I gather that spring is approaching. I’m not the most observant man, but as the days go by the signs of spring begin to multiply—no snow for starters.

Spring then is upon us. And there is something about the sun being a little warmer and the days a little longer that can send some people into hysterical outbursts of nature-watching.

It was just the other day our front office gals broke into a cackle. Business as I knew it stopped at the sighting of a robin. From that point on, when there were sightings of more robins, cedar waxwings or any other flying feathered fu-fu, business stops, just that fast. Now they want to keep me posted on every bird that flies by our office.

“I saw another robin today,” they inform me.

“You don’t say,” I reply, making them think I’m interested in their sightings. I’ve learned now that it only encourages them.

Now my wife has gotten into the act of bird watching. Buying bag after bag of bird seed can be expensive, so we have resorted to table leftovers, like lettuce, pork chop bones, chicken legs and moldy dinner rolls. The birds don’t come in as often, but man are we drawing a crowd of other critters.

Have you noticed how when a bird watcher spots one, even though it’s outside their window, they crouch down as if they were in the woods and their voice turns to a softer, more gentle whisper?

My wife gets real excited upon a bird sighting. She suddenly springs into an irritating kind of language, as if she were, at that very moment, alone with Nature. She describes the sighting with a peculiar style of talk, almost like baby language.

“What do you think I saw,” the one with Nature asks me. “It was the cutest bird, all black with a red head. Ahhhhh, you should have seen it,” she went on.

“Was it at the refuge dump, uhm, I mean bird feeder?” I ask.

“Yeah, it had beautiful blue-black feathers with a reddish-brownish head,” she continued.

Notice, too, the way in which she refers to colors; never plain and simple red or black or blue; always stuff like “red-brown” or “blue-green.”

I’ve always noticed crows are black, not blue-black, and a chicken is brown, not a burnt- brown indigo. I told you I wasn’t that observant.

To me, spring is spring, and there are signs that it is coming that any sensible man respects. For me it’s a morel mushroom, the distant sound of a grouse drumming, or the taste of fresh-dipped smelt. These are the signs of spring I can appreciate. And they speak for themselves.

“So what do you think it was,” my wife asked again. “That beautiful bird at the feeder?”

“I know exactly what it was, with all those pork chop bones down there at the feeder, it was a turkey buzzard,” I replied. “Only we could draw in buzzards over blue jays.”

Ahh, the sights and sounds of spring.

Contact Randy at rjorgensen@pageone-inc.com