signs of spring

Spring officially arrived a few days ago, on Wednesday if memory serves correctly. But it doesn't always feel like spring on the officially scheduled day.

Except that the last few days, I've noticed birds singing in the morning. Last summer, when my brother and sister-in-law visited, my s-i-l woke up the first morning and said "gee, everyone says that North America no longer has many birds. I think they've been proven wrong". So I've been enjoying the sweet tunes and the cats have certainly noticed that something's up. Theo sits at the window and chatters, perhaps dreaming that some day he'll actually catch a bird.

And with daylight saving time starting early this year, we've had light in the sky well into the evening, and I've even had some evening light on my walk to the train after work.

And then yesterday, on my drive to visit a friend for lunch, I saw the definitive sign. Dairy Joy in Weston was open, having closed, oh, in December or January. People are gonzo about DJ and come from many surrounding towns. I'm sure that Weston's old-timers adore it, but that the newly-arrived, the ones living in poorly constructed McMansions set on third-acre lots, detest it because it's not new and sparkly. Well, hah. All I know is that if Dairy Joy is open, even with snow on the ground, spring must be here.

On my way back from lunch, I indulged in a yearly treat -- a stop at Drumlin Farm, part of the Massachusetts Audubon Society. I was probably the only adult there without either a volunteer job or decoy children in tow. I really went to see the baby sheep, of which there are five so far. Their births are spaced across the spring so that there should be a steady supply of yung'uns into May. They were, as they always are, adorable. I also saw some baby goats, curled up like cats for a mid-day nap, guarded by their protective mom.

And it was muddy! I should have worn my Muck Boots and not worn my khaki pants, but hey, some things are worth the sacrifice. I went to visit the deer in their enclosure. One came near me and kept me close company as I walked along its pen. Suddenly it stopped, crouched on its front legs, sniffed and sniffed, tilted his head, and then dashed off to the back of the enclosure.

Today, it is in the 50s. We will of course celebrate by dancing (indoors) all afternoon. Again, some things are worth the sacrifice. Perhaps we'll open the windows and hear and smell spring as we're dancing. It is a hopeful time of year.