​    I can’t draw. Lots of people say that they can’t draw, but I really cannot. There are two reasons that I believe are the root cause. The first reason is that I lack spatial reasoning skills. I didn’t even know that spatial reasoning was a thing until high school when we took a test and I had to tell what some flat segmented squares would look like if they were folded up into boxes. I failed miserably as I had no concept whatsoever about how they would all go together. The second reason might also inform the first and that is one of attention and attention to detail. I can conjure the concept of a moose or other object in my mind’s eye, I can picture the details somewhat, but when it comes to putting it on paper my hand cannot make the connections. When I draw pictures on the board for my students at school I do a lot of labeling because a blob with lines coming out of it is a deer and a smaller blob is a rabbit. My students and I often get a good chuckle out of me trying to draw, especially if I try to put details. I am always as surprised as they are to see what my hand ends up creating. I didn’t realize how bad my deficit is until my daughter started drawing. Her talent amazes me. She shows attention to detail and will work until the picture is just how she wants it. 
    I mention my deficiency in drawing to introduce the idea of drawing the natural world. It had never occurred to me until a few years ago why anyone would want to draw something in nature. I learned to draw flower petals when I was in the first grade and that was enough for me. When using field guides, I usually prefer to use ones with photographs, although as I get older, I am finding that I appreciate the value drawings of flora and fauna offer. I always understood the purpose of nature journaling as a way to remember what plants look like and what flora and fauna are seen at certain times of the year. This view of the usefulness of such a craft did little to entice me as I have never had trouble remembering plants. It is unfortunate for those that go hiking with me that I not only remember all of the plants that I have ever learned, but I can tell when I first saw them, and how I first identified them or who taught them to me. I say unfortunate because I have been known to launch into an unsolicited anecdotal story when I see plants that I especially like. I didn’t know that not all people aparently possess this ability until I noticed my husband forgetting plants that I know he was able to identify before and my children not remembering plants that I had taught them in seasons past.
    The true value of nature journaling, however, has slowly seated itself in my mind. Recognizing the details of how plants change over time and being able to point out certain details to confirm identification for others is very important. When people ask me how I know for certain the id of a plant, I am not usually able to point to certain characteristics, I just know. I can see the value of taking time to observe the details. I decided to sit and do just that this week. I drew mint, horsetail, and jewelweed. I was surprised and excited at the questions that arose as I observed closely to include all of the details. Some of the questions that I wondered about are which plants have alternate, opposite, or whorled leaves? How many leaves does each section of horsetail have and is the number consistent all the way up? I tried to draw exactly what I was seeing with little success. It occurred to me that I could still try to include details and label what I was drawing for future reference. I am going to try nature journaling with my own children. I am interested as much in what they will draw as what they will have to say about the process.   
    This week more dragonflies have emerged and I noticed damselflies for this time this season. I have had adults tell me that they are terrified of dragonflies and I find that often it is because when they were children adults told them stories, such as if you say something mean a dragonfly will sew up your mouth with its “tail”. Or that the “tail” was a stinger. I have always told people that dragonflies don’t bite. I believed it until I tried to rescue one from the window in our garage and upon catching it it continued to bite me until I released it outside. The bite didn’t hurt, it was more of a pressured pinch but it was a little startling. This week the apple blossoms did indeed expire from the trees. The striking puff of white that graced the far end of the pond is now green and other than the pleasing distinct shape of the apple tree, short in stature and wide at the top apple trees always seem round and dwarfed, it no longer stands out as the green blends with the grass and surrounding trees. At the beginning of the week, I noticed what looked like small white balls in clusters all over the branch of the ash tree that hangs out over the trail. I knew that they would be flowers. By the end of the week they had blossomed into small, feathery-white clusters and their malodor filled the air as we walked by. Ash leaves don’t smell sweet. I can’t describe the smell. It isn’t horrible but it is not something you would subject yourself to a second time by getting your nose too close. As fall nears the blossoms will turn into bright orange berries, hanging en mass in beautiful contrast to the backdrop of green. The baby crows have been cawing and at this point, the leaves are too thick to be able to see the nest in any detail. It is exciting to be standing near though and see and hear the parents land to the uproarious cries of their young. We have also noticed the grackle flying out and returning often with worms in her mouth. She is obviously feeding something be it her young or perhaps a cowbird. My husband pointed out that she ascends to her nest like she is climbing a spiral staircase. She lands on the branches below her nest and hops up and around the tree to her roost. I wonder if she does this to try to keep her actual nest site a secret? The nest can’t be seen at all from the ground and although I have listened often I have not heard any peeping. I am thinking that might change as the babies grow this week.  

     As we were walking this week my daughter suddenly exclaimed “Oh, I was trying to figure out what is different. The trees have leaves!” The winter-like cold gave way to an almost early to mid-summer feel as this week progressed and nature changed quickly in response. Last week I thought that we would see the leaves begin to grow larger slowly and that the trout lilies would begin to blossom. The size of the leaves of all of the different types of trees has increased very quickly and the trout lily flowers have come and gone.  
