Posted by Wayne G. Barber
“In the Thompson Hills, March is a woodpecker drumming in a new season. Red Wing Hawks and Mourning Doves pairing up. It’s the liquid trill of tree frogs and the plaintive notes of peepers heralding the return of spring. It’s wild geese winging their way northward over the North East Quiet Corner and blue jays chattering of new days to come. It’s the sun writing tomorrow’s message on the earth. It’s a time when winter lingers in the lap of spring. It’s gusty days and calm days, chill days and warm days. It’s April whispering from the ridgetops while March goes whistling down the Connecticut Green Valley. It's the maple nectar in the buds and crevices that the red squirrel and titmouse, chicadees and sap suckers, wood peckers or the smokey steamy oroma of a sugar shack on Rt..193. It’s song sparrows in the alders and robins strutting in the pasture. It’s a velvet-coated bumblebee hunting for a nest site and a honeybee buzzing for the first taste of pollen. March is the first daffodils making the whole world golden.”
As we worked outside a few days ago , re-conditioning our family car from road salt and sand I was reminded of the late spring snowfalls. Spring of the year is coming on fast in Thompson, Connecticut and while the sunshine is warm on my face the shadows under the trees make me wish I had a bigger coat on. Inspiration to post from Mr. John Harris
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