Blog Post #5: Spring Marches In

4:30 p.m.

26 degrees Fahrenheit

(feels like 17 degrees Fahrenheit)

March is the first month of the Roman year. It is also my birthday month. It seems fitting that it is named after the Roman god of war, Mars – given the bitter cold of this wind blowing through my backyard it’s a battle to stay out here. But March also holds the first day of spring. This year, according to 2013 Old Farmer’s Almanac, the vernal equinox occurs on March 20 at 7:02 A.M. EDT. On the first day of spring, day and night are each approximately 12 hours long. Balance is reset as we move into the light-hearted days of spring.

There have been a few warmer mornings this past week where I heard birds enthusiastically singing, but none are singing at the moment. I don’t know where they go, but I don’t see any nests in the trees or the ground of my backyard. I have been told not to feed ducks and geese because it may interrupt their sense of urgency when it comes to migrating south for the winter. Because of this, I have always felt unsure about keeping a bird feeder stocked in the late fall through the winter. I didn’t want to inadvertently cause the demise of some migratory bird because I wanted to see more birds in my backyard. But, according to a webpage entitled, “Feeding Your Backyard Birds,” found on the Humane Society of the United States website, I really have nothing to fear. In fact, it can actually be helpful: “Bird feeding is most helpful at times of when birds need the most energy, such as during temperature extremes, migration, and in late winter or early spring, when natural seed sources are depleted.”

I do see something that makes my heart leap. Green sprouts pushing through last year’s layer of dried leaves and compost. Green sprouts that will eventually turn into green stalks and bright flowers! These plants seem like a miracle to me. I recognize them because my husband planted the bulbs the first fall we lived in this house and points them out to me each year as soon as they start to emerge: crocuses, tulips, and daffodils. The tulip shoots are the first that I notice. They look like red rolled tongues (you know, that trick only the genetically-enabled can do) sticking out in tight bunches. Their insides are green and full of promise.  

Not far away are the mop-headed crocuses. They seem comically disheveled compared to the militant unfurling of the tulips. I even found one purple flower. It is gorgeous and so welcome. 

A few feet away, I discover the daffodil shoots. They seem so substantial, ready to burst into their cup and saucer blooms. I remember ours being of the white and yellow varieties, but I wouldn’t swear to it. 

What I do know is that their time is coming, even if I forget because I am so removed from the day to day passing of the seasons, only noting hard to miss events like the vernal equinox, a full moon, or a flower once it is blooming. This year, I get to point out the shoots to my husband. I may not point out to him the hole I found where I’m pretty sure a squirrel absconded with a bulb. 

I choose to see this as part of the balance, a way for humans and non-humans to share this backyard. And like a responsible patron of the earth, the squirrel left some bulbs to become green shoots.