Spring whispers its return through muddy puddles and velvety moss, inviting us to live more deeply.
The experience of springtime in childhood is uniquely special because the world itself is new to us—the march of time has only begun to unwrap for us the mysteries of the four seasons and the nuances of nature’s changing spirit.
It was always after a particularly harsh winter—like the one we’ve just had—that someone would rush in from outdoors and proclaim, “The peepers are out!” For those of us who endure the freezing Northeast winters, the peepers’ shrill call was like an “all clear” siren after an air raid, signaling that it was finally safe to venture out.
As the thawing wind coaxed us from our winter burrows, we eagerly poked our noses out to smell the warming earth. First, we were lured to the woods, where spring peepers heralded warmer days with their cacophony of mating croaks. Then we were drawn to muddy puddles, where we would make mud pies or “chocolate” cakes fit for a bakery window. And who could resist the tadpoles with their wriggling tails propelling them through the murky water? My mother always had a mason jar ready to bring these tiny spectacles home for further enjoyment.
Sometimes, my parents would drive us to the spot where the peepers were loudest, and we’d let the overwhelming clamor fill our ears as we sat, jaws dropped, listening. They told us that those high-pitched, piccolo-like chirps came from countless
tiny frogs, masters of disguise hiding just beneath the water. To a kid, that’s like an unspoken dare to wade through the wetlands and find the slippery little buggers. Naturally, though, we found that it wasn’t easy creeping up on peepers—they hushed in an instant, outwitting even the stealthiest feet. Although many years have passed, whenever spring comes, I think that this may be the year I finally get to catch a glimpse of those elusive singers.
The truth is that spring’s enchantment doesn’t have to fade with childhood; there are new things to learn every year. And in our information-on-demand world, smartphones are a fun way to unravel nature’s riddles.
Apps such as
PictureThis or LeafSnap can be used to identify any plant you run across—including mosses.
Merlin Bird ID will tell you the name of every bird that chirps nearby, and if you want to go one step further, the
iNaturalist app lets you add your observations of plants and animals to a database so you can interact with other curious explorers. With each new discovery, you realize that there is so much more to learn if you but open your eyes.
It was only a few years ago, for instance, that I discovered the bustling world of
vernal pools. Formerly called “spring ponds,” these little pools of melted snow and rainwater constitute entire ecosystems—who knew?
Vernal pools are seemingly inconsequential wetlands that contain an essential “
burst of life” that can happen no place else.
These are the puddles and ponds that you see in the springtime that have vanished by summer. They are full of species that are uniquely adapted to completing their life cycle within their shallow borders—such as wood frogs, spotted and marbled
salamanders, and fairy shrimp.
Fairy shrimp are cousins to the
sea monkeys that you might have ordered by mail as a kid. While those sea monkeys were actually a species of brine shrimp, their vernal pool relative—the fairy shrimp—performs extravagant water ballets in the puddles around you every year, postage free.
But it’s not just aquatic life that captivates us in early spring. The edges of these vernal pools, and the damp forest floors nearby, come alive with their own earthy creation: mosses. After the starkness of winter, the sudden flash of green from mosses such as Hypnum and pincushion reveals nature’s ancient artwork. Then, there’s
Pleurococcus, a single-celled green alga often mistaken for moss, which dusts the tree trunks and rocks of the plain brown woods with a velvety emerald sheen.
The feathery
Hypnum, also known as sheet moss or carpet moss, looks more like stands of miniature trees where woodland nymphs play.
Pincushion is the easiest moss to identify—its bright, mounded tufts look like something from Grandma’s sewing box.
These mosses and algae, like the vernal pools, also serve a higher purpose. They’re vital for preventing erosion and sheltering the tiniest creatures, from insects to the eggs of numerous amphibians. As the wood frogs and salamanders lay their eggs in the pools, the mosses protect their surrounding habitat until they emerge. And, when the pools dry up, the mosses linger a while longer, soaking up the last of the season’s dampness before fading until the next spring summons their return.
When spring arrives, every heart—however tethered to modern life—hears the ancient call of the woodlands, because therein lies the tangible manifestation of eternal life. Winter’s fury will never shatter spring’s quiet vows of hope and renewal.
