Article: Spring on Cape Cod

Created on: Monday, June 09, 2003

They're here! Those start-and-stop days when on one day our step is light and our hearts and minds are filled with visions of renewal and rebirth, and on the next day our hopes are shattered by a fickle snow squall or a biting wind. Bone-chilling rain that makes us retreat indoors is, of course, replenishing our ponds and steams, pushing the frost from the ground, and tickling the toes of perennial flowers that snuggle still under brown comforters of earth and leaves. Then warm sunshine, when crocus push the icy jewels off their heads to smile up at the world; sunshine that makes trees pull themselves up by their bootstraps, sending nourishing sap from the roots to the crowns where we can practically watch the buds swell. The days ahead have so much in store for us as we anticipate that turning point from cold to warm, sleep to life. We hang on every sign: the victory of subduing leaves into a sodden, tired pile instead of their wildly blowing back where we'd just raked, noisily mocking our best efforts; mornings, when we step out and see where earthworms busily aerated our lawns the night before, their stirrings prompted by the work of sun and rain. Moving days, when the ants fold their tents in the kitchen and re-trench under the patio, and mice give up their rock wool in the garage to venture back into the meadow, where mice meet mice. Moving day for the wren family, to the smart little house on the post overlooking the garden. These are the days when we are moved to fire up the mower, sharpen the shears, pull those weeds we didn't get to last fall; or, perhaps, to pause and watch the wrens move in, to squat down and watch the ants troop by, the earthworms work, or to wander quietly down to the meadow to see if we can tiptoe up on spring.