The One Thing I Hate About Spring

It's warming up. After the winter we had, 50 degrees and rainy feels lovely. I like this time of year, when you go to work on sunny 60 degree days and the grass changes green between 7:45 a.m. and 5:15 p.m. I pull into the drive and am greeted by the nodding heads of blooming daffodils. The tulip tree in my neighbor's yard is a riot of white, pink, mauve and fuchsia. Birds have returned in copious numbers.

I have learned, over the years, which bird calls belong to which species. A cardinal is different than a robin which is different than a house sparrow which is different than a chickadee. I'm not sure about the juncos or the downy woodpeckers I have seen. I think I recognize the grackles and a blue jay is quite distinctive but I don't see them very often in my yard. Lately, there has been a call I don't recognize and I can't find the owner so I could, perhaps, identify it.

Which leads to the one thing I hate about spring, summer and early fall. I don't know who it is but they start singing at 4:30 a.m.; 4 friggin' 30! Most of the time, I don't hear it. But I heard it Monday morning. I even rolled over and looked at the clock. I could maybe see this in June when there is a lightening sky at 4:30 but in April? It's still dark.

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp. Mija even heard it, got up, went to the window and looked out. I love leaving the windows open, even on semi-muggy summer nights. But I don't love being awakened in the wee hours by some bird that can sleep from noon to 6 p.m. when I have to be wide awake. And it's not like I can yell at it as I would the cats. "Knock it off!" That doesn't quite work.

Oh well, that's the price I pay for having a yard that is bird conducive. Grumble. Where did I put my ear plugs?

Beverage:  Edinburgh's Finest tea

Deb