spring

Spring Color

When I went outside last Friday there was snow on my truck. But this time of year, I know winter is over, we're just waiting for spring to emerge through the browns and grays that cover the land now.


Finn and Uly, always happy to help me look for things, make me more aware.

Small patches of bright color show up, harbingers of things to come.
We do a little foraging. OK, I do a little foraging, Finn lays in last fall's leaves, waiting patiently. Uly tears around eating deer droppings, rolling in who knows what, and bringing me one stick after another to try and distract me from the obviously less than interesting task at hand.

But I have dinner in mind, a colorful ramps and veggie pizza. And the left-over ramps made an excellent omelette the following morning.

There's lots of color in the studio too, with the first show of the season right around the corner. I have had a dozen paintings going over the past few months, and now I'm in my usual state of wondering how many will be ready for this first show.

And I managed to get my feet wet again, my first time trout fishing this year. An evening in the water, under a full moon, casting to rising fish. Reflexes slow and stiff from a winter away from it, casting rusty, not what I know I'm capable of, and not much time. But enough to feel the river press against me, the earth, to find my balance.

Getting my feet wet.

Winter seems to finally be coming to a close. No one who knows me would be surprised to find out I was anxious to get my feet wet. Spent the day on the river with my buddy, the Professor. Water always leaves me feeling more in tune with myself, with life, and with my work.

Snow melt had it brimful and tough to fish. We fished, didn't catch, but came away better for it.

Mud Season.

We have 5 season here in western New York. The usual four, but then, sandwiched between spring and summer is Mud Season. It is usually a solid month, frequently longer and not ending til May strolls along.

It is the one time of year living with sidewalks would be nicer, and living surrounded by muck farmland is tough. The mud permeates everything. The dogs track it in. The cats. Our shoes. The cuffs of pants, often times soaking up to mid-calf by the end of the daily walk. It wears you down.

Well, wears me down. My two walking buddies don't mind so much.

One in particular.

When I see Trillium show in the dark, damp shadows of the woods I know the end is near.

Thankfully.

I'll let you know.

Uly's Rodeo

Darb and I took the dynamic duo out on Friday morning. Another lovely spring day in western New York, 31 degrees, wind and snow. Slush. Mud. You know, spring.

But no one told the critters the weather was bad, and they were about. Swans and geese overhead- they always get Uly's attention. Finn is fairly oblivious to flying things, figuring out long ago that they are out of range. And Uly doesn't show any interest in chasing things in the air, though if they start on the ground, he seems sure they may be a potential threat. In the air, he watches, seems to contemplate.

The rodeo started when we crested the hill out back, in the woods. A field filled with turkeys, 150 yards away. There was no holding him back, and with that much lead, the turkey's were in no danger. A little squabbling went up from the flock as he burst through a hedge row, then turkeys lifting off in every direction. Hell, I'd probably take flight too if I thought he was after me.

Sixteen to twenty turkeys, going in ten different directions. And then they spooked the deer. I don't think the deer ever saw the Big Thunder (he has about 31 nicknames at this point), just spooked with the turkeys, their bellwether. Turkeys every which way, deer tearing the length of an unplowed field. Maybe it is spring.

Once he was sure the coast was clear, his work done, he strutted back towards us, obviously quite proud of himself. If I was a more demanding dog owner, if we lived in town, if we walked in parks or on sidewalks.... well, if, if, if. We don't, because neither he nor I would get to see and smell all the good stuff. See it, feel it, smell it, roll in it. Well, I leave the rolling mostly to them.

On the way out of the woods a opossum waddled across in front of us. Waddled, rather than bolted- I don't think a opossum is capable of bolting. But the waddle drew the dogs attention, but more like their cats do at home. Curiosity. A buddy, a plaything...  We called them off pretty easily, and held them in turns while we each took a closer look.

The oddly pink and human hands, gripping the maple and hickory in the cold, looked like he was thinking it wasn't quite spring yet either.