Earth Week: Day 3

The "wet spot" pond in the back yard is shrinking. Maples and poplars and some bushes are showing softer silhouettes as bud burst begins, Oaks are still hanging tough and waiting for warmer days. The  extended weather forecast finally has foregone below freezing temperatures for the next week or so. It's time to put the beach plum plants back outside and see what happens. A couple of them are showing some small signs of life.

skunk cabbage emerging in April

Photo by J. Harrington

Every year, about this time, give or take several weeks, I have to remind myself that the ground needs to thaw and dry before I can start Spring cleanup. As I look at the tiny tunnel entrances that are scattered below the bird feeders, I'm disheartened by the apparent population of moles, voles, shrews and what all keeping our soils aerated and eating the seeds discarded or dropped by the birds. The local bird population is including more goldfinches and purple finches these days, plus a red-bellied woodpecker is appearing with an increased degree of regularity.

Each day this week, including today, despite occasional sunny moments of warmth, the breeze, regardless of the direction from which it comes, has had a cold bite. Or, maybe I'm just noticing it more as I get older. I've yet to make it back to the wetlands to check on the skunk cabbage or the marsh marigolds. Tomorrow or Thursday look promising. A longish walk through the woods on Earth Day has more appeal than joining fellow tree huggers on line for a 50th anniversary. Maybe I can work in both.

marsh marigolds emerging in April

Photo by J. Harrington

It's not been a horrid Winter, but a longish one and, just as it was fading, COVID-19 struck and stuck us at home. I've had about as much of living in interesting times as is good for me, I'm afraid. May you and those close to you be happy, healthy and able to celebrate Earth Day with love and enthusiasm.

Trout Lilies

by Mary Oliver

It happened I couldn't find in all my books
more than a picture and a few words concerning
the trout lily,

so I shut my eyes,
And let the darkness come in
and roll me back.
The old creek

began to sing in my ears
as it rolled along, like the hair of spring,
and the young girl I used to be
heard it also,

as she came swinging into the woods,
truant from everything as usual
except the clear globe of the day, and its
beautiful details.

Then she stopped,
where the first trout lilies of the year
had sprung from the ground
with their spotted bodies
and their six-antlered bright faces,
and their many red tongues.

If she spoke to them, I don't remember what she said,
and if they kindly answered, it's a gift that can't be broken
by giving it away.
All I know is, there was a light that lingered, for hours,
under her eyelids - that made a difference
when she went back to a difficult house, at the end of the day.

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