Wild About Nature
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With Great Anticipation, Winter Slips into Spring

March 1999

     My anticipation of the spring equinox begins the day after the winter solstice when, minute by minute, each day gains light. Before long, the January melt promises things to come.  Something is different and I search for signs in nature. 

     Cedar waxwings and cardinals eat the fruit remaining on the Sargent crabapple tree.  I spy mourning doves sunning themselves, out of the wind and camouflaged by a carpet of dead leaves.  In February, walking about the yard is easier.  Bare ground alternates with snow patches edged with ice crust.

     It is a good time for pruning shrubs and trees, before the sap begins to flow.  One cold and sunny afternoon we prune the grapevines. Titmice and chickadees are beginning their spring calls. Downy woodpeckers use resonant trees for "drumming posts" to establish territory. The days are noticeably longer and when I get home from work it is still light.

     In March the woodcock returns from migration.  I look in protected sunny places, along the house foundation and the edge of the woods. Often our neighbors have the first sighting and, knowing that I keep a journal, they tell me what they've seen.

     American woodcocks run along the ground with a headlong movement. With long thin beaks, they search in the softened damp soil for earthworms and insect larvae.  They nest among dead leaves or under bushes.  They live in moist deciduous woodland and thickets near open fields. With colours adapted for the forest floor, woodcocks are nearly invisible.  In their elaborate mating ritual, the male spirals to a great height, circles and, calling as he descends, plummets to the earth.

      Sharpshinned hawks appear with more frequency.  I don't know whether they are returning migrants or ones that stayed the winter.  It is very likely that blue jays and goldfinches who spent the breeding season to the north came here for the winter, while the ones we saw last summer moved south a bit for the cold season.  Goldfinches, with plumage still a dull yellow, pick at the seed heads of last year's black-eyed Susan.  Robins may migrate or stay the winter in local cedar bogs and swamps. In the yard, we see a small flock of robins eating the last of the crabapples, holly and other berries.   In the last twenty-five to thirty years, about thirty species of birds, including robins, have expanded their range northward.  The general warming of the world's climate is offered as the reason and the many interconnected phenomena and repercussions are just now beginning to be documented.

     I watch for the return of the rufous-sided towhee, who gleans early meals from the dead leaves lying thick and wet at the edges of the yard under the maples and cedars. When I notice some insects flying about in the sun on warm days, I expect to see the phoebes. The northern flickers arrive. Unlike other species of woodpeckers, flickers spend time on the ground, looking for ants.  Flickers are large with brown and white feathers, a black chest patch, red on the nape of the neck, and a white rump that is visible in flight. Their call is slightly louder and harsher than those of either downy or hairy woodpeckers.

     By looking at my journal, I know the dates of our observations in this habitat over the last twelve years. I can trace tiny events in the great seasonal patterns.  On a sunny day in March, I read our observations of past years for April and early May. The intensity of colours, sounds and the true fullness of nature in spring come over me.  Rosebreasted grosbeaks, scarlet tanagers, northern orioles and ruby-throated hummingbirds are winging their way to my yard.

     Small and myriad happenings in nature match my own sense of spring optimism. Buds swell, water drips.  Rivers and streams are free of ice except in the most shaded places.  From the tops of trees birds sing songs and calls float in the air. In the mornings, clouds glow pink in the blue sky.  Almost imperceptibly, the daylight becomes equal to the darkness. Natural signs speak to my instincts. Spring is here. In company with nature, I offer thanks and blessings.

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By Nancy Coverstone (ncstone@umext.maine.edu), University of Maine Extension Educator in Androscoggin and Sagadahoc Counties

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