“IN JUST SPRING…” etc.

Waterfall Swirls, Pidcock CreekJPG

Pidcock Creek Swirls, Bowman’s Hill Wildflower Preserve, in just-spring

I don’t know about the rest of you, but I am still searching for ‘just spring’!

More apt this puzzling year  than e.e. cummings’ is either Eliot’s “April is the cruellest month” or Whitman’s dirge for our lost Lincoln, “When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom…”  “Wasteland”!, indeed…  grief beyond explanation or justification, beyond forgetting…

I do have a couple of meagre, wind-whipped hyacinths struggling to unfurl.  Of course, just as I discover them, two frisky deer gallop merrily through my back yard.  So far, they have not noticed the withered hyacinths nor the gelid daffodils.

Let’s give e.e. a chance, just the same:

[in Just-]

in Just- 
spring          when the world is mud- 
luscious the little 
lame balloonman 
whistles          far          and wee 
and eddieandbill come 
running from marbles and 
piracies and it’s 
spring 
when the world is puddle-wonderful 
etc,
I  don’t know.  The old cummings magic doesn’t seem to be working this time for me.
How about you?
Where do YOU turn
for spring?
brave skunk cabbage March
EXOTHERMIC SKUNK CABBAGE, BOWMAN’S, which can melt ice in order to emerge…
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DESPERATELY SEEKING SPRING

First Burst of Spring Bowman's 09

First Burst of Spring at Bowman’s Hill Wildflower Preserve, Bucks County

Snow or no snow, chill or no chill, spring is inevitable.  There’s no gainsaying the Vernal Equinox.  Days lengthen.  Ground thaws.  Spring’s exquisite ephemerals (flowers that bloom only so long as the forest canopy is not leafed out) will soon be everywhere.

Bridge from Winter to Winter Bowman's 09

Bridge – From Winter TO WInter, Bowman’s

One of the privileges of hanging out with naturalists is that they know where to find first signs of spring.

first flower of spring skunk cabbage Bowman's 09

First ‘Monk’s Cowl’ — Skunk Cabbage, Bowman’s 

One of the disadvantages is that they know the names of everything, leaving you wondering if you’ll keep the difference between twinleaf and bloodroot this year.

Bloodroot at Bowmans Late Blooming April 2016 001

In early April, beech leaves pale from almost copper or caramel to the hue of palomino horses.  When they’ve turned to ivory, nearly white, they’ll fling themselves to the ground, providing acid atmosphere required for a healthy beech nut crop this year.

Paling Beech Leaves Bowman's

If you’re lucky enough to have naturalist/photographer friends, your lessons will be a merry marriage of art and science.

Toad Trillium and new-dropped beech leaves Medicinal Trail Bowmans Late Blooming April 2016

Toad Trillium Among Newly Dropped Beech Leaves

If not, you may use these images as a Field Guide to earliest ephemerals.  Let me know what you’re finding where YOU are.

Twin Leaf Emergence Bowmans Late Blooming April 2016

Twinleaf Emergence, Due Any Day Now

Tiny daffodils poked through rocks and snow this week.  Closed, they looked like lemon snowdrops.  Open, they are like stars fallen into my garden.  Rescued from yet another storm, they grace tiny green glasses on my dining room table.  So fragile in appearance — but I think they’re surviving/thriving far better than I this year!

Fern Emergence Bowman's

In ‘just spring’ (e.e.cummings), when Christmas fern has yet to resurrect…

Wandering almost every trail at Bowman’s Hill Wildflower Preserve, below New Hope, in Bucks County, this weekend, we found lesser celandine — invasive, spiky gold ground-hugging flowers everywhere.  A few exclamation points of skunk cabbage presided beside the old pond and on Marsh Marigold Trail.  In one patch of rare sunlight, a spray of bloodroot insisted that we rejoice in spring.

I’m trying.

pidcock bridge from on high

The next time we cross the Civilian Conservation Corps Bridge over Pidcock Stream, we should find green emergence, and even hints of yellow.

Marsh Marigold in bloom

Meanwhile, the joy is in the quest, keeping all senses tuned to the slightest spring heralds.  Early spring miracles include delighting in our fellowship – that there are any number of strong friends who are willing to brave brisk winds and brown surrounds, together, seeking spring.

Marsh Marigold Trail in March

Marsh Marigold Trail in the Birth of Spring

Again, I ask, what are YOU finding?

 

 

 

 

 

WHY I RUN AWAY TO ‘THE PINES’

 

EXCURSION TO THE BARRENS

 

I like to watch old farms wake up

ground fog furling within the turned furrows

as dew-drenched tendrils of some new crop

lift toward dawn

 

three solid horses bumble

along the split-rail fence

one rusting tractor pulsing

at the field’s hem

 

just over the horizon

the invisible ocean

paints white wisps

all along the Pinelands’

blank blue canvas

as gulls intensely circle

this tractor driver’s

frayed straw hat

 

from rotund ex-school buses

workers spill

long green rows suddenly peppered

by their vivid headgear

as they bend and bend again

to sever Jersey’s bright asparagus

 

some of which I’ll buy

just up ahead

at the unattended farm stand

slipping folded dollars

into the ‘Honor Box’

 

before driving so reluctantly

away from this region called ‘Barren’

where people and harvests

still move to seasons and tides

 

 

CAROLYN FOOTE EDELMANN

May 30, 2005/July 19, 2006

“Emerging Signs of Spring” — recent Times of Trenton Article

Brave Skunk Cabbage in March, Bowman's

Brave Skunk Cabbage in March, Bowman’s

My NJWILDBEAUTY readers know I am always avid for signs of the coming season, no matter what it may be — including winter.

