I have no idea where they went, February and March. I looked up and they were gone. No evidence of their passing. No accomplishments. No progress made. No memories. Not even any real photographic proof that they existed. So I'm doubling them up, here at the Bin, and scouring my images for evidence that Spring really is returning. I need the reassurance.
Above, though the trees are still bare around us, the sun's climbing higher over the horizon with each passing day. It's a start.
The small incubator pond above the house is chock full of spotted salamander and frog eggs, just as intended. And way too many leaves. It will take some cleaning out, but not until after the "hatch" is done.
A sure sign of Spring's approach is the depletion of the woodpile. And depletion requires replenishment. Here's a set of freshly quartered white oak rounds, set to dry a little longer before their final splitting. Next winter's warmth.
Anticipating Spring always includes early trips down to the river; exploratory ventures to see if the bass are ready to play. Not yet, but the signs are encouraging.
Another strong hint is the blooming the the redbuds for which our small community is named. But the flowering doesn't necessarily mean that Winter's given up just yet. The seasons clash for their turf.
The only sure sign of Spring is the clouser hatch. Their emergence for white bass, shad, and striper (in this case, yellow stingers for Okefenokee bowfin) heralds the return of days on the water. The appearance is most welcome.
So the signs seem to be there, hidden in the camera, that things are warming up. I'm more than ready to put those lost months behind me and get on to some fishing. I suspect that I'm not alone.
