Budging To Be First

     In elementary school it's common place to hear the phrase, "No Budging."  Although saddened when the district I teach in split from a traditional kindergarten through 8th grade building, the new format of having a separate K-4 elementary and 5-8 middle school allowed me to break away from such formalities as having students constantly assemble within lines.   I don't hear the phrase "No Budging" any longer, as students in the middle school switch classrooms on the bells.  For that I am grateful.  I've never quite understood the concept behind it anyway.  It all boils down to wanting to be first.  If someone is allowed to "budge" then everyone else behind them will get to the appointed destination later than expected.  If students think such nonsense saves them time, they haven't walked with me.  When I move out, both the runner and the math teacher side of me comes out.  The shortest distance between two points is a line.  I don't like to waste time as it's of the essence.  So I deviate only for walls and others, unless I'm outside exploring on a hike, in which case I might also move aside for a tree, precious plant or waterway.  Last night I was able to get out for a couple of hours.  On the tail-end of a good weekend of track meets, church, a little cleaning, managing bills and spending time with family; it felt refreshing.  Typically I get out in the morning before the day is officially underway for most others, but last night was different.  In fact, in some ways the last few days have been different.  A week ago I walked the ice-way of the nearby frozen creek like it was seasoned concrete.  A day later a foot of water was flowing on top of it due to the sudden warm weather.  Now, five or six days later, hardly any snow can be found unless it was a remnant from a drift, pile from a plow or hidden in the shadows on the north-side of some obstruction.  On Thursday I saw the first of the returning

grackles.  On Saturday I got a picture of the first returning robin of the spring.  It hopped right up next to our patio off the sliding glass door.  

     When I went out on Sunday evening the river was running free, for the first time in a long time, but some ice still covered some of the backwater areas.  Although I doubt winter is entirely over, it has definitely lost its powerful grip.  The surprise was in how it happened so quickly.  As I led the dogs on their leashes, and

into the woods of choice, I could hear the newly returned sandhill cranes, away to

the southeast in a nearby field.  I love winter, but I enjoyed hearing the sounds of the crane's return.  Perhaps it's the change of the seasons that I love even more.

     I was never deep in the woods last night.  I could either hear the occasional car or

at least see outlines of the road most of the time.  I was held at bay by the backwater oxbows, filled with deep water or layered in weak ice.  The woods also held me in check with the underbrush of prickly ash; so thick in some areas that I had to walk out and around sections of it in large circles to advance at all.  My hands quickly became poked, prodded and scraped.  It was the first time hiking in an area extensively covered in this plant.  It was difficult, but I enjoyed the challenge of getting through it and around it.  I did wear my hip boots, which allowed me to wade through the shallow, marshy areas.  The dogs, released to their freedom, followed by racing and splashing unheeded through the water.  Perhaps that was what caused the bald eagle to veer overhead and fly back over towards the river.  

Pileated Woodpecker Hole
and my hand with a prickly ash wound.

It was about that same time that I also found fresh signs where a pileated woodpecker jack hammered into a dead tree and where bank beavers had dined on sandbar willow twigs.

     I eventually became trapped between the river and where the oxbow drained.  It was there that I back-tracked to my entry point.  But not before our young puppy Kora, in unchecked adolescence, went racing through the bank-side grasses with her tongue lolling, only to find herself suddenly airborne.  Her momentum had carried her right off the bank and out over the river.  With a "Ka-sploosh" she went under, bobbed up, paddled to the shore, found a place to climb up and then shake off.  You could tell it freaked her out, but she did an excellent job of "saving face".  Our older dog, Kati, tolerates water and isn't afraid to wade through it to stay with me, but we may have more of a water dog in Kora.  She was border-line crazy in the shallower water, although noticeably humbled as well after that unexpected swim.

     Once back at the entry point, I headed south along the side of an oxbow to where I found an island of sorts.  The sun was beginning to set but I waded across and got a

fire quickly going on the small rise in the land.  I cooked my traditional potatoes and cheese but had a brat as well; complete with a bun, ketchup, relish, and spicy mustard.  I had brought the dogs their own food.  While cooking, I saw a wood duck fly over; the first of the spring.  Those backwater areas are prime real estate for them.

     As I hiked out the sun was well below the horizon, but the color left in the sky was a beautiful reddish orange with hints of purple.  It was my first outing without winter attire.  After only a week out from

winter's icy grip there were already many "first" signs of spring that I was able to notice.   Spring didn't have to budge in.  Winter wouldn't have let it anyways; not without having to call out to the teacher.  Spring was in line already; waiting its turn and knowing it was going to reach its destination whether it moved up closer to the front or not.
See you along The Way...