I Figured Out What Spring Sounds Like.

For me, at least.

After a winter that started late and stayed late, spring is finally on the horizon in Fish Camp, California, the tiny town I call home.

At Londo Lodge, my Yosemite home, there’s a side door off the garage where I take Satie out every few hours when she starts tap dancing in front of me pretending she has to pee. I fall for it (honestly every fucking time) but it’s fine. She just wants to go outside, do a little sniff-sniff routine, and prance around the yard. There’s a lot to sniff up there. My property is teaming with life. Plants, bugs, enormous trees. She loves it out there and it’s a good reminder to take a break and get away from the computer or whatever DIY house project I happen to be tackling that day.

A few weeks ago, I was standing with her, waiting for her to do her sniffing and snorting, and I heard something I hadn’t ever really noticed. I could “hear” spring. I realized that this noise - whatever it was - was the sound I’ve associated with early spring my entire life. But what was it?