Falling victim to our odd non-winter, one of my irises lost track of time and bloomed far too early. Its madness stokes my mania for spring. I’m restless and unfocused, tempted to open my windows despite the cold. Should I trust the iris? Perhaps it is a more reliable prophet than a sleepy groundhog…
My camera reveals a small, shy, distant world that I cannot enter on my own. The zoom and macro functions transform me into Alice, and I crawl eagerly through the tiny lens, emerging in a land of wonder.
I photographed this little visitor in the first week of February last year. A full year has passed since then, a remarkable sequence of months that have been some of the most productive of my life, and the saddest. I suppose the same might be said of any twelve month span, as I tend to measure time by milestones of success and loss. But what if there is another way? What if I should learn to measure time as the distance between meals, as the difference between hunger and a handful of seed?
I do not consider myself a true birdwatcher, as I seldom venture outdoors with the express purpose of finding birds. I’m more of an opportunistic birdwatcher, always happy when my path leads to a bird, but equally happy to run across a snail or squirrel or vine in bloom.
After acquiring a camera capable of photographing birds (and squirrels and snails and vines in bloom), I quickly accumulated an awkward catch-all folder of “Unknown Bird” photos. This method of cataloguing my photos soon proved impossible to manage. Now, with the help of field guides and online resources, the Unknown Birds folder has dwindled to a minor subset of my bird files.
I’m grateful for the urge to name what I photograph, because I’ve learned about Pied-billed Grebes and Yellow-rumped Warblers, Pine Warblers and Northern Flickers. And I want to keep learning, which perhaps makes me a birdwatcher after all.
I’m happy to report that speedwell is blooming in my yard.
Perhaps it’s a failing on my part, but I don’t aspire to keep a tame yard. I can’t understand the lawn-care tradition that reviles henbit and purple dead-nettle, dandelions and wood sorrel. From my perspective, these hardy survivors spread welcome blankets of green over otherwise brown winter yards, then they bloom during the bleakest days. Their flowers brighten those February and March weeks when my spirit is at its weakest, when I begin to despair that spring might actually skip a year. So I welcome this speedwell, this miniature blue perfection, reflecting a clear blue sky.
Rae Spencer 