The most wonderful time of the year, at least to me, is not the winter holiday season. It’s now. The advent of May.
It’s not snowing. It’s drizzling with a bit of sun peeking through grayish clouds. Like the jingling bells on a horse-drawn sleigh, chorus frogs sing nonstop at Old School Forest Preserve in Libertyville on one of the last days in April.
A flicker screams his high-pitched series of notes across the woods. Another echoes in response. A field sparrow sings like a bouncing pingpong ball. Yellow-rumped warblers chatter in the oaks as a blue-headed vireo unveils its soft, questioning song.
Below my feet are more gifts of the season: creamy white fungus hanging like brackets on the shelf of a fallen tree, and a clump of yellow flowers huddled together with round leaves.
These gifts reveal themselves to me one by one whenever I venture outdoors this time of year, even opening themselves for me. All I have to do is look.
At Wright Woods in Vernon Hills, the ephemeral blooms of the bloodroot are so delicate, the next rain will surely wash them away. Hidden among them are rue anemones dancing above the ground like stars attached in a low-lying constellation, and spring beauties with their five-petaled whitish flowers with thin, pink lines. The spring beauties are close to the ground, emanating from strap-like leaves. They are here this time each year, like a favorite aunt you haven’t seen for a long time.
Close to the Des Plaines River, I think of the prothonotary warbler that nested here in the past. They’re not here yet, but in another week, they may present themselves with their loud ringing one-pitched notes.
I anticipate the return of the prothonotary warbler just like I look forward eating potica, the Slovenian walnut bread my mom made at Christmastime. I can almost taste the mixture of honey, butter, chopped walnuts and golden raisins wrapped like a jelly roll in a thin dough, which we always eat on Christmas morning.
Many seasons I have returned to this spot in Wright Woods to search for the warbler with bright yellow plumage and dark beady eyes that nests in tree cavities along back riverine areas in spring. I will be back later to retrieve my gift.
There are surprises, too. Exiting the preserve, I notice the flash of black, white and red flying from an oak tree. It is the uncommon redheaded woodpecker, like a tree topper tucked away in the basement over summer only to be brought out in all its splendor for the holidays.
At home, a familiar song only heard this time of year rings in my yard. “Oh, sweet Canada, Canada.”
A sparrow with a chalky-white throat and yellow eye spot sings in a minor key as he kicks the dead leaves on the ground to expose some critter to eat. That song of the white-throated sparrow is a gift only bestowed this time of year. He could sing to me all day long and I would never tire of it, just as some folks love listening to their favorite holiday song over and over in December.
The next day, more gifts arrive. At Reed Turner Woodland in Long Grove, a palm warbler flits among Dutchman’s breeches with flowers that look like white pantaloons. Then comes a phone call promising an even better present. A rare white-faced ibis has been discovered, only 10 minutes away at Buffalo Creek Forest Preserve. We must go find it. It would be like getting a shiny new convertible for Christmas.
We walk the preserve all around the reservoir, peering into wetland vegetation, scanning the shoreline. One hour of searching yields no long-legged wayward bird someone else had the pleasure of seeing an hour ago. We have to be content with a northern shoveler, a migratory duck with bold brown and green plumage and a huge bill. My companion, my sister, remarks she has not seen a northern shoveler this close for a long time, if ever.
She helps me realize that the gifts are not only for me, but also for others. Each of us views them in a different light. I can get greedy and want more or better or different presents, or I can be grateful and enjoy all that’s laid out in front of me at this most wonderful time of the year.
Sheryl DeVore has worked as a full-time and freelance reporter, editor and photographer for the Chicago Tribune and its subsidiaries. She’s the author of several books on nature and the environment. Send story ideas and thoughts to sheryldevorewriter@gmail.com
