BY HANNES THUM
Springtime in our valley is a time of rapid transition. The eruption of greenery and new life and the surge of the river are dramatic examples of the difference that a few weeks can make. The sudden liberty of movement for our local critters that have been freed from their snowbound winter locals and the dizzying arrival and departure of species (especially flying ones) makes a walk outside markedly different from one day to the next.
The pace of change is so rapid at times that I feel disoriented. Was this patch of ground, bursting with bright flowers, really covered in waist-deep snow last month? How can this many new green leaves have shown themselves since yesterday? The turkey vultures are already back?
Winter, especially one with as much snow and with as much cold as the one we just left behind, can sometimes feel like it never ends — time can seem to warp as we look for the end. Springtime, on the other hand, can sometimes feel like it started before I knew it — now, time seems to warp as I look back and try to remember when exactly it started. A lot happens in a short amount of time.
There are places in this valley that I visit fairly regularly and that are important touchstones to me during these seasons of change: an out-of-the-way canyon that I visit once or twice a month; a place along the Big Wood that I walk along most every week; the little nooks and crannies that I walk or drive or ride my bike by every day.
One of the things that has happened to me in my adult life, because I’ve lived darned near most of my life here, is that I’ve developed some points of reference with which to notice change: I can remember how high the river got along a certain section of bank years ago, and I can compare it to the height of the river today or yesterday or last week (with a little help from an old photograph, perhaps); I wrote down, somewhere, when we saw the first tanagers last year, and can compare that to this spring.
I’m nowhere near precise enough, of course, in my data sets. It all feels like a lot to remember all at once. I’m clunky with the memories in my head, and my ability to recall which year showed what signs of spring when can be patchy unless I have notes to look at — and I’m lucky if I remember which notes are where. I’m usually going off of a hunch unless I can confirm things some other way. But, the experience of trying to notice these things still keeps me busy each spring.
I have been reflecting a lot lately on how much of the natural world can pass us by unnoticed, and I have been working on ways to do a better job taking note when the opportunities present themselves. Sometimes, it’s as simple as stopping and listening to the bird songs that I can hear from my backdoor. There is always a new song, any time of day in the springtime, if I take a minute to hear it.