42 GREEN TRAILS AND UPLAND PASTURES 



It is at about this time that we go out in the garden 

 one morning to see half a hundred rufous fox sparrows 

 hippety-hopping down the paths with their character- 

 istic rapidity. It is now that the chickadees do not 

 have to be coaxed into replying to their love call, but 

 will answer immediately when we whistle the three 

 notes. It is now that we know the thrill of putting the 

 first vegetable seeds into the open ground, which will be 

 well-sprouted rows of peas when your summer resident 

 arrives in May. What does he know of that first testing 

 of the unploughed garden for underlying frost, that first 

 afternoon of stooping toil, with sleeves rolled up and the 

 sun at last caressingly warm on arms so white that you 

 are ashamed of them! 



This is a season of raking, too, and of little bonfires 

 which send up a pungent smoke at first, thinning to a 

 straight blue vapour as the wind dies and the sunset 

 twines an amethyst veil in the lacy, naked apple boughs. 

 There is still a chill in the gathering twilight, but not 

 enough to drive you to your coat. You draw a little 

 closer to the embers, poke your rake into them and stir 

 up a flame, and then, leaning on your rake, watch the 

 red fire-glows jumping about amid the veined skeletons 

 of burned leaves with the discontinuity of dream images, 

 while far off the shrill of the Hylas rises sweetly from the 

 swamp. Does any but a gardener know this delicious 

 moment of the Spring? 



I love to smell the early spring fires from afar, to come 



