Apr 21 2011
Budding Trees
The slightest flurry of snow blows into my yard this morning. Here in the North Country, winter is not quite finished with us yet, or so it seems. But the budding trees tell a different story.
The other day I noticed catkins drooping down from poplars along the Rail Trail, then admired the intricate, reddish flowers of the silver maple in my backyard. The latter, illuminated by sunlight, were too beautiful for words – a true wonder of nature upon close inspection.
I was well into my twenties before it dawned on me that all broad leaf trees are flowering plants. How could I not know this in my teens? I marvel at my inattention back then – how little I noticed the world around me. Oh sure, I saw apple blossoms and the like, yet somehow the smaller, more subtle tree flowers escaped my attention. I saw only barren branches and longed for the leafy, green explosion that was imminent.
Most people become cranky and impatient in early spring. They pretty much stay that way until the trees leaf out, the lilacs bloom ostentatiously, and the first sunny, 75-degree day arrives. All the groundwork for the growing season is done by then. The songbirds and wild animals know this but somehow it escapes the vast majority of us humans. Why is that?
These disproportionately large brains of ours separate us from the rest of Creation. That’s both our defining attribute and our greatest curse. Being human, we live inside our heads much of the time, preoccupied with abstractions, not seeing the obvious. I suspect that this is more the case now than it ever was – our infatuation with all things digital knowing no bounds. I like to think that I’m an exception to this rule, but springtime in all its glorious unfolding usually proves me wrong. No matter how hard I try, I always miss at least half of it.
“Pay attention!” the cardinal sings from the treetop. The woodpecker knocks out the same refrain. All flowering plants, both herbaceous and woody, underscore it. Yet all I see on a chilly, gray morning like this is the ephemeral snow flurry. And all I can think about is summertime fun. It’s a crime against nature to be sure.
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