Mercurial Spring in Southwestern Ontario - Episode 49

Snow storms that blow enormous flakes onto the grassy ground where they soon melt and welcome sunshine that brings cyclists onto the roads in March are all part of early Spring in southwestern Ontario.

This week Susanne notices nature's determination and foibles as a long winter ebbs into the warm days we have waited for, for months. 

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Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:03

Welcome to the Happy2Be Canadian podcast. I'm Suzanne Spence Wilkins, a writer who lives in rural southwestern Ontario, Canada. Each week I share an original, very short story that will have you laughing and reflecting on the simple moments of our lives. Now, on to today's episode. Happy to be Canadian, episode 49. Mercurial Spring in Southwestern Ontario. Spring weather in Southwestern Ontario can be as mercurial as the Aries astrological sign that governs its arrival. Last year, a week of balmy weather in mid-March promised early spring days of cycling. I had panicked the week before as I had not taken my bicycle in for its spring tune-up. I was worried that the bike shop would be overwhelmed with work. However, I had beaten the rush of bicycles to the shop by a couple of days. With no delay, my bike was ready by the end of the spring break. This year, I haven't dusted a winter's worth of dust off of it yet. Last year it was so nice on the day we picked it up that I thought of biking home the 30 miles or so from Chatham. I mixed that idea as I knew there were many beautiful days ahead. Then I wished I hadn't put off that ride. It became a spring just like this year. There were snowstorms in April. There was sleet and super chilled rain. Winds jostled my car as I drove along the local highway. I could only imagine that crosswind, or the even more dreaded headwind, if I had been cycling that day. The crappy weather stalled my gardening as well. I haven't touched a hoe or shovel or clippers. Last year's flower stalks wait to be cut back. Overwintering insects still nestled inside them. The draggled leaves of the semi evergreen perennials stunt new leaf growth. Only a lonely purple helleborus bloom has sprouted up through the debris. Bulbs that shot their first leaves out like tongues ready to lick an ice cream cone in mid-March now act like they are stuck to a steel pole, refusing to move for fear of cold induced pain. The only spring weather warriors that ever make a dent in this resistant weather front line are the mighty daffodils. I noticed them again the other day. They are planted on the east side of the garage where I seldom walk. In between the sidewalk and the concrete foundation, they flourish in a narrow band of garden along with pucra and hostas, whose late arriving foliage will cover up the daffodils' withering leaves later in the spring. These daffodils have burst with their usual feisty blast of yellow and survived two snowstorms and a nasty thunderstorm so far. One morning after a cold night, they lay face down on the sidewalk, but raise their heads again in the noonday sun. There are pockets of more daffodils in the gardens on the north and west side of the house. They are shivering in their green husks, seeking a breath of warm sunshine. Those that have bloomed in those colder plots are bent over, looking gloom, like someone who showed up at the wrong party. This week, in early April, it snowed twice. Big flakes were blown sideways so that the blizzard glanced off the green tinged blades of grass. The birds that had sung the week before did not make a peep this week. They might be blaming their scout for a faulty prediction that it was time to head north. Each year it is difficult after the long winter to remember that the spring season is still young. As most migrating birds arrive during the latter part of April and throughout May, they may dilly dally a bit if our weather remains cool and inhospitable. The early birds, so to speak, are already hard at work. The buzzards are cleaning up a winter's worth of debris. The tundra swans have traveled through, and I saw a great blue heron lumbering above a ploughed field. Clasped in its feet, it had a tangled treasure of nesting debris, trailing so far out behind it, looked like the bird had just come off of a torture rack. A day or two before, a bald eagle held a large twig in its talons as it flew towards a tree line. I couldn't see its nest, but it must be nearby. I wonder how far they fly to gather their nesting materials. I imagine they might be like people. The pickier they are, the farther they fly to travel to build the choice's home. The wild turkeys that hang out here for the winter are starting to show signs of springtime frolicking. One morning a male turkey paraded around in the field at the bottom of the gully behind our house. With a tail splayed like a peacock and chest puffed out, the tom looked like the leading man on the bachelor. Behind him sauntered three turkey hens, caught on his trail. He posed for them, took a few steps and posed again. Then, like a fallen hero, he was toppled from his pedestal. Three larger, more magnificent male turkeys rounded the corner like the prize float in a Thanksgiving Day parade. Tails spread wide and round, long feather bells dangling from their puffed chest, their gnarly heads turned beautiful in the colors of a sunrise. The hens looked back, stood still, then pecked at the ground. The new bows encircled their flanks. The bachelor Tom pulled in his feathers and skedaddled towards the creek bank, edging into the tall grass. His former magnificence gone. The hens' interests transferred to the new arrivals. The first Tom disappeared into the brush. His springtime thoughts vanquished. Thank you for listening to this week's episode of Happy to Be Canadian. If you would like to receive an email each Saturday morning that features new short stories and more, you can sign up on my website, www.crazy8barn.com. If you would like to meet me in person and discover another way that we tell our rural stories, please join me at a barn quilt painting workshop at our beautiful eight-sided barn in Palmyra, Ontario, along the north shore of Lake Erie. You can find me on Facebook and Instagram at Crazy8 Barn. If you are an Apple podcast listener and enjoyed this podcast, I would appreciate it if you could leave me a favorable review. And that lets Apple know that Happy to Be Canadian is a valuable podcast and it shares it with other potential listeners. I'm Suzanne's Fance Wilkins, and I'm Happy to Be Canadian.