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The
Martha's Vineyard Times is a weekly publication.
May 5 - May 11, 2005 Edition
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Desultory spring May 5, 2005 By Doug Cabral You leave Vineyard Haven in May, drive west and arrive in Chilmark in early April. Spring has kissed Vineyard Haven. It's teasing Chilmark. There is a red blush over the oak woods in Chilmark. In Vineyard Haven, there's a green glow. Still, even for the way up-Islanders, there are signs that spring will soon speed its advance. For instance, the rabbits have bellied up to our perennial garden, in numbers sufficient to keep the new growth at a stylish buzz-cut. We'll need a magnifying glass to enjoy our coreopsis in June, when it ought to be a foot or two tall. In our garden, coreopsis only reaches cottontail height. The deer have reached a negotiated agreement with the rabbits, giving the taller freeloaders exclusive rights to any plant fortunate enough to survive to a height of 12 inches or more. Having noticed that we removed the rhododendron plant that had never bloomed once in its 15-year existence, the deer leadership has picketed in protest. They say they counted on rhododendron leaves and buds each spring, and regarded it of no importance that the plant never achieved blossoms. Finches and cardinals have begun to serenade the deer and the rabbits, occasionally drowning out the chewing noises that would otherwise dominate what passes for nature's serenade in our back yard. Red-tailed hawks swoop back and forth across the lawn, hunting the rabbits and squirrels, but never depleting the scampering herds sufficiently, if you ask me. Early one morning last week, a hawk landed on the lawn outside the bedroom for breakfast, not 10 feet from the side of the house. I couldn't tell what he was eating, but the fur was flying. Fortunately, Ping the pug was in the house. The only handsome tree on our lot is a swamp maple, which buds first, perhaps because it's the tallest tree in the neighborhood. Neither the maple nor the scrub oaks - not even the crab apple or chokecherry - make a big show of budding or blooming. They play catch-up. They let Vineyard Haven bud out, then maybe, if spring is to their liking, they'll pop a bud. They are desultory about their springtime business, like teenagers who've been forced to go to a recital when they would rather be in their rooms IM-ing someone. Apart from the relentless sounds of mastication, which are mostly early morning or early evening entertainment, it's the woodpeckers, the springtime rhythm section, that dominate the daytime. I shoo them away from the cornerboards of the house, but otherwise I'm happy to hear them make their love noises. The dead of night is filled with frog noises, peepers, pinkletinks, invisible squeaky symphonies, punctuated occasionally by the clattering lid of a garbage can overturned by a skunk or raccoon. Seasonal human faces have begun to appear on the dirt road, folks whose real lives are lived in Washington or New York or Boston. They're down early and briefly, during school vacation, to begin opening the house, sweeping out the mouse droppings, dipping the drowned mouse out of the toilet bowl, taking the seaweed off the gardens, and opening the windows to let the mothball smell escape before everyone moves in on Memorial Day weekend. How was your winter? they want to know. Cold, snowy, but over at last, we say. Nice to see you again. The kids have grown six inches. How to account for the difference between quick-paced spring down-Island and desultory spring up-Island. People say it is on account of the wind. I suppose they mean that it's windier in Chilmark than in Tisbury (doubtful), and that windy places are colder (what about radiational cooling which takes place when the wind quits?). Is there more hot air in Tisbury, encouraging the crocuses and daffodils? Or, does it have to do with personality. In Chilmark, folk are peculiar, reserved, crabbed, unapproachable, according to this hypothesis. The human chill slows the gathering spring. By contrast, in Tisbury, folks are bubbly, antic and warm-hearted. The municipal wackiness gives spring a boost. I have my doubts. I am not an expert on these things, but I can tell you that the signs of spring's deceleration, northeast to southwest, slap you right in the face. Down-Island, people at the post office want to know if your boat is ready for the water. (It is not.) They ask, Got the cover off yet? Got the bottom painted? No, and no. Doing any work on her? When do you think you'll go overboard? It was the dead of winter yesterday, and suddenly everyone is in a hurry. Or if they are gardeners, they want to know whether you've planted anything yet. Got your garden tilled? Spread the lime yet? Spread the fertilizer? Got your peas in? Up-Island, where we wait stoically, searching for a sharp-elbow retort to lay on the folks in Vineyard Haven, spring is a matter of patience and faith. |
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