Forest Society Blog - News & Features

Every spring, thousands of white-tailed deer fawns are born across NH, adding to one of the state’s most abundant and influential wildlife populations. While deer are a familiar and cherished part of the landscape, their growing numbers can significantly shape forest health, native plant communities, and even the spread of tick-borne diseases.

This episode looks at the hidden impacts of rodenticides on owls, hawks, foxes, and other wildlife across New Hampshire. Learn how poisons meant for rats and mice move through the food chain, why simple prevention steps matter, and what we can all do to help protect the predators sharing our neighborhoods and forests.

The Something Wild team recently joined a micro-exploring outing at Willard Pond Sanctuary led by Phil Brown and Ignacio Oreamuno. Discover how slowing down and exploring close to home can deepen our connection to the natural world.

Winter forests are full of hidden microclimates, from snow-sheltered deer yards beneath conifers to sun-warmed tree wells in hardwood stands. As explored on Something Wild, these subtle snow patterns shape how wildlife survives the coldest months.

The mascots of the 2026 Winter Olympics aren’t foxes or cats—they’re stoats, known here as winter ermine. As explored on Something Wild, these elusive New Hampshire natives are small, fierce, and perfectly adapted to snowy mountain life.

When beaver ponds freeze, winter opens rare access to places usually hidden—turning wetlands into temporary highways for people and wildlife alike. As heard on Something Wild, ice reveals a living landscape, from beaver lodges below to tracks and stories written across the snow.

Early winter in New Hampshire can feel stark and still, with short days, bitter winds, and frozen ground. Yet even in this quiet, the first signs of spring stir: a rose-pink dawn, a chickadee’s song, and the promise of golden maple sap waiting in the sugarhouse.

Seeing moths in the cold? They’re likely Bruce spanworm moths—a native species adapted to fly in chilly late fall, emerging after most insect-eating birds have left.