It had been an especially long hard winter of spending day after frustrating day trying to go for a walk by gingerly picking my way along the slippery sidewalks of our ice-covered neighborhood. With each mincing step, I would wonder if the shiny black spot ahead was only harmless wet pavement or a patch of the dreaded black ice that could send one flying very quickly to an involuntary seated position with a hard thump.
That’s why, after months of dressing like a polar bear and inching along like a penguin, it was with a very light heart that I set out on the first warm day in March, able to walk with a full stride to my favorite hiking trail.
The sun was shining brightly, the air was moist and sweet with hints of spring and I felt utterly jubilant as I walked along with my newfound freedom of movement. I had barely crossed the bridge and set foot on the dirt path, when a bevy of quail skittered out in front of me in a neat little row; heads bobbing, topknots waving, making their zigzag way across the trail.
They were arranged in their typical polite queue formation, largest to smallest, with a protecting adult bringing up the rear. It was a surprise to see such a range of sizes and ages so early in spring, since they had been cooped up in their thicket homes, nowhere to be seen, all winter. One was able to hear them during the coldest months, rustling about in the bushes, but never see them. So, it was a special treat to have a whole family make their way across the path before me.
Quails are just about my favorite birds to watch, being the natural comics of the bird kingdom. Their little bodies are so plump that they travel by flying only as a last resort.
Instead, they lumber along with a chicken-like, head-bobbing walk or a franticly crazed run. On the rare occasions they do fly, their wings flap so slowly and awkwardly that they look like a cartoon caricature of themselves. It’s as if you can see three sets of wings simultaneously as they clumsily make their way to safety; all aflutter with a distinctive sound, somewhere between a whisper and a flap, like ruffling through the pages of an old book.
When frightened into a run, you can imagine their feet spinning like wheels as they try to speed along.
I continued along, absentmindedly savoring my encounter with this comical bird family when, suddenly, a deer came crashing out of the woods and crossed the path not two feet in front of me.
Frightened and exhilarated, I froze to a standstill, astounded by the beautiful creature.
It was not just walking or running but bounding with that wonderful four-hooves-off-the-ground boing, boing, bounce that is such a delight to see. With an unexpected feeling of loss, I watched as the deer disappeared into the thick cover of the surrounding brush.
My heart still pounding, I ventured onward down the trail, when I began to hear little splashing sounds coming from the bank of the stream that flows parallel to the path. I looked over and saw a small brown furry creature, probably a mink, repeatedly scrambling up on the bank and diving back into the water as he made his way along the creek.
He would scamper up the bank, dive in headfirst, swim along and then scamper up again a few feet ahead. Showing amazing agility, he squirmed, splashed and skittered along;
swiftly running, diving, swimming, climbing, running, diving, swimming, climbing for the pure pleasure of it. I walked along enjoying this charming water ballet, as delighted to watch as he was to perform. It was at this point that I began to get the surreal feeling that I was the heroine in some sort of animated fairytale, experiencing a glorious wild wonderland unfolding all around me.
It was as if every inch of nature was celebrating the coming of spring and I was smack dab in the blessed middle of it all. It then struck me how very like us our animal friends are. They too must suffer through the hardest of winters. Like us, after months of being cooped up with cabin fever, they can’t help but show their relief by cavorting wildly and joyously at the first hints of spring.
