One evening just a month ago – about the time Donald Trump assured us that “after a month or so … we’re not going to have to be, hopefully, worried too much about the virus” – amorous peepers, one of the first signs of spring, were loudly asserting themselves in the ravines along our road.
Our president, as is often the case, proved himself spectacularly wrong. The novel coronavirus, dubbed COVID-19, still rampages its way through America, so far racking up 60,000 deaths among 1.04 million victims with no real end in sight.
Those noisy peepers, though, proved themselves a far more reliable indicator of the predictable path of spring.
Face it. While we’re all cooped up in our homes it’s downright depressing to contemplate the apparent dysfunction of our national government, the behavior of its capricious and unpredictable leader, or the struggles of those who oppose him.
It’s a whole lot more soothing to contemplate the benign progress of Mother Nature outside our windows.
The spring peepers’ opening act, as it comfortingly is every year, was followed by the almost magic appearance of snowdrops (more formally, galanthus), which revealed their small white blossoms already dancing above dark green foliage even as the snow melted away. They were soon joined by similar eye-catching blue flowers, scilla, called Siberian squill and species crocus and lovely purple and white hellebore, called Lenten rose.
Also making an annual appearance, chionodoxa – called glory of the snow – showed up, tiny blue flowers which over the years have been spread by predators all over the gardens and the lawn (or what passes for a lawn here), a charming carpet of scattered flowers that would be lost if summer’s big players – peonies, daylilies and other attention grabbers – were now on the stage.
There are a few spring big players, too, some of them here. Early rhododendrons have opened, including the unusual Cornell Pink deciduous rhody (which as I write this is an almost luminescent cloud of soft pink blossoms) while all over town sporting their stuff are tough-as-boots P.J.M. rhododendrons, filled with tiny purple blooms and specially bred to thrive in northern New England winters.
And gloriously sprawling and arching forsythia bushes – some pale yellow and some bright – are in full flower everywhere now, as I write this, looking like showers of sunshine, at least where they haven’t been cruelly clipped into little boxes. Soon, they’ll be back to their usual nondescript green selves.
Next on the calendar, lording it over everything else, are the spring flowering trees, notably flowering crabs, just starting their show now. They’re small things as trees go, usually 10 to 20 feet in height, small enough for a modest yard, and their payback is brief but spectacular.
Drive through Concord, and you’ll soon see them with their thick branches clogged with blossoms, mostly pink or white, but an occasional red one flaunts its stuff for a brief week or two of glory.
The other dazzling spring player in our horticultural neighborhood is the star magnolia tree. Its big glossy-leafed cousin with the blousy pink blooms can’t survive here, but its upright relative, covered with dazzlingly white small blossoms, thrives in downtown Concord.
Finally, waiting in the wings as if for the season’s final act, are the big rhododendrons with huge blooms of purple, pink, white and deep, rich red, along with azaleas of pink, white and even orange. A huge red rhododendron flower or two floating in a pretty bowl of water can make a lovely small centerpiece.
By now the trees are beginning to leaf out. Look at them against the sky. Rather than their skeletal, spartan winter look, they are fuzzy, hazy with tiny incipient leaves. In a week or two, they’ll all be sporting small bright green leaves which, by mid-June, will form dense dark green mats, welcome shields from the summer sun.
By then, we’re hoping to be free of the most severe limitations we’re now observing. At least if we don’t have a national relapse of this dangerous disease. We’re apt to be moving somewhat more freely and associating – nervously – with others. I for one really, really want to go out to dinner, or at least lunch.
And it’s not as if we did that a lot before the national shut-in began. But I want to go out for a meal at Angelina’s. With other people at nearby tables, enjoying their food and looking happy. I want to walk down Main Street, stop into Viking House and Gibson’s Books. Buy a gadget at Things Are Cooking. Sit on a bench and watch traffic go by.
It’s spring. Life is right outside the window. Or just a short stroll down the street. I miss it. And I know I’m not alone.
(“Monitor” columnist Katy Burns lives in Bow.)