#50: Shake Your Windows and Rattle Your Walls

On the migratory patterns of man and beast.

Spring began stretching through the snow long before Tuesday past.

No, despite what the calendar says this week, the spunky youth started outgrowing last season’s coat of white about two weeks’ ago. I’m not sure what it’s like where you are, friends, but here in the Maritimes, it’s triggered all sorts of migratory behaviours.

A female red-bellied woodpecker. While they don’t migrate to escape our winters, Cornell University does show their range map only extending as far north as southern Massachussetts. However, another source notes northern expansion is facilitated by backyard feeders and climate change.

The cobra chickens Canada geese - the hissing enemies of my fellow Canadians, despite the moniker - have returned. The despots are again gracing our golf courses and parks to have their adorably fuzzy offspring (and terrorize all other living creatures). So notorious and real is their reign of terror, it prompted one university in southern Ontario to create a Tableau dashboard of goose sightings on campus, aptly named GooseWatch:

Citizen science at work: The GooseWatch dashboard, depicting a Canadian Kobayashi Maru. I would consider dropping out of university if this were my campus.

I remarked to

Ken Lamberton

last week - whose newsletter,

The Big Yard

, is a delight, filled with observations and beautiful photos - that my street is suddenly awash in song again. Before dawn breaks, I hear the car-alarm cry of the Northern cardinal, the call of the mourning dove, and the laughing song of our little provincial bird mascot, the black-capped chickadee. On a warm afternoon last week, one of the chickadees joined an American goldfinch whose residency in our yard began much as it did last year, by snacking on fluffy seeds.

An American goldfinch reluctantly shares his tuck box of fluffy seeds with an irreverent black-capped chickadee. The chickadee looks at the offerings in disgust, and likely is wishing the lady with the camera would knock it off with the photos and go refill the tray of roasted peanuts instead.

---

We, too, have molted. Ben and I shed our bulky winter coats, snow pants, fleece and thick boots. Without the added bulk, we are more nimble in negotiating uneven switchbacks and muddy paths. Sure, there are layers still needed to guard against the frost of the beginning minutes on trail, but these are quickly peeled back once the blood flows. One concession are the crampons; fitting over boots, the metal spikes puncture the ice that still remains on shaded parts of trails.

Ben takes a moment to pause on Split Rock Trail. While I didn’t have this view every day, I spent my childhood - from five to fifteen - about two streets removed from the water, in the small community adjacent.

We’ve been purposeful in our winter sidequests this year: our attempts to stave off the suffocation of long, frigid days bracketed by dark skies. And these were largely successful: weekends in the woods, trying out nighttime snowshoeing and winter glamping in a dome, with pellet stove roaring and hot tub adjacent.

But as spring emerges, so have we. I’ve been walking more with my camera, trying to capture migrants either staging here before heading further north to breeding grounds, or settling back here to nest. Ben has started a more purposeful survey of his fishing gear, taking stock of repairs to be made or new flies to buy. I change my playlists to include more punch.

These changes are subtle but some have more weight. Changing jobs in less than two weeks, I’m migrating from a commute to a home office, and thus spurring me to prepare a proper nest for my new role. (To that end, I’d love to know more about your home office set-ups and the essentials within.)

---

I used to say that fall, with its crisp air, bright colours, and new beginnings, was my favourite season. While I still have an affinity for those cozy days, I also have a deep affection for spring. The birds return. The lilac trees in the yard will engorge with pale purple and release one of my favourite perfumes (second only, perhaps, to coffee). I can lay on my couch, or sit in a deck chair with a book or sketch pad, and be awash in a warm breeze. I can make less contrived excuses to get ice cream. I can feel life being re-infused into me, as the longer days and higher temperatures regenerate my winter-weary bones.

The times, they are a-changing, my friends. Raise a glass, and drink it in.

---