In the last few weeks, I have been entertained by a bevy of birds both at work and in my backyard.

Late spring in Kansas is the time of year I see baby birds old enough to try out their wings, but still young enough to rely on their mothers as a source of food.  I was on the phone with my aunt the other day and something in the back yard caught my eye. On closer inspection, I could see it was a baby robin. I wondered where the mother was. About that time, I saw a female robin hop through the bushes. The baby robin fluttered over to her and opened its mouth. Mama robin obliged by pecking at the ground and coming up with some nourishment to put in her offspring’s mouth. I felt sorry for the little one when the mother flew over the fence and the baby couldn’t fly over or squeeze through. The pair was eventually reunited.

A few weeks earlier, I had the back door open, enjoying the beautiful spring temperatures. Even from the front of the house, I could hear a wren chattering. Wrens have a melodious song that I never get tired of hearing, but they also have a scolding chatter. I went to see what the commotion was all about. I saw a male sparrow sitting on the perch of the wren house, thus blocking the entrance, and the wren was in the tree scolding the sparrow. I pounded on the screen door and the sparrow flew away. Minutes later, I heard the wren chattering again. I went to look and that darn sparrow had returned to the wren’s perch! I pounded on the screen door again and the sparrow flew away. This scene played out two more times before the sparrow gave up and went on his merry way. Once the wren flew after the sparrow, but broke off its pursuit and returned to the wren house.

This wasn’t the first time I’d seen a sparrow do this. Last year I witnessed the same scenario. About the time I was going to pound on the screen door, however, a robin swooped down and scared the sparrow away. I’m sure the wren was grateful to the robin for coming to its rescue, but I have no doubt that in spite of its size, the wren could have handled the situation on its own. 

 I’m beginning to wonder if each spring the sparrows are attempting a hostile takeover of the wren house, but they should have learned from one of their predecessors that the opening is too small for them (besides, they’re not cavity dwellers). I can remember my dad having to rescue a sparrow who had its head stuck in the opening of the wren house.

When I’m out doing yard work, it gives me the opportunity to observe birds more closely or hear calls I wouldn’t normally hear in the house. Once when I was cutting off flowers that had already bloomed, I noticed a robin had been hanging around. After I finished and sat back, the robin came over into the dirt, pecked at the ground, extracted a juicy worm and promptly swallowed it.

Recently, I’ve been able to observe birds of a different feather at work. The editors of Mother Earth News, one of our magazines here at Ogden Publications, have been trying out a new incubator. Over 200 eggs of different varieties were ordered from hatcheries in Ohio, Georgia, Pennsylvania and Texas and placed in the incubator. We not only have a variety of chickens – Babcock Browns, Golden Comets, Dominiques, Rhode Island Reds, Buff Orpingtons and White Silkies – we also have ducks and quail.   

Each day more and more eggs hatch and they are transferred to the make-shift “nursery” (a cardboard box with a heat lamp). The box doesn’t stay occupied for long though. Several of my co-workers have taken chicks home. I would love to take some of them home myself, but my current living situation isn’t conducive to having chickens.

I never thought I wanted chickens, but the longer I work here, the more I learn about the benefits of owning chickens. Now I’m interested in learning more about the different breeds and which ones would suit my needs. Thanks to some of my co-workers, this city girl (I’m really a country girl at heart) is learning about more than just the birds in her backyard.

Are you a birdwatcher? Do you have chickens? I’d love to hear about your experiences with birds.

I should have known by the way the bigger of the two geese had been honking and carrying on when the dogs and I passed that a family was getting ready to happen. But sometimes – often – I am thinking of things miles away as I make my daily rambles around the place. Imagine my pleasant surprise on Sunday morning when I looked out and saw Mama and Papa Goose swimming side by side with their two new offspring carefully positioned between them. The little goslings couldn’t have been but a few hours old, and there they were, paddling confidently between Ma and Pa, looking very interested in this new world.

What an amazing thing, life. One moment there’s an egg and some goo, the next minute, there’s a small creature with sufficient moxie to stumble into the water and start paddling without Mom and Pop shouting, “No, it’s one … two … one … two… left … right …” One day there’s just a seed in the ground, looking completely inert and the next day … I HAVE RADISHES!!! I want to run around showing them to all the neighbors, like my sister and I used to when something green first popped its head above ground in our garden at home.

The goose babies aren’t easy to spot out there in the weeds by water’s edge. That’s the biggest dandelion I’ve ever seen … no, wait! It’s a gosling and he’s actually pulling at the weeds! How do they know to do that?

