Spring?
It’s clear that spring is a long way away. That said, it can’t be that long, can it? The woodpile is almost depleted. Sugaring is in full effect. Some people have started their brussel sprouts. If we don’t begin to turn toward spring we could be caught with our pants down when the snow melts and the mud subsides. There is so much to do before the bugs come out. You don’t want to be raking up twigs and pinecones once the bugs are out. Much better to do that when the air is still dead.
I went down to the sub-basement of the Old Building here at the Mill to gather together some bee supers for painting. Spring or no spring, the bee packages will come from Georgia in April. The hives have to be ready.
While I was moving equipment around, I came across a group of five voles standing in a circle in a corner of the basement.
“What are you guys doing inside?” I asked. “I’ve never seen you inside before.”
“We’re dividing up the bulbs we dug out of the garden by the canning factory,” one said without looking up at me.
“I planted those crocus and snowdrop bulbs last Fall,” I said.
“Yes, thanks,” a heavy vole said, “These things are fucking delicious.”
“Why do you guys have to eat them? Why don’t you just eat all the seeds that drop from the feeders?”
“Can’t do corn,” the heavy one said. He pointed to his stomach and made his whiskers wave up and down in a pantomime of sickness.
“When was the last time you had a big bowl of millet?” another vole asked. She waited a while before saying, “I thought not.”
“The birds seem to like the millet.”
“That’s because birds think they look cool when they are flying back and forth and stashing seeds. The chickadees don’t give a shit about the sunflower seeds they grab. They’re like squirrels. They think the process is as important as the result.”
“You guys don’t agree?”
“Fuck no,” said a small vole who had been quiet up until now. “If I didn’t have to leave my snow cave, there is no way I would.”
“Well, if you guys are still hungry,” I said, “There is a big pile of green grain pellets over by the walk-in freezer. You might want to check it out.”
“Sure,” said one with a sneer, “we LOVE d-con. We avoid gluten and organic pesticides, but we love to eat brodifacoum.”
Then they all laughed. Vole laughs. Vole laughs are deeper and more hearty than mice laughs. I always thought that I liked mice laughs less, but when the voles were all laughing I realized that I hate their mirth just as much.
“How long until spring?” I asked.
“It’s coming. Be patient,” they said, “Be careful for what you hope for. For us it’s a mixed blessing. When that bitch wakes up she’s going to go nuts when she discovers what we did beneath the piñata court.”
“Has she stirred at all?”
“Would we be down here picking over bulbs if she had?”
I gathered the supers and set up to paint them. It’s not far now. Another season on Medium, and nothing is ready.
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