It has been a very slow spring break-up in Reliance and most mornings the temperature still hovers below zero, with things warming up a bit by noon. With the light winds, cool temps and bright sun, the snow didn’t really melt, it all just evaporated into the dry air.
Regardless of the chill, the first big gardening project to get done was to replace the greenhouse plastic which had been torn to shreds over the winter. There is proper greenhouse plastic available, but we make do with 6 mm. poly builders plastic. We bought a big roll 6 years ago for $100 so it has been a great deal.
It’s funny how such a thin barrier between you and the wilderness suddenly makes a space feel cozy. I’m really not protected from a marauding bear, I just feel safe, a very dangerous feeling out here in the bush. We have seen lot of black bears around this year and have been observing them through binoculars, lumbering along on the ice looking for food. When I open the big back door, I always send the dogs out first as scouts. Molly and Luna know their job is to warn us of any intruders and they bolt out the door at full gallop, racing down the trails and around the yard, a few loud strategic woofs to hopefully scare off any unwanted visitors. One time Molly met a bear in the yard and I watched her actually herd the beast away from the house, backing off when the gun showed up, her Alberta farm collie instinct deep.
We all worked very hard last spring and I am finally happy with the configuration of our raised garden beds. My soil amendments this year consist of dried moose stomach contents. Two big round stomachs full of willow tips had sat frozen in the back yard all winter and between the dogs and the ravens, all that was left in the late spring was the brown crumbly partially digested plant matter. The frozen dried stomach skin had proved to be a very fine treat for those so inclined. Much less smelly than letting the stomachs rot under a tarp all summer letting the flies and maggots do the same job.
I was raking up mounds of forest debris around the back yard the other day and kicked over an old stump the ants had been composting. Expecting there to be a flurry of ant activity, I jumped back quickly, but not one ant came scurrying out. I suspect they still haven’t warmed up from the winter.
The bird life seems to be very active this spring. Or maybe I am just finally slowing down enough to really see their beautiful plumage and notice unusual visitors. Every day I hope to find an eagle feather from one of the five huge raptors who have taken up spring residence close by, but I am very happy with the large glossy blue black raven feather that I found in front of the greenhouse. It now lies beside my smudge bowl, offering many an inspirational thought.
This morning, we were watching all the big American robins hopping about the front yard, their sharp eyes looking for the few bugs who have come out of hibernation. For the first time I was able to compare side by side the striking black head, bright yellow beak and very red breast of the mature male with the dark grey youth whose soft orange breast was heavily spotted with taupe.
Being as this is spring migration time, there are a lot of birds that are just passing through Reliance on their way to their Arctic nesting grounds. My very favorite birds are the swans, they have a regal energy and every visit by them is a time of magic. Maybe there are places in the world where there are too many swans, but I personally cherish every time I am privileged to see the rare and elusive birds in the wild. I am pretty good with the hunting lifestyle and cook lots of different types of wild meat, but I draw the line at swan; the Nordic and British fairy tales of my youth still effect my thinking. If anyone shoots a swan, I’m not cooking it, nor participating in possible cannibalism (call me crazy if you like).
I struggle a bit with eating Canada goose too, only because of my friend Winston, who once again this year stopped by to check on his plastic brothers. My loud sudden yells of “Don’t shoot! It might be Winston!” has saved more than a few lone Canada geese randomly wandering by.