The end of March, and our backyard is positively aflutter with birds. The trees are full of them, and the cheeping of the goldfinches at times reaches a shrill but thrilling crescendo. In between, I hear the lovely song of our cardinal; the chipper call of the chickadees, plentiful but never common, as a good friend once noted; the cooing of mourning doves; and many other bird voices.

New to the backyard are our cardinal and his mate. To say it is a thrill to have them here is a big, big understatement. Cardinals, recent arrivals in Maine, tend to like open spaces, and the yard at the little house in the big woods is anything but open. However, the cardinals came to us last spring, and they are with us still. I suppose there is less competition from other cardinals here as well as a steady supply of food. Whatever the reason, I hope they (and their descendants) make this their permanent home.

Another new arrival is the red-bellied woodpecker, and this bird is even more recent than the cardinals, which have been in Maine for fifteen or twenty years. Until a couple of years ago, I had never seen a red-bellied woodpecker. Now, they are fairly common to the area, and we have at least one coming to the feeder. (Perhaps more. It’s hard for me to distinguish one from the other, but I have only seen one at a time.)

Last week, we bought bird seed and filled the feeders.  Within a week, the feeders needed to be refilled. The birds are hungry, even hungrier than they were in the winter, when we filled the feeders every few weeks. Perhaps it’s because they are getting ready to start their families, and no doubt this is hungry work. Whatever the case, we dote on the birds and will keep those feeders full.

In a month or so, when the weather is warmer, we plan to invite our friends John and Beth over for grilled pizza. They love sitting on the patio and watching the birds as much as we do, and last spring we spent a happy afternoon watching the fluttering beauties who are not in the least bothered by us or our noisy dog.

My little camera, which does such a great job with flowers and food, does not capture birds very well. Nevertheless, knowing I am in for heartbreak and disappointment, I try, snapping away at the various birds that come to our backyard. Clif also tries to take pictures of these little creatures that seldom sit still.

But once in a while, we even get a couple of pictures that we can actually use in a post.

Oh, wily March. Yesterday you gave us snow. Today, we get freezing rain. There is nothing quite  like that tick, tick, tick of freezing rain as it hits the house. Here are what the steps looked like this morning when I returned from a hair appointment in town.

Here is a close-up. You can bet I used extreme caution going up and down the stairs.

And just so the backyard doesn’t feel left out, here’s a picture of our woebegone patio.

Never mind! Clif has a fire going in the wood furnace, so all is cozy at the little house in the big woods. Tonight is going to be treat night with chips and dip, frozen pizza, and a fun movie—we haven’t settled on which one yet.

So take that March and freezing rain!

Yesterday, according to my calendar, was the first day of spring, and this is what greeted me when I got up this morning.

Snow, and not just a dusting. Ah, March. No matter how you might lull us into thinking that spring is here, you always have a little snowstorm up your sleeve to show us who’s boss.

Once more, Little Green will be pressed into service to clean the driveway. Out will come the shovels, and the scraper for the car.  Fortunately, the snow is light, and it doesn’t look as though there will be power outages. For this we must be very grateful.

The snow won’t last long. Still, even though I know this, a snowstorm the end of March feels like a setback.

And I don’t like it. Not one little bit.

March is what you might call a temperamental month,  giving ample proof to the old chestnut that if you don’t like the weather in Maine, just wait a bit, and it will change. Yesterday morning, when I went out to get the mail, the weather was so mild and warm I decided that after lunch, I would poke around the yard, doing bits of clean-up. But the weather had other plans—thunder and rain. No yard work for me.

Last night, as Clif and I were watching Bosch, we heard a rapid patter against the house. Clif paused the show—we were watching it on Amazon Prime—and “That sounds like hail,” I said.  This morning when I looked outside, my suspicions were confirmed when I saw little ice balls scattered on the leaves around my garden.

The weather forecast for the next few days? More thunder and rain, and then the prediction that every Mainer dreads but expects this time of year—a major snowstorm on Sunday that will go into Monday. If we do get this storm, I can almost guarantee that the snow will be wet and heavy, and the possibility of a power outage rears its ugly head.

Ah, well. Our shovels are at the ready, and Clif will bring in some wood. I’ll be sure to fill my big pots with water because at the little house in the big woods, no power means no water. (We have a well.) And on Sunday, maybe I’ll make turkey soup and some biscuits. Then, if the snow comes we’ll have a big batch of comfort to get us through the storm.

In the meantime, I’ll listen to the male cardinal singing his spring song. Perhaps the dog and I will take a walk up the road to check if the pussy willows are in bloom. I’ll also check on the little swamp to see if the ice is out. If there is no ice, then the peepers will soon be singing their spring song, and this always lifts the spirits.

But snow, snow, stay away. Don’t come back until next winter.