Is this winter over? Can we hang up our snow shovels, hope for sprouting green grass, clear roads, the return of twittering birds?
Following weeks of being confined to my front yard by snow too deep even for my dogs to navigate, except where I shovelled a footpath such as to their emergency bathroom under a spruce, today I snapped on their leashes and set out to test conditions on our customary trail.
On my last walk on January 22, plowed snow was piled so high, peoples’ driveways were obscured until I stood directly in front of them. Watching for traffic was a caution for motorists and pedestrians.
Today driveways are safe and I was able to walk almost three blocks to exit the street on to the side road where I could turn the dogs loose to explore for evidence of former passersby.
As I anticipated, the mile long gravel road is still a solid ribbon of ice in some places two inches thick, despite being open to full sunlight all day long. That attests to how much snow covered it for weeks.
We turned off as soon as possible up into the trees where green moss offers good traction, but one must be on the lookout for downed trees and branches, slippery under the wet moss, and pick a path among trees wide of the trail. Occasionally the dogs stopped to get their bearings and scan for wildlife. I saw none. Only a sprinkling of other dogwalkers’ footprints and dogs’ tracks signified anyone else had passed by that way recently.
At the quarter mark, where a clear view of the flat below showed snow a foot deep clear across, we turned toward home skirting along the top of a ridge where even southern exposure had not melted the trail free. The only noteworthy sign of winter’s storms was a large hemlock splintered eight feet along its base, leaning down the bank. Where it originated I couldn’t tell.
In our hour long walk I saw not one bird, squirrel, or even a mouse. Neither did I hear any bird song. I fear the many weeks of deep snow, lack of food and cold temperatures might have killed a number of them.
The only activity was at home, around my yard and that of my neighbour’s. One crow was busy doing his best to tidy up as receding snow lays bare weeks of dog bones and scattered bits of what seems to be food for the industrious little fellow. Normally crows work in groups, cawing like oil well pumpers to announce when one has found a food stash to share. But this lone crow worked quietly, swooping down to a woodshed roof, then hopping to the ground for closer study among wood chips and bark.
I can picture this bird at sundown wiping sweat from his brow with one wing tip and moaning, “Why am I getting no help here?” Is he the lone survivor of a brutal food-scarce winter, or are his buddies working equally hard but assigned to other streets and yards? One look at the typical mess left from a winter such as this must dull the birds’ enthusiasm for work next morning.
Where birds found food this winter I can’t imagine. During stormy days a few starlings raided the dogs’ dishes which I keep well supplied with kibble. Twice I dumped packages of Nabisco shredded wheat in my driveway but they filtered down to end as individual fibres in the gravel.
Surely we deserve spring after all this?