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The Spring That Wasn't ... Until Now
May. 11th, 2022 10:09 amAs I write this, the mercury is above 70° for only the second time in many months. The sun shines brightly in the sky and the sound of bird song is insistent and never ending. The sky is totally clear and free of clouds, and there is only a light breeze. One might be forgiven for thinking that this is California rather than the Upper Midwest. But it is an illusion that can only be sustained on this day. The truth is we emerged from a prolonged wintertime that bore slim resemblance to spring as a season only a few days ago.
It is almost unbelievable, but the greening of the landscape is only about a week old. It transformed quickly amidst another spell of rain followed by bright sunshine. But the fact remains that snow and chill temperatures lingered well into the second half of April. My guess was that this year would follow the pattern of 2014, where an extended winter time shifted suddenly into a summer like pattern without much transition. This is proving to be true, although it happened later than I thought it would.
The first hints of a major change came a couple of weeks ago. The migration of certain species made it absolutely clear what was happening. Flickers began to turn up in the sandy reaches of the trails, and not long afterwards the warbler migration began. This is a surefire marker of spring. Yet because of the cold weather that persisted, they lingered for quite some time before flying north. As a matter of fact, I continue to see warblers today, even in the clement weather. They have paused at the feeders to recover some of the body mass they have lost in their long flights.
I have been remiss in my duties of chronicling the local wildlife during this period of false spring, so I will continue it now. The turkey vultures began to return to the river valley by late March, but their numbers have increased and they are almost as abundant as down south in Arkansas. Though I must confess I've never seen even close to the numbers of them anywhere else than I did there. All throughout the winter we were hosts to juncos, redpolls, and pine siskins. These winter birds are long gone. Even the first wave of migrants heralding spring have moved on, such as the white throated sparrows. The bluebirds first started to appear a month ago, and are already staking out nesting grounds in the prairies. Alongside them are large numbers of meadowlarks.
But the spring migration is in full swing now, and many transient species are moving through, too many to really list. At the nearby park, once a farm that is now a restored prairie and woods, these transients as well as large number of year round residents are seen in great numbers. Exotic warblers and sparrows pausing to feed before continuing north lives side by side with the local resident jays, robins, cardinals, crows and finches. The squawking of a pheasant is regularly heard in the distance. The park is also home to mammals, pocket gophers and rabbits digging warrens and The coyotes and foxes who hunt and feed on them. Vultures ominously perch in the dead trees – why did they prefer trees as dead as the carrion they feed on?
There's always a seasonal pulse to the activities. The deer were seen all winter, now they come in the dead of night if they come at all. The turkeys who were not long ago battling everyday are now mysteriously absent, save only for a solitary hen. The toms are nowhere to be seen and their gobbling no longer resounds in the hills and valleys. But most of the year-round bird residents are still regulars. The number of mourning doves is only increased. Surprisingly, the purple finches stayed around rather late this year. The most remarkable sight by far it was the spectacle of over a dozen yellow-rumped warblers regularly visiting the feeder. I have never known these to be feeder birds, but the extremity of the season made them seek it out.
The most grim tidings of the past couple years concerned a very persistent drought. It began in the second half of the year in 2020, with only a mild abatement during the winter time, and then continued with a vengeance in 2021 especially after the summertime. Many lakes and streams dried up. On several trips over the course of those two years, I got used to seeing dust storms not unlike what you'd expect from the American West. Usually this sort of thing is unheard of in the humid upper Midwest. But the conditions during this time were far from ordinary. The persistence of the pattern gave me a sense of unease.
However, the relentless snow falls of the winter, followed by a rainy pattern during the false spring to follow, wiped out the drought as if it had never existed. April blizzards in North Dakota led to a meltwater pulse that inundated Grand Forks. Similarly, continual waves of snow in northern Minnesota and Wisconsin fed the Mississippi and its tributaries to the extent that the river is the highest I have ever seen it at my current locale. Everywhere, waterways have risen to above their normal seasonal levels. It is a stunning reversal the likes of which I have never seen. It speaks to instability in a climate that is already one of the world's most changeable.
This season is fairly described as the spring that wasn't … until now. After a true winter, the like of which was so common in my youth, and yet is so rare now, there was a great reluctance for the pattern to change. It was blamed on a persistent La Nina signal in the Pacific. But it couldn't last forever. Tropical air from the Caribbean finds its way northward every year in the summertime as reliably as Arctic air finds its way southward in winter time. For we stand here at the Great crossroads of the world's weather. No mountains obstruct the passage of air from either direction. The character of this land is volatility. I'll await with some trepidation the conditions that this summer will bring.
