Spring is sprung

The week just ended our area "greened up." Grass that had been brown grew and greened. American goldfinch males are now mostly chrome yellow. Decorative bushes in urban yards are in pale pink flower. Thunderstorms, some of which may be severe, are forecast for tomorrow.

late April greening up

Photo by J. Harrington

Thursday this week coming is May Day. It's also "Beltane (Beltaine, Belltaine, Bealtaine, Beltain, Beltine, Bealteine, Bealtuinn, Boaldyn), meaning ‘bright fire’ or ‘lucky fire’ is held on May 1st (May 15th in Scotland) and celebrates the start of summer, the crop and pasturing season." Some local farmers have been working their fields already.

Yesterday, Independent Bookstore Day, the Better Half and I headed for our local Indie, Scout & Morgan, to pick up my recently arrived copy of Phenology by Theresa Crimmins. Earlier, I had enjoyed reading the beginning of Bookstores are arsenals of democracy. If we don't lose power tomorrow, I'll finish the essay while watching the rain. The theme is sadly fitting for current events and a reminder that we've been "here," or near here, several times before. With any luck, Kash won't last nearly as long as J. Edgar!

Instructions on Not Giving Up

Ada Limón 1976 –

 

More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out

of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s

almost obscene display of cherry limbs shoving

their cotton candy-colored blossoms to the slate

sky of Spring rains, it’s the greening of the trees

that really gets to me. When all the shock of white

and taffy, the world’s baubles and trinkets, leave

the pavement strewn with the confetti of aftermath,

the leaves come. Patient, plodding, a green skin

growing over whatever winter did to us, a return

to the strange idea of continuous living despite

the mess of us, the hurt, the empty. Fine then,

I’ll take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf

unfurling like a fist to an open palm, I’ll take it all.

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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Life returns in Spring

On this Easter Sunday, I take a measure of hope from the blossoms on the forsythia bush behind the house, from the songs of the birds, the flights of the returned waterfowl and the fact that more precipitation is rain instead of snow these days. Despite our continuing destructive activities, we are alive on a living planet and are again celebrating the season of life returning in the northern hemisphere. I wish more of US carried that awareness close to our hearts.

much anticipated marsh marigolds in bloom

Photo by J. Harrington

The driveway east of the house gets a mix of sun and shade in the mornings. An ell between the garage and the living room faces south and west and gets sun from late morning all afternoon. The day lilies along the driveway are less than three inches tall. Those in the ell are more than a foot tall. I think that's a good example of differences in microclimates. It also indicates spring's variability, since, in 2012, the day lilies in the semi-shaded front yard were a foot tall on March 24, a month earlier than this year.

The weather forecast includes April showers for the next several days. The water level in the "wet spot" behind the house is much lower this year than most. We're not listed as being even in an abnormally dry county despite an almost snowless winter, probably because precipitation for the past couple of months has been close to normal. We'll hold off until things green up lots more before we torch the brush pile in the back yard.

As far as I'm concerned, we have the best parts of the year ahead of us and I intend to spend at least part of my time paying attention to and enjoying the natural rhythms and beauties in our area. I refuse to spend all my time resisting the madness emanating from the state and national capitols. I also am entitled to enjoy, et alii, marsh marigolds coming into bloom sometime over the next several weeks, weather permitting.

For the Bird Singing before Dawn

Kim Stafford

Some people presume to be hopeful
when there is no evidence for hope,
to be happy when there is no cause.
Let me say now, I’m with them.

In deep darkness on a cold twig
in a dangerous world, one first
little fluff lets out a peep, a warble,
a song—and in a little while, behold:

the first glimmer comes, then a glow
filters through the misty trees,
then the bold sun rises, then
everyone starts bustling about.

And that first crazy optimist, can we
forgive her for thinking, dawn by dawn,
“Hey, I made that happen!
And oh, life is so fine.”

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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

As we approach a time of resurrection

We’re close to mid-April this Palm Sunday. Here in the North Country, April is a time of snow showers and wild flowers. Wild turkeys begin mating rituals. Song birds return. Pregnant whitetail does will be dropping fawns in a month or two. Plant life (re)emerges from its winter retreat. Lakes and ponds lose their ice cover and some of us begin to lose our cabin fever as we wander about noticing Spring’s buds and blooms and growing warmth and open waters.

SiSi the yellow lab in her new home

Photo by J. Harrington

It was twelve years ago this month that SiSi came to live with us. She was between one and two when she arrived as a "rescue." We have had many happy times since she came and she has definitely done a good job of rescuing me. I'm glad we get to enjoy another Spring together, even though the Better Half has already found the first tick of the season on her.

