Avian Quickening

I once described the four Celtic cross-quarter days in an earlier posting—those times of year when the Celts saw measurable seasonal change and held festivals and appealed to their gods to watch over them. These four events meant more to those ancient people than our modern calendrical milestones, because they lived so close to the land and the cross-quarter days more closely related to events on the ground.

One cross-quarter day that we heartily greet is Imbolc—which falls half way between winter solstice and spring equinox—during the first week of February. Imbolc brings the true passing of winter, as the dark season begins to yield to increasing sunlight. For the month or so before Imbolc the day length increases a miserly minute each day—a difference that anyone is unlikely to notice. Winter seems to have settled in and is disinclined to move on. But right after Imbolc the day length grows by about three minutes each day. That becomes noticeable!

Animals and plants notice too. They may not be able to peer into the future or read a calendar and anticipate the arrival of spring as we do, but evolution has taught them to prepare for change. Tree buds swell, underground seeds begin to sprout, and mammals begin to lactate (Imbolc means “in milk). Our Celtic ancestors were attuned to the signs as well. They celebrated the goddess Brighde (pronounced “Breed”) at this time—a lady who reigned over birth, healing, inspiration, nature, and their precious livestock. They even cleaned the winter’s accumulation of trash from their dwellings in honor of Brighde. Is this the origins of our spring-cleaning?

It’s around Imbolc time that we hear the year’s first real bird calls in our neighborhood—not the brief, almost accidental bursts of sound that an isolated bird will emit on a cold winter day, but a true song to spring. Just as we know that the swelling buds will bring leaves and blossoms before long, we know that more bird songs will soon fill the air.

We know Imbolc is here and have learned what to expect in the quickening of nature at this time of year, but what’s stimulating the birds? Is it the increasing light that cues them? It can’t be a warming of the air—it’s still as cold as it was a few weeks ago. They can’t read a calendar (at least not the human kind). What might be stirring inside their wee breasts? A little testosterone? The sheer joy of spring that instinct somehow brings?

They’re not as yet ready to divulge their secret—or maybe they are, but we just don’t understand their language. Maybe I’m once again looking too hard for reasons. Regardless of what’s going on, we love to hear these early bursts of song. For us it’s a better sign that winter is coming to a conclusion, than trying to catch a groundhog being startled by his shadow.