Spring begins in the chill of March, picks up speed in April, and by the first week of May, appears to be advancing in a headlong rush.

Then, sometime around May’s middle, the season seems to pause—as if spring needed to take a moment to catch its breath before making the final green push which will carry us through the vernal portals into June and eventually, a serene and sultry summer.

There’s a feeling of deliberation to this brief period of quiet intermission—a mood of reflective consideration, as though the elemental forces which shape season and landscape were taking stock, assessing the measure of progress thus completed while judiciously gauging what’s needed for the journey ahead.

With the month at the halfway mark, that hurried pace of late-April has diminished ever so slightly while undergoing an intrinsic change. Instead of youth’s unbridled energy, the maturing season now marches to a more disciplined cadence. A pace no less lacking in enthusiasm, yet one invigorated by assured purpose.

This sense of resolution is what separates the first weeks of May from the latter half. A subtle distinction, perhaps, but no less interesting for its concise refinement.

Which makes it the perfect time for the incorrigible nature observer to go for a long rural drive—a whimsical country gadabout. Not that anyone with a whit of outdoor inclinations needs an excuse for taking a spring ramble.

Don’t be one of those unfortunates who takes the responsibility of work and schedule so serious they miss the treasures and blessing of life.

If you must somehow salve your conscience, call this impromptu adventure a seasonal assessment, thereby giving it the legitimacy of mission.

What is spring for, after all, if not to savor?

The drill is simple. Pick a direction and head into the country—the deeper the better. County roads are to be preferred over state routes; gravel over blacktop. Roll the windows down. Turn off the radio. And keep your lead foot from overly depressing the accelerator any more than is absolutely necessary.

I realize this unaccustomed sedate pacing might traumatize some horsepower jockeys. But you’ll never glimpse much of anything when the fenceposts are whizzing past in a blur.

So what, exactly, is there to see out there in the boonies?

Plenty. Though perhaps the first thing you’ll notice is that the phrase “spring green” is so inadequate as a description that it’s ridiculous.

Green is a monotone. One color. A boring primary hue straight out of the kindergarten classroom.

Spring, by contrast, is an entire pallet of greens. A multiplicity of greens. A myriad, voluminous, and incredibly extensive array of greens.

You’ll see greens undertoned with yellow and tan, lavender and pink, russet and gray. Silvery greens. Coppery greens. Greens light and dark. Greens bright and subdued.

Bluish greens. Electric greens. Neon greens. Chartreuse greens. Moss greens. Mint greens. Greens so ephemeral they could be smoke. Other greens so substantial they might be granite.

Look at the leaves on a willow. Now check out those on a hickory. Or a maple. Try a walnut, ash, hackberry, elm, box elder, sycamore, or locust.

Different trees, different leaves…different shades of green.

You might see pines cloaked in a green so dark it is almost black. But look closer. Notice the tree’s new growth—an airy green surprisingly clear and kinetic.

And so far, we’re only talking trees.

There’s also the emerald green of hummocky meadow grass. The velvet green of a violet leaf. The blanched green of new briar canes.

Every plant exhibits its own particular hue of green. That’s why “spring green” is really a thousand shades—one vast chlorophyll showcase.

Yet this multitude of greens will be mostly gone by the middle of June, absorbed into the lush but monotonous landscape of summer.

In one of my antiquated natural history books there’s a passage that refers to the “profundity of May.” A reasonable description, given some qualifications.

May is certainly a month brimful of complexity—a deep and stimulating time in the sense that there’s a lot going on. But May is also a simple month in that the full breadth of spring’s elementary miracles are now laid bare, open for all to witness.

Let other months covet their whispered secrets. May’s recreative message is a shouted proclamation, a joyous declaration wherein life’s continuum is written everywhere, flagrant, unequivocal…and bewitchingly green!

And never is the show more astonishing than during mid-May’s pause.

Reach Jim McGuire at [email protected].