March Signatures

By Ed Wesely

Ah spring! — Because the deadline for my column is Monday (in this case, March 19), it’s being composed a day before the equinox, which arrives, “officially,” at 8:31 a.m. on March 20.

In theory, because the sun stands above the equator on March 20, that day will divide into equal portions of sunlight and dark. But logic doesn’t quite rule. At Avoca airport, near Scranton (where regional weather statistics are recorded), the sun rises at 6:06 a.m. on March 20, and sets at 6:15 p.m., which allows nine extra minutes of “day.”

But “hold on,” we tell the forecasters. This year, with thick ice on the river and a foot of snow still piled on meadows, the term “Vernal Equinox” is a sour joke. And “go back,” we’d exhort the returning ducks and blackbirds, “You’re too early this year!”

But these birds are heralds, even if the crocuses haven’t popped up and the Weather Channel persists in dour predictions. On fair days, a brightness is unfolding that won’t withdraw, and we daydream by anticipating its handiwork.

Hit is full merry in feyre foreste
To here the foulys song….
The Sonne up faire can sheyne,
And the briddies mery can syng.

(If the spelling seems obscure in this 15th Century verse, try reading it aloud. The sound will disclose that “feyre” equals “fair,” “foulys” equals “fowl,”etc.)

Closer in time and spelling is a tribute to spring by Thomas Nashe (1567-1601):

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,
In every street these tunes our ears do greet—
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
Spring, the sweet Spring!

First blossoms — Skunk cabbage plants, at least in a small seep along my rural road, constitute the season’s first blossoms. Sheltered in tough hoods, called “spathes,” their unobtrusive flowers have begun to attract flies and solitary bees, drawn by the plants’ carrion-like scents.

	TRR graphic by Ed Wesely Skunk cabbage flowers.

Skunk cabbage flowers generally push new spikes through the ground in autumn, then in late winter melt the snow crust as they unfold to a mature size. On Christmas Eve, for example, when I checked, several spathes had already attained a height of six or seven inches, though shut tightly against the cold. Now, having doubled in height, many spathes remain partially closed—a sure sign that winter lingers.

Things are late — For many years I’ve enjoyed checking a garden at the Settler’s Inn in Hawley. By Saint Patrick’s Day, a little plant called “winter aconite” has always unfolded flowers and leaves that resemble buttercups.

Winter aconite, according to a botany manual, “flowers very early, often when snow is still on the ground.” But not in 2001! This morning, according to Grant Genzlinger, the Inn’s owner, an inch-high shoot with a single, unopened bud was “it.”

Crocuses — At home, with snow melting near the back porch, I’ve been checking for a patch of early crocuses (where I’ve found flowers as early as March 2, and by March 12 at the latest). But hours from the equinox, only the tips of a few leaf shoots have pushed above ground.

Big Eddy — The biggest “loss” for spring has been in the Narrowsburg Big Eddy where a sheet of ice, 25 inches thick when I measured it on March 10, continues to blanket the river. It’s turned away (if not “turned off”) dozens of merganser duck migrants accustomed to gathering for courtship rituals on quiet water below the Narrowsburg bridge. 

Birds — Robins are back, and a handful of long-legged killdeer, robin-sized shorebirds that frequent fields and meadows far from water. On March 11 our first big skeins of geese flew north above the river valley.

Snow fort deluxe — Lastly, as winter winds down, I’d like to pay tribute to the architectural skills of the Broach kids, Sophie, Julia and Elliot, who, in early February, spent a weekend constructing a two-tiered fort from snow blocks. With the help of Jane and Ellen Urheim, they remodeled it several weeks ago, when I snapped the picture.

	TRR photo by Ed Wesely (Click for larger image)