Thoughts on March 11

Each year on March 11, I try to write something... good and deep (but not obnoxious) and worthy. I started thinking about it earlier in the week, perhaps that was my mistake. I didn't come up with much, but I didn't worry too much. I figured that the day would come and something would happen. Some sign, something almost spiritual even though I don't really believe that way. Open water on the lakes... but there's more ice cover today than yesterday (the rivers are open -- and very high -- but have been for weeks). A heron returned (which won't happen without the open water first) or maybe a V of sandhills interrupting time with their calls. The first uncharacteristically warm, sunny day that calls everyone out of doors after a winter inside. Even a witch hazel flower.

I didn't get any of it, except for sun. It is a lovely, dazzlingly bright, late winter day with nothing to separate it from another except our thoughts and our memories. And I find I have everything to write about, which really means I have nothing to about. (I tell kids that... if you say "everything" was your favorite part, you don't really have a favorite part. I suppose it's not the same with writing, but it feels like it is.) Luckily, my mom rescued me with some thoughts of her own... so I'll allow myself a year off. Plus, stressing out about it doesn't really seem a fitting tribute.

Here are my mom's thoughts on March 11:

"It’s in the mid-40’s here today – a far cry from the warmth of this day four years ago – but the sun is shining brightly, a rare phenomenon during the past several months. Though the snow has only recently melted from the drifts that surrounded the memorial tree and stone, last year’s crop of crab apples is withering and new leaf buds are emerging. It is a day when one’s thoughts could easily turn to spring and spring activities, to canoeing and canoeists.

"The lagoons are still ice covered; the river is clear. The two small streams entering the river below the dam are running rapidly. Together with the water coming through the dam, they make a swirl of currents that could easily daunt even the most experienced boatman. Two hardy fishermen were casting into the eddies this morning. They did not think they were commemorating a life-altering event or memorializing a life-altering personality. However, their life-affirming optimism was a testament to Grandpa’s equally life-affirming and optimistic nature.

"It is one of the first days of the year when one dare think that winter’s gloom might be past. It is a day when one’s heart can soar with the memories of joys of the past and hope for the future. I join you all in remembering how lucky we are to have been part of Stanton’s life."

Snow Drops

(Probably missed them at first, but it's not everyday I get home while it's still light out! Until next week, with daylight savings time... then I will be. But this week, FINALLY, it's been almost light out when I woke up. Almost, like, you could at least tell it was getting on morning, and by the time I got out of the shower the sky was actually lightening... and that will be taken away, going back to waking up in the middle of the night. Oh, well...)

Red Flagged

The ice safety flag switched sometime between school yesterday and this morning. It's now red indicating not safe to walk on ice. I have to say, I kinda think that people who wanted to walk on the ice yesterday were already... well, on thin ice. (See picture from yesterday's post, from the same lake.)

Misty Morning

This morning was subtly lovely, in that understated Midwestern way of hedgerows disappearing into mist... bare skeletons of trees reaching their bony fingers toward the sky, holding up the red-wing blackbirds... fat water droplets clinging to berries and branches, reflecting tiny, distorted worlds in their bubbles... surprise bursts of color in a red twig or a curl of yellow grass or a colony of lichens whose muted hues seem amplified by the wetness... the loud silence of chattering birds and human absence... ice that's melting and mud that's squishing under my feet...

Bird Brained

Saw a killdeer today. Of course, not being a birder, if I saw one yesterday, they've probably been here at least a week. Have I ever told you the story of the first time I (knowingly) saw a killdeer? I'm sure I'm not the only one out there with a similar story... I was just a budding nature nerd of middle school age, and a naturalist entered the nature center where I was taking a class all excited because there was a killdeer, and we just had to come out back and see. Of course, teachable moment, we abandoned whatever we were doing to go outside and see the killdeer. Which I though was going to be a dead deer. Possibly, with all the excitement, a freshly dead one with, like, coyote tracks around it, and its guts dragged across the ground or something. This is what I was looking for as the naturalist pointed to what appeared to be an empty lawn and proudly presented the finding. A "who's on first" style conversation occurred before I figured out that a killdeer and a deer kill were two very different things, and I decided to pretend I knew what the heck was going on. Embarrassed, I privately looked up the killdeer later on. It's plover-esque appearance and "kill dear" voice are unmistakable to me today.

Also saw a blue jay (year-round residents, but certainly seen more in the warmer months) and a redtail, all within minutes of each other. This reminds me of a not-too-funny but containing-important-message comic that we saw at a session of the Wild Things conference. Reluctantly, I have pasted the cartoon below. I say reluctantly because I don't know the rules about putting things like that on my blog. As a general rule, every image I use on here is my own, and if I want to use another, I'll put a weblink to someone else's page. But I couldn't find one for this, and describing a comicstrip does kind of lose something in translation, and really, I don't think I have enough readers to attract a law suit. Knock wood.

Kinda cute. Although it was a Chicago Wilderness conference, the presenter was using the comic as a lesson about the (over-)analysis of poetry (bird poetry, to be sure) rather than as a lesson about the analysis of phenological events. But of course, it works both ways. The hawk need be no less special to see just because it lives here year round and I saw one just last week. Only the small minded think they can see something once, check it off a metaphorical list, and be done with it.

Anyhow, I'm keeping my eyes peeled for herons, but haven't seen one yet. Of course, there's not a lot of open water yet, either; perhaps I need to be looking by the river instead of the yet-frozen lakes.

It's Ominous Outside

It's rumbling and thundering and dark as night out there. Pregnant raindrops splatter against my window.

Tomorrow, we go to the Chicago Wilderness Wild Things Conference... a big bunch of nature nerds hanging out together!

Aerial Acrobatics

Chickadees are crazy this morning. A whole flock of them seems to be darting from tree to shrub to tree, ducking over and under branches, darting in and out. Occasionally two break away and chase each other, a little airborne wrestling match, before rejoining the general commotion.

It is my understanding that this is not mating behavior, but maybe the break up of winter flocks. The wrestling matches are probably males having scuffles with each other as the chickadees find their mates and break away from their protective winter flocks to spend their summers in a more solitary fashion. Or rather, as couples rather than in the large winter group. Territorial fighting, of a sort, I guess. So maybe still a sign of spring...

That, and the weather... still cold, but a mild, gentle sort of cold as winter gives up its icy grasp. And the mud! Everywhere there is mud, and every little boot seems to be attracted to it like a powerful magnet.