Early in the spring, midwesterners are apt to remark that spring is in the air. This is the time of year when the sun on your back first has warmth to it. People untuck their faces from between hunched shoulders and lift them to the breeze. The scent of spring beckons from behind closed windows that it’s still too early to open.
In April, though, spring is underfoot. Crabtrees are beginning to bloom. The earliest ones are already dropping petals. The pale pink bits of blossom gather under the trees, travel with the breeze, collect in drifts. Petals from other flowering trees join them, especially petals from magnolias. Magnolias this far north are a fleeting phenomenon, the petals of both star and grandiflora starting for the ground as soon as the flowers appear. The swatches of white and pink and darker pink are dramatic in the grass. There will be yellow petals, too, soon, from the neighborhood’s yellow magnolia, the only one I’ve seen.
Oak leaves resting in drifts of crabtree petals remind us that oak leaves themselves are spring underfoot. Most deciduous trees lose their leaves in the autumn. Some oaks, however, hang on to some of theirs until spring is well underway. When these last leaves come down, they tend just to blend in with the leaf litter still on the ground from last fall. When they land in petal drifts, though, we sit up and take notice.
Wildflowers in the woods have achieved carpet status, the prominent colors being bright yellow and palest pink. Trout lily and spring beauty not only herald spring with their foliage–the first to emerge from the snow– they trumpet it with their flowers. That’s quite the feat for spring beauty, given how dainty it is. Bloodroot and trillium foliage is up, and buds are opening. Jack-in-the-pulpit has pulpits, but Jack hasn’t shown up yet to preach.
Neighbors are addressing themselves to their gardens, tidying up the stalks of last year’s flowers and ornamental grasses and looking to see what’s underneath. Did those mums I planted last fall make it through the winter? Are the hostas coming up yet? What are those lilies of the valley doing here? The gardening games begin.
Here and there in the neighborhood, on lawns, on sidewalks, and in the streets, those who know what to look for will find . . . midwestern tumbleweed. Like its western counterpart, it rolls around, ranging at will. It’s a loner. A drifter. The dried-out husk of what it once was. Yes, last summer’s hydrangea blossom: it’s midwestern tumbleweed.
Also underfoot at this point in spring are bits of songbird eggs from which the young have hatched. The shard of a robin’s egg is easy to identify; the color’s so pretty it has its own name. I’ve seen bits of slightly larger, rounder, white eggs near the woods. My guess for those is one of the woodpeckers. I understand that birds that nest in tree cavities can afford to have bright white eggs, as the nests out of sight.
By happenstance, a daughter was discussing the color of birds’ eggs with some of her pupils this week, and one of the children posited that the color of the egg indicated the color the bird would be. This theory didn’t survive its first test, which was robins. Another child wanted to know whether killdeer went around killing deer. Kids are so cool.
The dog and I had to step over a three-inch-diameter hose one morning this week, as we passed the neighborhood pool. Staff were draining some of the rainwater April has delivered in such abundance, redirecting it to a storm drain before it overflowed the pool. Any activity at all at the pool must mean spring is well along, and that summer may follow.
Looking out at the back yard this week, I saw some rabbits behaving oddly. There were two of them browsing on the grass. We’ll call them A and B. While I watched, A went up to B and touched B with A’s nose. I couldn’t tell whether A was nudging or sniffing or pestering. Rabbit B moved away. Then (as far as I can tell—I did glance away), B went up to A and touched A with B’s nose. Rabbit A jumped straight up in the air, and B whipped around so the two of them were facing each other when A landed again. Then the whole sequence happened again, starting with browsing, continuing through nosing, and finishing up with jumping and whipping.
I watched this a number of times before I called our friend Don, who tends to know about these things. Don said this was rabbit courtship behavior. “Which was is which?” I wanted to know. “I can’t remember for sure,” he answered, “but I think the one that jumps straight up is the male.” Ah, spring, when a young rabbit’s fancy turns to nosing, jumping, and whipping.
Everywhere this week, spring was on the ground, blooming, falling, tidying, readying, and–for rabbits– courting. The surface of the world is alive and teeming. Spring is underfoot.
16 April 2021