spring week - and other oddities

this is how spring came over the last few days:

day 1  full cover snowfall
day 2  melting, swollen river
day 3  robin evensong
day 4 peepers loud at dark
day 5 crocuses
day 6 ants in the cat's dish
day 7 bright sun and open windows

the week before, on my way south, security confiscated and destroyed my unopened (forgotten about) raspberry soy yogurt from my carryon.   my penknife was allowed.  the yogurt was deemed more of a threat.

syrup & eggs

march 22 signs of spring on main street!

fresh eggs - the hens are back at work! & sap buckets - this year's maple syrup on the way!

 and a gorgeous blue spring sky for the morning.

 

  
later in the afternoon, snow fell to brighten the muddy spots.

Sunny with patches of brown and snowing

well now it rhymes. does that make it a poem?

what is spring up to?
unpacking her bag?
hey, wait -- that's not spring!
it's old jack frost in drag.

see, he's wrapped her blue skies
over his frosty suit
just as soon as she catches him,
he'll get the boot!

redwings!

got out of the car at 10:30 and right in front of me, i heard the first redwinged blackbird of spring! probably on his way further north.

sunny with patches of brown

out the window i stare hard at Spring - is she unpacking?
or living from a suitcase??
the birds will know.
oh wait! hahaha!
it isn't Spring at all!
it's Jack Frost in drag
what jokers they are!.

iris

no matter what their color

all iris smell purple

of course we do need it

cars pass swish rain chills
yesterday's lovely spring day
rap rap on the roof

                                        ~mudpie

spring memories

two separate stories of parents told to me this weekend, by guys who are older than 50 but not elderly. i love to hear people's stories.

does spring makes us think of our childhood?

1. my father's mother took in laundry and that's probably how he got polio as a child. he had no use of his legs and in order for him to function at all, they had to destroy his knees and ankles. he was like charles atlas from the waist up, so muscular from pushing himself around.  he made platforms to sit on and after he died we found a big box of casters in the garage -- those were his way to move. Me: how did he meet your mom?  they grew up next door to each other. knew each other all of their lives. 

2. my mother had a day care at a bowling alley.  in a room this size (a 12 x 10 or so) she had up to 50 kids, including babies in cribs. this was when i was a teenager. she had no time to care for me then, and i was sent to live with an uncle.

the wrong door

open the door
walk into sunshine, birdsong, flowerglow.
how could this happen?
have i these long cold months
been opening the wrong door?

                                           ~mudpie

my arthur dent moment

where to begin is always puzzling. my way is to go to the beginning -- begin every story with the Big Bang.  or before the Big Bang.

 

when the glaciers slowed they first dropped boulders, then rocks, then stones, then gravel, then sand, then silt.  you can see this along river valleys especially where the gravel and sand are being excavated commercially.

when Irene riled up our rivers, they tore out their banks (and a few houses, many trees, roads and bridges) and carried them off.  as they slowed, they let go of it all.  first boulders, then rocks, then stones, then gravel, then sand, then silt.  you can see this in my back yard.

 

spring came and the snow melted and what to do... have a rubble strewn sandy weed lot impossible to mow or rake, or git 'er fixed.  i'm not fond of close living with snakes rats ticks, plus we may want to sell this house someday.

and so...after making a short story long -- my Arthur Dent moment.

 The word bulldozer wandered through his  mind  for  a  moment  in

search of something to connect with.

The bulldozer outside the kitchen window was quite a big one.

they arrived first thing in the morning before i was even up.  by noon 10 dumptruckloads of sand had been removed and they kept at it for the next few days, piling rocks at the side where the stone wall was. now days later, we have a level 1/4 acre waiting for grass seed to grow through the straw.

good fences

between my back fence and the river is a narrow strip with a house,
a house right close by my fence, and a road.
the road is called Back Street.
that's not its name, it's just what it is called.


the house is ugly -- really. sometimes worse than others.
i've fantasized about buying it to tear down.
but it is a good house, it has sheltered a variety of people,
all related in some way, as people around here are.
you have to be careful what you say.
"who her? she's my cousin!"

