January.

"Each year, after the midwinter blizzards, there comes a night of thaw when the tinkle of dripping water is heard in the land. It brings strange stirrings, not only to creatures abed for the night, but to some who have been asleep for the winter. The hibernating Skunk, curled up in his deep den, uncurls himself and ventures forth to prowl the wet world, dragging his belly in the snow. His track marks one of the earliest datable events in that cycle of beginnings and ceasings which we call a year.
The track is likely to display an indifference to mundane affairs uncommon at other seasons; it leads straight across-country, as if it's maker had hitched his wagon to a star and dropped the reins. I follow, curious to deduce his state of mind and appetite, and destination if any."

This is the first paragraph from Aldo Leopold's "A Sand county almanac". Where he starts, I start too. In January. The start of every year. It is a month of extremes, both in tempurature and precipitation. Last year, new year's day produced rain and 40 degree temps. This year, new year's day was a chilly 26 degrees with a beautiful 2-foot coating of snow on the ground. You never know with January, what it will throw at you. We've already had one day that came close to a record temp and a few days that produced record cold and the entire month has broken the record for snowfall.

The animals don't seem to mind. The go about their business day to day as if they could care less. At first glance it may seem so. A closer look reveals just how much they do pay attention. On sunny days, it's all a mad scramble. Every creature trying their best to pack in extra food to last the cold harsh winter. Squirrels area active, running from tree to tree in their search for caches stored last fall. Birds are busy at the feeders packing in seed to help them sustain their energy. The little nuthatch is by far more clever than the others. He comes down, eats his fill and then carefully caches the rest of what he takes. He is planning ahead for a day when the feeder may be empty and a storm is about to hit, when he can't find food elsewhere, he knows that he has a little stash to tide him over until he can replenish his supply. Funny how he always knows exactly how much seed to take. Always stashing just enough to last until he can gather more. Never expending more energy than necessary, never having too much, always, just enough. It's as if he knows just how long he will have to go without stashing more.

On cloudy stormy, snowy days, the animals sit and wait it out. It can be a long wait with nothing else to do but wait they must, for to venture out on a day like that would mean expending valuable energy that they might need later on. Expending little is better than expending too much. Expend too much, and the waiting predator will take advantage and strike!

"A Rough-legged Hawk comes sailing over the meadow ahead. Now he stops, hovers like a Kingfisher, and then drops like a feathered bomb into the marsh. He does not rise again, so I am sure he has caught, and is now eating, some worried Mouse-engineer who could not wait until night to inspect his well-ordered work.
The Rough-leg has no opinion why the grass grows, but he is well aware that snow melts in order that Hawks may again catch Mice. He came down out of the arctic in hope of thaws, for to him a thaw means freedom from want and fear."

Well, January is a month a extremes, and survival. Those that make it past winter's toughest month have but one left before they are free from winter's frigid grasp.
This winter has been a hard one. Especially January, with it's frigid arctic temps and winds. Those that make it past this year, surely prosper in the spring.