The rain just keeps coming down out here, and the ponds are fuller than full, which means there’s a fairly strong stream cascading downhill past the barn and into the watercourse. I worry that the babies will get swept away, but my neighbor Nancy, who took these photos, told me she saw the parents come out of the upper pond and walk around the “rapids,” then plunk into the lower pond once they were past the swift water.  Smart geese, protecting those little babies.

Once more I am completely blown away by the brilliance of nature and grateful down to my cells that that I get to pay such close attention.

Photos by Nancy Krause 

We have had a hard year … as have many people in this changing world today. I was feeling particularly sorry for my personal problems one day and decided to go for a walk to clear my head. It was a gorgeous day, a sharp contrast to my murky mood. I began to pray for God to help me to understand why things were happening the way they were and to give me the strength and wisdom to get through it … Thankfully, I took my camera along …

I noted the brown, dry grass crunching underfoot. Everything, in the midst of what was supposed to be the dawn of spring, was still dead and lifeless.

Until … I stopped and saw a small, white flower peeking out from among the brown grass!

I began searching for more … and began to happily play hopscotch trying to avoid the bounty of blooms scattered across the native grass carpet.

I found many beautiful things on that walk.

And by the time I got back to the house, I again prayed to God. I thanked him for the beauty he created, the incredible land we are so blessed to live on:

And the gentle way he showed me that even though things in my crazy life look tough now, there is hope and life on the way …

Brighter days are coming, and God is in the midst of us, holding our hand.

Ta-da-da-ta-ta-da! The daffodils are here! The early flowering bulbs have been opened for a couple of weeks – the crocus, the snowdrops, and the cute, little chionodoxa – glory-of-the-snow. They are all welcome spring visitors, but it’s in eager anticipation, I await my favorite springtime flower: the daffodil. When the daffodils bloom, it really feels like spring has arrived. I think it’s so fitting that they have built-in trumpets to blare, “Spring is here!!!” So beautiful, they can toot their own horns all they like and no one would mind.

The early, little ‘Tete-de-Tetes’ in the nursery’s arboretum are in full bloom; my early varieties at home are just starting to open. It’s the perfect time to cut them, letting them open indoors so that their heady scent fills the house. The later varieties are still just nubs poking through the ground. My favorite of the later daffodils is ‘Thalia.’ Sometimes referred to as the orchid narcissus, it’s a beautiful, fragrant pure white daffodil. All daffodils are in the Narcissus genus, but not all Narcissus are daffodils.

One such non-daffodil Narcissus was a figure in Greek mythology. Narcissus was a beautiful, young hunter, without the disposition to match his appearance. Conceited – a true tooter of his own horn – and ill-tempered, his beauty was only skin deep.

Echo, a nymph of the woods and hills, was equally as beautiful as the young hunter. She had a gloriously sweet voice and was very fond of using it – always getting in the last word in conversations or arguments. This proved to be her curse. Echo kept Hera, the reigning goddess of Olympus, detained with her chatter while Hera’s philandering husband, Zeus, escaped the company of the nymphs unnoticed by his wife. Zeus escaped Hera’s wrath, but Echo did not. “You shall still have the last word, but no power to speak first,” Hera cursed when she discovered what Echo had done.

Echo, tormented with repeating all she heard, saw Narcissus chasing prey in the mountains and fell hopelessly in love. Not being able to express herself without sounding like a broken record, it was an unrequited love. “Pete and Repeat were in a boat. Pete fell out and who was left?” With Echo repeating everything Narcissus said, their conversation was reminiscent of that children’s joke we’ve all heard a thousand times … possibly at one retelling. Narcissus found Echo to be a repetitive bore and shunned her. Echo was devastated and headed to the mountains. There poor Echo pined away and died, only her voice living on in the hills. You can still call to her to this day, and she will answer … but Hera’s curse was not lifted upon her death, and all you will hear is Echo repeating your call.

One good curse deserves another and what goes around comes around. Nemesis, the avenging goddess, punished Narcissus for his vanity and cold-heartedness by dooming him to “feel what it was to love and meet no return of affection”; he was cursed with falling in love with his own image.

In a pool Narcissus gazed, becoming so self-absorbed he forgot all else. He would have done well to use that self-absorption to his advantage by becoming sponge-like. Then he could have soaked up the water in the pool, releasing himself from gazing upon his own reflection. As it were, he was resigned to stare into the pools of his eyes reflected in the pools of water. Whenever he bent to hug or kiss the image in the pool, the water would ripple and his love, disappear. It eventually drove him to madness. Then he too, wilted and died, leaving only a flower in his place.

