The March of Spring

It is now mid March, and spring is well sprung. The many anticipatory weeks of longingly looking for early signs of the vernal period are over. It’s here! The endless stretch of the late winter doldrums is finally behind us. Celebrate! Equinox is just around the corner. The pace of awakening is quickening.

There is no gloomier time of year for me than the couple of months following winter solstice—when the pace of seasonal change slows to a glacial crawl. The root meaning of solstice is “sun stand still;” and nothing seems to move for weeks on end, except blowing snow. The old expression “slower than molasses in January” pretty much says it all for me. But now excitement bubbles up from within, as the welcome signs of spring are everywhere. Life is moving, is rejuvenating itself!

The earliest hints of spring—seen back in February—were very subtle and often invisible. One had to take it on faith that they were really there. Buds began to swell ever so slightly, animals stirred in their dens, and the days (if one really took note) were a teeny bit longer.

Now the signs are far more strident than mere hints. They are in your face! Days are strikingly longer. Birds begin to practice their territorial and mating calls—intermittent and tentative at first (as if their chirps are a little rusty), but getting bolder by the day. The more audacious of them already are singing long and lustily. Until recently the birds flocked cooperatively, sharing food and territory—but now they occasionally squabble and feint at one another, as if seeing which one will blink first. They are warming up for paring off.

The tree branches have gradually shifted from their gray-brown winter dullness to a shy flash of burgundy—soon to show a lusty red. Look close and you can see buds swelling and tentatively lifting from the protection of their twigs, as if to look cautiously around, before daring to burst open. They are pregnant with possibilities. Look closely at the ground and you can see the first tiny shoots of plants poking up. Oops!, there’s a crocus blossom. How did that happen so fast?

All these vernal outbreaks of nature also elicit a welcome change in us homestead humans. A warmish day will draw us outside to revel in the fresh air and sunshine. The garden calls out for its first ministrations—to which we joyfully answer with an overly-abundant enthusiasm. Then we find ourselves nursing aching muscles the next day. That’s OK; our spirits are lifted so high by spring’s arrival that a few aches are a welcome price. Hmmm, I wonder how this year’s first tomato will taste.