David Heiller
Frost coated the grass on Monday morning when I stepped out
of the house at 6 a.m. The thermometer said 28 degrees.
But
spring was definitely in the air. Why else would I have asked Cindy if she
wanted to drink a cup of tea on the bench outside.
Cindy glanced at the thermometer. “It’s
below freezing,” she said, and I knew enough not to push the point.
But a little frost couldn’t keep the
secret of spring for long. You could feel the promise that something good was
going to happen. The garden would grow. Elian [Gonzalez] would get to go home.
The Twins would win the pennant.
I must
have been delirious.
You feel like anything can happen on
a day like Monday.
I didn’t know what it was until I
silently pinned up jeans and towels and socks. That’s when I noticed the birds.
The air was filled with a subtle
symphony of bird songs.
Tree swallows clicked and clacked
while they glided over the garden.
The eternally optimistic chickadee
called out, “Hey Petey. Hey Petey. Hey Petey. Hey Petey.”
 |
| We love the call of the white throated sparrow |
The white
throated sparrow reminded me of my upcoming fishing trip. “Deeeee deeeeee dee-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee.”
I whistled a cheap imitation in response. I could almost smell the pine needles
and fried walleyes.
I heard a
wren scolding some chump. A crow cawed impatiently overhead. A blackbird said
hello as it headed across the road. A blue jay honked a response.
A woodpecker called from over the
field. Another tapped a code in the woods.
And then there was that weird, airy
whistle, which I can’t describe very well. It’s like the sound a Frisbee might
make, if you were asked to describe the sound of a Frisbee as it whistles
through the air.
I had to use a lifeline for that one,
so I called Tom Deering to see what the heck that bird was. I did my Frisbee
imitation over the phone, and he did one back to me, even better.
“Jack snipe, we called them, but it’s
also called a common snipe,” he told me, and that was his final answer.
These were just a few of the songs I
heard while hanging up two loads of laundry. It was as if, all at once, the
birds were telling me to wake up and get with the program. Time’s a wastin’!
 |
| Wood frog. |
The frogs are saying that too. The
wood frogs started last week, and now the peepers have joined the chorus. Their
voices blend into such fine harmony that you can’t help but feel like singing
yourself.
I wish I could bottle up days like
Monday. They would come in handy during the extreme: of August and January.
There isn’t a better time of year for
me than right now. And it will only get grander for the next month or two. The
bugs aren’t bad, if you can discount the
woodticks. It’s not too hot, not too bright. Not too cold. The sky is a deeper
blue, the grass a darker green. Everything is just right.
The only
thing missing is enough time to enjoy it all. You want to be doing everything
at `”once. Take the canoe and paddle down the Kettle River, maybe make a few
casts.
Take
a walk or a bike ride with your significant other. Climb rocks with your
daughter, a game of Horse with your son. Toss a stick to the dog. Play!
Organize the garage. Wash the car.
Rake they lawn. Clean out the garden. Work up the soil with the tiller and
spade. Plant potatoes and onions. Getting your hands dirty!
Jobs don’t
seem like jobs this time of year.
I’ve
probably missed a few of your favorite activities. But I bet you are thinking of
them and smiling right now.
Life
doesn’t get much better than right now.It doesn’t matter if you are reading
this in Minnesota or Mississippi. It doesn’t matter if you are: retired or
over-worked. Young or old. Rich or poor. Happy or sad.
Spring is
here, and we are all equals when; comes to enjoying the ride. I’d better go
hang up some more laundry, before it’s too late.