when we first moved here, it was occupied by a man
and his high-school age daughter.
nice girl.
he had killed his wife -- caught her in bed with another man
shot her dead.
went to prison.
came out and raised his daughter.
the neighbors told us we were supposed to keep an eye on him
not good if he was drinking.
my hubby talked to him sometimes over the fence
said he seemed like a nice man.
he gave us some horseradish plants.

eventually daughter grew up and they moved out.
some other people lived there, dogs and kids and motorcycles.
then the old woman who owned the house came to live there
once after a big storm she called us to say part of our roof was gone.
we didn't know, but she could see it from her window.
we were very appreciative.
but still, when her visitor (son? grandson?) 's pit bull got into our yard
and chased john into his car
we called the police.

a young woman with 2 young kids,
one was the beautiful one of indeterminate gender,
lived there for awhile.
SJ ran into her when his band was playing at a bowling alley
and during the break he wandered into the next room
where some heavy duty exotic dancing was onstage.
it was our neighbor.
she recognized him and came over to his table after her act
he said they had a nice chat. she was a nice person.

last year m. moved in to care for his mom
who had been failing, as they say.
he was a retired man, happily living in florida,
but had to give it up to care for her.
not enjoying winter, tho he was born and raised here.
the Very Rich Man (see earlier post) has been trying to buy the house for a few years.
it is certainly a blight on the picturesque village he wants us to become.
the old lady and her son m. refused to sell.
it was her home.  who wants to move when you are old sick and dying?

now that she is gone, died in April, m. says they are after him again.
"they just don't know how to talk to new englanders" he says
and becomes more resistant.
i see him now as i sit on my back porch.
whatever he lost those years in florida has come back
with a vengeance.
like a true vermonter, he is digging, planting, making a garden.
he wants to fix the house up to be nice
like it was when he was young and his grandparents lived here.
getting him out is going to take something
that goes deep down into the roots.

mr & mrs phoebe get a new nest

mrs phoebe thinks they'd best be heading north to grab a good nest site.

mr phoebe says nah, nah, no hurry!

last year's nest was in good shape! we'll just fix up that nest.

piece of seedcake!

little did he know
last year's nest -- on top of the light fixture on my back porch -- is gone.
i did appreciate them eating up all the GIANT BARN SPIDERS we used to have BRRRRR!!!!
but not from atop our light fixture!

when the weather felt just like it does
just before we hear FEE-be!  FEE-be!
i cleaned away that old nest
and wrapped screening around that light.

all night i worried
those birds will come home to....no place to live!
so i built them a little platform!

and HOORAY!  when they came back

well she gave him a hard time for a week or so

but then, she relented, and in no time at all 

had a nest on that little platform!

here's how to build one http://www.50birds.com/MPOpenPlatform.htm

april 23 easter in ogunquit

we look at each other and at the falling snow
should we go?

the crocuses vanished!

the car slides on the road even before we are out of the village.
we drive on eastward slowly! cautiously!
finally -- behind a salt and sand truck
slow but not slippery.
into new hampshire it is 33 degrees --
a slippery road temperature -- and snowing.
it lets up for a bit, but then before concord
even deeper snow. on we go.

finally it is 35 and a freezing rain.
gradually, gradually, the land is lower
the trees shorter, the ground flatter
"i smell the ocean" says john.

the bridge, the state of maine,
its motto "maine --cold, but damp"
the hotel, a good dinner.

next morning winter's fist unclenches
its open hand offers bright sunshine!

long rolling waves, the marginal way,
children in easter clothes go barefoot on the beach

coats are shucked in surprise!
a perfect day!  are we really in maine?
more fishy meals consumed
we sit with the coatless many --
where did they all come from?? --

click to enlarge!

in late afternoon sun watching the ocean

  and the next morning
in bitter wind and icy rain.
we start for home.
and along maine's shore road,
forsythia has bloomed!