Rich Rein of US 1 (Business) Newspaper, published my account of being impatient for the spare beauties, –especially the true sculptural form of trees–, of that approaching season.

At the same time, The Times of Trenton kindly accepted my article on the importance of prolonged cold for the full health of wild creatures.

Last week, The Times presented the story I’d titled “Where is Spring?”  They honored me with the title of Guest Columnist, and again blessed my story with a handsome photograph by fine artist Michael Mancuso, who is masquerading as a journalist.

Salamander in hand, early April 2015, by Michael Mancuso of the Times of Trenton

Salamander in hand, early April 2015, by Michael Mancuso of the Times of Trenton

“Emerging Signs of Spring”, Guest Columnist, Carolyn Foote Edelmann

 

This year, not even naturalists can find spring.

We have been taught that the season arrives with the vernal equinox, when day and night are virtually equal; and that equinox leads to lengthening sunlight. Longer days, we have. But where is spring?

Each naturalist has his or her own proof of spring.

For one, it is the blooming of witch hazel. Good, because last night I saw a witch hazel tree in Lawrence in full, brassy bloom. They can blossom in December and January. Does blooming witch hazel make a spring? .

For many home gardeners, spring means snowdrops, which can pop through January drifts. Last week’s snowdrops at Grounds for Sculpture in Hamilton were up, but they looked frail and drained, as though their journey through snow and ice had sapped them of all energy.

For many, spring means the bird-like chirping of tiny frogs called peepers. A colleague at work heard both peepers and wood frogs in Hopewell a week ago Friday. Although I know well where to look and listen, I have not heard a single trill. Peepers do not begin their incessant chorus until it’s been above freezing for at least three nights. Which it hasn’t.

March 27, Jenn Rogers, our merry Mercer County naturalist, led a troupe of brave souls out into dusk and darkness at Hopewell’s St. Michaels Farm Preserve. Rogers and confreres had set out on an “Owl Prowl.” Not an owl was heard nor seen. But the group was treated to the full dance and aural phenomena of woodcocks, over and over, until full dark. When woodcocks rise, it’s spring.

These fortunate explorers, under Rogers’ tutelage, were then able to see and hold female and male salamanders, moving from winter quarters to their spring egg-laying waters. The group also encountered a number of frogs, still, yet ready for action, visible beneath skim ice on the vernal ponds. If salamanders have made their historic night-time journeys, it’s spring.

Near Greenwich, where New Jersey’s legendary tea burning taught the British we would no longer submit to the crown’s dictates, we could not leave a female American kestrel flitting in and out of a long line of bare trees. Nearby, a spurt or two of crocus, some dark purple mini-iris and one effusion of daffodils seemed to certify spring.

A flutter of vivid bluebirds under the leafless shrubs of Stow Creek, eagle central, seemed more important, dare I say it, than that site’s legendary eagles.

Last Sunday, I spent significant time in Salem and Cumberland counties, where America’s avian symbol is everywhere right now. We studied eagles on nests, incubating eggs, performing nest exchanges and feeding hatchlings down near the Delaware Bay. Eagle spring comes earlier than that of other species. However, regional naturalists are concerned that many Delaware Valley eagles are not yet on the nest. Timing is everything with the eagle family. Much more delay and it will become too hot for the young with all those insulating feathers. Hard to believe in “hot” right now.

Our incontrovertible spring proof may have been the osprey on its unlikely nest alongside Route 55 near Millville. Ospreys winter separately, returning to the same nest on the same day. When ospreys are reunited, spring is here.

If you need to certify spring, go straight over to Bowman’s Hill Wildflower Preserve, below New Hope, Pa. Return every weekend, until the forest canopy leafs out. Spring’s ephemerals, irrefutable proof of the new season, will be blanketing the ground. In the woods, spicebush shrubs sport tiny chartreuse flowers, almost the color of fireflies. Their twigs, scraped with a fingernail, give off the healing aroma of benzoin, part of this spring herald’s Latin name.

Signage, flower maps and informed volunteers in their Twinleaf shop will lead you to hepatica, twinleaf, bloodroot, spring beauty, trout lily and early saxifrage (rock-breaker). Bowman’s grounds will soon resemble a studio floor, continuously spattered by some errant artist.

In wettest places, an unmistakable spring herald rises — skunk cabbage. This waxy plant emerges like a monk in a cowl, colors swirling from burgundy to bright green. Skunk cabbage can melt ice, as its flower generates 60 degrees of heat. Its rotting meat scent is purportedly irresistible to pollinators. Which, frankly, are what spring is all about.

Above all, remember: Spring is inevitable. Even when trees remain black and brown. Even under skies that Henry David Thoreau described as “stern” back in his laggard spring in the 1800s. For him, as for us, this season must emerge.

Use all your senses. Watch for pollinators, even houseflies. Listen for wood frogs and peepers. Try to scent spicebush and the loamy perfume of awakening earth. Touch the soft green tips of emergent daffodil or narcissus leaves. Even when everything seems brown and grey and black and taupe, know that spring is being born.

Carolyn Foote Edelmann, a poet, naturalist and community relations associate for the Delaware and Raritan Greenway Land Trust, writes and photographs for NJWildBeauty nature blog (njwildbeauty.wordpress.com).