Sunday, February 28, 2021

It's the start of spring phenology season

Our morning's snow is typical for this time of year in the North Country, but it triggered a small setback in our gradually brightening outlook. That's when we remembered Greta Kaul's delightful An illustrated guide to the signs of Minnesota spring. It begins with maple sap flowing around mid-March but notes the earliest observation was on today's date in 1987 and the latest start was only the year prior, 1986. We suppose if the weather and climate and phenological observations all occurred on or about their average date, we'd start complaining about boredom.

By late March, we should be able to enjoy the mating chorus(es) of wood frogs, boreal chorus frogs, spring peepers and Northern leopard frogs. A handful of salamanders may also have begun breeding, presuming we've lost most of our snow cover by then. Just anticipating the return of spring noises and activities makes us feel better.

The hyacinths in the downstairs window well are looking ok and the crocuses on the dining room table upstairs are coming into bloom. There's no way either of these plants would be rising through our current snows so we'll hope to enjoy them twice this year, now and in late April or early May in folks' yards?


two of our three male cardinals
two of our three male cardinals
Photo by J. Harrington

The other day we finally managed to get a picture of two of the three male cardinals that are hanging around. This morning we noticed one of the males was chasing another. Signs of spring and mating season no doubt. Time to defend territories. The whiteish dragonflies in the picture are decals on the walkout glass. Part of an effort to keep birds from flying into our windows (and doors).


Spring


by Mary Oliver


Somewhere
a black bear
has just risen from sleep
and is staring

down the mountain.
All night
in the brisk and shallow restlessness
of early spring

I think of her,
her four black fists
flicking the gravel,
her tongue

like a red fire
touching the grass,
the cold water.
There is only one question:

how to love this world.
I think of her
rising
like a black and leafy ledge

to sharpen her claws against
the silence
of the trees.
Whatever else

my life is
with its poems
and its music
and its glass cities,

it is also this dazzling darkness
coming
down the mountain,
breathing and tasting;

all day I think of her -—
her white teeth,
her wordlessness,
her perfect love.



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