Things Hoped For

Things Hoped For

- Greg Hoch

The snow is gone, and the world is bare and brown. It still feels more like late winter than early spring.

Soon the first ducks will arrive to dot the rivers and wetlands. The feeder will be crowded with bickering and squawking sparrows. Flocks of shorebirds will appear on mudflats. Later the tree branches will drip with the colorful feathers and melodies of warblers.

The focus of my efforts has big bills, bigger eyes, stubby legs and no necks to speak of.

Major events such as the return of spring shouldn’t be taken lightly. Some mark it by the first bright bluebird, the first warm days or the emergence of some domesticated flowers in the flowerbed. But those are easy for even the most casual observer. My observances are something special that not many partake of.

Charles Fergus is one who does, calling it, “a harbinger of spring, more cheering to me than the most mellifluous thrush,” while Edwin Way Teale states, “It is the early voice of this returning migrant that marks the winter’s end.”