The Rites of Spring, Part Two

Our second spring, off-grid

A friendly fox accosts us during a drive.

Unabashedly bodacious, and beautiful, Spring continues to unfold off-grid here at the Two Dog Marshlands, and area.

We were jaunting about the back roads of Lunenburg County today, checking out Big Lots Road (rough road, and perhaps even rougher crowd) and the Fauxburg Road (also lumpy and bumpy) before heading over to Sunnybrook (posh area with potholes that could swallow eighteen-wheelers). Off the latter, we took a side venture, and immediately saw a fox trotting up the road.

This fox possessed a serious sense of purpose. It came straight toward the car, and then paused to check us out. It began to move on, but when I left the vehicle to take a photo, it circled back and came toward me. Clearly, it was used to the presence of people, but I had no food for it. And even if I did, I would not feed it. I don’t believe it’s a good idea to habituate animals to people, no matter how tempting it might be to gain their confidence.

Further up the road another two foxes gambolled through the woods. Lithe and curious, they stopped several times to look askance at us even as we stared back at them.

A hummingbird in a thunderstorm.

Back home, non-stop hummingbirds buzz our feeder sounding like a Tesla coil. Two often arrive at an amicable truce and share the perch at the same time.

A thirsty hummingbird.

The first nighthawk returned the other day, squeaking in the sky before performing its best sonic boom imitation, as it folded its wings, and dived down, creating its impressive zooming sound. The nighthawks don’t tire of this behaviour so nights around the fire pit often sound like something out of Tom Wolfe’s book, The Right Stuff, about air force test pilots.

The coyotes are silent. But up by our slate quarry they’ve been marking their territory. Our two dogs defiantly keep marking it in return.

The dogs are busy. On morning walks they have bunnies to gleefully chase, and squirrels to terrorize. When they emerge from the brush, both canines grin triumphantly.

The rabbits are everywhere. Curse their little bunny souls. I feel like Mr. McGregor in Beatrix Potter’s Peter Rabbit. The rabbits feast on our lilies, and attack the hops, and chomp on anything not fenced.

The other day I was working on one of the wood stacks when suddenly a small, brown rabbit squirted out from a cinder block beneath, and tore away.

Ospreys fish over the Grimm Meadow, a misnomer of a name for the wide marsh that winds through and beyond our property. And the starlings have returned to argue amongst themselves in the trees out back.

Why did the ducks cross the road? To get to Becks Lake!

The peepers raise a ruckus every evening, and the American bullfrogs bask in the pond.

A bullfrog rests beside the pond.

Some days the black flies are vicious, and I believe the frogs could work harder to reduce the insect population. I regularly visit the pond to coach and encourage them, but they disdainfully leap into the water upon my arrival.

The weather is unusual. Three thunderstorms in a row roiled through. One sent cascades of hail over the land, while another ended in a double rainbow.

Amongst the riot of greenery that seemingly sprouted overnight, subtle beauties conceal themselves. Lady Slippers delicately pose with poise in shaded glades, while Lily of the Valley blossom everywhere.

A lady slipper in its full glory.

Still to come are the larger raptors, the swallows, the turtles, Porky the Porcupine, and the other cast of characters who enrich our lives here.

This spring is a respite after the winter, and before the heat, and the inevitable drought of summer sets in. It’s delicious, and we drink it up.