Nothing heralds spring, more to me than one single event. It's not icicles and snow melting, although that's much appreciated. Geese honking signals the gang of snowbirds have started to re -arrive in great flocks, putting birds of a feather back on the soon to be open water, but even as the long since departed, for warmer climes, returned, they cheated in my opinion. So even though I'm glad to see them back, I want something that has been here all winter with me, through the cold and snow, the wind-chill, runny nose, colds and flu season, to tell me, in no uncertain terms, the winter, this winter season, It's over, its spring. Hey we made it, again. Robins like the old wives tale, have to get snowed on three times for spring, their no better than the paid weather prognosticators in my book. I like when its spring, its spring, no more looking back or watching where I may end up slipping and sliding. Changing the scenery is not going to help folks like me either as Pussy willows plump up and try to decorate the ditches, why the mere white fluffs as lovely as they are, almost remind me of snow, so that aint it for me either. Crocus and tulips plowing through the last remnants of snow need to be coaxed or teased into spring, they poke up and finally pop out, and after what feels like a year of winter, and I know it's only been 7 months of it, but by now, I'm all out patience for malingering signals. I've had enough. Its time, the mercury needs to rise. Higher day time temps, rain, and Warm breezes I expect, there eventual, like tomorrow, how the sun is supposed to come up. Grass will grow, and go green, but by the time it does, the spring, in spring, has sprung, so that's too late. No what does it for me is the first loud jeer of the blue jay. It's a black and blue colored bird who spends the winter with me, and took all that winter had to offer, and then when I least expect it, from out of a very tall pine tree top in my yard comes that shriek shrill single call. Its knock's old man winter, right of my deck. If you ever hear it, well at least to me, it almost sounds as though the bird, in its calling, is saying for all its worth, SPRING. The trout whisperer

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for..weeks in march

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