As Sure as Spring

There's music in the woods at night; the coyotes are singing their spring love songs.  If you get close enough, it can raise the hair on the back of your neck, and around here, it's a good harbinger of spring.  Last week, the ground was in a deep freeze, and with the exception of a few snowdrop blossoms and the music of the coyotes, it seemed there wasn't a single sign of spring's approach in these Ozark hills.

Until Thursday.  The first red-winged blackbird made his appearance...

 ...and in spite of the chill,
kept up his cheery chipping as if he was quite happy to be back.  

Friday we spotted a Phoebe, returned from its winter in the south,
wagging its tail and singing its name.

A spring peeper (aka, tree frog) let out a timid peep from the pond. 

Yesterday, for the first time this season, 

we watched wild turkey gobblers displaying for the hens.

One old gobbler wanted to be sure the young ones, with their short, stubby beards, 

knew who was boss.

Even when it seems like a long wait, it's good to know there are some things you can always count on-- that as long as the earth endures, spring will come again, that somewhere the coyotes will sing, that the sun will come up in the morning, and that God's mercy will be available for a new day.

Let us acknowledge the Lord; let us press on to acknowledge him.  

As surely as the sun rises, he will appear; 

he will come to us like the winter rains, like the spring rain that waters the earth.

Hosea 6:3

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;

his mercies never come to an end;

they are new every morning;

great is your faithfulness.

The Lord is good to those who wait for him,

to the soul who seeks him.

Lamentations 3:22, 23, 25



Linking with Wild Bird Wednesday

Hope of Spring

We've had an extra dose of winter this year, and people around here, myself included, are eager for any sign of spring.  The return of the red-winged blackbird is often a predictor of the season.  On most years, one day in the early spring, we'll hear a trill from the top of a tree, and see the flash of brilliant red wing patches against jet black feathers, and know that we'll be enjoying the company of the red-wing for several months.  Last week, when snow blanketed the ground and the lake still wore its icy fringe, there was one mingling with the local birds at the bird feeder, and eating sunflower seeds, just as if he belonged here.  They may be better weather predictors than the much touted groundhogs.  This week has been beautiful and mild, and it feels like spring is just over the next hill.

Bluebirds, too, are pointing toward spring.  They are the first birds to nest here each year, and last week they were out checking on the available birdhouses.  With those hopeful signs, I went looking this morning for a Harbinger of Spring, those tiny white wild flowers that are the first to bloom in the spring, and are ubiquitous throughout the season.  I didn't find one in any of the usual spots, but I did find a small patch of snow drops already up and blooming, their heads bowed in morning prayer.  The poet Percy Bysshe Shelley wrote,

O Wind,

If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

If Percy had lived in the Ozarks, he might have added a corollary:

O Spring,

if Blackbirds come, can Harbingers be far behind?

A Short Walk

The south window of our kitchen overlooks an ice-edged pond, one of 2 on our property, and we love watching the wildlife it attracts.  Deer and turkeys often drink from the pond, and in the heat of the summer, the deer will wade right in.  Sometimes we watch wood ducks paddle there; dragonflies frequent it in the summer, and a myriad of birds use it all year long. Every spring until recently, red-winged blackbirds could be found nesting in the cattails around the pond’s perimeter.  They would attach their sack-like nests to the stems.  When we approached, the birds would fly up to the treetops and sing their exquisite song.*   For a good part of one season, a male red-wing battled regularly with his reflection in the kitchen window.  We dubbed him Patton, because his strutting, and his bright red and yellow wing patches reminded us of George C. Scott’s well known depiction of the general. 

Although picturesque, and useful to blackbirds, cattails are not generally desirable in a pond, as they spread aggressively by way of thousands of seeds, which disperse on the wind. They send down tenacious roots, often displacing any other vegetation, and can eventually choke a pond. That said, I’ve always felt that there is something a little bit magical about cattails, especially when the flower opens and exposes their fluffy white seeds against the furry dark brown exterior, like sheep skin on popsicle sticks. 

In her fascinating book, Wild Foods Field Guide and Cookbook, Billy Joe Tatum has a number of delicious sounding recipes utilizing different parts of the cattail.  One of these days, I’d like to try cooking the asparagus-like stalks in the spring, and, a little later when the pollen forms, “cat-tail pollen pancakes” sound interesting.  Stay tuned. 

A couple of years ago, for reasons we have not yet been able to ascertain, the cattails disappeared from our pond, and when they did, the blackbirds moved on, too. 

Our second pond is larger, but it has never held much water, except when we have an abundance of rain, and then only for a short time.  Right now it has about enough ice-covered water in it to fill up a large jacuzzi.  Years ago, willow trees volunteered there, and now their bare branches reach high overhead.  I hadn’t been down in that pond for some time, but the other day I didn’t have time for my customary walk with Barley, so he and I made a brief ramble there.  Barley was fascinated by the scents, and fresh deer tracks gave a strong visual cue about what he was smelling.  I made a discovery of my own.  A small new patch of cattails now stands in the bottom of the pond.  They are headed out, and their seeds, like drifting snowflakes, were traveling upward in the breeze. 

The magic continues. 

*Incidentally, the song of the red-winged blackbird reminds me of the theme music to NPR’s St. Paul Sunday with Bill McGlaughlin.  Let me know if you concur.