I Spy Signs of Spring
Thanks, Nature. I needed that.
One lone peeper frog in the dark night,
One lone peeper, beneath a quiet, starry sky.
One lone peeper, I heard him, for sure!
Six solemn peeps... Then nothing more.
February 21, 2014
The peepers started about two weeks ago, timid and lonely chirps at dusk — before the recent snowstorm, while the hills and valleys remained monochromatic, when the lovely breaks of sunshine, though welcome, did little to temper the biting winter winds.
The predictions of Punxsutawney Phil or French Creek Freddie make on Groundhog Day matter little to me. The peepers help me make my prediction: following the first few chirps, there will be three more deep freezes before spring.
But, today. Today the choir of countless peepers sounds all day. The stark blackberry thickets have taken on a ruby tone, and the autumn olive branches at the forest's edge have a distinctly rosy hue. I see the tips of daffodils sprouting, and an entire tulip leaf. These signs make me wonder if…
Yup. A pair of Canada Geese have claimed the island on the lake out back — she’s already nesting at the base of the holly tree, her mate near the water’s edge, prepared to defend their territory. This is an annual development, a spring situation created every year for the last 17 years. From now until the goslings hatch, none shall pass (except a lone wood duck on the water and a doe who wades out to the island every spring to give birth to a fawn).
Today the wind, bitter and extremely unpleasant just two days ago, is almost caressing. Somehow it feels like a sideways shower that flows in through the pores of your skin and out through your very soul, flushing away all the inner cobwebs of winter contemplation. You cannot help but turn your face towards it to take a grateful and almost desperate deep breath in through your nose.
Four days ago, the world was white with inches of extremely wet snow and the wind had extremely sharp teeth. Five days ago I was in town listening to people talk politics and drip drama. But today, February 21, 2024, standing “alone” in an overgrown garden plot, I declared today a glorious day.
As Mattie, our beagle, searched the garden plot for rabbits, I cleared stalks and debris from the asparagus patch, examined last year’s garden stalks and stems for ootheca, praying mantis eggs sacks, making sure to keep them safe so the youngins will spend their summer eating Brown Marmorated Stink Bugs.
Sun, the blind dog, simply likes to run — around the house, around the garden, around the yard. The hens have learned that if they are quiet, he can’t “see” them, as has the cat. Overhead, a large vulture hovers low (there’s a nest in a cliff face on the farm) and a hawk soars higher and higher until no more than a speck in the sky.
Human beings were originally designed to spend 85% of their time outdoors. In fact, indoor sedentary lifestyles are killing us. Obesity, anxiety, high blood pressure, insomnia, depression, etc. … All these and more decrease in some manner with increased time in nature. One study found that participants who walked in the forest for two hours in the morning and two hours in the afternoon saw an increase in anti-cancer proteins and immune cells that kill tumors, with the effects lasting for at least seven days after (npr.org).
Shinrin-yoku, also known as forest bathing, is a practice or process of therapeutic relaxation where one spends time in a forest or natural atmosphere, focusing on sensory engagement to connect with nature. the Japanese Society of Forest Therapy was established in 2004 and has performed evidence-based research on the beneficial effects of forest environments on human health.
Forest bathing is not exercise. It is simply being in nature, connecting with it through our senses of sight, hearing, taste, smell, and touch. Today, I was just standing in the mud in my muck boots, still in my pajamas at 1 p.m., hanging with happy dogs, cat, hens, and my neighbors: geese, vulture, hawk, crows, deer. I’ll log on later this evening for a few hours of remote work, but today was for hunting rabbits and insect egg sacks, for running circles in the field and flying circles in the sunlight, for basking in the wind.
I felt nature doing its thing today. Felt it flushing away stale thoughts, warming my skin and my soul. I felt my shoulders relax, and smiles erupt from seeing a beagle’s butt and tail wagging, sticking out of a mound of grass, giggled at the blind dog beaming and bounding wide and free through the hayfield. Chickens, who hate snow, scratched and pecked and played keep-away with their finds.
The peepers are singing through the day, and the female goose builds her nest. And somehow I know, despite the world beyond the surrounding hills, all here is as it should be, although perhaps a little earlier in the season than usual.
I opened all the doors to air the house out and let my feet spend some extra hours in the day without socks. I know winter isn’t over, but I see signs of spring and longer spans of daylight. Here in my little world, that’s a day worth celebrating.