Essay and photos by Joe Mish

A spring peeper, a diminutive frog with a big voice, joins in chorus to sound the promise of spring on cold rainy nights in scattered vernal ponds. This species, hyla crucifer, has a large brown cross on its back. Hyla the genus name, has both Greek and Latin origins. Hyla, a companion of Hercules, was drowned in a fountain amid cries for help from the crowd of onlookers. So the connection to the singing frogs.

The bright green blanket of spring is unfurled over the faded brown landscape, abandoned by winter’s hasty retreat. Tilting in deference to the sun, the earth leans over enough to help slowly roll the green cover northward.

The appearance of green, dotting the muted landscape, can be taken as a signature on an official document, declaring the end of winter and the reappearance of life from the state of dormancy. The vagaries of early spring weather may argue and protest in the form of an errant snow flurry or heavy frost, but their cold objection is dismissed by the next warm sunny day.

As in an organized event, where the drop of the green flag signals the start of a race, so does the emergence of greenery generate sparks of color as energy begins to infuse the terminal tree buds and early wetland ephemerals.

At a distance, wooded low land areas, whose soils support a variety of tree species, rival the fall brilliance with the emergence of colorful buds. Set against a background of intertwined pale brown branches, woven into a rough cloth, tree buds appear as countless points of colored light. Each kind of tree features different colored velvety buds and within a species color will vary. Reds, ranging from pink to scarlet, to maroon and plum, fading into bronze and autumn orange, are scattered across the tan canvas and seem to flicker like a thousand candle flames. The intersecting branches, tie the scene together as the colors appear to escape and scatter among the branches to confuse identification, as pale greens mix with pink and orange and maroon buds. Standing alone as a true spectacle of early spring is the native redbud tree with tiny round, intense magenta buds tightly clinging the length of its fine branches. 

The first green messenger, aside from snowdrops and skunk cabbage, which bloom locally in midwinter, are the green lily pads protruding from the silty river bottom in the shallows. Like a cobra raising up and swaying to the sound of a flute, the gangly green plants swaying in the moving water rise to the influence of the growing intensity of spring sunlight.

Among the wet lands along the river, yellow trout lilies, purple trillium, white blood root, sky blue Virginia bluebells, yellow crocus, pink striped white petals of spring beauties dot the emerging green carpet.

A pixie face looks out from the center of the spring beauty, note her cupids bow lips and dark eyes.

The now washed-out monochrome tan pasture, bordering the river, appears to the eye as a sepia photograph. It is an empty canvas awaiting the hand of nature to apply the first swath of emerald paint.

On occasion, an itinerant floral traveler appears, an escapee from some orderly upstream garden, now on a downriver journey to enjoy the uncertain life of a vagabond. One self-transplant is a unique variety of daffodil, with ragged yellow flowers which has established a home along the river. Each year, it faithfully decorates the edge of the river shore. The original pant conveys the soul of a happy recluse offering a bit of joy to any passerby, even an unappreciative mink, whose tracks mark the soft soil in the shadow of the bright bouquet of yellow flowers.  

Another floral journeyman who sailed downriver to find a new home and propagate, is the pale blue Virginia bluebells. Their origin appears to be somewhere upstream on the north branch of the Raritan, as the trail of flowers, follows that course to its confluence. Finding favorable conditions, its settlements expand to cover the ground en masse with its perfect pale blue carpet.  

The sound of great horned owls and the occasional songfest of local coyotes, heard throughout the winter night, are now accompanied by the chorus of spring peepers. A vernal pool, a quarter mile away in the pasture, along the river, is the prime venue for this spring bacchanal. Like turning a radio dial to get the strongest broadcast signal, the northwest wind amplified the sounds of the diminutive frogs’ earnest efforts to attract a mate.  The tiny thin-skinned frogs emerge from hibernation to sit immersed in ice cold water in the dark of night, confident in the promise of warmer weather. The faith exhibited by these delicate creatures, that winter has ended, gives hope to all who listen.

Flightless great horned owl among the maple buds in early spring.

Author Joe Mish has been running wild in New Jersey since childhood when he found ways to escape his mother’s watchful eyes. He continues to trek the swamps, rivers and thickets seeking to share, with the residents and visitors, all of the state’s natural beauty hidden within full view. To read more of his writing and view more of his gorgeous photographs visit Winter Bear Rising, his wordpress blog. Joe’s series “Nature on the Raritan, Hidden in Plain View” runs monthly as part of the LRWP “Voices of the Watershed” series. Writing and photos used with permission from the author.