The weather proverb “March comes in like a lion, goes out like a lamb” has been with us for centuries. The “Farmer’s Almanac” tells us that if our March weather roars in it will exit gently—or at least it is a sentiment we like to believe. March also brings astronomical spring—this year it arrived on March 20th—and we’ve been waiting for weeks, almost holding our breath. Our weather has been roaring.
So that first spring lamb-like Saturday afternoon marked my season’s inaugural walk from home up Village Hill. This time of year, when one moment the sun is peeking out from behind pillow clouds and the sky is patched blue and the next moment it is streaked cloud gray, before the trees are leafed out and everything is dense and lush and nature is waking up—it is a time to find those small sights that winter has unearthed and to look anew at those that are there all the time but somehow you miss. It is a moment caught between the past and the future.
Walking up the hill—looking up there is the sun streaking on the stones in the Village Hill Cemetery—I can actually see the rays like fingers reaching down. Looking low, there is the white lichen on an old rusting gate knob, with two red berries. As I reach the top of the hill, up high I see a perfectly formed paper wasp nest that will disappear behind tree leaves soon. Down again there is a melon-sized rock with multi-colored grays like a layer cake. Just a little further, the stumps of two small trees that didn’t survive the winter wind—but now offer the story of their rings and core.
The trip down the hill brings me past a field of tall, dried flowers, brown now, but once bright with color, and the country stone wall behind. Then I’m back at the 1874 carved in stone above the crypt at the Village Hill Cemetery. At the Old Village Hill Cemetery, the black iron 1859 Bodman Gate with its intricate design welcomes you in to visit the stones. Further down on North Main Street, bright white snowdrops are a promise of things to come. Looking up, there is the Burgy Church steeple, standing tall, as it has since 1836. Strolling on East Main, first I notice a single bud—upright—and a tree branch that reaches out over a fence. Then, the Bickford Boy Scout House up close—and look past to see the tall red-budding tree behind—the color shown off against the slate gray clouds. I cross the Mill River and look out at the old mill and the river rushing past. Then up close again, one of the old street maples, with a metal peaked-roof sap bucket, the maple sap dripping freely into it with small popping sounds. And finally, a strip of purple crocus—the color of spring.
Do you have a favorite spring walk? Daria D’Arienzo, Meekins Archivist and photographer. #throwbackthursday; #tbt.
Posted to Facebook 3/27/2025
