A too-early spring: It is January when I see the first daffodils in bloom—fountains of yellow on green spikes, tucked behind a terraced house wall. Some years, spring saunters in when usually—in the meteorological calendar at least—I’d expect there to be snow. But the flowers are a small joy: I begin to notice them each day while walking the dog to the park and back. Green is emerging in front of my house, too. I have only lived here a few months, so I wait, watching each day as the flowers inch their way above the soil. It is a tiny surprise. Crocuses and tulips. I do not yet know what colour.
The signs of spring arriving are easy to notice: warming weather, the sun climbing into the sky sooner and staying aloft longer. Rainclouds tumble on the horizon, and green arrives in great bunches.
I didn’t learn to tell trees apart until my mid-twenties. But I learned and loved the word catkins. Say it aloud and tell me it doesn’t feel joyful in the mouth! In early spring, before the leaves burst, pollen-filled catkins—yellow-green spindles a few inches in length—dangle from the branchtips of so many trees: alders, hazels, willows, and oaks.
Look for catkins when winter turns to spring, as they’ll appear when the trees still remain bare.
I take my time looking for life in the water: in brooks that double as sewage overflows, in city park ponds, and swimming holes. There are insects I haven’t seen all winter: damselflies in a coat of blue, and water striders dancing at the surface. In shallows and shade, I search for frogspawn, a mass of jelly afloat like chia seeds or tapioca in water.
As you pass freshwater—whether a puddle, a pond, a stream, or a canal—take a look for frogspawn. You may try to count the spots—tiny black specks that will become tadpoles.
A few weeks into spring, the trees have filled to bursting. The hedgerows thicken with blossoms: blackthorn comes first, and then hawthorn bursts into green, blooming with white flowers only once the weather has warmed.
You can spot the difference between blackthorn and hawthorn not only by the timing (blackthorn comes in early spring, and hawthorn some weeks later), but because blackthorn flowers will form on a tree with thorny branches and no leaves, while hawthorn blooms will appear once the plant is already fully in leaf. Blackthorn leaves are oval in shape, while hawthorn leaves have little lobes and look a bit like flat-leaf parsley. Both have small white flowers with five petals.
Dizzy with the work of looking closely, I look skyward. I am no birder, but still I try to notice how much more song there is in springtime and how many more birds I see in the sky. It is so easy to confuse one bird for another, so I start small: I look for swallows with their white bellies and russet necks. And swifts, dark-bodied but pale-throated, gracing city skies in mid-spring.
You can tell swifts and swallows apart not just by colour, but by their tails: while both have forked tails, swallows have more pronounced, long feathers in a ‘V’ shape. Swifts will have crescent shaped wings when they’re in flight.
It is a small joy to notice these birds and buds, to speak their names. To greet the springtime as it arrives by wood, and water, and wing.
Some simple ways to notice the spring:
Try to find a tree or shrub whose branches are still bare. What day do the leaf buds appear? How long does it take the leaves to unfurl? This process is called ‘leaf flushing’.
Try to spot insects that can walk on water. Do they make light indentations or ripples on the surface of the water? Do their legs move like oars on a rowboat or do they jump?
Try to spot birds gathering nesting materials like twigs, leaves, and grasses. If you wake up early, do you notice the increase in morning bird song as spring warms up?