid green blanket.

For North Texas landowners, kudzu may not be the first invasive plant that comes to mind. We tend to talk more about mesquite, thistles, Johnson grass, privet and other familiar headaches. But kudzu has been found in Texas, and it is enough of a concern that it is listed in invasive plant databases and regulated as a noxious plant. The Texas Department of Agriculture defines noxious and invasive plants as species with serious potential to cause economic or ecological harm to agriculture, horticulture, native plants, ecology and waterways.

Part of what makes kudzu so frustrating is its history. It was once promoted in the United States for erosion control and forage, and farmers were even encouraged to plant it in the 1930s and 1940s. By 1970, USDA had declared kudzu a noxious weed, and in 1997 it was listed as a federal noxious weed.

That is quite a change in reputation.

Kudzu, Pueraria montana var. lobata, is a fast-growing vine in the legume family. It has three-part leaves, often with lobes, and can produce purple, fragrant flowers in late summer followed by seed pods. Texas Invasives notes that the leaflets are generally hairy and several inches across.

The real problem is how fast it grows and how completely it can cover other plants. The Native Plant Society of Texas notes that kudzu may grow as much as 60 feet in a season and can expand at a rate of about a foot per day. It damages plants by smothering them, girdling woody stems and even breaking branches or uprooting trees and shrubs under its weight.

For a rancher or landowner, that can mean more than an ugly patch of vines. Kudzu can reduce usable land, cover fences, make access difficult, shade out native plants and damage wildlife habitat. Along waterways and creek bottoms, it can crowd out the native vegetation that helps stabilize soil and support birds, pollinators and other wildlife.

The best time to deal with kudzu is before it becomes a wall of green.

Small patches should be taken seriously. Do not mow once and assume it is handled. Kudzu stores energy in large root crowns, and those crowns are the key to control. Texas A&M AgriLife notes that to kill kudzu, the crown must be removed because it is the part that produces new sprouts.

Control usually takes persistence. Repeated mowing, grazing or cutting may weaken the plant over time, but it rarely solves the problem by itself. Herbicide treatment is often needed, and Texas Invasives lists repeated applications of triclopyr or glyphosate during the growing season as one control option. Large vines may also be cut and immediately treated on the cut surface. As with any herbicide, landowners should read and follow the label, avoid spraying before rain or during windy conditions and use products approved for the site, especially near water.

This is also one of those situations where asking for help early is smart. Local AgriLife Extension offices, county weed specialists, NRCS staff or invasive plant resources can help with identification and management options. If a landowner is not sure whether a vine is kudzu, getting a positive identification matters before beginning control work.

There are plenty of vines in North Texas, and not all of them are enemies. Native vines can provide food and cover for wildlife. But kudzu is different. It is aggressive, persistent and capable of changing the plant community around it.

The lesson is simple: do not wait until kudzu has covered the fence, climbed the trees and claimed the creek bank. If you see it, identify it. If it is kudzu, make a plan. Then keep after it.

Because the vine that ate the South does not need an invitation to start chewing on Texas, too.

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