April is also National Poetry Month. As part of my celebration, I bought a copy of Heidi Barr’s latest book of poems, Church of Shadow and Light, at a local independent book store, Scout & Morgan. As soon as I finish posting this, I'm going to start reading some of those poems as a reward for beginning Spring chores today. The back blade came off the tractor; both the front and back hoses got hooked up and water turned on; pounds of winter's mud got rinsed off the Jeep. It feels really good to be out and about doing something other than blowing snow, although we didn't have much of that to do this past winter.

Ever since last November, I've grown more and more concerned about the direction the returning administration has been trying to drag US and about the limited resistance expressed by those who are intended to serve as checks and balances to unbalanced behavior. Our current situation makes me think off how Native Americans have felt about the trail of broken treaties left behind by US. Maybe we'll respond to the stresses we're experiencing by realizing that we've allowed our spirits to be broken by relying on transactions instead of engaging in relationships. Perhaps we can learn what to do if we read and remember this poem.

For Calling The Spirit Back From Wandering The Earth In Its Human Feet

by Joy Harjo

Put down that bag of potato chips, that white bread, that
bottle of pop.

Turn off that cellphone, computer, and remote control.

Open the door, then close it behind you.

Take a breath offered by friendly winds. They travel
the earth gathering essences of plants to clean.

Give back with gratitude.

If you sing it will give your spirit lift to fly to the stars’ ears and
back.

Acknowledge this earth who has cared for you since you were
a dream planting itself precisely within your parents’ desire.

Let your moccasin feet take you to the encampment of the
guardians who have known you before time,
who will be there after time.
They sit before the fire that has been there without time.

Let the earth stabilize your postcolonial insecure jitters.

Be respectful of the small insects, birds and animal people
who accompany you.
Ask their forgiveness for the harm we humans have brought
down upon them.

Don’t worry.
The heart knows the way though there may be high-rises,
interstates, checkpoints, armed soldiers, massacres, wars, and
those who will despise you because they despise themselves.

The journey might take you a few hours, a day, a year, a few
years, a hundred, a thousand or even more.

Watch your mind. Without training it might run away and
leave your heart for the immense human feast set by the
thieves of time.

Do not hold regrets.

When you find your way to the circle, to the fire kept burning
by the keepers of your soul, you will be welcomed.

You must clean yourself with cedar, sage, or other healing plant.

Cut the ties you have to failure and shame.

Let go the pain you are holding in your mind, your shoulders, your heart, all the way to your feet. Let go the pain of your ancestors to make way for those who are heading in our direction.

Ask for forgiveness.

Call upon the help of those who love you. These helpers take many forms: animal, element, bird, angel, saint, stone, or ancestor.

Call yourself back. You will find yourself caught in corners and creases of shame, judgment, and human abuse.

You must call in a way that your spirit will want to return.
Speak to it as you would to a beloved child.

Welcome your spirit back from its wandering. It will return
in pieces, in tatters. Gather them together. They will be
happy to be found after being lost for so long.

Your spirit will need to sleep awhile after it is bathed and
given clean clothes.

Now you can have a party. Invite everyone you know who
loves and supports you. Keep room for those who have no
place else to go.

Make a giveaway, and remember, keep the speeches short.

Then, you must do this: help the next person find their way through the dark.

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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.

Time for a change (or two)

It’s actually starting to seem like Spring here in the North Country. Once again the snow has melted and, come midweek next, overnight low temperatures are forecast to stay above freezing. Leaf buds on the maple trees have burst and, but for a few outliers, the oaks have dropped their overwintering leaves as the new buds swell.

maple leaf buds opening

Photo by J. Harrington

I hate to admit this but I spent way too much time last week doom scrolling and being in an absolutely funky mood. Between laying off thousands of federal staff and laying on thousands of tariffs, it was down the rabbit hole time again. We’re going to be years, if not decades, working to recover once we rid ourselves of our first (and only?) FOTUS [Felon Of The United States]. Despite all the madness, I did complete a preliminary, informal, climate action VENN diagram. It turns out to be trickier than I thought it would, especially since the DrawDown listing doesn’t really cover my interest: the relationships among climate change, the hydrologic cycle, and stream restoration. I made some progress and will keep picking away at it. Stay tuned and, meanwhile, if you’re interested, here’s a link to some local postings that explore climate change and trout fishing.

Speaking of changes, I think this will be the week I take the bback blade off the tractor and start to clean up some of the leaves and branches that came down over the winter. It's also time to get this year's fishing licenses and begin some exploring. That's one of the better ways I can think of to shake the residuals of cabin fever.

Also, please note that April is National Poetry Month. Enjoy Paul Simon's lyrics to help celebrate the month and the changing of the seasons.

      April Come She Will

Lyrics:

April, come she will
When streams are ripe and swelled with rain
May, she will stay
Resting in my arms again

June, she’ll change her tune
In restless walks, she’ll prowl the night
July, she will fly
And give no warning of her flight

August, die she must
The autumn winds blow chilly and cold
September, I’ll remember
A love once new has now grown old

© 1965 Words and Music by Paul Simon

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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.