    The spring peepers have been active for weeks now, but there were many days this past week when they peeped during the day as well as in the night. As the weather has warmed they have ceased their work in the day and their night chorus is deafening. We have done some experimenting to see what makes them quiet down the quickest. We mostly believed that it was noise, but after we tried being loud and yelling, they only quieted a little. One of my research assistants tried jumping up and down on the ground and the peepers stopped their peeping completely for a while. The “plip, plips” that we heard in the pond last week as the small frogs hopped out of sight beneath the bent, tan-colored cattail leaves of last summer that line the edge of the pond, have turned into “plop, plops” as the larger frogs have emerged from their winter abodes beneath the mud at the bottom of the pond.  By the end of the week the clear get that holds the frog eggs together was completely gone.  As the week progressed, we watched it deteriorate.  We are concerned that algea blooms in the ponds may be a sign of pollution and that it might be effecting the eggs.  At one point we decided to poke the egg masses with a stick to be sure that the tiny tadpoles were alive.  Upon being poked, some of the comma-shaped tadpoles wriggled their tiny, shiny, black bodies and drifted slowly toward the bottom of the pond.  They were all very much alive!
    One morning as I sat observing the pond, I heard the low drone of many buzzing bees. I noticed that a willow tree at the pond’s edge was being visited by around twenty or more bumblebees. I did some research and found out that the bees were getting nectar from the emerging catkins on the branches. It turns out that willow trees are an important early source of food for bumblebees.  
    Although we can’t see the nest, we think that the baby crows have hatched. The constant evening chatter that comes from the nest seems to be being made by more than one or two birds. We have observed the adult crows bothering the grackle nest. At first I thought the crow was probably just trying to steal the eggs from the nest because I have seen it steal eggs from my chicken coup, but I found out that crows will eat baby birds. We also noticed a new bird in the woods this week. The hermit-thrush. The song of the hermit-thrush is my favorite. A sing-songy, flute-like melody.  
    I am wondering how the evening frog chorus will change this coming week as different types of frogs have become active. I am also wondering if cattail shoots will start to emerge along the edge of the pond. I know that they are growing underneath the water, as I have observed them in shallow wet areas near the pond, but they have yet to have grown tall enough to be seen above the surface.  

     ​I have heard it said that if you don't like the weather in Maine, just wait a minute.  That cliche proved true this week at our house.  The grass had just started to turn green.  Tiny dandelion leaves were starting to emerge among the taller straw-colored blades of last year's grass.  Then Sunday we got a foot of snow.  The first forecast was for 5 inches, then it wasn't going to accumulate.  By the time the storm happened, it was being touted as a rare spring Nor'easter.  Needless to say, my first visit to the pond to journal was not what I expected it would be like in May.  
    The aura of white light that accompanies snow and always reminds me of Christmas greeted me as I made my way to the pond the first day.  My husband suggested that I wear snowshoes but I refused.  It was mid-May after all. They would have proved useful, however, as I "post-holed" with each step.  The small stream that trickles out of the upper pond to the lower pond was burbling down over the rocks that line its course, green grass at its edges as it's motion and relative warmth gave hope that spring would eventually conquer the last remnants of winter.  The small buds on the willow trees that grace the edge of the pond also gave one reason to remember that the deep and unwelcome snow was only temporary.  As for now, nature is catching a few extra winks under its blanket of white.  As evening approached it felt surreal to hear the spring peepers calling in a world devoid of color.   
     As the week progressed the snow slowly melted.  We were surprised by how much the grass had greened underneath.  Later in the week, as we walked around the pond with only the occasional patch of bright white snow here and there, we saw ripples and heard "plip" "plip" as frogs quietly moved beneath the surface of the water as they sensed us coming.  We are not sure if they were hearing us, seeing us, feeling the motion as we walked, or a combination of all three.  We were surprised to see many frog egg clusters floating just beyond our reach at the edge of the open water.  There are many more than we remember seeing in years past.  We even noticed cloudy white clusters attached to foliage near the bottom of the pond.  Those are salamander eggs, I believe.  
     On Thursday, as we sat and watched the pond we saw water skaters quickly darting along its surface and cattail shoots just starting to poke their green heads out of the mud.  A kingfisher chattered as it skimmed the surface looking for small fish.  We have a male and female mallard that visit often.  We think that the female likely has a nest somewhere close.  One year she nested right up next to the house.  Another year she presented six fluffy black and yellow babies as my children and their friends celebrated a birthday party on our front lawn next to the pond.  Other birds that I am familiar with and notice their calls are the eastern phoebe and oven-bird.  The phoebe is supposed to say "Phoebe" hence the name, but I always hear "Where do you work? Rite-Aid, Rite-Aid".  It isn't traditional but it helps me identify it right off.  On Friday, for the first time this year, I heard an oven-bird.  The oven-bird calls "Teacher, Teacher, Teacher".  Earlier in the spring, we watched crows build a nest in one of the pine trees near the pond.  We've also been watching a grackle build a nest in a blue spruce in front of our bedroom window next to the upper pond. On Wednesday, one of my research assistants found an egg on the grass next to the pond.  We're not sure but we think it might be a flicker egg.  We did have two flickers visiting our suet feeder in April.  The egg prompted us to do a lot of research on the flicker and its nesting habits and to also reach out to the birding community on Facebook to help us id it.     
     The buds on the trees have increased in size as the week has progressed and the trout lilies have shot up flower stems with closed yellow buds.  I predict that by the end of next week, most of the trout lilies will have bloomed and the leaves will be as large as a mouse's ear.  These are both telltale signs that the trout will be biting. 
     I am wondering how the frog eggs will progress.  The clear gel that holds them together deteriorated as the week went on and I'm not sure if that is due to the variance in temperature, if it normally happens that fast and I have never noticed, or if some other factor is at play.  I also noticed chewed up pieces of cattail stalks which likely indicates a muskrat is around.  I haven't seen it yet.  I will keep watching.  I am looking forward to watching the flowers and leaves emerge and the baby birds that will be born. Life at the pond's edge is never dull.