Spring

I haven't written anything for some time. I've been busy and away, but mainly dealing with Spring.

So, I've been thinking about this season called Spring. The calendar says it is a new season and it is called one. It is true that the days are getting longer (it's not getting dark here until almost 8:30) and flowers, both wild and cultivated, are blooming, and trees are budding. But, being out here reminds me of what I remember of Spring back in the Northeast: not a season as much as a transition, and a messy transition at that. The weather has been going from warmer and sunny to colder and wet. We are still getting frosts and last week we had another hail storm. It was characteristic of Spring as a transition: at noon it was sunny and the temperature was in the mid fifties, an hour later it dropped to the mid forties and began to hail, the sun then came out, and within an hour we had rain mixed with snow.

The birds also say that it is a new season. The woods are full of bird songs, most of which I've never heard before. In the early morning the crows gather in the tree tops and caw enthusiastically before flying off to some other place. At dusk the birds are lustily singing again and we've begun to hear an owl somewhere off in the woods (by the sound and is considered common around here it's probably a Barred Owl). Then there's a Rufous Hummingbird showing up from time to time. There's a frog croaking mightily in the pond at dusk. Our cat brought us a Spring gift the other week: a mole. I was happy about that gift as moles are a big nuisance here. I don't mind them in the woods, but my garden? No way. I reminds me of the bit I wrote some time ago about "whose place is this?" I feel a pang when I consider being happy about the cat's mole hunting. And the truth is that moles haven't been a problem (yet) in the garden. I don't think about her bird hunting the same way. I've got my preferences and likes and dislikes these keep me from seeing this hunting as a part of the natural world.

Then there is the garden. I'm still going to have to protect against frosts, but I feel good to be getting things planted. Weeds are also taking off. Having a garden here also requires a lot of defensive maneuvers. The two main problems are the deer and the hens. I have finally been able to foil the hens attempts at getting in and there is still more to do about the deer.

So let's get back to this thing called Spring. It is transience and unsettledness par excellence. Spring also is my impatience for the warmth of summer, whether that means shucking layers of clothing or planting vegetables. Spring is also about believing that today's weather will be tomorrow's when it's what I think is good. Spring is also that when this cold raw weather keeps returning summer will ever come. 

I'm reminded of a children's book: "When is Tomorrow?" Right now is today and will always be today; right now today is 40 ish and rainy. But since I can't ever live in tomorrow I might as well try to live as thoroughly in the rainy forties as I can. The frogs and the birds certainly can.