Today has been a day. This morning, I went to the quarry to see if I could find the first few catbirds of the season coming up from the tropics. Merlin told me they were my bird of the day, so I felt it was only fate. Luckily, the birding gods were on my side, and I saw about 5 flitting about the brambles. Their bubbly chatter bounced around the woods, and I felt like I was back home on my back porch again.
I await their arrival every year. I don’t know why, but they’ve always made me excited. Catbird arrival, mayapples pushing through the ground, and that sweet spring smell in the air has always triggered something deeply nostalgic in me. Typically, I can’t wait for this time of year, but this time it’s a bit more complicated. Spring means change, and wrapping up my first year of college makes this seasonal shift more bittersweet than usual. What more, I’ve watched Centennial in most of its forms; from the crisp autumn to the bitter, cold months of winter, life always persisted in some way. Now, deep in the throes of spring, I see it bounce to life once again.
I recall the first time I visited my site. I chose it specifically because of the asters. They were in full bloom and the most encapsulating thing; I had never seen them in such high numbers. Things were starting to die back, but they persisted like little purple beacons.
Then, winter rolled around. I saw little life, but knew the subnivean was teeming with voles and other critters hunkered down. The stream that babbled so noisily nearby was reduced to a trickle. Nonetheless, I kept coming back, knowing that I had to keep coming back even when it was cold and I didn’t want to.
I guess, in that way, I’ve become attached to this place. I’ve witnessed it in many phases, and the fact that I kept coming back must mean I’m attached, right? Well, I’ve certainly explored more local places over the semester that inspired me more, but there’s a homely charm to the slippery boardwalk in Centennial that can’t be replaced. I will definitely miss this place.
While I was sitting in my spot, a dad and two kids walked by. They were bouncing around in the mud, filling their bogs with water and sloshing around. I started talking to them, and explained my phenology assignment. It was a pleasant exchange, and I realize it wouldn’t have been possible without that path. Nature and culture bleed together here. Centennial is beautiful example of social and ecological communities converging. Older residents of Burlington sharing a space with the college students is a unique opportunity to forge stronger community ties.
Of course, there is also the ecological community that thrives here. I have not had many wildlife encounters at my spot, but I know that there are still so many processes I can’t see. Maybe it was to my benefit that I chose a quieter spot. It’s made me really stop to look closely at what’s going on. I’ve been reminded that not everything beautiful is vast, and sometimes I just need to slow down to see the big picture.
Thank you for this opportunity to document the changes in the seasons, as well as in myself. I’ve realized how intertwined phenology is with our lives. We move with the seasons, and I know I must move on now to the warm embrace of summer and the experiences that await me now. However, just like the seasons, there are always remnants of the past scattered everywhere, and those sweet moments will never be forgotten.
