“What sweet ode shall we write to spring? Soft and tremulous one minute, tempestuous the next, she proffers her gifts with one fair hand and with the other snatches them away.” – Lois Nestel, Wayside Wanderings II
All the talk these days is about spring. When volunteers arrive at the Museum to paint or construct or hang up something for our new exhibit (also a sign of spring!) we spend the first few minutes talking about arriving birds, muddy driveways, and late snow flurries. Lois Nestel, the Museum’s founding naturalist and director, captured the contrasts of spring in her Wayside Wanderings newspaper column, which was compiled into two little chapbooks. The Spring section of Wayside Wanderings II begins like poetry:
“So, shall the ode be to her gentle side with greening grass, with birds and flowers and breezes moist and sweet as baby’s breath? Shall it be of earth reborn, of seed and root awakened and of bursting life in every swale and stream and creatures bringing forth their young? Shall it be of mingled scents, of mouldering duff, unfolding leaves and earth itself spewing forth the life it held intact throughout the months of cold? And must we not include the hues of spring; the tender blue of skies with puffy clouds, the yellow, pinks, and copper tones of bursting leaves; all the lovely tones of autumn only softened, modified?
“Mayhap it should be of slim-legged girls on bikes and running boys preparing for the race, of women planting flowers, and men in fields.
“Or should the ode be to the harsher side with snow and sleet, with slashing rain and wind, the lightning's flash and thunder roll or sudden frost that wounds the tender things?
“But would the ode not better be to hope, to promise and to the expectation of fulfilment of a dream that might have seemed for naught in winter's cold? Is there one heart so sick, so sad and worn that it stirs not with hope at spring's sweet touch? There is a magic, a restorative in spring that speaks of better things to come, of life worthwhile.
“Yes, it is all these things. The bitter makes us savor ever more the sweet and gentle days. No verse, no hymn, no song to spring but must include the teardrop with the smile. A bright new season, bright new dream, a time of growth; that's spring.”
I’ve been riding my bike around Lake Namakagon on warm afternoons, and while I’m checking the spots where hepatica and trailing arbutus usually bloom first, the buds have been tightly furled. That’s ok, because I know where to look for the even earlier flowers, and so did Lois. Her Spring section continues with odes to the flowers of trees!
“It is spring; there is no doubt about it. A pervading aroma emanates from last year's leaves, dampened by rain and warmed by sun, from expanding leaf buds, and from the earth itself. There is also the bitter sweet hint of another fragrance, fresh and elusive, coming from the prodigious blossoming which often remains unnoticed if one only looks at the ground. But look up at the trees, the willows, aspens, and maples. The flowers are there, small, not especially colorful or spectacular in casual observation. Close at hand, however, they are amazing. I find a special fascination in these minute blossoms, losing sight of my own gross imperfections in their purity of form.
“Willows and aspens produce their flowers in catkins which, at first, are furry, gray, brown shielded ovals best represented to us in pussy willows. As willow catkins develop, four-parted yellow clubs emerge from the gray fur, clothing them in gold and offering a welcome feast to early insects.
“The common old poplar, more formally known as aspen, is so familiar that we scarcely see the tree, much less its bloom. Aspen catkins quickly expand into chenille-like tassels that may not impress one as being extraordinary, but a look through a magnifying glass reveals details that are as fair as the most precious garden flower. Here is a carefully arranged structure of delicate, fringed scales protecting creamy flowers with dark stamens. Their life is short. A little warmth, a little drying, and suddenly the flowers spill quantities of pale pollen to be carried on the wind. Empty, their task fulfilled, the catkins fall away.
“Showier are the maple flowers. The silvery twigs of soft maple are tipped by clustered scarlet blooms with golden stamens. At the height of their blossoming, the trees are a haze of red which quickly fades and is gone by the time the leaves appear. The sugar maples glow green-gold with dangling chartreuse bells bearing rust-colored stamens or two-pronged reddish pistils.
“Flowers by the millions, yet so rarely seen,” Lois concludes. “One violet on the ground gets more attention. Each tree blooms in its own time, its own fashion, and each merits greater appreciation.”
May this inspire you to look more closely at the flower of a tree in this bright new season!
Emily’s award-winning second book, Natural Connections: Dreaming of an Elfin Skimmer, is available to purchase at www.cablemuseum.org/books and at your local independent bookstore, too.
For more than 50 years, the Cable Natural History Museum has served to connect you to the Northwoods. Our Summer Calendar is open for registration! Our new exhibit, “Becoming the Northwoods: Akiing (A Special Place) opens on May 1! Follow us on Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, and cablemuseum.org to see what we are up to.
Last Update: May 01, 2025 8:08 am CDT
