Early Spring

The first crocus bloomed almost a month before the equinox this year, snowdrops and hellebore a month earlier. In the first three weeks of March, iris reticulata, daffodils, scilla, periwinkle, forsythia, hyacinths, windflowers, dog-toothed violets, corydalis, bloodroot and trillium sprang up.

Nearly all the bulbs are blooming, even the late-season flowers. High temperatures approached 80°F most of last week. The air smells like sunlight on hyacinths. The crocus and snowdrops are done. Bumblebees are working. Ticks are out. April has staged a coup on March. Chloris and Maia outrace Artemis.

The redbuds showed tiny black knots on their branches last week. Three days before the equinox the buds were dark red. Yesterday morning they were deep purple; by afternoon they were in bloom. 

This morning the sky slowly filled with clouds, building dark and high from the west. Crows began to shout. Cardinals, blue jays, titmice, chickadees and a couple of red-bellied woodpeckers dived on the feeders. The young green of elms shone against deepening sky. As the rain began, the air turned from gold to silver. 

I can’t remember a year when spring arrived so early, so suddenly, so completely. I remember invoking Flora under cold rain at the equinox two years ago. We had intended to deck her with flowers, but the best we could manage were a few crocuses. No matter. This spring she has decked the woods with blossom.

Tomorrow is the equinox.

Bloodroot

Clearing

I've been breaking down brush for a couple of weeks. Coralberry is the main species in the undergrowth. It took me several years to figure out that it breaks off between my thumb and forefinger more easily than I can cut it with loppers or a bow saw. Several years ago I cleared space for new garden beds under the local power line. It had been cleared before, but coralberry and greenbrier had repopulated like crazy. Coralberry propagates by runners and has bright burgundy berries that last all winter, but greenbrier is just evil. The locals call it wild rose, but it's a Smilax, not related to the genus Rosa — wild rose or dog rose. It provides habitat for birds, but it strangles the trees. It kills the woods. I break it off with my gloved hands. Before I sleep, I dig the thorns out of my fingers. It's worth it.

Wild grape is the most common vine in the areas I'm clearing. It tangles and coils around the trees. It winds its way to the sky, then brings down its host. I tried tearing it up. Dionysos gave me to understand that this was against his will. So I made an arrangement with him: I will refrain from pulling up or cutting down wild grape vines, and he will not pitch me down to the earth and throttle me with vines and falling branches or impale me on underbrush. I put a mask on a tree to represent Dionysos — to remind me to be respectful when I see his vines. I exist in these woods by the sufferance of the gods. I am part of something larger than myself, and more holy.