Laurie Snider
Notes from the Nest
“Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart,” William Wordsworth tells me. This is exactly how I approach writing my weekly column. There are times when this is much easier done than others, as I strive to relate tales that are engaging, stimulating, original and perhaps even thought provoking. It can be especially challenging if my mood is somewhat sullen, testy, ill-humored or I just plain feel out of sorts.
I blame it on the slow, cold start to spring, which the skilled and scholarly meteorologists tell me arrived at 5:58 p.m. on March 20, although I may beg to differ. Admittedly, there have been some lovely, blue skies in recent days but the temperature has barely budged above zero. This has left our yard strewn with grey and brown crusty snowbanks, hazardous icy patches, the remnants of last fall’s leaves and a multitude of twigs and branches that detached themselves from the trees in our yard during the whipping, wintery winds.
Where the sun has managed to pierce the frozen ground, we’ve been rewarded with sodden, sloppy, soggy pools of mud, the kind that nearly sucks your shoes off, if you accidently fall off the path on the way to dump the compost. Undoubtedly this would be easier to tolerate, if the three German shepherds we share our home with weren’t delighting as much in ripping and racing around the yard, pursuing each other in earnest until their fur suits are filthy, thoroughly coated in gooey, liquid dirt!
As is the case most springs, I’m anxious to get at it. I’m itching to begin the clean-up, playing pick-up-sticks, raking up the leaves I left to protect my gardens from the bitter chill of winter and even to begin the ever dreaded but most necessary task of dealing with doggy doo. Have I mentioned we share our home with three large dogs?
I’m excitedly anticipating witnessing the first tiny, green sprouts poking up through the soil, once they’re reasonably sure it’s safe to do so. Once this magical experience commences, the march of the flowers will be measurable in hours not days, as Mother Nature performs her transformative marvels.
Ellie and I planted several dozen bulbs in the fall, before the frost hit the ground and I’m eagerly awaiting their profusion of cheery colours as they pop out in our gardens.
I’ve been listening for signs of spring too and on March 15, I heard them before I spotted them. Robins are usually given the title as the harbingers of spring but when I hear the classic ‘Conk-la-ree’ musical trill of the red-winged blackbirds, I get a little giddy. The somewhat amorous males lean a little forward on the branches of our maple tree, spreading out their tail feathers and puffing and fluffing up their brilliant, red, shoulder patches for any similar lady-birds that may care to notice. It’s their own unique bird dating site. “I’m two years old, strikingly handsome, have a great singing voice, am building my own nest and would love it if you’d like to meet me at the birdbath for drinks.”
About the same time, I spotted my first chipmunks of the season. Yawning and stretching, they emerged from their den one warmish, sunny day after spending the winter indoors. I enjoyed watching them scurrying from feeder to feeder, one lovely afternoon, as they stuffed their cheeks with the offerings of nuts and seeds, relishing the opportunity to scarf down a quick bite, after their wintery respite.
Randy did spot one in the roof of the woodshed during winter, when he was chopping wood. It looked down at him rather indignantly saying, “Would you mind knocking off the racket buddy? I’m trying to get some sleep here!”
It isn’t just the birds and wildlife that have begun to appear. Like bears materializing after a long hibernation, neighbors I haven’t laid eyes on since November are beginning to appear too. Most days there’s a steady trickle of pedestrians ambling by our home, who’ve optimistically ditched their boots and heavier coats, almost willing the thermometer to inch upwards. I’ve been joining them outdoors, as I’ve been going for daily walks, trying to work out the kinks and aches I’ve acquired over winter, hoping to limber up in time for gardening season.
It’s quite conceivable that in the span of a few weeks, we’ll go from degrees near freezing to heat and humidity.
I truly hope, at least for a time, we can bask in a climate of in-between, moderate temperatures, dazzling, blue, cloudless skies, moist but not saturated earth, greening trees and oodles of vivid and vibrant, multicoloured flowers, filling in the bald and bare beds waiting to host them. With all of that to look forward to, how can my heart not sing?