March 21, 2006

• Yeah, it’s spring. So what?

  Many places in the Eastern U.S., Midwest and Pacific Northwest are
  celebrating the migratory return of the turkey vultures.  In
  California, I assume, the swallows have returned to Mission San Juan
  Capistrano.  If they hadn’t, I think that would have made news.

  In those areas where migratory birds are returning, fruit trees are
  blooming, spring bulbs are flowering, grass and trees are green. 
  That’s how people there know it’s spring.  It’s not that obvious
  here.

  Days
  are longer.  *hehee*  They do have more daylight right now in
  Fairbanks, Nome, Prudhoe Bay and points north than we have here at 62
  degrees north latitude, but we have longer days than most of my
  readers, because most of my readers live in temperate areas. 
  Forgive me for taking special pleasure in that thought.  Last
  week, that fact wouldn’t have been factual.  For the next six
  months, sunlight will be one of our most abundant natural
  resources.  I’d rather not think about the six months just past or
  those dark months to come later this year.

  Nothing outdoors here has greened up yet.  That will happen very
  swiftly and suddenly around Memorial Day.  The catkins
  (pussywillows, spinksy) on the willow trees are the only visible
  flowers out there now.  What these fuzzy silvery bumps on the
  branches lack in beauty and fragrace, they make up for in allergenic
  pollen.

  Don’t mind me.  It’s that time of year, not-quite-breakup-yet,
  when experienced Alaskans have had enough of winter and have just woken
  up to the realization that breakup is what comes next.  That’s
  when the ice and snow will give way to slush and mud, and the scent of
  defrosting dog droppings will waft on every breeze.  This mood I’m
  in isn’t as gloomy as that suffered by many of my neighbors.  I’m
  merely being realistic here.

  Speaking of dog droppings….

  I think Koji must have been feeling the exuberance of the season the
  other day when I was out there with my camera and he was on his chain
  in the yard.  He wasn’t my intended target on that outing, but his
  wild dance was too noteworthy not to record.  He grabbed something
  in his jaws, tossed it, chased it, mouthed it again, flung it over his
  shoulder, spun to catch it and fling and chase it again and again.

  

  

  

  I call it his frozen turd dance.

  Hilary’s latest litter is coming out of the nest and gaining some strength and coordination.

  

  

  

  Too cute… and we’ve got too many cats, darnit.
  

  • 5:43 pm
  • 7 Comments