Notes from my Knapsack 3-9-23

Notes from my Knapsack 3-9-23
Jeff Gill

Disappearing in plain sight
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We have an annual confusion over starting points and signs of the seasons. March 12 is time change, which is neither astronomical nor meteorological, but the impact on us in terms of daylight and evening time is immense.

Weather folk mark Spring from March 1, and most of us whether meteorologists or not think of "Spring" as March, April, May, then "Summer" as June, July, and August. It may be hot as Hades in September, but that's "Fall" to almost anyone, as are October and November.

Yet astronomical Spring begins with the vernal equinox, March 20 this year, regardless of the temperatures or foliage. June 21 is the summer solstice, ushering in astronomical Summer, but folk calendars tend to call it "Midsummer" as in old Bill's "A Midsummer Night's Dream" with the longest day pushing back the shortest night.

May 24 is the last day of school in Granville, and for kids, that's the first day of summer; August 23 is the first day of the next school year, and there's an implicit sense of autumn in going back.

What's really interesting is the phenology calendar. Phenology, our friends at Ohio State tell us, is "the study of recurring biological phenomena and their relationship to weather. Bird migration, hunting and gathering seasons, blooming of wildflowers and trees, and the seasonal appearance of insects are examples of phenological events that have been recorded for centuries." Even if you're not a big outdoors person, you notice when the stuff starts happening: in your yard, on the horizon you watch out the bedroom window in the morning, along the roads you travel daily.

You can go deep in this matter at the OSU Phenology Center website, https://phenology.osu.edu/ or you can just look around. The silver maples are already starting to expand in outline, buds filling out their formerly skeletal profiles against the clouds, softening and detailing their limbs and branches.

Soon, the trees will disappear. No, seriously. You see the trunks and bark and each species' unique way of reaching up into the sky; oaks round out their branching extents where maples fan out. Once you start to notice those patterns, you can see which type of tree you're looking at from quite a distance. And for over half the year, that's who trees are to us.

But once the leaves open up and the canopy settles down as a shroud across the forest, you can't see the trees for the forest. You see leaves and greens, but you have to get much closer to see the tree itself for what it is. It's all just "the woods" and we lump the trees together, and likewise take them for granted.

In this margin between buds and foliage, take a few moments to appreciate trees for what they are, unique and valuable each in their own way. The birds do for sure, as do many other creatures, finding a different sort of refuge or foodstuff in every one.

It might help us see people around us differently as well.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's fascinated by trees and forests each in their own way. Tell him about what you see blossoming at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.