As with most of the Greek myths, there are variations of the story of Narcissus. The same is true of the origins of the word “daffodil” – tracing a word back in time can lead to origins as cloudy as poor Narcissus’ eyes became after staring at his reflection for so long. Originally “daffodil” was affodil, which referred to a plant in the lily family, the asphodel. The “asph” in asphodel became “aff” probably through phonetics and a misspelling. In medieval manuscripts, asphodel was spelled phonetically as “asfodel”. It’s thought probable one scribe could not decipher the lettering of another scribe, and “asfodel” became affodil. The first appearance of “daffodil” came in the sixteenth century, and how the “d” got to the front of the line-up is unclear. Best guesses are that daffodil is corrupted from the Dutch de affodil, “the affodil.” (Then, as now, the Dutch were leaders in bulb cultivation.)

Whatever the story behind the words, one thing is for certain. The sunny-yellow daffodil brightens gardens and hearts alike.

I have never been much for growing things (maybe it was the huge gardens we raised when I was a kid). Since I left home I have had exactly 3 house plants, and they've all died of neglect. I used to say that I had a black thumb. But ... whoever lived in my house before me planted perennials, so I have spring flowers.

And they tickle me to no end. I smile, I giggle, I talk about "my daffodils blooming" and "my crocuses coming up," just like I had something to do with it.

They herald the hope of the season for me, and I thank whoever planted them from the bottom of my heart every year as the cold finally creeps away and the first purple crocus peeks out of the ground.

The crocuses (which are finished now) were beautiful.

But the weird weather we've been having around here (really, snow on April fools?) messed with my daffodils. (Hear the ownership I feel?) They did bloom, but the stems had already bent over in the cold/wind/storms.

There's something especially sad about flowers that point at the ground. But, spring is coming, and, whether it's frozen or not, the moisture we're getting will make everything greener in the long run.

Which of the following is correct?

1.) Equinox: the two times each year (approximately March 21 and September 23) when the sun crosses the equator and day and night are of equal length.
2.) Equinox: a rare breed of farm animal which is a cross between a horse and ox; from the archaic term equine-ox.  

Yeah, that was ridiculously and silly of me, and childish too. The equinox has nothing to do with equines or oxen, or even spring chickens for that matter. The vernal equinox was Friday, and it signaled that spring had come to the Northern Hemisphere! Spring is my least favorite of the seasons, and I wasn’t giddy-up until now about its arrival. Ok, I swear I’ll quit horsing around now with the bad puns. But who doesn’t feel at least a little bit silly and giddy at the beginning of spring? I think more people anticipate the start of spring more than any other season; it’s the season of rebirth, and brings a renewed respect for the green earth around us. Doesn’t that make you want to jump for joy, (preferably in a mud puddle), and act like a child again?  

You wouldn’t know it’s spring by looking at my thermometer; it read 21 degrees Friday morning! We enjoyed some warm temperatures leading up to today though, and signs that spring had arrived were present everywhere. Like Punxsutawney Phil did last month, the crocus, glory-in-snow and daffodils stuck their noses out of the ground recently and sniffed the air – but unlike Phil, shadow or not - they found it to their liking, and decided to stay awhile.

The maples are budding, and will soon release a storm of pollen that’ll color everything yellow.  

The milder weather has brought the birds back to my feeder....and the squirrels too. Keith usually keeps the pole that the feeder sits on greased because those pesky squirrels have torn apart numerous feeders in the past. The grease must have worn off over the winter because they had no problem climbing the pole. They were fun to watch, actually; little acrobats that go through all kinds of antics to get at the food. But, sigh ... Later, I noticed they'd chewed through the plastic part of the feeder … again. The new replacement feeder I bought the following day, is supposed to be squirrel-proof. We'll see.

Pavement clear of winter’s snow and ice is a fresh canvas for sidewalk chalk graffiti. Shelby’s message on our back porch is a reminder that even during these tough economic times, you just have to take a break, and enjoy the day.

And that we did. Now, if only I can get that irritating song out of my head that’s been stuck there since she wrote the message.

Keith tended the firepit, burning the branches that blew down over the winter, saving a few choice ones so Quetta can still play "Stick". He also cleaned and prepared his grill, readying it for the first steaks of the season. Mmmmm ... the smell of steaks cooking outside ... another sign warmer weather has arrived.  

