OK, I admit it.  Spring has arrived.

I spent the morning at Long Point, our property on the south shore of the island.  After passing the road twice, a five-minute ride brings me to the locked summer entrance gate.  I have two keys, neither of which work.  I travel what I secretly and facetiously refer to as “Adventure Road.”  There are dips deep enough to snuggle in and still be below the average road height.  The trees close in and scratch down both sides of the truck with that nails-on-a-blackboard sound.  I arrive at the winter entrance and go inside to see what kind of keys they have.  I’m given a lesson in opening a lock with a key.  Because not only am I just a girl, but also a stupid asshole.  “Oh, you have to wiggle it?” I say.  I take a spare master and return to the summer entrance with my keys.  Just for the hell of it, I try both of mine again, no luck.  The master works, however, and it’s five more minutes before I am actually at the parking lot.  It has now been one hour since I left the office.

I park where we burned a couple weeks ago and stake out the area for possible box turtle habitat.  I see one goose and one male mallard on the pond.  I see one caddis fly larvae in the pond.  There is a roasted dead bird by the pond- did anyone smell fried chicken at the burn?  I find a big purple bottle labeled “Phenix Nerve Beverage Boston” that turns out to be about 80 years old, at least.  Yes, that’s “Phenix” with no “o.”  As I make my way from east to west around the pond, the duck has disappeared but the goose remains, and he looks unhappy.  I approach the south end and he moves toward me.  He leans forward, honking quietly and looking quite menacing.  I guess I am nearing the nest.  I look around, keeping one eye on the goose while I walk slowly and carefully through the grass, looking for his mate.  It’s like a game of Hot or Cold.  Warmer….. the honking increases in volume and he swims closer to me.  Colder… he quiets down and stops paddling.  He doesn’t want to confront me but will do what it takes to protect his progeny.  The honking is loud and consistent as I step onto the sand shore of the pond and suddenly the female bursts out of the grass about three feet away.  She joins him in the pond and they both move quickly toward me, honking and leaning and becoming a little more terrifying every second.  Have you ever been attacked by a big bird?  It’s not funny.  It’s scary and pretty painful.  I get the hell out of there.

I drive north past the osprey pole.  I can see the female on the nest, poking her head out over the edge to watch me.  I park what I feel is a safe distance away from her and begin to search for burnt turtle carcasses, I mean, shells.  She whistles when I am near but quiets down as I walk further north.  I find an intact skeleton, a few scutes, and a broken skeleton from painted turtles.  My hands full, I start to return to the truck and see the male osprey approach from over the forest.  He’s carrying a fish, but when he sees me he makes a wide arc.  He won’t go near the nest.  He circles and circles, and I fear that he will drop the fish or abandon the idea of feeding his mate altogether.  Again, I’m a little afraid that a bird is going to hurt me, but what I am more scared of is the female.  She gets up on the edge of the nest and whistles frantically, then takes flight.  I assume there are eggs in there, otherwise she wouldn’t have been sitting.  So I jog to the truck with my turtle remains and leave the property. I look at the rearview mirror as I go and see both osprey returning to the nest.

On my way back to the office I see people everywhere.  Bikes in the road.  Guys working outside… shirtless… at an elementary school.

After lunch we go to Seven Gates to look for vernal pools.  Massachusetts offers protection to these temporary bodies of water as they provide breeding habitat for some rare or threatened species.  In order to be protected, it first has to be certified.  The criteria are 1) proving that the water body supports no fish and 2) proving that certain species are using it to breed.  Some species are obligate, meaning they breed specifically in vernal pools and their presence alone is grounds for certification.  Some examples are my favorite species, Ambystoma maculatum, the yellow-spotted salamander, and fairy shrimp.  If you don’t have obligate species then you have to provide evidence that two different facultative species are there.  These include wood turtles, spring peepers and certain invertebrates.

We drive through Seven Gates until we hear spring peepers, then we find a pull-off and pull on our waders.  Greg leads the way through the ever-present briars and we start poking around this isolated pool of water.  I almost immediately locate the first fairy shrimp I have ever seen.  This immediately proves that this is a vernal pool, but we keep hearing frogs so I am determined to find one.  I’m slogging along the edge when Greg spots a frog.  I catch it in the net, only to find that it’s not one spring peeper, but two.  Mating.  The proper description here is “in amplexus.”  This means that the male has mounted the female and is gripping her tightly just below the arms.  When she releases her eggs, he’ll top it off with some sperm and babies will happen.  Greg is more than a little turned on holding these sex frogs in his hand, and takes lots of pictures.  I am triumphant at immediately IDing this pool as well as capturing the first peepers of the year.  Have I mentioned that they don’t call them “spring peepers” in Martha’s Vineyard?  No, they insist on referring to them as “pinkletinks.”  This is completely stupid as anyone who has ever heard them calling can only imitate the sound by saying “Peep!  Peep!  Peeeeep!” in a shrill voice.  I just want everyone to know that giving them this insulting name in no way changes the sound of their voices.

Next we meet a black pug named Beano, who is walking with another dog, a couple humans, and two goats.  Someone is living my fantasy life…

I realize it’s me, as we check more murky water for shrimp and frogs.  No more pools are identified, but we catch a bunch of green frogs and Greg randomly nets another peeper in an insect sample.  We do a little stream exploring on the way back out, but don’t find anything particularly fascinating.

I set out to blog on harbingers of spring.  So we have the shirtless men.  People being outside, in general.  The spring peepers.  Also, flowers.  Lots of flowers!  Grape hyacinth, daffodils, forsythia, magnolias.  I have some sort of giant daisy tree in my front yard.  Interestingly, one of the most important signs of spring to me was one of the last ones to appear here.  The maples are finally flowering.  A little more subtle than those other plants, but proof to me that winter might just be over.