Signs of Spring
Wednesday’s ice storm was one of those cruel jokes I have come to expect as winter teases it’s way into spring, after the snow disappears yet another time and the forecast of rain and a balmy 9 degrees celsius brings hope. Ah, but yesterday and today have made up for that last swipe, with clear blue skies and the sun on the windows drawing out the sleeping houseflies and ladybugs that seem to find refuge in the cracks for the winter. Is it prejudice that I favour the cute and “lucky” ladybugs and not the houseflies? My compassion must be growing as I have no impulse to swat the latter. And I wish I could corral the former and keep them until I need to put them to work in the garden to fight the aphids.
At the end of last summer I was thwarted in my effort to keep harvesting the chamomile flowers by the appearance of aphids clinging to the underside of the blossoms. My hand-picking method was labour-intensive enough without having to now turn over every head to check for aphids before picking. I finally gave up, wasting much that could have made good tea or added that soft, almost orange-y scent to my dream pillows.
Another sign of spring, a full two weeks before the Equinox, are the big ruts left in the softening driveway by the lumber truck which came yesterday to deliver wood for the new chicken coop. That’s right, there ain’t nobody here but us chickens....and cats and me and Edward and all the resident wildlife who might make free-ranging more of a challenge than I want. We have foxes, skunks, raccoons, red-tailed hawks, osprey, bald eagles. Reputedly the raccoons and skunks are only a threat at night at which time, I have been assured, the chickies will be roosting comfortably in their new digs. But foxes and hawks have appeared here in mid-day, prime chicken-scratchin’ time.
Twice this week alone I have glanced out to see the red-tailed hawk flapping to hover low over the lawn near the lavender beds, no doubt spotting mice who have over-wintered under the straw mulch which is now free of snow. ( I am hoping they have not chewed the young plants to the nubs as happened to some last year.) Charlie, my smallish young cat, has been happily sniffing out the same area, bringing back a juicy vole last week in fact. But my concern is not for the voles but for Charlie himself, a tender morsel for a hungry hawk I fear, although the huge bald-eagle who came by last week looms as a bigger threat.
When I see the raptors and the cats are outside I fly out the door in a flap of my own, raising my hand and reminding them, “We have a deal! No cats!!” And now it will be re-written to be, “No cats and no chickens!!” I try to persuade Charlie to leave the rodents and birds alone so there will not be some karmic lesson coming back to haunt him in this lifetime. I invite the hawks to check out the rabbits in the woods. Too bad they aren’t big enough to take on the massive beaver who’s been wreaking havoc down there at the pond.
And speaking of hunting, what escapade was it that somehow led Charlie to the roof of Third Eye Gallery this morning? I glanced out from upstairs to find the cat on the one-storey addition. I do not know how he got there and from his nervous demeanor as he came in through the bathroom window, it appeared that neither did he. I expect it involved climbing the willow chair on the patio and from there up onto the new fence around our courtyard area and up along the top edge of the fence to make a final leap for the eavestrough, the only explanation seeming to be that he'd been in hot pursuit of a squirrel. Now I have another place to look when Charlie doesn't appear at the door when called.
And where else is spring? It’s in the itch to get into the garden, the urge to purge the accumulated stuff from the past year that is slowing the household chi, the desire to clean windows. It is in my list for Richter’s Herb Farm of the flats of lavender plugs I plan to order, as soon as we cobble together some kind of small greenhouse to keep them in until they are big enough and it is warm enough to plant out. Indeed, it is in the fact that there are three farm-related expos going on in the maritimes this weekend. We’re heading to the inaugural Nova Scotia Small Farm Expo tonight as it happens. Whoda thunk I’d ever be doing this? And for Edward’s part, having left the family farm at 18, whoda thunk he’d being getting back to this?
And alas, spring is in the details that I must turn to now, as I continue dredging the seemingly bottomless vat of receipts and bank statements that need to be organized for the bookkeeper so that we can prepare for that other inevitable sign of spring, tax time.
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Reply #1 on : Sun March 09, 2008, 10:00:33