Green overwhelms the drab browns and grays of winter. What was barren only weeks ago is now hidden behind a facade of new leaves everywhere. The new growth comes so quickly, and the rains come so frequently, that it is nigh unto impossible to keep the grass trimmed. Tall shafts of green topped with pollen-bearing flowers stick up throughout the portion of the lawn awaiting its next shearing.
Spring reinvigorates me. My activity goes up as it is necessary to tend to all of the tasks that a semi-managed landscape requires. Weeding is chief among these tasks. At this time of year, if I diligently attempt to rid all of the flower beds of weeds, by the time I finished the last bed I’d need to go back and tackle the first bed again. But that is not a concern as I listen to the incredible song of the mockingbirds. Our neighborhood has been invaded by these wondrous birds, who have the remarkable ability to spin out a stream of birdsongs from our woods. I have often wondered about the evolutionary pathway that led to a mockingbird having this instinct imprinted in its genes. Most birdsong serves simple purposes. Hey, I’m wonderful, come mate with me. Hey, this is my turf, stay out. Hey, you, get away from my babies. But a mockingbird starts singing its aria for no apparent reason that I can tell. And that aria can continue for an incredibly long time.
It’s only the middle of May, but our bluebirds appear to have already fledged. We didn’t see them go, we only noticed that we had not heard the excited chirping of the chicks as their mother arrived with yet another morsel for them. It’s funny how it takes a while for you to notice the absence of something. You will always notice when something happens, but if something goes away, it may take days or weeks before you realize that there’s been a change. Speaking of something coming back, I’ve heard the distinctive call of the pileated woodpecker for the first time in a couple of years.
The daffodils that graced our gardens in early spring now are fading away. Many of the clumps have fallen onto the ground, looking like someone had sat down on them. They will slowly wither, and by June I will be clearing out the browning stems, as their work of feeding the budding bulbs below ground is completed. Later this year I will scout to see which clusters of bulbs have pushed up to the surface. I will fill buckets with bulbs as I work to keep the bulbs healthy. Then the progeny of these bulbs will grace other landscapes as I share the wealth. But that will happen in August and September, when this year’s growth has gone stale, and the ground cracks open from the heat and dryness of late summer.
Next week we will be planting new trees in our front yard. We lost a large hemlock last year when we had it taken down. That tree grew large enough to engulf our electric lines, and we were fortunate to never have had it take the power out due to a limb falling. But the tree got topped in the derecho of 2012, and had been dying from the top down. So we are coming back with much smaller trees, a flowering cherry and two dogwoods, as replacements for the one that is gone. The grass I seeded on the grave of the hemlock has sprouted, and is sticking through the straw placed to help keep the ground and young grass moist. We’ve had enough rain that I’ve only watered the straw once since it was planted. Within a week or two it will be strong enough to mow. Early spring does wonders for all growing things.
But with the growth, also comes victims of spring. Our hunting cat Blinky showed up with a chipmunk in its mouth. Cats have a very distinctive cry when they want to get your attention because they have prey. If you’ve heard the guttural sound, you know instantly what you are in for. In this case, the chipmunk was not quite dead yet, and we had to move it outside, where our cat found it and finished it off. Just a reminder that the cycle of life also includes death, and the brilliant greens and bright colors of spring flowers will also meet their end as our planet spins around to the other side of the sun and we lose the benefit of the summertime length of day and head towards another winter.