There will be “new,” but will there be “normal?"

This morning, for the first time in weeks, goldfinches were seen at the feeder. It’s possible they’ve been arriving at dusk and not noticed, but I don’t think that’s the case. Instead, I’m filing their reappearance under the heading of signs of impending spring. Not so the occasional arrival of a pileated woodpecker at the suet feeder. That’s probably a function of the colder than normal temperatures plus activity at the suet feeder attracting attention from the big bird.

goldfinch at seed feeders

Photo by J. Harrington

We now have established that our complaints about the cold this month are well validated. According to Minnesota Public Radio, “Cryosphere: Coldest January in 8 years for Minnesota.” Meanwhile, the University Extension confirms that “Large fluctuations in temperature continue.” It’s nice to know our grasp on what passes for reality these days is still independently verifiable.

There’s at least one benefit to this month’s aberrant weather. It may have positioned us to be more inclined to ignore rain and breezes when contemplating fly fishing in the days ahead. If all our weather is going to trend progressively crappier due to climate breakdown, it pays less and less to wait for better weather conditions. We’ll see how that plays out in a few months as Minnesota’s 2022 stream trout season opens in mid-April, unless we decide to get a jump on the season with some catch and release fishing in Minnesota or Wisconsin. For today, we’re just going to relax and enjoy some sunshine and above zero temperatures. We know better than to take either for granted as part of a new normal. Carpe diem!

A River

By John Poch

God knows the law of life is death,

and you can feel it in your warbler neck,

your river-quick high stick wrist

at the end of day. But the trophies:

a goldfinch tearing up a pink thistle,

a magpie dipping her wing tips

in a white cloud, an ouzel barreling 

hip-high upstream with a warning.

You wish you had a river. To make

a river, it takes some mountains.

Some rain to watershed. You wish

you had a steady meadow and pink thistles

bobbing at the border for your horizons,

pale robins bouncing their good postures

in the spruce shadows. Instead, the law

of life comes for you like three men 

and a car. In your dreams, you win them over

with your dreams: a goldfinch tearing up 

a pink thistle. A magpie so slow 

she knows how to keep death at bay, 

she takes her time with argument 

and hides her royal blue in black. 

Shy as a blue grouse, nevertheless God

doesn’t forget his green mountains.

You wish you had a river.

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