As color returns #phenology

Slowly, ever so, entirely too, slowly, ice cover on the Sunrise River is diminishing. Puddles or stretches of open water are appearing along the river's West Bank as the river flows northerly. At no place is there yet a stretch of water open from bank to bank, but a promise of such things to come raises hope, especially if we reach mid-fifties or sixty this weekend. Winter's icy grip loosens, but has not yet released us to enjoy, unfettered, Springtime's delights.

red dogwood brightens a Spring floodplain

Photo by J. Harrington

This morning we got out onto the flood plain marshes and collected a handful of red osier dogwood twigs. In the process, we clomped (technical term) through a couple of snowbanks that are still almost knee deep. That's when we learned that our LL Bean boots were just loose enough at  the top to permit entry of about half a cup of large ice crystals. This may be why we  wore hip boots the last time we were clomping and tromping around this particular marsh at this time of year. Still, we emptied the ice crystals when we  got home and before most of them had melted. No harm, no foul, and the Bean boots are more comfortable than hippers. Yes, Virginia, it did feel good to get out 'splorin'!

soon local skunk cabbages will emerge

Photo by J. Harrington

We can now examine leaf buds on the dogwood branches and the beach plum plants to look for signs of leaf buds coming to life. Before bud burst, buds slightly swell as juices return to a flowing state. The plums have maintained their autumn state of two plants keeping green leaves all Winter and two plants dropping all their leaves. When we looked a day or so ago, as we watered them, there didn't seem to be any signs of new life arising yet. Except, possibly, for the week before Christmas, does any season of the year hold more promise than Spring? By this time next week, skunk cabbage may have begun to emerge and wetlands may be covered in liquid rather than crystalline waters.

In cold spring air

Reginald Gibbons

In cold 
          spring air the
white wisp- 
          visible
breath of 
          a blackbird
singing— 
          we don’t know
to un- 
          wrap these blind-
folds we 
          keep thinking
we are 
          seeing through

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