The Year When Not Much Got Done (?)

         Certainly, 2023 did not see me doing much blogging, and it was a year when a distressing number of projects did not advance much. Equally certainly, it was a difficult year: a wonderful young man who poured his heart and energy into the pollinator habitat project died suddenly in April, while the friend who started several solar projects in Marietta and was fading away from dementia died in June. Other friends dealt with cardiac problems, memory loss, falls, and other of the ills to which flesh is heir, and I myself had several health crises, all resolved but all reminders that the body fails with time. Nothing unusual or unexpected in human life, but never easy when it's your turn.

    And of course, life went on despite our losses and struggles. The pollinator habitat did not get as much human attention as it has sometimes gotten, so particular plants became excessively enthusiastic and had eventually to be cut back or thinned to make room for less space-hungry neighbors. (Are you listening, Silphium perfoliatum?) What had been an open mulched space between the bottom of the slope and the shrub border filled in with partridge pea, evening primrose, cosmos, wingstem, violets, and what proved to be saw-toothed sunflower, a ten-foot yellow daisy with purple stems.

     The site's fauna had no problems with the perhaps-excessive plant growth. While people in some parts of the county reported seeing few bees, they were all over our site all the time,

along with butterflies, moths, beetles, caterpillars, and quite an assortment of birds, including gaggles of goldfinches. After a hard frost left most of the site's vegetation looking less than its best, the little brown birds moved in to forage among the stems and on the ground.

     And, thinking back, the human involvement did not stop. The city approved the planting of a memorial garden honoring our late volunteer and the couple who first gardened the site many years ago. Though work on that part of the site has only begun, neighbors and others, including children of the late couple, have donated plants. In April, Marietta's mayor joined a Girl Scout troop in planting an apple tree as one of the first additions to the memorial garden.

Mayor Josh Schlicher and Girl Scouts, photo by Nancy Taylor of the Marietta Times

Other amenities for humans have been added. Thanks to a health department grant, the habitat has a one-of-a-kind bench designed by local artist Todd Morrow.

     Along the riverbank below the habitat, the city has installed two more benches, giving the human users of the site multiple places to rest and enjoy river and habitat views. Across the river, behind Marietta's Armory Square, the solar charging bench that was part of the initial grant project was installed along the river trail and dedicated in November. Almost from day one, users of the trail have topped off their phone batteries while recharging themselves along the river. 

     Hmmm. It might be more accurate to say that this particular human did not get much done. Other things are moving along just fine.

Loving it, but. . .

Our part of Ohio has moved beyond being "unseasonably warm." Yesterday a birthday gathering in the neighborhood found a group of women over sixty sitting outdoors in short sleeves as the temperature was still over seventy--at 6:00 PM--IN FEBRUARY. According to an article in today's Guardian, southern Ohio and many other Eastern regions are seeing spring conditions earlier than at any time since record-keeping began.

Part of me welcomes the warmth, my bones and breathing not doing well in cold. I love being able to pick daffodils on a sunny afternoon,

and the year's first creeping veronica is always a cheerful-making sight.

But--it's February. February should not be springtime in Ohio. As welcome as warm weather and spring flowers are, plant growth needs to sync with the needs of wildlife. You might notice the pollen on the veronica petals in the photo above: unfortunately, I have yet to see a single pollinating insect. If our native spring bloomers (which neither of the aforementioned plants is) bloom early, before some of the specialist pollinators emerge, these insects that depend on particular plant species may not survive. If other less specialized insects emerge and manage to reproduce early, before migratory birds start on their day-length-dependent journeys, those birds may discover reduced food supplies. Nesting birds may not find the protein-rich larvae on which the young of nearly all species depend. 

February should not be tick season in Ohio, but ticks are already being reported, and at least one acquaintance has had to seek medical attention for a tick bite. Yuck.

And did I mention hay fever? Earlier springs and later falls mean longer growing seasons, with more plants' seasons overlapping, resulting in more types of pollen in the air for longer periods of time. This is not good news for allergy sufferers.

As much as I love spring, these are worrisome signs.

Is it spring yet?

     I don't think so, given that the temperature this morning was a decidedly non-balmy 19 degrees, and the snow from earlier this week has not melted. According to Punxsatawny Phil the weather rodent, we will have six more weeks of winter, but to the ancient Irish,  February 1 and/or 2 marked the beginning of spring. (Hey, calendars have been revised over the years.)

    Having just checked the weather in the parts of Ireland where various ancestors lived, I see that it is warmer there than here this week with lows generally in the forties, weather that could perhaps charitably be interpreted as springlike. The dating of spring to early February seems to be related to the reproductive cycles of the sheep that were of such economic importance, providing wool, meat, and milk to the inhabitants of the island. The earliest lambs are born about now, and the ewes begin to lactate. Imbolc, as the day was known, was celebrated with foods made with milk, cheese, or butter (a tradition I can definitely manage). Pancakes with blackberry jam were also traditional (and probably not happening at my house, though I do need to use up some sour milk, and wonder if blueberries might do. . . ).

    People being unlikely to give up their celebrations, Feb. 2 became a Christian holiday honoring St. Patrick's friend St. Brigid, who may or may not have been the same as the ancient Celtic goddess. (And since she was a protector of the people and associated with poetry and learning, and Patrick seems to have had good intentions, I can almost imagine them collaborating.) The ancient practices continued, and a few more got added, such as collecting alms for the poor.

    This year, the Republic of Ireland has made Imbolc/St. Brigid's Day a national public holiday, the first named after a woman. Celebrations there include music by Irish women, since Brigid was a patron of the arts. 

    Listening to Irish music and eating pancakes with butter--much more my kind of celebration than heading to a lambing shed in the middle of the night. 

'Tis the season

for anticipation, and I don't mean of sugarplums and the like. Our erratic January weather finds some living beings in our neighborhood anticipating spring. One human neighbor was jogging in shorts on a fifty-degree day. (There's always one.) Wrens are singing as if their fancies are already turning to thoughts of love, though January seems a bit early for that.

While it is not surprising that the crocuses are sending up leaves, January is not generally daffodil season. Evidently, no one shared that information with some of the bulbs in our lawn strip, a few of which are already attempting bloom stalks.

I fear that that specimen may not survive to bloom in April. The volunteer shepherd's purse behind it would likely survive any disaster.

Some of the tulips are getting in on the act.

Even the moss transplanted from a brick wall to the lawn strip last fall is sending up what I think are sporophytes, preparing to colonize more of Sacra Via (assuming it can overcome the ground ivy).

According to the calendar, spring will not arrive for fifty days, but some beings are more than ready for it.