SCOTT SHALAWAY Short February seems like longest of months

Even during this leap year February remains the shortest month of the year. Why, then, does it seem the longest?
Perhaps it's because the wood shed is almost empty, and every day we split another load of firewood. Or perhaps it's because the weather has been so horrific. Right now 2 inches of ice still covers my driveway and on the road in front of the house. I'm tired of winter. Each day creeps by like a glacier in Alaska.
Blaming February
Maybe I'm just blaming February for an old-fashioned long, hard winter. It seems to have snowed every day since Christmas, and night time low temperatures have plunged below zero several times. I suppose I'm showing my age, but I don't venture too far from the house when the day's high temps don't crack single digits.
Though my trips afield have been limited these last six weeks, I know spring is more than a distant promise. Last week on a rare sunny afternoon, I heard bluebirds and chickadees singing on the edge of the woods. Males advertise their presence hoping to attract an unattached female. Any day they will begin inspecting the nest boxes that occupy the backyard.
On those rare days the thermometer climbs above freezing, robins venture from the shelter of deep wooded valleys in search of the few remaining grapes and Virginia creeper berries. And the phone rings; everyone wants to report the year's first robin. But robins are no more a harbinger of spring than the woodchucks we celebrate on Groundhog Day. Though robins migrate, many northern bids winter here in the mid-latitudes so it's not unusual to see robins all winter long.
At the feeders goldfinches will soon begin to molt. Look for bright spots of gold breaking through the dull winter plumage. Between now and late April goldfinches transform themselves from drab feeder birds into golden roadside attractions.
Approaching spring
And just a few days ago, I saw another convincing sign of approaching spring. As I crested a hill on the way to town, I noticed a ruffed grouse in the middle of the road. It was in full display. Its ebony ruffs stood erect around its neck, and its rusty tail was completely fanned. I scanned the roadside for a hen, but couldn't find one. Surely this fellow wasn't just practicing his routine. I watched intently for two minutes and eventually pulled the truck within a few feet of the magnificent bird. Finally it closed its tail, folded its ruffs beneath its brown neck feathers, and flew into the woods.
February nights make up for what they lack in insect and frog songs with the erie hoots and whistles of great horned, barred, and screech owls. Great horns have actually been singing for weeks and may already be incubating a clutch of two or three eggs high in an old squirrel or red-tailed hawk nest.
Barred owls, of "Who cooks for you, who cooks for you-all" fame, won't complete their clutches until March or early April.
The tremulous whistles of screech owls reinforce pair bonds and can be heard throughout the month, but nesting usually waits until April or May.
Winter winding down
All of these biological cues suggest that winter is winding down. One other daily phenomenon confirms it. Days are getting longer. The sun rises a minute or two earlier each morning and sets several minutes later each night. Earth's circadian rhythm leaves no room for error. Its clock is absolute. Spring is in the air.
Hot tip: Necessity, they say, is the mother of invention. With a thick sheet of ice covering the driveway this week, I feared someone might take a bad fall. Salt is ineffective when it's very cold, and my sand pile is frozen. So I sprinkled a layer of bird seed on the sidewalk and driveway. It provides decent traction, and the birds eagerly clean up the mess.
sshalaway@aol.com