Spring in December

It’s definitely winter here in Western New York, it's December 27th, yet here I am, high on a hilltop being buffeted by sweet, sixty degree winds. Why does the air smell so sweet on unusually warm winter days - is it perhaps more oxygenated for some reason? I am not sure but I do know that the aroma is lovely, even if that loveliness is perhaps accentuated a bit by a mind addled with a touch of spring fever.

It smells like baking pies out here. No, that’s not quite it, not actually baking, but cooling atop a stove, as smelled from a room far at the other end of the house. But the air not only smells sweet but clean too, like clothes that were hung outside to dry. Maybe all this is just my brain’s reaction to fresh air after spending so many days in a row inside, but I don’t care, I am in high spirits as I explore my woods on this wonderful day.

I feel so good I feel swept up with the breezes, like I could fly, such is the whimsy of spring fever. With my mind and senses acute, I roam the forest noticing things I might not have otherwise. I spy a tiny hummingbird nest built in the fork of a skinny branch. Then I spot another. And yet another. So miniature and cute, they stand out as bits of triangular solid among thin branches silhouetted against the sky, easy to spot now, but something you’d never see when they’re actually in use hidden deep in the leaves of summer.

Now I stumble upon a stand of black birch trees. How unusual, I don’t ever recall seeing black birch bark before. Yellow (golden) and white yes, often, but black? No. I’ll have to do some research when I return home to see how rare this is. But, for now, I just appreciate seeing something new.

The forest is alive with squirrels dashing to and fro. I imagine they are taking advantage of the warm weather to stock up on nuts revealed by the melting snow. The snow is sprinkled liberally with them, mostly beechnuts. I also spot clusters of wild grapes and wonder if the squirrels like them too.

Now the sound of rushing water down deep in a ravine draws me; I head there. This stream, a mere trickle in the summer, now gushes with thick, brown, unstoppable water coursing towards it’s meeting with the larger stream further downhill. I know this stream intimately but now it’s almost unrecognizable. It has filled its banks and more – the water has crept partway up the hillsides and, with its newfound might, it has moved some of the larger dead trees well downstream from where they originally fell.

Gone now are the numerous little tinkling waterfalls I enjoyed last summer, obliterated by the muddy torrent. Of course, next summer, there will be brand new tiny waterfalls to fall in love with, courtesy of the reshaping power of three feet of rapidly melting snow.

A cold mist trails the streamwater downhill while on the hillsides, a curtain of fog shapeshifts over the remaining snowpack. You’d never know that there was sunshine and blue skies just above this ghostly scene. I really like the contrast of these two worlds knowing that I can inhabit either within a few hundred feet of each other. The eeriness of this ravine microworld is reinforced by two decidedly different air currents being felt at the same time; a wintry chill emanating from the water and snow mingling with the much warmer ambient air. It’s like being in the arctic and the tropics at the same time.

I climb out of the ravine back into warmth and sunshine. What an absolutely delightful day it is! Of course, I am well aware that winter will be back soon enough – about three more months of it yet to go. Nevertheless, I am reveling in this short break, intoxicated by the sights, sounds and smells of spring in December…

--->Killarney Part VII to be posted soon.