March, it seems, is the new April. After a mild winter, signs of spring are everywhere: Canada Geese honk and flap northward; Mallard ducks float and paddle on Minden Lake, the old Appaloosa horse next door has shed his winter blanket…
At the point where Kinross Creek drops down a steep granite ridge, a tiny waterfalls is starting to trickle with the spring run-off. Let’s call it Sebby Falls, after our grandson.
My plan was to visit Kinross Creek each month for a year, to learn more about the lifecycle of this little watershed in the forest north of Minden, Ontario.
Today is the 12th month of this journey. Most of the snowpack has melted early. But because the temperature dropped to minus 5C last night, the ground is firm and easy to walk on. With my hiking stick, I navigate up the hill, stopping a few times to catch my breath and admire the muted colours of winter’s end — a carpet of reddish-brown leaves on the forest floor, frost glistening on old blackberry canes, the grey-green of lichen-covered stone.
With the last of the snow melting, Kinross Creek is running fast — probably approaching its peak flow. Ali’s pond is full, its water gushing through a central dip in the stone check dam. Some water has snuck around the west side, so I make a mental note to shore that up when the creek dries in summer.
Downriver, Colleen’s pond is filling and sending a strong current downriver. Typically the creek peters out past Colleen’s pond, but today it runs maybe 50 yards further, right to the edge of a granite shelf and into the valley below.
It’s not exactly Niagara Falls, but Sebby Falls is magical in its own way. The fresh, running water spills over a rock ledge, down moss-covered stone and into a tiny pond before it carries off down the hill. And eventually into Minden Lake.
Sebby (short for Sebastien) lives in Seattle, Washington with his parents, our younger daughter Colleen and her husband Tim. Sebby turns 2 in June. He’s a happy little dynamo. We grandfolk — Nadine and I in Canada, and Mathilde and Nicolas in France, are blessed.
I walk back upstream and snap a few pics of Ali and Colleen’s ponds. Next to the hydro tower, I take off my gloves and pause to snack on a granola bar. As I admire the scenery down the hill to the pastures below, the battery in my hearing device starts beeping. Nothing like a little reality check — and some humility — to interrupt a peaceful moment. And of course there is the reality check that our warmer winters, weather swings, and wildfire smoke are consequences of climate change. March may be the new April, but in many ways I wish it was just the old March.
With the tree canopy still months away, you spot different things in the forest. Some bizarre fungi are sprouting on a dead poplar. My boot hits a rock and I look down to see a striking, white quartz stone. I spot more quartz near the trail — a secret quarry? In the farm field near the road, the old Appaloosa has made it through the winter. Soon the songbirds will return from their migration.
Back at the cottage, we receive a zoom call from Sebby. He is eating porridge and reciting the first seven letters of his ABCs. He wants to show us his little wood train set and tracks. In the neighborhood enroute to Sebby’s favourite park, daffodils are swelling. To the east, the splendid Cherry trees at the University of Washington will soon be covered in pink blossoms — more signs of spring.
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