Searching for Spring and Memories

Across the Fence #539

In the Driftless Area, when the temperature climbs to 40 degrees, the long underwear comes off and the shorts go on. We’re a hardy bunch who are ready to welcome spring and say good riddance to winter for another year.

The temperature has reached the 50s this week, the snow is disappearing fast, and the water is running. That’s a sign that spring has arrived, at least for the moment. Every spring, the little valley behind our house transforms into a flowing stream as melted snow converges from all directions. It forms one large stream in the lower part of our back forty and then continues its westward journey.

Today I set the snowshoes aside and broke out my knee-high rubber boots. I knew I’d need them if I wanted to hike around the back forty and watch the water flow. It’s something I did when I was young, and have done every spring since we moved back on the farm. For me it’s a rite of passage from the long, cold days of winter to the promise of spring and the emergence of new life.

It was in search of spring that I began my hike today. The warmth of the sun felt good. The temperature reached the mid-50s as I walked down the lane, along the fence line, where large drifts of snow still held their ground. I tried walking through the snow but sank in almost to the top of my rubber boots. I decided walking at the edge of the field would be easier. I quickly found that wherever I walked would be a challenge on this day. My boots sank into the soft, muddy earth and corn stubble. There was also a heavy layer of manure on the field…liquid manure. Every step I took was an effort as I sank deeper into the muck the farther down the field I went. After all, water and manure flow downhill. The smell was enough to gag a maggot, but I struggled on, determined not to let a manure quagmire stop me. My mind wandered back to the cartoonist I wrote about recently, who made fun of rubes down on the farm smelling like manure. There I was, an old farm boy, standing in a field of manure. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so hard on him in the letter I wrote. He never did respond.

Sunlight shimmers on the water running through the back forty.

I finally reached the area where the water was flowing along through the lowest part of the valley. It created a marsh that was too deep and wide to cross. I backtracked along the old fence line that ran alongside the pond. At one time it was an electric fence to keep the heifers that we kept there all summer, from getting into the corn and hay. 

I always like to observe and examine things I find during my hikes. Most of the fence line was now gone but a few posts and wire remained. I looked at the old wood post with green fungus growing on it. I could still picture my father bending down on one knee next to the post, pounding the insulator on. Then stringing the wire across it and twisting another piece of wire around it to secure it to the insulator. So many years ago, and yet the work he did with his large, powerful hands is still there. I spotted some milkweed pods peeking out of the snow near the post. Most were empty, but two still had seeds in them. I stuck them in my pocket and will see if I can get them to germinate. I’ll plant them near our house to provide food for the Monarchs. My father always left weeds and brush along fence lines. He said the wildlife needed it for habitat. Maybe those seeds are descendants of plants he let live along that fence many years ago.

I continued my walk, past the pond that was overflowing. There was still evidence in the snow alongside the pond of a well-used deer trail. I kept going, but the melting snow and water became deeper. This is the point where water from the south joins the streams coming from the north and east. As I stood there watching the water rush by, with sunlight sparkling and shimmering on it, I was reminded of a time when I was young and standing in the same general area. I took a photo at that time of our dog, Duke, who loved to go exploring and searching for spring with my brother, David, and me. He was half German Shepherd and half Norwegian Elkhound, a big, powerful dog who protected his territory and us. He loved wading through the water and getting wet. 

Duke, taken around 1960 in the back forty.

This was also near the spot where David and I buried a box full of Dad’s old Indian head pennies while playing pirates. We made a great treasure map that fell down between the walls of our house when I tried hiding it in the attic. We never found where we buried the box and Dad was not a happy camper. One day we ran into a skunk near the pond and it chased David and me. But that’s a story for another day.

As I stood there, so many memories flowed by, along with the water. When I finally arrived home, I was muddy and tired, but felt renewed. I had created new memories for another day.

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