March 5

Saturday was a good day at Forest Hill for a hike with my dog, Remi.  The mid- morning weather was cloudy, snowy with a temperature of 33-degrees and a steady wind out of the north. Instead of taking my usual hike around the Nature Area, I walked directly up to Reflection Hill for an observation exercise that some of the school children did when they were here for field trips. My task was to move quietly around the circular path on the top of Reflection Hill with my binoculars in hand, pausing for a few minutes at each of the four benches to take in the sights and sounds.  Bench 1: Gazing north, I noticed how the large spillway west of the Mallard Marsh was clearly marked by dead Cattails and Reed Canary grass. My binoculars picked up a beautiful male cardinal perched in a small tree. To my left, the trees of North Woods appeared dark and dormant. I could hear the wind and feel some snowflakes touch my face. Bench 2: Gazing west, the dense thickets of Willow Wallow dominated my view. Sora Swale was hidden from sight by a small snow-covered hill. The birdhouse on the post next to the trail was vacant. However, I hoped the Tree Swallows would return to use it this spring.  Bench 3: Gazing south, I looked down and noticed that nothing was stirring at Frog Fen. The gentle hilly terrain suggested a glacial history. As I looked up the hill to Brady Cemetery, my thoughts turned to the people who were buried there and how different this land might have appeared to them when they were alive many years ago.  Bench 4: Gazing east, I noticed the perimeter of Grebe Pond was well defined by dead, broken cattails.  Beyond Grebe Pond, Native Grassland appeared as nothing more than a frozen field. The big, burnt-red barn with the green, gambrel roof was easily seen against the white snow. It wouldn’t be long before we opened it up for spring field trips. I could see and hear a pickup truck going south on Rich Rd. At the conclusion of my observations, I headed back to the Classroom Building and recalled how yesterday I saw a few immature male Redwing Blackbirds (no orange patch on the wing) perched in a tree. Their familiar shrilling song was an early sign of spring. Finally, I hopped in the car and followed a set of school bus tracks down the driveway reminding me that the last bus load of children left a few days ago marking the end of another field trip season.

The March wind roars


Like a lion in the sky,

And makes us shiver


As he passes by.

When winds are soft,

And the days are warm and clear,

Just like a gentle lamb,

Then spring is here.

     Author unknown