Spring is not for sissies

We have lost a lot of snow these bright and hopeful days that are now frequently above freezing and I bought flower seeds and garden edging in celebration of things to come. I am going to make some raised-bed gardens in a warm spot in my back yard and I was dreaming of this when I woke up:

My daughter-in-law Kate sent me this pic from Williams-Sonoma Plant-A-Gram and I am thinking of signing up for these tips and hints. I have not previously done a garden like this so can use all the help I can get.

I could hear birds singing as I shuffled out to the kitchen for coffee and when I opened the blinds this is what greeted me:

Oh, poo.

Welcome to spring in high-altitude country.

You can tell it’s coming if you know what to look for; in February there is a slight change in the quality of the sunlight and atmosphere. I am not sure if I see it or sense it but it is there like a little life-preserver Mother Nature throws out to let us know we really don’t live in Narnia. St Brigid’s Day, February 1, is considered the first day of spring in Ireland and that always makes me smile because here it is still snowboot and earmuff weather.

A few weeks after the light changes, the birds start returning; I heard a blackbird three weeks ago and last week saw a robin down in the city. The Sandhill cranes should come home later this month, and they usually arrive in a blizzard. Do you think they wonder about the timing? I have seen them sitting covered with snow, patiently keeping their eggs warm. Well, they look patient. Maybe they are really grumping about the lousy weather and wishing they were in Miami.

I have developed a strong affection for most birds (Starlings don’t count) and another item on the Questions For God After I Die list is “How do ducks swim in ice-cold water then get out and walk on the snow without their feet falling off?” If you are looking for a miracle, that’s one for sure.

But I digress.

The sure sign of spring is that during blizzards this time of year, the birds sing. Blackbirds and chickadees sit in the snow-covered branches and give it all they’ve got. The birds here have to be tough to survive a season that in Virginia is as close to heaven as one can get in this life.

Snow flying, wind blowing, they sing the winter away and I am reminded of Emily Dickinson’s words:

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –

That perches in the soul –

And sings the tune without the words –

And never stops – at all –