Patience - From My Window

Each time we approach a change of seasons, I begin a vigil.  In late summer, I monitor for the first hint of fall color in the “sentinel” maple that always is first to blush.  In late spring, it is the first garden crops ready to grace our plates, signaling a feast of fresh produce throughout the summer.  In late fall, it’s the first snow.  I am in my vigil of spring, and for this change, I have patience.

The obvious signal is the retreat of snow.  Yes, there will be a few flurries yet, like we had on Friday.  But I am free to move around easily in the woods again, making it a joy to hunt the next signs of spring.   I was gone for a few days, and when I returned the flock of goldfinches had changed from olive with a hint of yellow to bright lemon.  A large number of males, perched on an ash tree awaiting clearances to land at the feeder, looked like brilliant jewels.  It was a stunning sight; one of those “I am blessed to be alive in this place” moments.

Daily checks include the apple and plum trees, raspberry patch and rhubarb – all leafing out.   The asparagus has yet to make an appearance, but soon it will poke out and make me dream of fresh roasted asparagus.

The wild plant community also receives scrutiny.  The south-facing bank of Alice Creek’s drainage, sheltered from the wind, is the first place to find marsh marigold/cowslip plants greening up; I found the first flower bud yesterday, on a raw, cold day.  The ramps, as always, poked up through the snow, and the woods are a lush carpet of them.  I don’t think it is my imagination they’ve spread even since we relocated here; my only regret is I believe I am also tracking a simultaneous retreat of the trilliums, which is unfortunate.  It is hard to say if the two changes are related; I suspect they are.  As is, I’ll watch extra carefully for the cheery white ephemerals, and cherish each one I find. I never pick them, knowing the plant, if it survives, will not bloom again for seven or more years.

Once the cowslips bloom, I start hunting jack-in-the-pulpits.  I know where to look; even so, they are ingeniously camouflaged so I have yet to find one in bud before blooming.  Goals, I have goals.

I have to look low to find the first few tiny clumps of wood violets.  So delicate, so beautiful.  Soon the plum and apple blossoms will draw me just like they draw the bees; apple blossoms have one of my favorite scents.  I am happy to see the white lilac, a starter from my mother’s venerable shrub, is vibrantly healthy and will also contribute one of nature’s intoxicating spring perfumes.

All outdoor monitoring is facilitated by earlier sunrises, and later sunsets.  I have shaken off the urge to hibernate before 6 p.m.; an hour of two of reading allows me to watch the sun’s slow sink behind Hank Lake.  Even with windows closed, I can hear spring peepers, each tiny male contributing to a chorus impossible to ignore.  Yet to make them fall quiet, all I have to do is approach.  How they can detect me coming with all that racket is beyond me, but the ones closest to me quiet at once, and do not resume calling until I’ve moved on.

I am patient with spring.  Summer comes and goes in a blur; I like this slow transition and having the time to deeply appreciate it.

Book I just finished and loved: “The Cold Vanish,” Seeking the Missing in North America’s wilderness by Jon Billman. (Non-fiction.)   Jon is a resident of the U.P. and an instructor at N.M.U.  The story focuses on one man searching for his missing adult son in the Pacific Northwest; but delves into searching methodology; other missing people cases, use of bloodhounds and the latest in search technology.  It is in turns immensely sad, and very funny. Lots of interesting and unique people.  If you read and loved “Into the Wild,” by Jon Krakauer (one of my top 10 favorites of all time,) you will like it.

I welcome commentary, alternative viewpoints or ideas at this e-mail address:  JanieTMartin@gmail.com 

Janie Thibodeau Martin