And while there was a fire burning, steaks marinating, graffiti drawn, and sticks being chased, I ... well ... I played in the mud. Go ahead and laugh. Keith did.  Staring at the pile of concrete cinder blocks, I had a vision. The blocks were from retaining wall we buried last fall in our “Saving Grace” effort. While the majority of the wall was buried, the top layers were removed to allow for a gentle slope down to the ravine. I decided they’d make a good, basic framework for a set of steps leading down the hill.

I thought this would be the perfect time to start; because it’s mostly clay, I wanted to get the digging done before it dried to an impenetrable consistency. It wasn’t just soft though; the snow-melt and rain turned it to mucky mess. Up and down the hill I lugged those blocks, and set them in place. It had to be a quick process – if I stood in one place too long, I’d be stuck there. My aptly named Muck Boots made smucking sounds with each step I took.  

“You should see yourself," laughed Keith. I looked down. My boots were covered in mud nearly up to my knees; my jeans and shirt only were only a little less splattered. My gloves ... what gloves? You couldn’t even tell I had them on; it looked as if I’d dipped my hands in chocolate cake batter. I couldn’t see my face or hair, but I imagine they were streaked with mud, too.

Our new neighbors two houses down decided it was a good time to introduce themselves. First impressions are lasting impressions, but I’m sure they’ll see me looking much worse as the gardening season progresses. Spring is also the time to get reacquainted – and acquainted – with neighbors. The warmer weather brings everyone outside and they’ll stand, chatting while you work, offering suggestions. Sometimes they’ll even help implement those suggestions.

Sometimes I have too much help.

Our pup, Quetta (Key-tah), was no less muddy than I. She stuck her nose into everything I did, even helping dig the holes ... mostly in places were I did not want holes dug. She inspected the wooden handles on the shovel and rake – and they met with her taste-tested approval.

While I was covered in mud, I decided to play some more. I moved two Michigan holly – in other parts of the country known as winterberry (Ilex verticillata), and starts from a yellow-twig dogwood from the creek bank onto the hill. The yellow-twig will root anywhere a branch meets with soil, and I had enough starts to make a good-sized bush. I did the same with Virginia sweetspire (Itea virginica) – it spreads by runners; four shrubs were made from the fifty or so starts I got from one main bush. All should do well in the heavy soil and partial shade on the hill. If they don’t, or if the steps don’t compare with my vision once they’re complete – if my dream of rustic stairs leading down a woodland slope turns into a nightmare – I’ll just rip it out and start again.  

That is part of the beauty of a garden; it is ever-changing. Plants grow ... or they don’t. Sometimes they grow more than we anticipate. They can always be moved to a more suitable site. “Permanent” features are never permanent; walkways can be redirected, potting sheds reconstructed to make them bigger, and cinderblock stairways can be dug out ... providing the muck they were set in didn’t harden to a concrete-like consistency.  

But when all is said and done; when the day’s work is finished – nothing feels as good as resting in the warm spring sun.

Spring, and thus swarm season for the honeybee, are here, “already”. It seems no matter how much planning we do before it gets here, we aren’t ready for it. Everything needs to be done at the same time. With the blooming of the trees and the buzzing of the bees, our laid back winter lifestyle just changed into sunup to sundown activity. Here at Windy Ridge Apiary the bees have had to take a back seat to the other springtime chores. Not that I want them to. I wish my bees were here working those first flowers and the early blooming trees. In the mean time we will get the garden planted, the clover seed spread and the pasture rolled. Since the area I want in clover is covered with grass and weed stems, I am going to try rolling the clover seed in with a water-filled roller. Hopefully this will get it in close enough contact with the dirt to germinate. If it does, pictures will be posted. 

It’s swarm season for the honeybee. Swarms have already issued from southern hives and they are getting ready around here. A swarm is the way a colony of honeybees reproduces itself. It is their instinct to build up in late winter and when pollen is available and the temp is right, a swarm will leave when the newly hatched queen is ready to go. Swarms are good and bad. They can leave a colony weak and not able to make a honey crop. The good is if you can retrieve the swarm you can increase your apiary. Usually the bees don’t land where you can retrieve them without the risk of breaking your neck trying to get the swarm from a tree just a bit higher than your ladder. Our southern friends now have to worry about the swarm being an African swarm. We have heard about the "killer bees" for years. They have spread across the South, and the beekeepers are learning how to deal with them. If you live in the South, be careful about approaching a swarm of bees. If they seem the least bit aggressive, avoid them completely. Swarms are usually gentle. The bees have engorged themselves with honey before leaving the hive, so they have food when they arrive at the new location. The swarms you see are probably from a managed hive since the mites have just about destroyed all the feral colonies. I am putting out a nuc box with a swarm attractant to try to attract any swarms that might be in the area. 

