In spring, nature is renewed. The snows of winter retreat and on the freshening breeze the scent of damp leaves and green growing things begins to tickle our senses. The quiet of the woods, for months broken only by the strident cries of jays and the cheery chirps of the tiny chickadees, now echoes with the songs of returning flocks. Usually placid brooks become cascading freshets with the run of melting snow and ice. The world is alive in its most vibrant moments of the year.
We cast our eyes constantly to the windows, craving the outdoors, yearning to stride across the open fields, to inhale the intoxicatingly crisp air. The season flirts with the heat of summer while we’re in the sun, but in the shade, we are again reminded that though winter is past it is just behind us. It could strike again at any time with an eleventh-hour blow of snow and ice…But it won’t last. As Edna St. Vincent Millay wrote in her poem New England Spring, 1942, “winter can’t come twice, even this year.”
“Came the spring with all its splendor, all its birds and all its blossoms, all its flowers and leaves and grasses.”
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, The Song of Hiawatha
The days grow longer, the sun beams stronger, the winds blow sweeter. Coats give way to vests, then to sweaters. Heavy snow boots switch out to muddy wellies, then flip-flops and sandals are braved. We eat lunch outdoors, we herald the buzz of bees, we greet our neighbors with renewed enthusiasm. We understand the definition of spring fever in all its essence. Spring is here—get outdoors and breathe deeply the wild air.
Originally published in The Orvis News, Spring 2016. Photos ®The Orvis Company.