After a spell of very warm weather, which made everything green and hopeful, central Maine has had a stretch of gray, drizzly weather. Very discouraging for dogs and humans and disastrous for birds trying to feed their young. The flying insects lie low during chilly weather, and this means no food for baby birds. My friend Barbara Johnson often mentioned how hard this weather was on the young birds and how many of them didn’t make it if the gray drizzle continued too long.

My gardens desperately need tending, but I am reluctant to work in them when they are so damp, where I might run the risk of spreading disease. So what to do? Put on some sturdy shoes—I wish I had some wellies—and take to the woods.

Our house is surrounded by woods that are part of my town’s watershed. Those woods could never be called a deep forest, but they are lovely and green and have trails going through them. The trails edge the Upper and Lower Narrows Ponds, which, in fact, look more like lakes than ponds. The trails are far enough from the road so that my dog, Liam, can go off-leash and sniff and mark territory to his heart’s content.

Yesterday, we went on a woods walk, and even though the day was gray, there were things to see.

Everywhere there was water, and we had to cross several streams. Liam is not a water dog, and he always hesitates before getting his paws wet.

We were both happy when we came to a stream with a plank.

Into the forest we went, up a ridge that overlooked a ravine with a stream rushing through it. We tramped the woods for over an hour, and by the end, my feet were wet, and I was ready to head home for a cup of Earl Grey. But before we left the woods, there was one final treat—the ethereal song of a hermit thrush, a song I have not heard since last summer.

Spring is here, and despite the drizzle and the gray, it is most welcome.