Lesser celandine is thriving.
Sitting quietly, doing nothing, Spring comes, and the grass grows, by itself.
-Basho
It amazes me how quickly spring is fully sprung, once Mother Nature gets going. Two weeks ago, the oaks, maples and birches were still spindly skeletons, with only the tiniest of pale yellowish leaves. Today, green has exploded everywhere! Tall oaks have become seriously verdant, unlike the pastel buds they sported just a few days ago. The Japanese knotweed stands a full five feet high, with stalks that are an inch in diameter. Long swaths of green, leafy, lesser celandine are blossoming in pillowy patches next to the trail. Small leaves of nascent orange jewelweed are poking up through the dirt and, in places, ground ivy covers the earth like a thick green shag carpet. Garlic mustard, something that I always thought only grew close to the ground, stands a good three feet high with little white flowers.
Some of the rapidity of this change is, no doubt, due to all the rain we’ve gotten recently. The past couple of weeks have been challenging for Waldo and me to find a dry spell long enough to complete our daily walk and stay dry. Getting soaked, while not being a daily part of our routine, is something we’ve had to deal with more than once. The rain not only supplies a good amount of water for growing plants, it also provides fertilizer. I remember watering a lawn in Los Angeles and not seeing it grow much, only to have it need to be mowed right after a rainstorm. The fertilizer in rain comes from water droplets falling through air where lightning “fixes” atmospheric nitrogen, that plants can’t use, into nitrites and nitrates, that they can use. Where you get your water makes a difference.
I remember in the past, there was a period of time, while things were still quite wet, that the moss and liverwort grew thick and plump next to the tarmac. The stuff is still there, but not in the prolific state of health it was last year. Earlier this spring, I saw it rebound from hibernation, but not in the quantity and quality of last year. I also remember seeing many examples of several different species of ferns growing in the wet places. There are a few ferns out and about now, but not in the numbers that I remember. The big leaves of skunk cabbage, bitter dock and sedge are growing next to the drainage ditches and streams, but not so much the ferns. Maybe it’s still too early in the year?
There are clearly a lot of variables involved in what grows well and when it grows. If I were a real naturalist, I’d be keeping a daily record of the temperature, humidity, rainfall, length of day and cloud cover, along with what’s growing and measurements of how big it is. Maybe I should, it could be interesting. But that would be like taking a camera on vacation. I tried that in the past and gave it up because I found I spent too much time finding something to photograph and setting up interesting shots. I would much rather spend my time and attention bathing in the ambience of the experience than recording it for later. Still, it doesn’t have to be one thing or the other. They are not entirely mutually exclusive.
Today, the temperature is in the 60s and overcast. Humidity is 80%, but there is no appreciable chance of rain. Daylight will last for a total of 14 hours and nineteen minutes. Waldo is out in front, exploring the universe through his nose, and I am walking behind, enjoying the splendor of a spring day. I try to pay attention to what is going on with the living things in my little corner of the world, not so I can report on it later (although that’s what I’m doing right now), but so that I am more fully engaged with the wonders of Mother Nature and my experience of her. I firmly believe that the only contact we have with reality is to be fully aware of the present moment, and paying attention to what Mother Nature is doing is a good way to exercise that.
Soon, Phyllis, Christine, Waldo and I will be exploring the Midstate Trail, temperature and weather permitting. For now, though, Waldo and I can enjoy the new burgeoning of life, after a long monotonous winter hibernation, right here on our own little patch of country.
And that is plenty.
There’s a lot of ground ivy too.