Can you believe it? We’re already two weeks deep into March!
We’re also now on Daylight Savings Time, at the tiresome insistence of those who would rule our lives and are convinced such messing about serves a meaningful purpose.
I’m back to stumbling around amid pre-dawn darkness while accompanying the dog on her morning constitutional. Plus, my circadian rhythm — particularly my sleep/wake cycle — is out of whack and likely needs a month to realign.
Thank you, Big Brother!
But the good news is that a week from now, with the passing of the vernal equinox, spring will be deemed official!
Of course, seasons pay no mind whatsoever to our calendars and almanacs. We can’t schedule their comings and goings any more than we can we control time by fiddling with the clocks.
Just to remind us who was really in charge, the first week of March served up a foretaste of things to come, an appetizer — a delightful day so unseasonably mild and lovely it might have been lifted in its entirety from late April… or even the middle of May!
Late that morning, after I’d finished a necessary stint of desk work, I stood on the front porch, breathing deeply of the mildly scented air
The sky overhead was a cloudless azure-blue canopy. Afternoon temperatures were predicted to soar into the mid-70s!
A dozen feet away, the river slipped along — a translucent jade-bronze mirror, unhurried, sparkling in the bright sunlight, and gurgling musically as it tumbled through and exited the big riffle just upstream.
What a day! A wonderful and unexpected gift presented during this seasonal interregnum between winter and spring.
My winter-weary soul filled with gratitude, while my mood was buoyed and my spirit soared.
Twenty yards away, a song sparrow, ensconced in the top forsythia hedge bordering the woodpile, concurred with my sentiments, and burst into loud and joyful song.
I needed to celebrate such a glorious day. While pondering the matter, I admired the colorful profusion of crocus and daffodils a’bloom along the cottage’s south-facing limestone wall.
I planted their bulbs the fall after we moved here, eighteen years ago. They’ve been emerging from winter’s drab detritus every spring since — vernal heralds, with flowers in bright hues of purple, white, yellow, cream, and lavender.
They’d popped up a few days earlier. But, I thought, if they were blooming, maybe the bloodroot and hepaticas in a favorite woods would be, too.
I decided to go for a walk.
A half-hour later, Daisy Dog and I arrived at our destination and began the 3-mile loop along a familiar trail.
Within a half-mile after setting off from the trailhead parking lot, I realized I’d overdressed —and foolishly decided to go on our hike wearing jeans and a long-sleeved cotton shirt.
The day wasn’t just unseasonably balmy — it was downright torrid, sweltering!
At least that’s how it seemed to me and my winter-acclimated body.
Forget the fact that at 6 a.m. that morning, I’d built a small “knock-the-chill-off” fire in the wood stove. That was then… this was now. The temperature had risen dramatically! I was sweating like it was mid-July instead of early March or late June?
Had I wandered through a time warp?
Moreover, it didn’t help remembering how I’d stood on the porch and luxuriated in the unusual warmth. Why did I not wear shorts and a tee?
As the dog and I slowly trudged and plodded our way up and down the pathway’s many hills, I was lagging and Daisy was sagging. With every step onward, our mutual discomfort only worsened.
In case you’re wondering, I didn’t spot a single wildflower along the entire way. But somewhere after the first mile, I quit looking anywhere beyond the next few yards of trail ahead and the pebbles, sticks, and leaves I’d have to lift my lead feet high enough to clear and negotiate if I didn’t want to stumble and fall flat on my face.
Daisy was in a similar doggy-version mode — tail, head, and ears pathetically drooped. No longer the usual hard-charging, bull-strong, leash-pulling beast that tries to investigate everything on both sides of the trail.
Instead, we were both conserving every ounce of our remaining energy, trying to survive to make it back to our vehicle.
I was thoroughly enervated when I finally plopped my dragging behind on the car’s front seat. Daisy somehow managed to summon enough oomph to clamber up and onto the back seat where she summarily flopped out like a furry rug, eyes closed, panting.
I gave Daisy a bowl of water and a handful of treats; then I guzzled my own big bottle of water, wolfed down two energy bars, and seriously considered taking a snooze before driving us homeward.
I’ve been cautioned about overindulging in good things — drinking too much coffee, eating too many chocolate brownies, spending too much time wading local streams in pursuit of the wily smallmouth bass.
But I’ve never been cautioned about overindulging on an unusually fine pre-spring day.
Had Daisy and I overindulged?
Maybe. But should a similar wonderfully unseasonable day appear again anytime soon, the opportunity won’t go unheeded. Daisy and I will be right back out there in the thick of it, doing our best to savor everything it has to offer!
Such days demand indulging!
Reach Jim McGuire at [email protected].
