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Welcome, sweet springtime

Musings from the Hill

“Why does anyone go on spring vacation? It seems odd to fly to a tropical destination at the very moment one of the greatest astonishments of life on Earth is taking place right at home.” I’m quoting now in the Wall Street Journal from George Ball, chairman and CEO of Burpee. “When friends tell me their spring-vacation plans, they mention ‘escape.’ Really? You want to escape spring? That’s like fleeing paradise.”

I confess to having no desire to travel during the darkest days of winter. The weather seems to have improved over these last couple of years but who voluntarily wants to live on pins and needles wondering if the planes will be moving on the scheduled day of departure? And what about the roads just to get to the airport? Milder our winters may be but that doesn’t guarantee a major storm won’t hit at just the worst possible time. (Don’t they usually?) Unless absolutely necessary, I don’t figure it’s worth the gamble.

We’ve passed the day for Dunkirk Dave and Punxsutawney Phil. Just look at the calendar. His six weeks are up this Sunday. Daylight Savings Time is already a week old with the official spring beginning in just another seven days. Is it over? Truly? Doubt it?

Written too far ahead to be sure but I’ll bet the snowdrops are up — been flattened any number of times with new ice and snow but persistently popping up again. Coltsfoot (hard to get those rhizomes but welcome as an early harbinger of spring nonetheless) has sprouted its nice bright yellow. I’ll deal with the roots later. Daffodil greens have popped up to see how the world looks in this wonderful year of 2020. Of course we know they’ve been snowed on . . . and may well be again. But that’s all right. I planted lots of hyacinths last year. They’re up as well — smelly (in a good way — at a bit of a distance) with all those lovely pastels that are missing from the other early yellow bloomers.

Bushes have been sprouting red tips, bringing the hills back from their somber grays and tans until by now they are a riot of red. And one, looking closely (well, perhaps not even that closely) can see the little leaflets appearing. My old cherry trees will soon tell me what branches are gone and what will survive at least another year. I should be very sad to lose any for they are the source of shade during the hotter (and brighter) summer days.

I’m hearing geese. A few have checked out the lake. Could it possibly be open by now? It was for marvelous days in January. I expect it should be for my bird records tell of seeing mergansers and of course the breeding wood ducks, perhaps even a visiting scaup by now. But that does require open water. If so, then the heron is undoubtedly hanging around looking for all those fish that have grown over the winter months. Even more frequently I’ve been hearing (if not always seeing) the mallards in what earlier owners christened Little Deer Lake. (To be accurate, it varies between various depths of water and swamp. Pomfret still insists it must be drained but I no longer complain for they leave enough for the animals, ducks and plants to survive.) I hear the rumblings of the mallards if not always their stellar quacking when Molly and I do my morning walk. By now Gloria is happy to accompany us as well. She’s good about going out but has very strong ideas on what temperature is suitable for a cat.

Spring signals so much new life as hopes are renewed. We’ve survived another one of those “bleak midwinters,” haven’t we? Pat yourself on the back, congratulate yourself and then look around. There’s so much good just over the horizon. And we’re still here.

I welcome the return of the birdy pairs. Mrs. Red-belly surprised me by joining her mate the first week in February. Haven’t the males who stayed behind gotten tired by now of waiting? Ah, so that’s why nests are being built and babies appear!

It’s fun to watch the little robins learning how to catch worms, their speckled chests a giveaway that they’re still kids. The phoebes will nest again outside my den window and who knows what other wonders I may discover this year?

Anything’s possible. That is indeed the promise of spring.

Susan Crossett has lived in Arkwright for more than 20 years. A lifetime of writing led to these columns as well as two novels. “Her Reason for Being” was published in 2008 with “Love in Three Acts” following in 2014. Information on all the Musings, her books and the author may be found at Susancrossett.com.

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