What Do You Like About Spring?

Almost six years ago we moved here from suburban Houston. 

Southeast Texas is evergreen. 

Yes, we get bouts of cold weather, but it never lasts long enough for the trees and shrubs and grass to go dormant.  So when I saw my first real Spring, that bright green that is exclusive to new growth on the ground, and on the trees, I was amazed.  

Five years later, I still revel in the excitement of new life that the change in season brings to the people, plants and animals in our area.

The delightful appearance of warm weather earlier this month here in Newtown before the calendar even officially turned to Spring has given us some of the sights of spring: daffodils pushing up through the soil, trees beginning to bud, brown grass turning green.  The recent rains, though frigid, left my driveway and yard covered with earthworms, which in turn brought out the robins.  My husband has reported his first deer sightings during his commute to work in the early morning dawn, and when he comes home in the dark, when their activity increases.

Perhaps they are refueling after a long winter, or maybe they are just like my kids and me – eager to soak up the sun after a long winter.  Whatever the reason, we will never tire of seeing the animals that can make our area their home because moderate development has left room for wildlife to coexist with people. 

We don't just see the animals, we hear them.  This morning in spite of the heavy rains, I was reminded of some of the sounds of Spring that I don't find so idyllic. 

In the spring and summer I am "treated" to a symphony of singing.  A whole legion of birds join together with their different calls as if to declare, "Morning is coming! Morning is coming!  The sun will be up soon." 

My problem is not with the sounds themselves – I actually find it interesting to try to interpret all the different varieties of birdcalls I hear – but with the  timing of their chorus, long before sunup.

In addition to regular bird sounds, over the last month the sounds of the pheasants have increased.  As I move from sleep to wakefulness each morning, I hear them through my window.  It's a distinctive sound, like a mechanical scritch: "eh eh," always calling twice, then the flap of the wings as he flies off.   Once attuned to my feathered friends, I hear them throughout the day from my home. 

I live in Sandy Hook near the land owned by the Fairfield County Fish and Game Club, which stocks the land with game.  Instead of staying put, the pheasants meander freely onto our land.  I would say they are smart to have escaped the hunting grounds, but with a Labrador Retriever next door who loves to chase wildlife, and my own active mixed-breed 40-pound dog prowling our lot, I'm not sure that I can give them credit for playing the brains card.

We've seen lots of wildlife on our land, including foxes, raccoons and of course deer.  Wild turkeys sometimes wander the area, but I think that the most unique creature is the pheasant. I still remember being taken aback when I first saw one after moving here.   At first, they were sort of shocking – such an exotic-looking creature right here in Connecticut.  But now I know them – the sound of their call and their flush, their strut, their silly run -- and they are part of what makes this home.

The symbol of Newtown might be the rooster, but it was the pheasant who welcomed me to this corner of New England.