Songs in the morning give rise to a warming sun. Singing in the evening settles the last rays of daylight over the River. Sweet feathered fluttering birds and waterfowl add romance to the return of spring! The bland days are now behind us with the returning migrants (whose) tunes glorify and solidify that a new season is upon us.
Robins welcome the early light with single notes from over night perches. Soon there after a blending of other songs create the chorus of a new day. Red wing blackbirds and grackles swoop into the bird feeder to fuel up for nesting. I watched a foursome of grackles waiting their turn to the feeder. They stood in a chorus line facing the cabin from large stump. One expanded its girth and extended its neck to call (out) with an iridescent blue head, which was punctuated with gold-yellow eyes. Once he had finished each of the other three followed with the same performance. Not one of them displayed at the same time. This show went on for a long while, one volley after another from each individual. It soon became apparent that these “boys” had something other than food on their collective minds.
I have been seeing robins wrestling in the yard; they do not posses the same demeanor as the grackles. Robins like one another when it comes to migrating; they travel in large flocks without controversy. Nesting time changes them into menacing defenders of a defined circle. Any interloping robin will be banished without delay. I find it strange that any other species is tolerated and seems to be welcome in the robin’s home range. If they were humans would they be accused of “reverse” discrimination? There would be so many lawsuits that the robin lawyers would tie the whole matter up in court for years. Thankfully nature does not require any intervention. Once a male robin had been throttled by another it seldom returns for another lesson
Canada geese are all over, in the fields, on the River or in the air. I can not go anywhere without hearing or seeing them. Returning from Clayton yesterday at around 7:30, I watched an unending flow of geese returning to the River. For over two miles the sight of Canada’s with set wings descended over the tree tops. It was as if someone had tripped a switch calling the fowl to the River. At one point I could see the River surface which held a few hundred geese. Overhead waves of cupped wings darkened the blue sky as some geese flipped to decelerate. What a delight to watch thousands of Canada’s returning home.
As soon as I walked in the door my bride was on me like a cat. “I watched a boat head out to Carleton this afternoon. It swung out to the point and then went up towards Millen’s Bay. Suddenly it was racing past our dock. I think someone is trying to rub sand in your eyes and I was jealous!” There was no way to respond without sounding envious and so I did not even try. “I’ll bet that wind is cold, not to mention the seats. Some people are just impetuous; have to be the first out and all of that. I still have ice on the boathouse floor and we might still see a freeze up this month. In as much as I would like to put our “gal” back into the River I can’t justify the risk.” Sandy looked over her glasses and gave me a slight nod. I detected that it was not a nod of agreement but one of promiscuous taunting. The longer I stared at her the longer the head nodding persisted. I’ll have to see how the coming weekend looks. It would be wise to get everything back in order before the river rises to much more. “Put the Lyman in mid March is an intriguing idea worth exploring further.” Her nod stopped and was replaced by a broad smile, smooth… real smooth.
The evening skies have been spectacular for star gazing this past week. From sundown to midnight the heavens change and transform as we turn away from the dwindling sunlight. I was present to see gold grow on a neighbors dock. The sun angle was such that it bounced off of the river and clung to a band of water rippling against the boards. A purer hue of gold I have never seen before. It danced across the lumber as if it was a tangible substance, one that I could hold… if near enough to touch it.
The heavenly show has been second to none. We almost seem closer to the planets than normal. They stand out brilliantly for some reason; perhaps it is due to the recent solar flares. My neck has a bit of a cramp from leaning back and looking towards the sky on recent nights. As the nights begin to warm I’ll take my star gazing to the dock, where I can lay on my back in comfort.
A full March moon dictated most of the night sky all week long. One evening while I watched my television the moon rose from the horizon through the trees behind the cabin. The orange globe caught my eye and kept me captivated through out its rise. Soon the earth’s original satellite went from orange to yellow, to an off brown before becoming milk white. Clouds drifted across between us scattering the emitted light like a tiffany lamp shade. They say that planting by a full moon promotes germination. My raised beds are just now soft enough to aerate with the hoe. I think tomorrow I will sow some seeds of spinach, peas and collards for an early crop of each, at least it will be something for the emerging chipmunks to dine on.
