Pre-Spring Warning

It’s March on the Row—spring break at Little Town U—and an animal’s fancy turns to love. Our young peacock, Frankie, has grown a gorgeous train (tail feathers) over the winter, and he’s been putting on quite a daily show for the girls. If you’ve never seen the peacock mating dance, it’s pretty elaborate and a little silly…not that different from the beer-fueled mating rituals I’ve seen in our local Little Town bar.

Here’s a short clip of Francoise doing the dance last spring: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=31yGZUszW5o. If you make it to the end of the video, you’ll get a look at his gorgeous blue neck and hear the thrumming of his feathers, a sound that still fascinates me. Francoise, who is older (wiser?) and has been ousted this year by the young, buff, black-winged Frankie, has been spending most of his time in the rafters of the loafing shed, where he’s out of the wind and can keep his 6-foot feathers suspended and neat. The dominant peacock gets the harem, so Francoise seems a little bored.

In addition to peacock love, there are other signs of spring at the Row. Bluejays drown out prettier birdsong with their annoying hoodlum shrieks, while woodpeckers telegraph staccato messages. Barn pigeons do big lazy loops over the yard. Rabbits hopscotch in the farmyard twilight, then late-night country roads turn into raccoon speedways. And I ordered two new pairs of Birkie sandals. O yes, these are hopeful harbingers. But don’t be fooled. Prairie people know not to trust these early tricks. Each year, Ray reminds me that the last big snow comes AFTER the robins return, and the robins aren’t back yet. So here’s my annual cautionary poem, and please...keep the parka & shovel handy.

THE IDES OF MARCH

The seer was right to warn us,

beware the ides of March.

It's a dangerous time, peering

through iced windows at the jeweled

tease of crocus and daffodil.

We've weathered another season

of deep-freeze, locked up tight

in muscle and mind. We're tired

of winter's grey and gritty leftovers.

But this is no time to get careless,

toss a floorboard heater through

the beveled glass and go out,

where Spring flashes her flannel petticoat

embroidered in pinks and greens,

leaves us gaping, breathless,

in air still cold as a knife blade,

stripping off the down.