Wind

The tall pines bow in obeisance to the force of the wind. Other weaker specimens simply lift from the ground, roots and all, or snap under the strain. The roar of air passing through branches at 80 kilometres per hour competes with the sounds of the cracking and crashing of trees and branches. Being in the woods is dangerous.

On the lake, usually placid, white caps froth and churn, racing the wind to the distant shore. Boaters stay off the water until the storm passes.

The flame blown out, the hamburgers are still raw on the barbecue.

Tomorrow the cleanup begins.

It’s official, spring is finally here.

At long last we have slipped from winter’s grasp and are now enjoying Mother Nature’s awakening.

Living in the city one is aware of the changes happening, most of all the longer days and warming temperatures. But out here, the transformation is observed first hand, up close and personal as it were, which makes it all that much more amazing to watch and enjoyable to experience.

There still remains some snow in deep, shaded forest areas, but the flora is pushing hard to get the most of a short growing season. Early daffodils and crocuses are in bloom. The hyacinths are showing colour and the marsh marigolds have braved the icy waters to push up new growth and the promise of a bright splash of yellow along the lakeshore. The trees are in flower, the sap is running, and leaf buds are fat and juicy, waiting for just the right conditions to burst forth and clothe the naked branches.

Our seasonal avian visitors have also returned. Robins, phoebes and the other snowbirds are scoping out good nesting sites in anticipation of raising the next generation or two before the days again shorten and the southern migration begins.  The loons are on the lake singing their mournful mating songs and the hawks are hunting from the nearby trees. Even the turkey vultures are back, busily cleaning up the winter’s dead recently exposed by the melting snow.

And last, but certainly not least, human spirits are lifted with the higher sun and negativity is drawn from the soul. After all our natural habitat is not in these enclosed, sterile environments where we tend to spend the winter months, but out of doors surrounded by, and a part of, nature itself.

So that’s where I’ll be for the next few months, out of doors, making the most of our all too brief summer.

Hope

The snow drops fight their way through frozen earth and a mantle of snow to prove that Spring has finally wrested control from Old Man Winter in this little piece of paradise.

The crocuses (crocii?)give us a splash of colour as they too appear from beneath the cast off leaves of the maples and oaks.

The spring garden is truly a wonder. It doesn’t matter who is at 24 Sussex or the White House. It doesn’t matter how good or bad the economy is. It doesn’t matter whether you are dealing with personal success or great tragedy. Year after year the plants sense it’s time, put on their flashiest outfits, stage the grand entrance, and grace us with their presence for oh such a fleeting time.

 

 

Teasing…

We awaken to clear blue skies. Even at 7 AM the sun warms the room and holds the promise of a beautiful spring day.

But those are simply appearances, wishes. The actual temperature outside is –10, driven to –20 with the chill of a brisk north wind. Snow remains deep on the gardens, and ice on the shaded parts of the driveway. But for the bitterness of the wind, we could still be skating on the lake.

It has been this way for days. Spring continues to tease and tempt, but so far has failed to deliver the goods. Discouraging, to say the least, for those of us suffering the symptoms of spring fever.

Spring is come?

Like the person who believes an empty bank account means the end of the month is near, I consider my rapidly disappearing woodpile to be an indicator of the imminent end of winter.

Since the temperature is stubbornly hovering around –10C (-22C with the wind chill), that does require somewhat of a leap of faith, but it’s not the only sign of spring.

Yesterday the doves were back from points south where they spend the coldest winter months. The chipmunks have come out of hibernation. The raccoons have broken into our screen porch for what will likely be the first time this year. And the wild turkeys have returned to our yard, as they do every spring.

But the one true, irrefutable, sign of spring? Hot cross buns are back on the shelves at the supermarket. Yum!

 Photo: Wikipedia

The promise of spring

It’s another crisp, cold morning, the likes of which we’ve seen too often this winter. The thermometer is hovering around 20-below, and the chickadees and nuthatches, feathers puffed up for warmth, are swarming the feeders looking for the energy needed to get them through one more day.

But the sun is up, a little higher in the sky than yesterday, and higher still than the day before that. You can now begin to feel the warmth of its fire, especially in those tucked away corners out of reach of the north wind. And on the deck, the snow is starting to melt, throwing up a thin fog as the heat-generated moisture reaches the still frigid air a foot or so above the surface.

It’s only February so winter still has lots of nasty tricks up her sleeve, but the promise of spring is in the air, and with that promise comes optimism for a brighter, warmer future.

Once a biker .....

Well, spring has officially sprung, and even though there’s still snow on the ground and ice on the lake, the oh-so-familiar stirrings of desire to get back on two wheels are surfacing.

After more than 30 years of riding, I got rid of my last street motorcycle – this gorgeous ‘74 Norton Commando – about 7 years ago. Work pressures and some physical problems at the time kept me from riding, so it just sat in the garage. But like any thoroughbred it needed to be ridden hard, and on a regular basis, so, sadly, off it went to a deserving home (actually, we delivered it to a downtown bank, after hours, rolling it into a back room where it was to stay until the proud new owner could figure out how to explain it to his wife – but that’s another story). While I haven’t seen it personally since then, I’m told that it’s still in the area and being thoroughly enjoyed, so I guess he finally got whatever approvals he needed.

But I digress. Where was I? ... Oh, yes. Spring. The time of year when the biking magazines find their way into my shopping cart with more frequency and the stack of back issues of Bike Trader reaches epic proportions and threatens to topple off the side table. The time of year when conversations with the spousal unit lapse into 3-word exchanges – “Dreaming again?”, “Yep.” And the time of year when the most remarkable aspect of any trip into the city is how many bikes I saw on the highway.

Spring also triggers the requisite visits to the local dealerships, just to “have a look”. The new bikes, all shiny and proud, sit out front, and the “previously enjoyed” models hide in the back, seemingly embarrassed by their flashy counterparts with their hefty price tags and “DO NOT SIT” warnings. Yet it’s to the back I go, looking for that one-in-a-million find – a pristine, slightly used, and most importantly, cheap, ride – and secretly hoping I don’t find it because then I’ll have a REAL decision to make (and explain).

And then, to top it all off, my brother sends pictures of his H-D Road King, all tuned up and ready to go, along with the link to the Sturgis web site, “in case you’d like to come along”. Sigh....

So yeah, once biking gets into your blood it never, ever leaves. Other pastimes, hobbies, sports, etc. come and go over the years, but once bitten by the motorcycling bug you are hooked for life. There will be times you change your riding interests from cruising to touring to sports riding to dirt or any of the other dozen ways in which one can have a blast on two wheels. And there will be periods when you don’t ride for a whole variety of reasons. But inevitably you will come back at some point and either buy that dream machine you can finally afford (or have finally figured out how to rationalise) or pick up an older model more appropriate to your budget and riding style. Whatever the choice, you will be back on two wheels, and I’ll be seeing you on the road.