Remnants of the Path

I took another vacation day Friday. It reached 80 degrees. Heather and I walked into town in the morning. She had a meeting and I had nothing. So I explored East Hillsborough along the Eno. I had cleared a trail along the river three years ago for a Walkable Hillsborough Day celebration. At that time it was mostly underbrush, brier, and poison ivy. I have not walked that "trail" since then. On Friday I was pleasantly surprised to find remnants of the path I had bushwhacked. Granted, Spring growth is yet to explode this season, and I'll bet, this time next month, there will be more briers. But for now I enjoyed a walk along the riverbank and on the edge of the Indian fields. The low May Apples twisted out of the ground, opened their green umbrellas. I tried not to step on them. The bugs are not bad yet and the spiders have not set their traps. The pollen has not been released. I stood on a high bank, leaned against an Ironwood and watched a pair of Canada Geese guarding a nest. They will not fly north this season, but will attempt to bring up a young one in Hillsborough. Walking back to town I stopped on the edge of the Indian field and listened to the fieldbirds. I see a few more vacation days in the near future.

Flat Water, No Riffles

My sister visited from Seattle this week. We hung out on Tuesday: half the day indoors, half out. After a late morning(and necessary) shopping spree, we dusted off the red canoe for a quiet paddle on the nearby upper Eno. Given a choice between catching up in a coffee shop or in a canoe, I'll take the canoe almost every time. There is a complexity of shared experience in a canoe, a level of reliance and relating, you just don't get in coffee shop conversation. The afternoon warmed to vest temperature accompanied by an occasional light wind. We talked while we cruised, slowly. This was flat water, no riffles. We paddled upstream, then back down, with a stop in the middle to see an old beaver dam. The water turtles were sunning and the minnows were darting into the shadows...both were first sights for me this Spring. Around a fallen tree, we hushed our talk; maneuvered deliberately. Teamwork.

Things With Wings

Good Friday was a bird day. One of these days I'll say a little more about what makes a bird day a bird day. But for now, trust me, this was one. Our friends Tom and Amy and son Tyler visited from Baltimore, arrived in the dark, late Thursday night. Next morning, after breakfast, we spent some time on the floor with Little T and his toys. Little T has some great toys. Many make noises. He likes the ones that make noises. There was also a colorful, soft sided birdhouse with a hole on top through which little hands guide plush little birdies. Those birdies didn't make birdie noises, but they were cute. Instead, I made the noises for the birdies. Little T smiled at me when I made the birdie noises. Good times.

Just outside the window, while we explored all the toys and eventually everything else at floor level in our tight little living room, real birdies made their own noises while eating their breakfast. Amy, a keen bird watcher, noticed a unique one at the feeder. In general I'm easily distracted, and, in particular, pleasantly distracted when it comes to the things with wings. The feathered one in question was a cutie, slender and yellowed, with a short needle bill. It fluttered up to the window, hovered, and returned stealthily to its perch. Then it did it again. Several times! "Hey look at me!" it seemed to be expressing to us, or itself, I'm not certain. We got out the bird books. I slid over into the sunny doorway. So did Little T. The birds had our attention. We think it was a Pine Warbler (though I'm calling it the Window Warbler). Good times.

So Savor the Sky

After a brief check of the garden this evening(not much visible change from yesterday) I walked around to the front yard. I was looking for an ant hill Heather said sprung up sometime this week. But before I found it, I noticed the Maple tree was in bloom. Wow, when did that happen? Little reddish brown flowers clustered with drooping winged seeds. Then I looked straight up into the web of Maple, Pine and Poplar. Lots of sky up there still. Like a kid with a crayon, spring is going to color in that web soon. No need to stay within the lines. I'll keep an eye on the progress. We don't need shade just yet, so savor the sky.

The Peas, the Early Greens

Seeds are in the ground! The season has begun. Now I just have to keep up. Pull the weeds, water the beds, mend the rabbit holes in the fence, stake the tomatoes, hill up the potatoes, thin the lettuce, thin the spinach, thin the…everything that needs thinning…provided that everything actually germinates. Ok, so it’s not in full swing yet, but the growing season takes off quickly here…and if I’m not careful I’ll get behind.
Actually I only planted a few today: the peas, the early greens, and the cool weather Brassica’s. We’ll get at least one more frost so I’ve got to remember that haste makes waste.

It’s supposed to be mid 60’s and sunny this week…and it will be hard keeping these fingernails clean.

The Leaves, Today, Lingered

Heather returned home after walking with a friend and told me, “The plants you saw by the river last week have bloomed; they’re wonderful.” The next chance for me came this evening after work in the extended light of daylight savings time. Running shoes on and camera packed, I headed to the Occoneeche Speedway Trails, eager to find our piedmont trout lilies.
Unexpectedly, I saw more than I looked for. The trout lilies were there where I remembered, in the moist lowground; riverside. The flower is delicate and short-lived. On a thin stem it hangs, looking down at its namesake paired leaves. The flowers brought me out today, got me down on the ground for their close-ups. But the leaves, today, lingered in my mind. Those speckled trout profiles, verdantly mottled and wildly rampant, recalled a place I visit only a few times each year now. The Mountain home. We moved there from the flatlands of Oklahoma when I was 15. My world, once lakes and plains became hills and shining creeks. Scissor-tail flycatchers and catfish became falcons and speckled trout. Those transitions marked time for me. We live now, away from the mountains and our rivers are troutless.
Marking springtime, I now studied these slender leaves, appreciating what was in their name. A sweet memory of youth and a certain sunlit fish, from here, distant though not forgotten.

An Encore

Forgot the camera on recent outings. Did more reading than writing. Hosted relatives for a week. Blog suffered. Now back to more mundane observations.

It rained last night. Hard. The winds tugged, pushed, yelled, and felled. Trees swayed, bayed, and clicked limbs. Have I mentioned spring is knocking? Door's open, come on in. Bring the rain, we've got reservoirs to fill, cars to wash, morning showers to relish, evening baths to indulge, and toilets to flush after each visit. We're tired of being frugal. But you know, rain barrels are selling fast around here, someone must be planning. Good for them.

I stood in the doorway, watched that rain, felt that rain. I might have danced in that rain, but that lightening was damn close. This evening I went back to the doorway. Above the hurried rush of creekflow, in the dimming light, into damp night, the peepers called for an encore.