Chuck Tague

    Different events symbolize the arrival of spring to different people.  Traditionally, the sighting of the first robin means that winter has lost its grip.  In Hinckley, Ohio spring returns with the Turkey Vultures or “buzzards.”  To people aware of the natural world, it may be the song of the Eastern Meadowlark, the trill and cry of the Killdeer, bluebirds investigating  a nest box, blooming Silver Maples or fuzzy Pussy Willows.   The first indication of the season may be emerging Skunk Cabbage, maple sugar taps, buzzing bumblebees or fluttering Mourning Cloak butterflies.

  To me, spring begins with the mysterious appearance of neon pink eggs dangling from twig tips throughout Dimsdale.  Somewhat larger than the largest chicken egg, I originally thought that they were laid by the Tacky Easterfowl, “Oviplasticus walmarticus”, a secretive bird of the suburbs that suspends its eggs on the end of a string to hatch

in the sun.  I recently discovered

that my neighbors hang these eggs as ritualistic symbols of spring.

    Bird eggs, a traditional vernal symbol, perfectly represent the regeneration of life.  Although I know of no bird that lays eggs with such a variety of pastel and fluorescent colors, to me, these bizarre shades accurately represent the transition to spring.

    I remember the color vividly.  Just after dusk on a stormy March evening, I stood along the edge of a marsh.  I watched and listened to the waterfowl fly to their nighttime roost.  “V”s of honking geese disintegrated and the birds dropped behind the trees. 

Squawking Mallards and squealing Wood Ducks zoomed overhead and into the swamp as if shot from cannons.  A roaring west wind pushed and swirled layers of menacingly dark clouds.  The chill bit through my clothes and the gale force made it difficult to keep my balance.  Hard, stinging sleet pelted my face.  Near dusk the clouds along the western horizon opened slightly to reveal a subdued but spectacular sunset.  In the dim light a neon pink sky peeked through a rumbling, churning wave of deep, dark grays.

    To me that sky symbolizes the arrival of spring.  Spring is a time of wonder and beauty, but it’s far from a time of pastels, crocuses and baby ducks.  The rebirth of spring is a violent regeneration.  Spring is a time of scarcity and hardship, just a bit warmer than winter.  Spring is strong winds, ice, snow and rushing water.  Spring is merciless mud and unpredictable temperatures.

    Spring is more than a season, it is a transition, a process that transforms the winter woods, with its bare trees, ice covered streams and frozen ground, to the lush vibrant forest of May.  The process must proceed, step by step, in an orderly and logical progression.  Every living thing participates in the transition, each in its own way, each at the time most advantageous to its survival.

    The transition goes through stages, beginning on the forest floor, often before the thaw, and moves upward, level by level, until it climaxes with an explosion of growth in the tops of the tallest trees.  It begins in the wet lowlands and moves up the hills and ridges.  It begins in the southern latitudes and moves north.

    Most northeastern trees seasonally shed their leaves.  During the transition to spring, the leaf is the key.  After the thaw, almost all the changes revolve around the developing leaves.

    Observe carefully from now (March) to early May.  From a distance, it looks like someone is carefully, slowly coloring the forest green.  The green starts at the bottom and slowly works upward, gaining speed, with occasional spurts and stalls, until the forest is lush and full.

    The process begins in the moist, low forest.  Sunlight shines on the floor and the first green of spring -- grasses, wild onions and sprouting perennials -- appear.

    After the canopy develops, the leaves shade and shelter the interior of the forest.  The green plants below the canopy must take advantage of the available sunlight.  Before long, the leaves above will absorb all the precious light.

spring ephemerals

magically appear.  

Many disappear without a trace, only to emerge again the following spring.  Like mysterious woodland spirits, they appear then they’re gone.

    Spring winds blow unimpeded through the leafless trees.  Plants that depend on the wind for dispersal must cast out their pollen, or let loose their seeds, when the winds move most freely through the forest.  Oaks, beeches, birches, alders, hickories, aspens, willows, elms and sycamores produce flowers designed to efficiently release and receive airborne pollen.  All flower before the forest’s leaves develop fully.

    Many insects emerge, not with the warm weather, but with the availability of food.  Great numbers of caterpillars hatch to feed on the tender, new leaves.  As fresh leaves develop, inchworms, or Geometer moth larva, become abundant.  Forest songbirds time their migration and breeding activities to take advantage of this suddenly available food source.

    Watch for migratory birds as the green rises through the forest.  Each new group feeds and nests in progressively higher layers.  The birds that feed on the forest floor and along the tree trunks return first.  These include robins, flickers and Louisiana Waterthrushes, plus Yellow-throated and Black-and-white Warblers.  Then come the birds that feed in the low shrubs, such as Hooded Warblers and Ovenbirds.  The understory birds like the American Redstart and Scarlet Tanagers arrive next.  The last bird species to return, the Eastern Wood Pewee for example, feeds in the highest trees.

    Watch carefully as the transition progresses.  No two days or no two springs are the same.