When there are four Seasons to enjoy, each one is welcomed in its own way…
I check my pockets.
Back in the day, my pockets were always stocked with wadded up tissues–ready for a little one’s runny nose or grimy hands. Now I’m more often accompanied by a dog so the pocket treasures are empty plastic bags.
I check my phone battery. Not because I’m attached to the phone as many are. Today I’m heading, with the dog, for a walk in the Rouge and looking forward to seeing hints of Spring. I’ll be depending on my phone’s camera to memorialize any signs.
I’ve walked in and around the Rouge pretty much my entire life. I am happy now to be walking in Rouge National Urban Park…knowing the pussy willows and beavers, turkey vultures and white-tailed deer will always have a haven here. Having spent many hours opening up the wonders of Nature for my kids and grandkids, I’m glad it won’t be just a memory for them.
Today though it is just the dog and I and, after a short discussion on various merits, we decide to walk a loop around a wetland. Not far, it is a quick 8 minute drive from home.
The day does not disappoint and early signs of Spring are found. Red-winged blackbirds perch on the tips of cattails along the edges of the pond. I’ve missed their flashy epaulets over the winter. I find budding branch tips and the hoped-for pussy willows, all waiting for their annual ‘photo opp’. Spring is like Fall here…we come out to wonder and wander, snapping photos of those shoots (in Spring) and colourful leaves (in Fall). My computer holds years’ worth of these pictures and, when viewed as a whole, they look identical. Still though, the ritual happens each year. I focus on another pussy willow on the side of the trail.
Next I spot signs of coyote, though rarely seeing the actual animals while out here. Although they can be curious, it’s their annual mating season and they have more important things on their mind; I step around the scat.
The backside of the loop around the wetland runs parallel and close to a set of train tracks, still active daily with freight. It’s fascinating to be here if one goes by–a hundred or so cars, so loud to stop speech if you want anyone to hear you. Looking around though you realize nothing else is paying much attention. The birds don’t startle or fly away; the squirrels continue to verbally harass the dog. This has been part of their landscape for hundreds, maybe thousands, of their generations and is probably part of their genetic memory.
I’ve completed the loop and make my way back to the car, looking at the Little Rouge River below me. I know I’ll be seeing trout struggling up against the current in a few weeks. Further–identical–additions to my annual photo collection on another Spring walk in the Park.
— Marilyn
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