It may officially be spring, but March keeps waffling, and these early crocus valiantly keep trying to open. In the meantime, I'm caught by patterns of light and shadow indoors, and the break from winter that a small orchid and a few succulents can offer.
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A few last photos of snow markings and mysteries here -- first a leaf still firmly gripped by the stem, after a very windy night. Then a picture story from our front stoop, though we aren't quite sure of the plot. That's presumably the imprint of the tips of a bird's wing and tail -- but what are those five parallel lines? And finally a snow illusion similar to that familiar psychology print which you perceive as either an old or young woman. Do you see ridges or depressions?
Then the switch to Daylight Savings Time came this past Sunday, and so did the switch from snow to spring, with a few days of melting, and icicle creations giving way to the first spring flowers. Before the snow was gone, the snowdrops were up and by yesterday they were starting to open. The next few days are predicted to be in the high 50s, so maybe even the snow on the north side of the house will finally melt. Spring is on the way! Snow still prevailed as March began, now interspersed with thaws that gave us glimpses of snowdrops. One melting snow mound in mid-March revealed a newspaper buried in January. The plastic bag kept it dry, and its headline was still quite appropriate. A record setting winter indeed.
In April, the woods and marsh by the dam still had plenty of brown, but also the calls of returning red-wing blackbirds, a sure sign of spring. It was a special delight to discover spring flowers and green new leaves pushing up through the mat of old leaves. Simple springtime pleasures -- whether it is reflections of the sun on a golden coreopsis on a sunny morning after a rainy night, or blue sky and green plants reflected in droplets on a blade of grass, or later in the day, the soft pinks of a peony in full bloom, or dandelion seeds just setting sail, or bright coreopsis in early morning sunshine, or phlox in early evening light, spring is a time of beauty in many small things. (correction -- I thought this was phlox but my wildflower-wise friends tell me it is Dame's Rocket -- phlox has 5 petals, so if you play "She loves me, she loves me not," counting it out on the petals, phlox loves you and Dame's Rocket does not. Dame's Rocket is a European import and considered an invasive species here.) I had a retreat day at the cottage at Pathways Retreat this week and had the good fortune to be there on a breezy, sun-soaked spring day. I was surrounded by green woods, leaves dancing between light and shadow, the rustle of the breeze in the trees, bright bursts of pine scent, and a few white blossoms.
Our spring may be a little later than usual this year, but it's following the same patterns. Our crabapple tree was covered with pink blossoms for about a week, while the delicate green miniature iris bloomed in the herb bed.
A robin built its nest in the yew beside the driveway, right at eye level, making it easy to keep an eye on the fledglings. A recent walk along the race gave glimpses of several families of mallards, with ducklings ready to turn on the turbo jets to keep up with mom. And the three or four mature rabbits who had been feasting in our yard at twilight seem to have vanished -- but at least two of their descendants have been enjoying the clover and the odd flower or two (but so far the fence has kept them out of the garden). We returned from our travels to find green had arrived in Goshen while we were gone, reminding me of a short song learned from a college friend on a long trip years ago:
To ope' their trunks the trees are never seen. How then do they put on their robes of green? They leaf them out. Green's not the only color in sight, as flowers begin to blossom. Along the path we've been walking near the dam, there's the light purple of wild geranium along with the new spring green leaves. And there are the maroon bells of paw paw trees, with the maroon echoed in the trillium flowers below. More from Tuesday's stroll through the Shoup-Parsons Woods, with spring flowers flourishing. The may apples are spreading green umbrellas, jack-in-the-pulpits proclaim spring, a fallen "caterpillar" blossom curves gracefully on a piece of bark. I bent to take a photo of trillium ready to open, and was amazed by an eight inch lacy leaf skeleton wrapping the fallen log beside them. And a little further along the path, I discovered a whole congregation of jack-in-the-pulpits. They were a pale green in comparison with the first two I saw -- a different variety or different growing conditions or just further along in their growth?
By the way, the bronze-colored trees nearing blossom that I posted last week turn out to be buckeyes and native to Indiana. Thanks, Aaron Sawatsky-Kingsley for the identification! I was able to get down to the path along the millrace and through the woods by the dam during a brief period of sunshine yesterday. Glorious new green growth is opening everywhere -- interspersed with the greys and tans of last year's remnants. And the occasional bright red and yellow flash of a red-winged blackbird, and the echo of its konk-la-ree call. Springtime!
We went into the woods by the dam this afternoon. A week ago this was all browns and grays. Today there was a hint of green and, if you looked carefully, tiny wild flowers scattered here and there. I can guess at a few: trout lily, mayapple, trillium, dutchman's breeches. But what's in a name? We enjoyed the sighting of them and their colors and new life, whether or not we could name them.
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My approach to contemplative photography --
"Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it." Mary Oliver in "Sometimes" Archives
August 2020
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