Oh, sure, the Society of Uncreative Sticklers for Exact Equinoxes will dispute my claim. “It’s Winter,” they say. “It won’t be Spring until March 20th.” At which point, a second, less creative person will say, “Exactly. March 20th. At 17:32 GMT.”
Hey, sticklers, lighten up and listen up. It’s not about the facts, it’s about the truth.
All of us upper Midwesterners have a different sense of Spring. We don’t use the astronomical definitions since they’re largely irrelevant.
Spring is when you see bare spots on the backyard. Spring is when we wear shorts when it’s 42 and sunny because we can. Spring is driving with the window rolled down, elbow out, with the heater on high keeping our feet warm. Spring is when a winter’s blanket of snow is pulled back to reveal a minefield of dog poop. Spring is when you take the ski rack off the car, and even if it snowed, you’d still leave it off. Because skiing, irrespective of snow cover, is over. Spring is when you start to smell life in the air, and sun casts both light and warmth on your face. Or in my case, on my head—my forehead extends back farther than most. My head is a solar collector.
Spring is when sleeping buds start to stir. Some of them are locked up tight until there’s no chance of a killing frost, but most plants are a little more daring and want to get a jump start on getting some chlorophyll action going. They’re cold, they’re hungry, and they want it to be Spring. Like me.
For us paddlers, Spring is when the water is paddle-able. Not necessarily warm, mind you, but it’s mostly fluid (except for the ice chunks) and it’s lovely, even if wading is not advised.
For me, Spring stated March 1st because I saw two nuthatches (Sitta carolinensis) working over the shaggy bark of one of our Silver Maples (Acer saccharinum) looking for bits of food. They have an unmistakable, nasally honk, and a pair of them sound a lot like my grandfather (Homo sapiens var. Utahensis) blowing his nose, but a block or so away.
Sure, it looks inhospitable. Well, maybe it’s a little less welcoming than warm sands and bright sunshine, but it’s wet and it’ll float a canoe. Physically it might be a little hostile, but Winter early Spring paddling has its own beauty. The light plays off the melting ice like crystals in the window of a new age bookstore, and the breakup of the ice shelfs create sounds that can vary from a sharp crack like the report of a rifle to a soft, rippling music like a giant wind chime.
Then there’s the guilty feeling that this is just, well, wrong. It’s a harmless cheat, where no one loses but you win, and Nature just sits there and scratches her head, like a teacher catching a pupil doing something, only there’s no proof of any actual mischief. But everyone knows that somewhere, in some way, somehow someone got away with something. I love it when that someone is me.
As I drive around Southern Wisconsin, the changes are subtle, but unmistakable. Rivers are opening up and willows show tinges of yellow. Cardinals sing to each other constantly, flashes of red in a monochrome copse of cottonwoods. And woodpeckers…that was the kicker.
A pair of Red-Bellied Woodpeckers have been clattering in the big maple, spending a lot of time there. Normally they spend a few minutes in a tree and flit off to another, but they seemed particularly attached to this one.
I like Red-Bellies. Melanerpes carolinus are fairly common in our woods, as well as Hairys and cute little Downys. We get some Northern Flickers here and there, but the Red-Bellies seem to be the most common.
A few days ago I heard one of the resident Red-Bellies singing her lungs out. I could not for the life of me see where she was. Ian spotted a flash of red, and I ran for my camera and stuck the big lens on. A nesting pair built a nest in a dead limb. I guess Silver Maples are good for something besides dropping limbs on unsuspecting passersby.
We feel honored to have such lovely new neighbors. They’re the best indicator of all that Spring, despite the lack of a Vernal Equinox, is here.
Respectfully submitted,
Canoelover
Living in the Midwest, I was always more inclined to go with what I learned was the “meteorological calendar”.
Spring: March 1 – May 31
Summer: June 1 – August 31
Autumn: September 1 – November 30
Winter: December 1 – February 28 (or 29)
Makes more sense, weather-wise doesn’t it?
Spring is Canoecopia. ’nuff said.