First Day of Spring

Today is the first day of March.
For years
we have celebrated the first day of spring
on this date,
using the logic
that if summer vacation
is June, July, and August,
then spring must be March, April, and May.
And though the temperatures were below zero yesterday
and there is a Major Snowstorm predicted for tomorrow,
last week Den saw the first robin,
right on schedule.
The bluebirds, however, are late.
Smart birds, those.

Spring arrives in increments.
The rising sun wakes the cats
who wake us earlier each morning.
Four geese flew over on Valentines Day.
Where did they land?
I still wear a black turtleneck almost every day,
but some days I cover it with a cotton sweater
instead of wool.
The winter fleece-lined boots
are occasionally replaced with wellies.
The ankle length wool coat
is replaced by a knee-length wool coat.
The daffodil noses emerge on the south side of the house
while the snowdrops are still buried under a big snowbank,
but by the end of the month,
crocuses will be withering
and The Great Coltsfoot Race will be over.
(Den usually finds the first coltsfoot
as he travels at lower elevations
and he knows of a certain south-facing spring-fed bank,
but I am just as thrilled to find a sunny yellow face
a week later under the mailbox.)

Today we celebrated the first day of spring
by having our blood drawn--
new doctor--
and then going out for breakfast.
Scrambled eggs with friends
was a serendipitous small town treat.
A stop at the County Historical Museum
to sell some books
led to the 1866 Pomeroy property map
full of Troutville ancestors--
Knarr.  Kunst. Heilbron. Schoch. Zilliox.
In Osceola,
Kepharts and Gearharts,
in Mount Joy,
Conklins and Shaffners.
I find myself thankful
that I am not dependent on their ancestral furnaces.
This winter we have been snug
despite the frequent sub-zero temperatures.
We decide to drive Clearfield Creek
to see a result of those temperatures,
the ice jams
between Dimeling
and Faunce.
The jagged pieces
stand up like the hair
on the back of a giant ice-cat
and are as tall as I am in some places.
The road had been flooded
but the water has receded
and we are able to get through.
We swerve to miss a flash of red,
then turn around
to pick up the body of a pileated woodpecker.
Roadkill is another sign of spring,
but it's usually possums
and raccons
and skunks,
mammals who are using their hormones
instead of their eyes.

Upon our arrival back home,
a possum under the birdfeeder
greets us with a mouthful of sunflower seeds.
He scuttles up the tree
and waits motionless.
I wonder--
if he is nervous,
will he play dead
and fall out of the tree? 
I talk to him,
touch his tail,
his toes,
his haunch,
then look a bit closer at his teeth
and decide not to press my luck.

All have us have had an adventure
this first day of spring.