Equinox Thoughts

 
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by Denny

            This morning I trekked beyond the cabin with my bucket of corn.  The little herd of deer that make an appearance each morning so we might enjoy breakfast together watched me.  No flapjacks and sausage for them.  They are delighted with corn on the cob, served up cold and on the ground.  As I approach they skip and jump with seeming delight, or do they do that just because they can?  Some jump over the fence, some juke under.  They flee just beyond spitting distance and wait, inquisitively watching while I serve up breakfast.  Tails wag and they come “skipperty-hopping” when I turn my back and walk toward the house.

            As morning unfolds, snow is falling gently and there is a slight breeze which reminds me that today has its feet in the hard winter and its head in the delight of a new birth of spring.  Yes, the robins are back, the snow has receded and the geese are flying in the right direction.  I am painfully aware, though, that the first snowdrop hasn’t popped up yet, and despite finding several wonderfully warm, moist road banks yesterday, there was no evidence yet of coltsfoot. 

Denny at Tara, an ancient Irish site

            It is no wonder the ancient Irish looked to the sun.  Am I so different than they?  Perhaps I am.  I am come back to a warm house and with the flick of a switch I will have light.  With the turn of a knob I can make fire.  Their lives were not quite so comfortable.  I am thinking of all of those massive stones they collected from all parts of the Emerald Isle.  They sorted and arranged them into structures to celebrate the season.  My goals for today are not quite so lofty.  My day will be spent here on the mountain.  I am looking for the sun just as they were, but it is only a bright white orb that peeks out from behind the clouds every now and then.  The ancient Irish looked for the sun to return, but they knew that if it didn’t, it may be there tomorrow.  There is evidence it is there and, “Hope springs eternal,” three words that go together quite nicely I think, and I am reminded,

            The fundamental fact of existence is that this trust in God, this faith,

            is the firm foundation under everything that makes life worth living.

            It’s our handle on what we can’t see.  The act of faith is what

            distinguished our ancestors, set them above the crowd. 

                  By faith we see the world called into existence by God’s word,

            what we see created by what we don’t see.

                                                                                    Heb. 11    Peterson

bop

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.