Remnants & Signs
Around here, the first signs of spring usually include
sounds of water. The first 50-degree
days typically catch the snow that has collected on the roof still napping peacefully,
and the warming sunshine and the first southwesterly breezes set off a symphony
of dripping water. The drops overflow
the still ice-clogged gutters and slide down receding icicles – holding on for
just a fraction of a second at the pointed tip before plunging down into the
snowbanks below.
But this year has been quiet. All of the snowfalls this year, except one, consisted
of light, fluffy snow. Such snow, if you
can accumulate enough makes for excellent cross-country skiing, but it holds
precious little moisture. When that kind
of snow recedes, it seems to dissolve more than melt. The three bigger storms we had this winter
that would have piled up heavy and deep if snow, were all accompanied by
temperatures just over freezing, so they were all rain.
The only remnant snow we have is what remains of scattered
snowdrifts or along the edges of driveways.
Looking at them, one can imagine they are the backs of herds of Captain
Ahab’s white whales that have gasped a new breath and are now diving back fathoms
deep. They don’t feel much like snow at
this point. You can step on them without
leaving a print because they have near-melted almost every day for the last few
weeks, and then refroze hard each night as the air temperature dropped back
down below freezing. There are no longer
any discernable snowflakes as the outer layer consists now of gritty ice
pebbles.
It was while walking up the driveway with the mail Monday
of this week that I heard the raspy urgent call of a sandhill crane. I wasn’t expecting that sound until next week
or so. I didn’t hear any answer to that
call, so I imagined a single male bird dropping out of the sky and landing on
the pond that still has a foot and a half of solid ice covering it. He probably wanted to stake out the best
place on the marsh for a mating dance, but the lack of response suggests that
he has time to practice before the music plays in earnest.
I told Michelle of the crane and we jumped in the car to
drive around the “country block” that holds the two big ponds to the west. It’s really two miles by two miles around the
section. Sure enough, all we saw was a
single sandhill crane. It’s hard to tell
if he’s brave or foolish for being in such a hurry.
Along the roadside willows and cattails there were
redwing blackbirds scattered along the route.
I’m a bit surprised that there were so few because they seem to
typically arrive en masse, although we did see a flock of a hundred or so birds
settle into a field as we drove past.
Tomorrow they are predicting rain again. There is even a chance of a rumble or two of
thunder says the weather forecaster. My
mom always said that you need thunder to shake the frost out of the
ground. I doubt it will do all of that
because I picked up some branches in the yard today that succumbed to the
winter winds and although the top inch or so had some squish to it, I could feel
that the ground underneath is still frozen solid. And since we had consistent cold without much
protective snow this winter I would guess the frost goes down several feet
yet.
There are several woodlot sections in the area that
have already been tapped for maple syrup.
The forecast for the coming weekend is highs in the 50’s during the day
falling back to below freezing during the night. The sap will be running hard no doubt.
We are still in the season of little remnants and
signs of winter growing old and spring growing more and more anxious. No matter which holds your heart, it is a
time for patience, because neither season is in any hurry.
His Peace <><
Deacon Dan
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