In Anticipation of Spring

It is easy to enjoy winter when frosty clusters drifting from the sky turn the world into a snow globe. But when the snow turns into slush and the temperature refuses to climb, the joys of winter seem to fade into the depths of the gray woods. But deep inside, there remains a breath of hope. Beneath the surface, an undercurrent of new life is swelling.

Even a snowless winter woods has its own wild beauty, though. Among the dried leaves of last fall, we find Christmas ferns, lush mosses, and even the striped leaves of rattlesnake plantain. Tiny, intricate slime molds hide on moist forest debris; a few coralberry and bittersweet berries cling to brown stems. Dark-eyed Juncos and White-throated Sparrows hop through virgin’s bower vines and seed-laden grasses.

In the stillness of winter evenings, Pileated Woodpeckers and Hermit Thrushes call, and deer quietly browse in field edges. Brilliant sunsets contrast with the calm grays below. After dark, millions of stars dangle from the sky—almost in reach, it seems. But more is hiding under the surface.

One warm day in February, spring peeks through for a moment. Sixty-degree weather tickles tiny maple and honeysuckle buds. Spiny caterpillars stretch their legs, candy-striped leafhoppers emerge from hiding, and colorful springtails and red velvet mites amble across the damp moss. Just for a day or two—then winter takes over in full force. But spring did peek through, and it is coming back!

The chickadees feel it too. Long before spring warms the land, they pause their winter bustling for a sweet spring whistle. Sweet-sweetie…sweet-sweetie. A phoebe, watching for any insect bold enough to leave shelter, hears and adds its own spring calls.

As winter wears on, Pine Warblers, Fox Sparrows, and other late-winter species begin to appear at our feeders. A few goldfinches begin molting as early as the beginning of February, but now more and more are turning yellow. The maple buds break into flower, and the daffodils poke through the leaves.

And then, after weeks of cold gray days, snow returns—just as spring was ready to catapult into full bloom. It blankets the daffodils, sprinkles the tulips, and sticks to redbuds that have never known the touch of snow. The bluebirds fluff themselves against the cold, and the scent of peppermint tea drifts through the house. A little longer yet…

Someday, maybe soon, winter will be past. The flowers will appear, the time of the singing of birds will come, and the voice of the turtle will be heard in our land.

I know that the “turtle” referenced in the KJV refers to the turtledove, but sometimes I wonder how a beautiful box turtle would sound if it could welcome the spring. Perhaps it would not be unlike the wood frogs, floating placidly on the spring pondwaters and croaking contentedly to themselves.