Change, Change, Change. Spring Turns to Summer.

Change, Change, Change. Spring Turns to Summer.

by Jan D. Axtell

If there is one thing you can count on, in the natural world, it is change. Things are always transitioning from one state to another. Often times the change is, relatively speaking, predictable while other times it manifests itself in randomly chaotic ways. That is the nature of nature.

The most notable, and dramatic, changes is the turn of the seasons. Winter concedes itself to the rebirth of spring. Spring gives way to summer. Summer sets in only to be replaced by the bounty of the fall. Fall fades back to the inevitability of winter. It is a process that plays itself out not in a quarterly fashion, but on a day to day basis.

The Summer Solstice was a couple of weeks ago. It is a celestial event that represents the longest day, and subsequent shortest night, of the year and/or the first day of summer. It is a significant time of year as day length, or photoperiod, reaches its zenith and then begins to ever so slightly shorten, day by day. It is hard to believe sitting here typing away on the 2nd of July, but we have begun to take the first tentative steps toward winter. It is a marker of significance in the never ending cycle of change.

The day’s length isn’t the only change happening. The bird song isn’t as intense as it was 2 weeks ago; the spring bird breeding season has transitioned to the very real summer work of rearing young. Many of the breeding birds on the Lodge’s property have already hatched eggs and brought off fledglings. That means more individuals thrown into the mix, but their drab and in distinctive plumage can make for tricky identification. Typically, their rather clumsy flights are indicative of their youth, and often times you can still see the parents feeding them even though they have left the nest. This is the case with the Eastern Bluebirds that call the wedding meadow home. It is not uncommon to see the male perched on a fence post with 2 or juveniles perched below him pleading to be fed. They are brown and moddled but have the tell tale blue of their parents on their tail feathers. You have to look closely, but it is there. The same holds true of the Mourning doves and killdeer. They are all shades of their adult selves even though they may share the same proportions.

The resident deer and moose follow suit, and it isn’t uncommon to see a fawn or calf following close behind mama as she crosses the road or meadow. They learn quickly to develop speed and power in those once wobbly new born legs. Now they are as fast as lightning a the first sight of danger. All their speed and power gained over the last month and a half.

The plants have changed as well. Long gone are the spring days of Trillium, Foam flower, Spring Beauty, and Jack in the Pulpit. In their place has grown Yarrow, Mullen, Evening Primrose, Burdock, and Orange Hawkweed. The transition started the day the first tentative shoots came up out of last fall’s duff and will continue until the first killing frosts of the year.

The forest canopy is completely leafed out and full of ash, maple, and birch leaves. Their bright vibrant green is offset by the deep dark hues of the conifers (pine, spruce, and fir) whose new needles are lighter than their older vegetation but still darker than the deciduous foliage of the hardwoods. The birds that where relatively easy to pick out amongst new leaves high up in the canopy two weeks ago have become nearly impossible to see without the patience of a saint. One can hear them as plain as day but to get them in the binoculars is another story unto itself.

These leaves that obscure my view will eventually turn to vibrantly bright colors, for which our little mountain village is known, then fall, and collect on the forest floor to nourish next year’s spring flowers and new trees shooting up to take their place in this grand forest complex.

Yes, spring has changed to summer. Each day brings new changes as the cycle of the seasons takes place on a day to day basis; one tentative step after another.