In summer, they escape our notice the same way taxicabs escape our notice in New York City. There are so many of them, we don’t see them, until we look for them, and then there they are in plain view. But in early spring, when the robins return, we stop to be certain we see that familiar red breast, we take note of when and where we see them, and we mention it at the office. We never noticed when they left, but they are back, and that is all that matters.
Even those who can’t distinguish a flicker from a finch know what robins look like. They are one of us. Family. Native. As a matter of course, we have made it our state bird here in Connecticut, as have the people of Michigan and Wisconsin. We often tether our notions of who we are to a place, and in our mind’s eye, it is a place with robins. Their contented chirping is the soundtrack of our summer afternoons. We all know the color robin’s-egg blue. Who knows the color of the catbird’s egg? (Dark green.)
We have adapted to robins. But even more, robins have adapted to us. They love suburban lawns.
March is here, so get ready for the month’s inevitable struggle with its dual winter/spring, lion/lamb personality. February laid down a blanket of new snow for its successor’s grand entrance on Thursday, and the new month won’t take long to put its own signature on the landscape, written large in slush and mud.
We haven’t had that much snow this year, so I am resolved to enjoy what little of it we still have coming. Of course at this time of year we are all rooting for the March lamb, which can seem like an underdog in these first days of the month. But after the vernal equinox on the 21st, we know the old March lion will lose its wind and lie down with that lamb in surrender.
Kate and I stayed up as late we could Sunday night to watch the Academy Awards, but ran out of steam somewhere in the thicket of awards for technical achievement, sound, art direction, and animation, so we let the Tivo take over our viewing duties and went to bed. It would all be in the paper in the morning anyway.
