There’s nothing remarkable about this large purple crocus blooming at the edge of our front yard. Lots of people have them by now, I’m sure. It’s special to me, though, as a sign of resurrection and rebirth. You see, when we moved here in 1989 it was a new house on a formerly wooded lot. We planted some spring bulbs the first few years: daffodils, tulips, crocus, and others, but the squirrels and voles soon made a meal of all but the daffodils, which apparently don’t taste good even to them. (Though every spring young squirrels still try to eat them.) This crocus was long gone, but enough of the bulb survived to gradually regrow. Last year it put up a small flower. This year it’s up to full size, and it made my heart glad to see it, though yesterday’s snow flurry and last night’s freeze did it some damage. The picture is from Wednesday, the day I also heard the first Pine Warbler singing in our neighborhood, usually the first nesting migrants to arrive here from points south. Other birds that have been here all winter are now starting to sing in the morning as well, even though the weather is still wintery.
Today I did my best to get all the leaves and stuff out of our little pond so it’s ready for spring, too. I’d done the same last week, and now it’s mostly clean, though I can never get all the leaves, and there’s still plenty of algae. Found four dead bullfrogs who didn’t make it through the winter freezes, but our one large goldfish is still fine, a true survivor. I turned the pump for the little waterfall back on, and hope we’re done with ice for this season.
Going out for a walk around the neighborhood. See what else is stirring.