Searching for spring
It is April 15 and I am wracking my brain to write this month’s “Cranberry Report.” I’ve had some great suggestions from wonderful friends but all I can think about is how much I dislike the month of April on Little Cranberry Island.
Early spring in Maine is politely referred to as “mud season.” It’s not always muddy but it’s also no picnic. As the yellow and green of spring spread up the coast, the islands are always a few weeks behind. If we’re lucky, our daffodils will be coming out as this issue of the Working Waterfront hits newsstands in May.
Robert Frost captured the essence of April on the islands with these lines from his poem, “Two Tramps in Mud Time,” written while he was a professor at Amherst College in 1926.
“The sun was warm but the wind was chill.
You know how it is with an April day.
When the sun is out and the wind is still,
You’re one month on in the middle of May.
But if you so much as dare to speak,
A cloud come over the sunlit arch,
And wind comes off a frozen peak,
And you’re two months back in the middle of March.”
The only difference is that our wind is steadily coming off an ocean whose temperature is still only 38 degrees, so it feels like March, a lot.
You know the feeling you get when you are in the middle of a project, and you have to stop what you’re doing to search for an essential piece you have misplaced? And then how it feels when you have searched futilely for 45 minutes and still no progress?
An island April feels the same way to me. I am searching for spring. The days are much longer, but the off island day is still short with a boat schedule that has not yet changed to include a late afternoon trip. In April, there is a lot of waiting. We wait for warm weather, we wait for the floats to be put in at the Town Docks, we wait for the ground to be warm enough to start planting. This year, in mid April, the lobster fishermen are still waiting for the lobsters to show up.
Whaa, whaa, whaa! Its time to call in the “whaambulance,” as my kids used to say. If I spend all my time waiting for things to get better, I will miss the things that are here right now. It takes some effort to remove the cloak of self-pity I find so easy to wear in April, but I can unbutton it by staying in the moment. “Start where you are and do what you can,” a wise friend once told me. Here is what I can do:
Start the day by moisturizing with a favorite sunscreen before getting dressed in the morning. Scent memory is strong, and though I have been doing this all winter, my mood still picks up instantly with the Coppertone scent; my brain recalling summer days at the beach.
Sleep with the window open to hear the cacophony of bird song first thing in the morning. Keep the bird feeder full where I can see it from a window, often. The goldfinches have already changed from their winter fatigues to their namesake color. Purple finches are at their reddest as they vie for space on the feeder and for the affections of the females. Find my binoculars and my bird book, because the warblers are on their way.
Get a push broom and sweep the road in front of the house. Put the sand in a bucket for the next time the walkway is icy, knowing that it will be months and months from now. Break up any remaining snow and ice piles in the yard so they will melt faster. Toss loose pieces into the woods.
Rake the lawn. Get in the garden and lift the dry stalks and leaves from last year’s plants. Cook something with the herbs that are already coming up.
Open the calendar to September and make a note to buy and plant spring bulbs for next year.
Hang the laundry out on the line where it will finally dry instead of freezing.
Take a walk at dusk to listen for the “peent” call of the woodcocks. And, remember that time moves on and soon we’ll be in the middle of May where life gets so busy that waiting for spring will seem like a luxury.