in defense of northern spring on April sixth

a friend in maryland emails:
Sympathy to you both......my lilacs are blooming and the purple martins have returned with nesting materials in their carpetbags.....82 degrees yesterday

my maine friend responds:
Ah, but talk to us in July or August, when WE'RE at 82 degrees 

and i am seized with inspiration and my love for the north and my annoyance with those who think we are somehow held here against our will and are to be pitied, and i emal back:

or talk to us now!
when snowflakes are falling
and the white hills with their bare black trees
backdrop for the fields, white with brown showing
and vernal pools form where soon
frogs will thaw - riotously desperately fatally mating
yelling their heads off about it

and talk to us now
while the streams crash and thunder
as boulders moved by the roaring waters
are fueled by the melting ice
that crashes into the bridges sending the river over the land
and the birds maddened in their homecoming excitement
trill and call raucously all day
in the misty air of the hot sun on the cold snow

i've learned to love a wilder spring
not the generous ripening sort
from my southern childhood
all perfume and soft breezes
now i love the crazed dance
of a crooked crone and her consort
staving off death
dancing wild and desperate
clamouring for life
drinking the cold maple sap
straight from the bucket

That'll tell 'em

  

hold still for just a minute will you?

winter battles spring
regrets snivel, hopes dance
why do i live here

                           ~mudpie

early spring call of the human

redwingzarback!
bright and sunny today - March 8 - and a fresh new layer of snow.
nothing is whiter than snow -- snow defines white!
yesterday morning, shoveling the walk,
the snow heavy, wet spring snow,
falling and falling even as i shoveled,
wishing i was not doing this,
but knowing anything else i might be doing
would be equally if not more meaningless,
like i'm not going to be discovering
a cure for cancer or anything like that...
i suddenly stopped.
could it be?
am i hearing that unmistakeable sound of spring?
yes it is - a red-winged blackbird song.
and now another.
not a flock mind you, but just the few crazies who risk all to be first arrived.
when their gamble pays off, they get the best land and the best mate months later when the girls drift in.
smiling, i call my hubby, using the spring call of the northern human "redwingzarback! redwingzarback!"
soon our call will be heard all over town,
in the store and the post-office,
on the steps of the library...
"redwingzarback!"

Eshqua Bog June 15

1700 miles from my everglades walk, another kind of orchid is in full bloom.
the Showy Lady's Slipper, threatened or endangered in most states, is alive and well in Vermont's 2 acre fen called Eshqua Bog.               my pictures don't do it justice!

just a few miles from my office, on a dirt road off a dirt road off a back road. the show goes on for one rainy week each year. you walk on muddy trails or some boardwalks with orchids on every side, in amongst the ferns and cattails and all manner of bog plants.

there are some informational signs near the ground. at one spot if you push away a pretty 3-some of green leaves, you can read a sign that says "poison ivy" and gives its latin name.

and best of all -- there are no alligators.

bats gone

evenings we sat out late with friends at the picnic table and at dusk the bats appeared.
startling and a little frightening, they'd fly right towards you and then
suddenly
without slowing down
fly up
over
or around you.
we learned not to freak out
they ate the mosquitos, and
they were our bats after all.
sometimes the children danced around as the bats swooped.
bats sleep more than any other mammal, so soon it was dark and they were gone to roost. we never knew where ours lived, never saw them come out of some hole or tree.
we assumed they lived in the old barn two houses up, or maybe even in our garage, altho we never saw one there.
one summer a single lone bat lived in the eaves of our back porch and we had to sweep bat shit off the chairs every day.
probably a male, as we read that they live alone, but we called it Nora Batty after the tv character.
each year we had fewer bats it seemed, until we hit six.
in spring we watch for them and count.
they held steady for a few years
against white nose fungus and upgrading of houses,
but this year
there are none.
the empty dusk feels lonely.

phoebe disguises self as clothespin

here is the little sneak who built a nest on my porch light fixture (see previous post)

and below is a special SCRATCH AND SNIFF of my lilacs!! click picture for full effect

back porch mystery!

another mystery. something on the floor of my back porch got my attention. here's what i saw. can you guess?

tiny broken eggs! awwwww.
i knew phoebes had been scouting the porch, but i thought they had rejected it...no place to build!
i checked the rafters and saw no nest. uh-oh!

there, on top of the light...those idiots!
but still...why are the eggs on the ground? is this couple new to it all and built a bad nest? did we leave the light on and cook the eggs? did one of those bad cowbirds throw out the eggs and leave their own to be raised as phoebes?

time will tell, now we have to leave the light off and tiptoe around on the porch for a few weeks, chase local cats away, until our babies fly!