Going with the flow #phenology

I was feeling bad about the condition of our ice-skating-rink driveway until this morning, when I drove down our local road onto the similarly slick ice-covered gravel section in Chisago City. Let's hope that the continuing signs that an early Spring may reach us are accurate and that once again melting begins. We don't need a heat wave, just temperatures consistently reaching above freezing for an extended period. As an alternative, this being the North Country, a half inch or so of snow, to provide better traction than the ice, would also improve the situation. Last night I drove the tractor down the drive to get the mail. The tractor is much less likely to slip, fall, and break something important while traversing ice.

source: USA National Phenology Network, www.usanpn.org

Snow-cover in the fields and woods has crusted enough to support squirrel-sized critters but probably presents discomfort and, maybe, difficulties for deer. I'm not sure about coyotes, since our dogs usually follow their own tamped-down paths I've not noticed whether the crust holds them or if they break through.

male downy woodpecker at suet feeder

Photo by J. Harrington

There's still no signs of goldfinches at the feeder, nor, recently, pileated woodpeckers at the suet. Hairy, downy, and red-bellied are regular visitors. There were reports on social media within the past week that bald eagles that have been wintering in Iowa had started to return North. This is a great time of year for me to learn to develop my patience muscles, although it's only a little more than three weeks until meteorological Spring. North Country Spring is more often tardy than early so, in anticipation, I need to plan a visit to a local fly shop and take a drive to see some open, flowing water.

Speaking of which, in recognition that February is Black History Month, here's a poem about flowing water written by one of my favorite poets.

The Negro Speaks of Rivers

By Langston Hughes

I’ve known rivers:

I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.

I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.

I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.

I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the sunset.

I’ve known rivers:

Ancient, dusky rivers.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

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