It is almost unbelievable, but the greening of the landscape is only about a week old. It transformed quickly amidst another spell of rain followed by bright sunshine. But the fact remains that snow and chill temperatures lingered well into the second half of April. My guess was that this year would follow the pattern of 2014, where an extended winter time shifted suddenly into a summer like pattern without much transition. This is proving to be true, although it happened later than I thought it would.
The first hints of a major change came a couple of weeks ago. The migration of certain species made it absolutely clear what was happening. Flickers began to turn up in the sandy reaches of the trails, and not long afterwards the warbler migration began. This is a surefire marker of spring. Yet because of the cold weather that persisted, they lingered for quite some time before flying north. As a matter of fact, I continue to see warblers today, even in the clement weather. They have paused at the feeders to recover some of the body mass they have lost in their long flights.
I have been remiss in my duties of chronicling the local wildlife during this period of false spring, so I will continue it now. The turkey vultures began to return to the river valley by late March, but their numbers have increased and they are almost as abundant as down south in Arkansas. Though I must confess I've never seen even close to the numbers of them anywhere else than I did there. All throughout the winter we were hosts to juncos, redpolls, and pine siskins. These winter birds are long gone. Even the first wave of migrants heralding spring have moved on, such as the white throated sparrows. The bluebirds first started to appear a month ago, and are already staking out nesting grounds in the prairies. Alongside them are large numbers of meadowlarks.
But the spring migration is in full swing now, and many transient species are moving through, too many to really list. At the nearby park, once a farm that is now a restored prairie and woods, these transients as well as large number of year round residents are seen in great numbers. Exotic warblers and sparrows pausing to feed before continuing north lives side by side with the local resident jays, robins, cardinals, crows and finches. The squawking of a pheasant is regularly heard in the distance. The park is also home to mammals, pocket gophers and rabbits digging warrens and The coyotes and foxes who hunt and feed on them. Vultures ominously perch in the dead trees – why did they prefer trees as dead as the carrion they feed on?
There's always a seasonal pulse to the activities. The deer were seen all winter, now they come in the dead of night if they come at all. The turkeys who were not long ago battling everyday are now mysteriously absent, save only for a solitary hen. The toms are nowhere to be seen and their gobbling no longer resounds in the hills and valleys. But most of the year-round bird residents are still regulars. The number of mourning doves is only increased. Surprisingly, the purple finches stayed around rather late this year. The most remarkable sight by far it was the spectacle of over a dozen yellow-rumped warblers regularly visiting the feeder. I have never known these to be feeder birds, but the extremity of the season made them seek it out.
The most grim tidings of the past couple years concerned a very persistent drought. It began in the second half of the year in 2020, with only a mild abatement during the winter time, and then continued with a vengeance in 2021 especially after the summertime. Many lakes and streams dried up. On several trips over the course of those two years, I got used to seeing dust storms not unlike what you'd expect from the American West. Usually this sort of thing is unheard of in the humid upper Midwest. But the conditions during this time were far from ordinary. The persistence of the pattern gave me a sense of unease.
However, the relentless snow falls of the winter, followed by a rainy pattern during the false spring to follow, wiped out the drought as if it had never existed. April blizzards in North Dakota led to a meltwater pulse that inundated Grand Forks. Similarly, continual waves of snow in northern Minnesota and Wisconsin fed the Mississippi and its tributaries to the extent that the river is the highest I have ever seen it at my current locale. Everywhere, waterways have risen to above their normal seasonal levels. It is a stunning reversal the likes of which I have never seen. It speaks to instability in a climate that is already one of the world's most changeable.
This season is fairly described as the spring that wasn't … until now. After a true winter, the like of which was so common in my youth, and yet is so rare now, there was a great reluctance for the pattern to change. It was blamed on a persistent La Nina signal in the Pacific. But it couldn't last forever. Tropical air from the Caribbean finds its way northward every year in the summertime as reliably as Arctic air finds its way southward in winter time. For we stand here at the Great crossroads of the world's weather. No mountains obstruct the passage of air from either direction. The character of this land is volatility. I'll await with some trepidation the conditions that this summer will bring.
