April showers may bring May flowers—
in Vermont both may be frozen.
The bears are out and wandering about
on cold nights they cuddle while dozin’.
It’s a time of transition and indecision.
Weary of winter, spring can be dreary.
We lose all reason in deep mud season.
Get out of my rut, Deary!
Birds back from migration search for libation
before breaking into a sweet song.
They flirt while dating and end up mating,
nesting as the days grow long.
Maples are tapped, the sap boiled down,
signs posted—the neighbors now know.
Share nature’s sweet bounty across the county.
It’s high time for sugar on snow!
April is National Poetry Month and is a time of sweet sorrow for me. It begins, of course, with April Fools day, which I associate with fun foolishness and my fun but not foolish nephew’s birthday. My April calendar is full of both birthdays and anniversaries of loss.
April’s weather is reliably changeable, but this year has been a really wild ride. Mega fluctuations in temperature have yielded particularly deep mud. As we say in Vermont, “Choose your rut wisely. You may be in it awhile.” Some roads have been declared impassable this year. Friends are complaining about broken struts and muddy mutts.
Frisky birds are flocking to our feeders. I saw my first robin on Sunday. We bring the feeders in at night to discourage foraging bears. Bears in the spring always remind me of my dear doggy, Spencer, who died in my arms on April 26, 2005. After his last breath, I went out for a walk, one he and I had done many times. I glanced across the field and saw a bear. Bears are thought to symbolize strength, courage, and introspection.
In tears, I bowed to the large male. He looked at me with what seemed like soft eyes before continuing to graze in new grass. I walked the same time every day until the vet brought me Spencer’s ashes. Bear was always there to greet me. I felt my deep connection with Spence. Grace sometimes shows up as a bear.
April 30 will be the 32nd anniversary of the loss-before-birth of my child, Grace Gaia. Winter’s dried roses are waiting to float on the pond to celebrate her promising, persistent presence. We need some Grace on Earth.
Our neighbors have been busy sugaring. The sap has been running sporadically with the weather, but when the sweet-scented steam from their sugar house wafts up the hill, we don’t as much notice the mud between us. They always have a sugar-on-snow party on the first Sunday in May. Everyone in Town is invited and attends.
For the uninitiated, hot maple syrup is drizzled over clean snow, collected and stored during the winter. When the syrup congeals, you wrap it around a fork and eat it as candy. There is nothing like it! Should you have missed lunch, there are homemade doughnuts, and in case the sugar is too much, dill pickles are on hand. Neighbors swap stories of winter and mud. Laughter and hugs abound.
This year, the first Sunday in May is May 1—May Day. When I was a student at Shipley, we danced around a Maypole on May 1 to welcome spring. May Day is also celebrated as International Workers Day. In authoritarian countries, it’s morphed into parades displaying military might. No wonder “Mayday!” is the international distress call.
Feeling distressed over weather and war? Invite your neighbors for sugar on snow. *
*Vanilla ice cream can be substituted for snow in emergencies.