my church

“All churches are an echo of this—the Cathedral of Nature.”  ― Seth Adam Smith

pussy willow with pollen

back from california where it is always spring

i took my son on a quick college visit the last couple days. is was in california. where everything was green and in bloom, they’ve had recent (much needed) rains. the place was sunny, and sparkly, and full of color. and i think, in the end, my son is going to choose a college in new york.  i guess he didn’t see himself among all the lycra shorts and tank tops on campus. anyway, i came home expecting us to be at least a little farther into the spring awakening than when i left. but when i took a quick spin through the woods, i found that very little had happened while i was away. what a stubborn year we are having. stubborn son, stubborn dog, and now a stubborn spring. gulp. perhaps i am the common link? perhaps they are not stubborn at all, and i am simply impatient.

handful of april budding twigs

a feast for the eyes

we have five different native ferns on our property. my favorite is the delicate maidenhair. my husband’s is the ostrich fern because of the edible fiddleheads. look at these young stipes of the maidenhair ferns! everything about them is fantastic–the color, the delicacy, the graceful spiral shapes. who needs edible? this a feast for the eyes!

maidenhair fern sprouts (Adiantum)

the early bird

american robins are one of the first birds to begin laying eggs each spring. they breed in april shortly after returning from their winter range.  they will often have 2 or 3 sets of brood each breeding season. can you imaging fledging three broods between april and july. the thought of it it makes my uterus ache.

american robin egg and nest

magnolia for the win

how is it that this temperate tree, which was fairly recently bred to be hardy in the north (zone 4-5), produces some of the very first flowers of spring? i don’t get it. you’d think it would be too tender, waiting until there was absolutely no risk of frost of freezing rain. perhaps it’s their perfectly adapted fur-coated seed casings, or their inherited internal clocks that tells them all their relatives to the south have already bloomed. whatever the explanation, i am grateful for these recent immigrants.

magnolia buds