Eric’s been journaling during our adjustment to these rapidly changing times, so I’ve created a page on The Way to the Clearing for him to post his thoughts. Here is entry number two.

(For Patti’s blog posts, visit the homepage or click here.)

Eric’s entry: March 20

I exaggerated a bit yesterday. While the terrain is completely blanketed in snow outside the window overlooking the pond, there’s not as much snow this year as there was last. Patti’s dear friend Marcia wishes me happy Pi Day every year. Pi Day is March 14 = 03/14 = 3/14 = 3.14; pi = 3.14159265358979…continuing on forever with no repeating numbers. I measured the depth of the snow banks on the path to the red cabin after Marcia sent last year’s greeting: 3 feet 1½ inches = 3.125 feet. The snow was almost pi feet deep. Yesterday, there was only 6.2 inches.

But what a difference a day makes.

Warm rain melts snow, too, almost as quickly as a glob of hand-sanitizer in your hot little hand. 

As the snow melts and before an outlet forms through the ice, a puddle accumulates at the bottom of the steps outside the red door of the main house, which, of course, is the door we use almost exclusively. The poodles hate that puddle; every time, whether coming or going, they spend several moments of consternation negotiating the puddle’s traverse, only to—nine times out of ten—walk right through it, their dainty little feet submerging no more than an inch.

I love that puddle. Not because I think it’s fun watching the poodles struggle (I don’t), but because it’s water, not ice. The puddle—not the poodles—is a sure sign IT’S happening: Spring is coming!

Even from afar, Patti and I will monitor the temperatures in Marshfield starting around Pi Day (Hi, Marcia!). The sugar maple, Acer saccharum, uses (utilizes?) the daily low and high temperatures to gauge the pending arrival of spring. When the temperatures go below freezing at night and above 40 degrees during the day over multiple days, enzymes, in what are known as ray cells, convert stored starch to sugar, which is released into the sap. The warming of the tree increases the sap pressure thereby “pumping” it up to the sun-soaking crown of the tree where the buds will need the sugar’s chemical energy to leaf out. Once established, the leaves will capture all the sun’s energy needed to grow and sustain the tree through the year. At this time of year, though, leafless branches beckoning like fractal fingers silhouetted against the gray sky, the tree stands seemingly lifeless, belying the amazing phenomenon that is this internal sap-flow: the tree’s salvation.

“Tapping” a sugar maple is as easy as drilling a small-diameter hole into the tree (the tree is less bothered by this procedure, supposedly, than the poodles are by the puddle), and inserting a spout. I collect sap in 5-gallon, repurposed fryolator-oil jugs retrieved from the trash behind restaurants (yes, there was dumpster diving involved).

A sure sign of spring: Yesterday, I collected 10 gallons of sap.

With a shout-out to Anne Porter, an even surer sign of spring: Last evening at dusk, as the poodles did their business, I saw a robin flitting from tree to tree, chirping happily. On the calendar, tomorrow is the first day of spring. Or is it?