Yesterday morning a male fox sat in our side yard enjoying the thank-God-it’s-finally-warmer weather. I watched as he sniffed around the foundation of our old barn. He posed in the sun before taking a pee, then trotted off to his lair in the back woods. Could there be kits romping under the apple tree in our future? We hope so.
Crocuses and daffodils bloom in the front garden. Every day the leaves on the lilac bush by the back deck grow fuller and lusher. Spindly green chives stand five inches tall in my herb garden! And last week more than 30 red-breasted robins swooped in and hopped around the front yard, playing there for over an hour.
It’s been a cruel cold April in New England but telling signs prove that the steely grip of winter has softened at last. Some signs you’ve seen before because I can’t resist sharing once again photos taken by my friend and gifted photographer Ken Janes. Some are photos I’ve taken recently. (You’ll recognize mine!)
Even the excerpt of this poem by Margaret Wise Brown is a repeat from a prior blog, but the peepers I now hear every night made me do it.
When the groundhog casts its shadow
and the small birds sing,
And the pussywillows happen and
the sun shines warm,
And when the peepers peep …..
then it’s Spring!
(Eastern Bluebird “The bluebird wears a coat of the purest, richest, and most gorgeous blue on back, wings, and tail; no North American bird better deserves the name, for no other flashes before our admiring eyes so much brilliant blue.”)
(Fiddleheads are the furled fronds of a young fern. . Foraging for these nutty-flavored veggies, or “fiddleheadin,’” is a Maine tradition in the Spring.)
(I saw this sign along Route 1 as I drove down to Ogunquit. This entrepreneur is psyched for the new season!)
(The Baltimore Oriole earned its name by resembling the color scheme on the coat of arms of Lord Baltimore, an Irish Baron. Their color and song make them a favorite of any birder.)
(It’s a sure sign of Spring when the winter clothes go into the cedar closet or to the dry cleaner!)
(Blooming Daffodils: “I wandered lonely as a cloud, that floats on high o'er vales and hills, when all at once I saw a crowd — A host of golden daffodils.” William Wordsworth)