Tamara Harbar
Going Green

If you’re pining for spring, relax. It’s already here. Maybe you didn’t notice – snowstorms and icy roads make for pretty good distractions – but spring arrived sometime in February.

February doesn’t look like a promising time for new life to begin. But the ancient Celts thought differently. They celebrated spring on February 4 because ewes would begin to lactate around that time in preparation for delivering their lambs.

It was obviously a different era. City girl that I am, I can’t remember the last time – okay, I can’t remember any time – I noticed lactating ewes as a sign of spring. But even those of us who are ewe-less can see that daylight is noticeably stronger and longer by the time February rolls around.

It seems the Celts made a point of reveling in the growing light, since their spring sits smack in the middle between the December 21 winter solstice and the March 21 spring equinox.

Then there’s the Spring Festival still celebrated these days at some point between January 20 and February 20. Most of us know it by its other name, Chinese New Year. What better time to celebrate a new year than the beginning of spring?

For the Chinese, the start of spring is based on the cycles in the sky, and the celebrations kick off with the second new moon after the winter solstice. Because the moon could be at any point in its 28-day cycle at the winter solstice, the start date for the spring festivities is literally as changeable as the moon.

Also according to Chinese tradition, from February 19 on, it’s more likely to rain than snow and as of March 5 hibernating insects will start to wake up.

Looking at the seasons from the Celtic and Chinese point of view, March 21 isn’t the first day of spring, it’s halfway to summer. Now that’s encouraging!

Admittedly, spring isn’t on the same schedule everywhere in the world. But I think this early view of springtime applies to the snowbelt of Southwestern Ontario, too.

For instance, just when we’re eager to get rid of the extra layers and start enjoying some warmth and sunshine, the bulbs buried in the earth seem to be feeling the same way. Someone once explained to me that before the spring bulbs can poke their shoots and buds into the light by mid-March or so, they have some growing to do underground first and that takes time.

Those shoots have to start inching their way to the surface a few weeks earlier, say … oh, I dunno, maybe sometime in February?

None of us can see springtime’s underground workings yet, but high in the treetops I can spot tiny leaf buds on tree branches that aren’t nearly as bare and smooth as they used to be.

When the piles of snirt – that dingy mixture of snow and dirt – weigh my spirit down, I look up to the trees to see how much the bumpy little nubs have grown since the last time I glanced their way. They get knobbier by the day.

So while I’m shoveling that nasty snirt out of the way, trying to find the ground, I’ll keep thinking how those spring bulbs are pushing their shoots and stems up to the surface at the same time. We should meet in the middle at ground level soon.