It's (almost) Spring! #phenology

In a "normal" (does that word have meaning anymore?) year, today would be March 1. This is Leap Year, so today is February 29 and we have to wait until tomorrow for the beginning of meteorological Spring. Average daily high temperatures from now on get to above freezing. What's left of the snow should slowly disappear and, thanks to a need to recuperate from a recent tooth extraction, we're running behind on seasonal activities. We've yet to collect red osier dogwood branches. That's on the list for early next week, as is getting this year's fishing licenses and trout stamps.

time for red osier dogwood bouquets

Photo by J. Harrington

As to some past news, the Irish soda bread came out nice and tasty and crusty. Thanks for asking. We'll bake another loaf tomorrow or Monday, probably Monday, so we can more easily bake some scones tomorrow for breakfast. Can you tell we're coming out of our Winter shell? But we have to wait patiently here in the North Country for Spring leaf out to creep closer. It's reached all through the maroonish color on the map. Another 6 to 8 weeks for us, perhaps?

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

While we wait for leaf out, we can welcome returning waterfowl. Yesterday we saw a couple of small groups of swans on a St. Croix River backwater across from Osceola. We suspect they may be a rogue offshoot of the flock that overwinters near Hudson. The Osceola gang may be the source of the pair of swans we saw near Comfort Lake on Thursday. Unless, of course, a number of swans are returning early to the North Country. Maybe they know something about an early Spring while we can but hope for such at the moment.

Cold Spring

By Lawrence Raab

The last few gray sheets of snow are gone,

winter’s scraps and leavings lowered

to a common level. A sudden jolt

of weather pushed us outside, and now

this larger world once again belongs to us.

I stand at the edge of it, beside the house,

listening to the stream we haven’t heard

since fall, and I imagine one day thinking

back to this hour and blaming myself

for my worries, my foolishness, today’s choices

having become the accomplished

facts of change, accepted

or forgotten. The woods are a mangle

of lines, yet delicate, yet precise,

when I take the time to look closely.

If I’m not happy it must be my own fault.

At the edge of the lawn my wife

bends down to uncover a flower, then another.

The first splurge of crocuses.

And for a moment the sweep and shudder

of the wind seems indistinguishable

from the steady furl of water

just beyond her.

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