Friday, March 1, 2019

North Country Spring arrives!

Welcome to March! This month is celebrated in A Sand County Almanac as the time when the geese return. Today marks the beginning of meteorological Spring in the Northern hemisphere. That means we're watching a Spring snowstorm outside and, most likely, by the time the snowfall ceases, it will be Spring snow we have to clear from the drive.

early March: geese and ducks galore, oh my!
early March: geese and ducks galore, oh my!
Photo by J. Harrington

This month may incorporate one of the most significant seasonal transitions of the year. Unless, of course, most of the snow melt is deferred until April, which normally marks the end of mud season, but we're getting too far ahead of ourselves and the season. In our North Country, March is the time of returning by not only geese, but sandhill cranes, red-winged blackbirds, swans, purple and/or house finches, some years tree frogs, most years skunk cabbage, and, one of our annual favorites, pussy willows! Not only is March an exciting time in and of itself, it's also prelude to the eruption of leafout and wildflower blossoming in April and May.

mid-March: the sandhill cranes returned
mid-March: the sandhill cranes returned
Photo by J. Harrington

Much as we're looking forward to seeing the snow melt and uncover the ground, we're concerned that snowmelt not occur swiftly enough to exacerbate normal Spring high waters. We'll probably squeak by if we don't get rain on top of frozen ground and melting snow. Now we remember that, back when we lived near the Atlantic ocean, there was rarely snow on the ground and much of the excitement of March centered around fishing a nearby bay for flounder, plus starting to get the boats ready for another season. In those days, in that place, real excitement was reserved for the return of striped bass, which usually occurred in May.

The Geese


By Jane Mead


slicing this frozen sky know
where they are going—
and want to get there.

Their call, both strange 
and familiar, calls
to the strange and familiar

heart, and the landscape 
becomes the landscape
of being, which becomes 

the bright silos and snowy 
fields over which the nuanced
and muscular geese

are calling—while time 
and the heart take measure.


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