The arrival of spring is an event that I look forward to with great anticipation. I measure the arrival by looking for specific activities in nature — the first appearance of skunks recently roused from their winter sleep, the first songs of spring peepers, and the first appearance of green skunk cabbage leaves are all important signs that spring is here.
For me, however, the actual moment that I acknowledge spring’s arrival is that moment I see my first tree swallows and phoebes of the year. These arrivals are almost always dictated by the weather, which means I may or may not be around to see it happen. But, this year was extraordinarily and wonderfully different.
Saturday, April 8, was a cold, rainy, gloomy day. This was a terrible disappointment for me, because I was so very much looking forward to a day outside. Could I have gone out anyway? Absolutely. Did I go out? No. I wanted to be outside in the sun. I wanted to feel a warm breeze. I wanted to walk barefoot on the damp earth. It was not a day that offered me what I was truly looking for.
Sunday, April 9, on the other hand, was perfect. The first thing I noticed when I woke up on was that the sun was shining. I sat at the end of my bed looking for my moccasins, and as I gazed out the window, I saw a small shape perched on one of the bluebird boxes in my back yard. “Could it be?” I wondered.
I ran to the kitchen, grabbed my binoculars and zeroed in on the small shape that seemed to hold all of my hopes and dreams in that moment. And what did I see? A tree swallow!
In pure unadulterated joy, I stepped out onto the deck and was suddenly immersed in birdsong. The temperature was only 45 degrees, but I knew that would change. What a difference a day can make.
Better yet, as I stood there soaking up the atmosphere of the morning, I saw a movement that turned out to be a phoebe exploring the tall grass. The two birds had arrived on the same day. I was really excited … just ask Susan.
In fact, I was so overwhelmed with positive energy that I decided to go out and buy some flowers to plant in the flower boxes that adorn the railings on my deck. There were many choices, but pansies seemed to be the most alluring, so I bought a tray and headed back home.
In no time at all, I had three flower boxes planted with beautiful little pansies that promised to become beautiful big pansies in coming weeks.
The real treat for me came at about 1:30 p.m., though, when I changed into shorts and a T-shirt and grabbed my journals and pens and sat outside in the sunshine. Hopes that had been dashed the day before were suddenly realized — the juxtaposition with the previous failure making the moment all the sweeter.
As Nikonus and Iso have suggested, I had my camera at my side in case anything wonderful happened. The gods must have been pleased, because they sent me yet another reward. Hopping along the railing, and then exploring the flower box that I had just planted, was a beautiful song sparrow. These birds are usually very shy around people, similar to cardinals in their willingness to flee at the mere sight of a person.
This one, however, was as mellow as could be, and I was able to snap a photo of the bird next to one of the most beautiful of the pansies I had just planted. The following days were even warmer, but I was at work. The lilac buds had burst and were showing leaves by Tuesday afternoon. The peepers were screaming Tuesday night. Then, a warm rain came on Wednesday morning and the songs of American toads came trilling out of the darkness of my back yard.
Spring arrived in the early morning hours of Sunday, April 9, and she transformed the world in an explosion of activity and a multitude of sounds, all accentuated by the subtle perfume of damp earth.
It has happened my friends, and I hope you can get out and enjoy it.
Bill Danielson has worked for the National Park Service, the U.S. Forest Service, and the Massachusetts State Parks. He has been a professional writer and nature photographer for 19 years and also teaches high school biology and physics. For more information, visit: www.speakingofnature.com or go to Speaking of Nature on Facebook.