If you have bees, swarms seem to be attracted to your area by the smell of your bees. The hive has a distinct order, which I look forward to smelling again. This is why to me it makes no sense putting chemicals in the hive. So much communication among the bees is done with pheromes the bees release. If you introduce chemical odors the bees lose their ability to communicate effectively, which may be part of the cause of CCD.  If I attract a swarm, I will go through the procedure of hiving the new bees. 

Swarming is natural for the bees, but beekeepers don’t want our bees to swarm since our goal is to have strong, well populated colonies for the honey flow. This is where management on the part of the beekeeper can lessen the chances of a colony swarming. Although once a colony has decided to swarm, it is almost impossible to stop them. Some ways of preempting this is to check the hives as early in the year as the weather permits. A warm day (50 to 60 degrees) with no wind will allow a quick internal inspection. Just be careful not to chill the brood, as this is the time of brood rearing for the spring flow. If a colony has abundant bees at this time, mark them for nucleus division or taking a frame or two of brood and young bees to give to a weak colony. Always check food stores in the early spring also. This is the time the bees will starve. They are raising brood which takes honey and also building their population before the nectar is available. If they are short on stores you can either take honey from a colony with ample stores or feed sugar syrup. Don’t have the mind set that if you have to feed, something is wrong. We supplement feed all of our other farm animals. I went to part of a beekeepers meeting last month. The man talking about checking your bees in the spring made it sound like if the bees need anything now, you’re just wasting your time. I couldn’t follow his logic. That being said, I would suggest a lot of reading from many different sources if you are going to have bees, so you can discern what makes the most sense in managing honeybee colonies. I’ll promote Bee Culture magazine again, it’s the best source of bee-related information I have found. 

I have been assembling the rest of the bee equipment. The frames with the wax foundation is about the last thing to do. The wax foundation is more fragile than I remember. I am going to have to evaluate the value of assembling wooden frames and wax foundation against plastic frames with wax coating. I have bought three such frames and I guess we’ll let the bees decided if they like them. I have read that some bees don’t draw out the plastic foundation very well. Along those lines I will share with you my plans and thoughts about the equipment I am going to use in my next blog. I’ll try to catch some bees at work, too.

Nothing clears the mind (and messes up the hair) like a ride in the back of a friend’s convertible. It was such a gorgeous spring day yesterday I couldn’t resist the invitation to “cruise” down the boulevard with three of my co-workers. We all needed to get away from our desks and clear our minds. It was the perfect antidote.

On the way back to work, my friend who was driving cranked up the radio and we hollered and laughed, enjoying the last few moments of our lunch hour.

Spring has a tendency to bring out the kid in all of us. There’s something about the rising temperatures after our confinement from the cold winter months that draws us outside and causes us to be a little giddy.

I’m not totally opposed to winter. I do like snow, the holidays, snuggling under a blanket and the frosty chill in the air. But when I feel the mercury starting to rise, see flowers poking through the ground and the trees starting to bud, I rejoice in the promise of warmer weather.

The other day, a pair of house finches checked out the light fixture on my front porch. It seems to be a popular place for them to make their nest. They’re also attracted to the wreath just outside my front door. The robins, however, seem to prefer the flower pots.  As long as the neighborhood cats stay away, my porch becomes a nursery for baby birds every spring.

For weeks now, I’ve heard birds chattering joyfully, heralding the advent of spring. I get a little annoyed on Saturday mornings though when I’m trying to sleep late and the sparrows and starlings seem to be having an argument just outside my bedroom window.

I always feel sorry for the robins when they make their return on a warm day and then a cold snap comes along. When that happens, I’m sure they wonder if they took a wrong turn or didn’t look at the calendar correctly.

As soon as the spring shows its happy face, the gardener in me comes out. I love flowers and when I took over the yard work after my dad died, I discovered how therapeutic gardening can be. 

I just finished proofreading an article (that will be in an upcoming issue of our sister magazine, GRIT ) about kitchen gardens. Now I want to sprinkle herbs and vegetable seeds in with my flowers, so I can have a functional as well as an aesthetic garden. That’s my hope anyway.

Spring is a season of hope. It reminds us that the winter in our hearts won’t last forever. It’s a promise of a new beginning and renewed possibilities. It is a season in which we celebrate the Resurrection of our Lord Jesus, our Eternal Hope.

I hope I never stop appreciating a beautiful spring day and the uplifting feeling I get from observing the signs of the season.

How about you? Does spring bring out the child in you? What do you like to do when spring appears? Let me know.