As a resident of Montpelier, I felt an extra kinship with this essay - you capture beautifully the eerie atmosphere of the woods right now. The strange effect of vanishing snow - the feeling of something missing. Thank you.
You direct us to your beautifully written ode to spring , though it does not get passed me that your observations are from April 5, 2023. Almost one month later than the same spring like path you walk today. In the vast depth of landscape, it is the space between the trees where I focus. Where is the deep snow pack of early March in Vermont? It is winter after all. Not even the mountain tops can brag it’s totals. My skis and I can usually be found dancing between trees , arcing down a wilderness pass. Is this the new despair of winter, born from human hand?
I too await the Spotted Salamander burrowed below the frost line. The incredible orchestral madness of the vernal pools , newly born amphibians seemly drunk on pond water, while others play their instruments in perfect harmony. But not now, not yet. Just one grand Nor’easter would do just fine. Excuse me while I go check the weather map…
Thank you for this! I, like you, find beauty in the tiniest things, thus my fascination for moss. If we celebrate the small stuff, everything else we see in nature is icing on the cake.
Poetic as hell! I kid you not, with only slight reformatting of lines, this essay would pass quite favorably as a piece by Robinson Jeffers. Thanks so much for this!
Nice, your appreciation for the "naked, muddy, quiet, and charismatic woods of March." And I always cherish a call-out to lichen, a most under-appreciated life form.
I've been volunteering in a wildlife refuge in Mississippi since late December. When I arrived, the woods here were in their most empty, with almost no understory, and the ground carpeted with glossy oak leaves. Nonetheless, I have felt the presence of these woods as a kind of friendly support. There are may birds overwintering here, some of whom will be heading your way soon, some will stay. Even when there is no bird song, the woods feel quietly alive, as do your Vermont woods. They are going about their winter business just as surely as Spring will bring back the green, the orchid, salamander and thrush.
Your woods are very like my woods! Orchid, salamander, and Hermit Thrush yet-to-come; maple sap dripping, mud squishing, but Downy rather than Hairy my daily companion :)
A lovely way to start the morning. thank you for the fine writing and the warm connection to the land at its most difficult to love stage.
As a resident of Montpelier, I felt an extra kinship with this essay - you capture beautifully the eerie atmosphere of the woods right now. The strange effect of vanishing snow - the feeling of something missing. Thank you.
Beautiful, thank you. A reminder for me to get back out into the woods. Even on these cold soggy days, there is always wonder
What a beautiful splash of color.
We have a guest cottage in Tattnall County, Georgia where you'd be welcome to perch.
You direct us to your beautifully written ode to spring , though it does not get passed me that your observations are from April 5, 2023. Almost one month later than the same spring like path you walk today. In the vast depth of landscape, it is the space between the trees where I focus. Where is the deep snow pack of early March in Vermont? It is winter after all. Not even the mountain tops can brag it’s totals. My skis and I can usually be found dancing between trees , arcing down a wilderness pass. Is this the new despair of winter, born from human hand?
I too await the Spotted Salamander burrowed below the frost line. The incredible orchestral madness of the vernal pools , newly born amphibians seemly drunk on pond water, while others play their instruments in perfect harmony. But not now, not yet. Just one grand Nor’easter would do just fine. Excuse me while I go check the weather map…
Thank you for this! I, like you, find beauty in the tiniest things, thus my fascination for moss. If we celebrate the small stuff, everything else we see in nature is icing on the cake.
A beautiful essay. Love your discovery of Candleflame Lichen and the gratitude it sparks.
Poetic as hell! I kid you not, with only slight reformatting of lines, this essay would pass quite favorably as a piece by Robinson Jeffers. Thanks so much for this!
Thank you for capturing the delightful subtleties of March, one of my favorite months!
Love this writing. The dog, the lichen, despite the lack of showy plants. The world is waking up early it seems.
Nice, your appreciation for the "naked, muddy, quiet, and charismatic woods of March." And I always cherish a call-out to lichen, a most under-appreciated life form.
Candleflame! My heart, what a beautiful name for a beautiful lichen.
I've been volunteering in a wildlife refuge in Mississippi since late December. When I arrived, the woods here were in their most empty, with almost no understory, and the ground carpeted with glossy oak leaves. Nonetheless, I have felt the presence of these woods as a kind of friendly support. There are may birds overwintering here, some of whom will be heading your way soon, some will stay. Even when there is no bird song, the woods feel quietly alive, as do your Vermont woods. They are going about their winter business just as surely as Spring will bring back the green, the orchid, salamander and thrush.
Beautiful writing, as much craft as nature. Thank you for taking us on this walk with you in March.
Your woods are very like my woods! Orchid, salamander, and Hermit Thrush yet-to-come; maple sap dripping, mud squishing, but Downy rather than Hairy my daily companion :)