This Little Plot

Happy Spring! On the Northern Hemisphere’s Vernal Equinox, due to Earth’s rotation the Sun hovers above the Equator before its rays move north, for the summer. (In the Southern Hemisphere, the season now turns to autumn.) Harvest and fertility festivals around the world celebrate the coming of the planting and growing season, and the return of the sun after winter’s darkness. At historic sites such as Stonehenge and Angkor Wat, the equinox coincides with a solar phenomenon aligning with these ancient structures. Nowruz is observed as the New Year by Persians and many other peoples in West and Central Asia and beyond.

Everywhere, new life! I open the door to step outside: Bugs! Tiny snow fleas flit inside foot tracks; the first flies buzz and spiders weave webs in anticipation. Birds are never far behind: black phoebes call from the fence as they hunt insects; the robins’ song a sure sign of spring. Bluejays squawk at each other and at songbirds; our resident northern harrier screeches as it soars high above; a bald eagle’s wings startle as it takes off just overhead; chickadees cheep and titmice twitter. Cardinal, juncos, sparrows, Carolina wren, blackbirds, maybe soon even the Eastern bluebird.

Melting snow reveals soggy mounds of earth, voles tunneling under the surface. Everywhere I now see the brown of sun-starved soil, the green shoots of spring bulbs, the minute wonders that are snowdrops!

While I love the stark beauty of winter snow and ice, and feel invigorated by the frigid air when snowshoeing, sledding, and cross-country skiing, this winter was the coldest, with the heaviest snowfall in years since we moved here. It challenged both my physical ability with constant snow removal and getting out even in subfreezing cold, and my mental and emotional fortitude in not giving in to the depression and inertia that often accompany dark days.

A revelation, discovered when we first moved here: the underappreciated (and a bit stinky) skunk cabbage, growing near or in water, is one of the first to emerge from the snow, often lasting through the winter. Through the process of thermogenesis, this amazing plant generates its own heat, and also offers early pollen, welcoming starved pollinators like flies and bees to its oddly endearing shelter. Still here, late icicles hang like bells over the river raging from snowmelt.

Early spring in the Quiet Corner, nighttime temperatures still drop below freezing but days grow warmer, causing the sap to run in birch and maple trees. Northeastern Indigenous communities have been making maple sugar for centuries, and so begins maple syrup season. The sap, just 2–4% sugar, requires boiling roughly 40 gallons for a single gallon of syrup. Maple Weekend in Connecticut, sugar houses everywhere (some run by the same families for years) open with fresh syrup, tastings, and demonstrations. Visitors can watch syrup making through March, and purchase maple syrup, candy, and cream, even local honey. Watching this steam rise from a sugar house brings deep comfort: spring is almost here.