Farmer Thoughts: The Spring Transition

Contributed by Farmer Becca, Bottomland Farm —

About eight years ago, towards the end of March, Farmer Bill and I were sitting inside, winding down for the evening when we heard what sounded like an animal dying not far from the house. The noise was a strange mix of screams, wheezes, and whines, and was one of the most unusual noises I had ever heard, so of course, we grabbed a flashlight and headed out the door to investigate.

After following the sounds a few hundred feet, we came across two striped skunks, who were so much in the throes of passion that they didn’t even realize we were standing less than ten feet away. They were obviously having a magical night out under the moon and the stars.

That night, I learned at least two new things: skunk mating sounds are loud, unexpected, and bizarre; and skunk mating season signals the transition from later winter to early spring. While I haven’t heard any skunk mating calls this year, I have been keeping my eyes peeled for signs of the annual spring transition.

This year, it seems like Mother Nature is reluctant to release her grip on winter as effortlessly as in previous years, particularly with the temperatures fluctuating unpredictably. However, the wildlife appears indifferent, motivated by sunlight rather than solely by warm weather. 

The spring peepers have been announcing their existence loudly for weeks now: quick and sharp when the nights are warm, and when the nights are cooler, they call slowly, as if they weren’t quite wound up all the way. Two days ago, as I was setting up our brooder for the first meat chickens of the season, I heard my first eastern phoebe of the year yelling its name (“fee-bee”), back from a winter down south, letting everyone know it was here and not holding back one bit.

I’ve been checking our small sugarbush daily for the first wild ramps to shoot their leaves up through the leaf litter— it should be any day now. And also waiting patiently to find the first smooth, spotted trout lily leaf, which inevitably leads to wonderful little yellow flowers scattered about the forest floor.

Our neighbors up the road have already hitched up their team of horses and spent a day ploughing their vegetable fields so they can be ready for the steady work that spring brings. And soon, on our own farm, we will plant our onions. Our first meat chickens will move out to pasture, and we will have piglets running around, harassing their mothers for more milk.

Any old paper calendar can tell you when it’s officially springtime, but it won’t ever really be accurate. I just wait to hear the strange sounds of skunks mating in the distance or an eastern phoebe yelling its name as it perches on the end of a sumac branch, and then I know that the spring transition is actually in full tilt.

Until next time.

(Bottomland Farm, located in Berkshire, N.Y., can be contacted via email at farmer@bottomlandfarm.com.)