a man and his hoe

The cherry blossom buds are still wrapped up tight. You can feel them shivering, waiting for the warmth of spring to arrive. They are late this year. But how late? And when will they bloom? I’m guessing it will be the end of March or the beginning of April.

I went back through my photos of the cherry blossoms of this very tree. The earliest they bloomed was on March 4. The latest, on April 10. Around March 21~27 seems to be the most reliable time they bloom.

I couldn’t find photos for every year, but this one stood out from April 20, 2008.

Heavy snow blankets the cherry blossoms on April 20! That year was a very snowy year. Our well froze. We melted snow for two weeks on the wood stove. It snowed every day from the end of December until March or so. We were snowbound for over a week.

The crocus are very late this year. The first flower buds are just started to poke out. The narcissus have not bloomed yet either, and usually by this time they are in full bloom. Proof it’s been a cool start to spring.

Rhubarb shoots are proof enough for me that spring has sprung. I’ve been planting onion and leek shoots the last few days and discovered that the rhubarb has awaken and is sending up its colorful shoots. Rhubarb red, rhubarb green, spring’s vibrants colors.

What do the swans think of the warming days? Are their minds already planning their trips north? Are they discussing where to go? We did the Kenai Peninsula last summer. Let’s do the Copper River Delta this summer? Is that what they are thinking?

I stopped today on my way to the Post Office to watch the flocks on the pasture. Soon, one day I will go looking for them and they will be gone, flying north on their way to their summer homes.

They were nearly hunted to extinction. By 1932 scientists knew of only 69 trumpeter swans left in the wild. Fortunately, they were protected and now there are tens of thousands. It’s hard to imagine the Skagit Valley in winter without the swans. And we almost lost them.

Each day there is more color brightening the day, and buds swelling, getting read to unfurl their new leaves.

The chickens dig scratching through the buttercup I pull out of the garden. They find numerous bugs and earthworms to devour. I’d let them in the garden but they’d dig up everything up. They’ll have plenty of buttercup and other goodies to scratch through while I prepare the garden over the next few months.

On my way into town today I encountered a flock of snow geese along Chuckanut Drive. Snow geese flocks cover pastures in such numbers that they look like patches of snow on the ground.

Didn’t I say just yesterday that every day is unique? Seeing thousands of snow geese feeding just in front of you is the very definition of unique. How often do you go make an errand and have to stop to take in all the snow geese swarming on pasture?

And when they take flight, snow geese look like clouds. Do birds who live in such huge flocks have any concept of loneliness? For their whole lives they are never more than a wingtip away from other snow geese. If a snow goose goes to see a therapist what do they talk about?

If you have a chance to watch snow geese, it is the constant chatter that stands out. They are forever talking, all at once. What are they saying? When they are here are they talking about their summer homes in the arctic? And when they are in the arctic are they talking about their time south?

I suppose that some day we will be able to point our phones at the snow geese and have all their chatter translated and marvel at what they are talking about.

Every day is as different as every cloud. I had to stop on the way home from running errands. The clouds today were too special to drive by. Each time I see such beautiful, wondrous clouds, I enjoy them because I’ll never see a cloud just like these again.

Clouds are like snowflakes. Each one is unique, and each one changes by the second. Every moment you gaze at a cloud it changes, shifts, moves, and drifts away.

Today’s clouds were particularly unique and wonderful. Good bye, clouds. I’ll never see you again. But thanks for drifting by and making today so special.

The constant dreary clouds and rain seemed like purgatory. Winter wasn’t gone but neither was spring here. We were stuck in between the two. But the skies parted, the sun proved it still existed, and freed us from purgatory.

The Day Lillies are stirring, pushing out of the ground and saying winter is over. The forecast is for snow late this afternoon and evening. But it shouldn’t drag us back into purgatory. By morning the forecast is for rain, so I won’t need to shovel snow tomorrow.

The largest trees on the property are these three cottonwoods. Some of their limbs would make decent size trees if they fell off and stuck into the ground. What is it like to be so tall that you can see over all the other trees?

Do trees feel they are in purgatory, caught in limbo while they wait for the weather to warm them up enough to unfold their leaves and come to life again?

Someone described these cottonwoods as widow makers. Their massive limbs can drop without warning and impale a hapless soul walking underneath them. And from watching the way tree limbs fall to the ground like spears, I have a suspicion that trees have sinister feelings about creatures who can move. And when winter storms thrash their limbs about, trees take aim at creatures below them, and see how many they can take out when their heavy limbs hurl to the ground.

So when you are in the woods, tread carefully, and watch the trees above. Are they taking aim at you?