Snow and Spring

Each year in the north country there's a stretch of time when winter and spring commence a fierce tug-of-war and we mere mortals are yanked back and forth mercilessly as the world around us melts and freezes and melts again. I write about it every March-into-April, it seems.

By March 22, all the snow in my yard had melted and I'd spotted the first sorrel sprouts in the garden. Then, that night, we got nearly a foot of new snow. In the morning, I glumly tugged on my big, heavy boots and trudged off through the drifts on the daily dog walk. Having had a taste of skipping along over bare ground, it was a chore. Even Maisie trudged, tail down, one foot after the other. Snow in late March is not the same as snow in December and January. But the sun in late March is not the same as that thin, wan January sun, either. It is strong and bright and actually feels warm again. And the trees have shadows! 

Speaking of shadows, I often try to take photos of tracks and they rarely turn out. Not enough contrast. But that all changes when the sun is shining and the snow is positively sparkling!

How about that March sky? Blue, blue, blue!

It took more than a few days for the snow to begin turning back to slush and mud. But that blue sky soon began to show off springier visions.

Between the pussy willows and the nonstop chorus of birdsong, it grew easier to believe that spring was near, despite the white underfoot.

By last Saturday, most of the snow was gone again. It was brisk and sunny and, even as it got on toward late afternoon, the sun was still high in the sky. Nick and I jumped on bikes and pedaled into town, poked around the four floors of the antique shop on Union Street where there was a sale on, and still had daylight enough to bike out nearly to the end of the solar system on the TART trail (it's a scale model - starts with a big yellow sun on a pole at the library and heads east from there), hike the loop at the Reffitt Preserve, and get home before dark. The days are growing long again!

Then, on Sunday, it alternately snowed, sleeted, rained, hailed, and thundered - when it wasn't doing all of this at once. Maisie and I finally ventured out for a walk around the loop at dusk. Through three layers of hat and hoods, I heard a peculiar sound. I peeled back the layers to confirm that, indeed, it was a woodcock peenting. I don't believe I've been lucky enough to hear that sound since grad school in Wisconsin, 7 years ago. After we turned the corner, I could still hear it on my right side, but then I heard a second peenting sound coming from the left. Two woodcocks, one on each side, kept us company all the way down that stretch of marshy path.

I've been seeing and hearing the red-winged blackbirds for a while, and robins nearly as long. Two mornings ago I heard a loon fly over and watched a pair each of ducks and geese wheel overhead.

One of the benefits of keeping written records is the chance to compare the dates of significant events from year to year. Using this blog as a searchable phenology archive, it's easy to confirm that last year spring came much earlier while the year before was similar to this one.

As of today the snow is entirely gone from the backyard again and nearly gone from the front. There are still patches along our walking routes, which Maisie feels the need to throw herself into and roll over and over, savoring her final snow baths of the year. But she also took her first dip in the creek last weekend, and we've entered the stretch of time where the mudroom lives up to its name fully.

Meanwhile, here's that sorrel!

Undaunted by the snow, it's back and vibrantly green. Not much else is happening yet, although I think I saw the first tips of the chives yesterday. Nowhere near the amount of garden activity at this time last year, but I believe I'll plant some peas tomorrow, and maybe some spinach in the coldframe, and just see what happens!