BY LYNN FANTOM

“At the end of winter, there is a season in which we are daily expecting spring, and finally a day when it arrives.” — Henry David Thoreau

A detailed view of a three-leaved cinquefoil flower on the summit of Cadillac mountain. (Photo by Will Newton/Friends of Acadia)

If that sounds more like Mark Twain than Henry David Thoreau, then it’s time to become better acquainted with the gentleman from Massachusetts whose vivid descriptions about life on Walden Pond and excursions to the north woods of Maine render him spring’s appointed spokesperson. After all, the American naturalist and philosopher did admit, “One attraction in coming to the woods to live was that I should have leisure and opportunity to see the spring come in.”

Although tour books are wishy-washy about visiting Acadia National Park in the spring, there’s ebullience about the goings-on of the natural world between March and June when Thoreau is the guide.

Spring starts flirtatiously in Acadia. Thoreau described the dynamic this way: “The first pleasant days of spring come out like a squirrel and go in again.”

Of course, another member of the squirrel family—the groundhog—is infamous in North American folklore for being similarly capricious. But naturalists know this true hibernator is motivated by something other than shadows. As early as February, the male groundhog (also called a woodchuck) leaves his burrow to scout locations where females are hibernating. He whistles while he works, which has earned him the epithet “whistle pig.” After roaming two or three acres, he resumes sleep in his burrow. The reconnaissance pays off with breeding in March.

The sun climbs higher in the sky and days last longer. Early in spring, pussy willows bloom, the female great horned owl sits defiantly on her eggs though it may snow, and the male American woodcock starts his courtship.

“The faint silvery warblings heard over the partially bare and moist fields from the blue-bird, the song-sparrow, and the red-wing, as if the last flakes of winter tinkled as they fell!” – Henry David Thoreau

Two juvenile barred owls rest on a tree branch in the woods at Sieur De Monts. (Photo: Emma Forthofer/Friends of Acadia)

This plump, short-legged gent puts on quite a show. Twice daily, in fact. At dawn and dusk, he emits what Cornell University ornithologists call a loud nasal “PEENT!” to alert nearby females. Then he launches into the air, soaring high and circling to the ground. As air passes through his outermost feathers, twittering sounds add to the spectacle of the sky dance. And because the woodcock is not monogamous (though some 90 percent of bird species are), bird watchers who see the courtship ritual once may be in for encore performances the same night.

Sounds signal spring. As walkers circumnavigate Jordan Pond, they are captivated by the noise of the ice cracking. “Every incident connected with the breaking up of the rivers and ponds and the settling of the weather is particularly interesting,” Thoreau said, describing nighttime ice movements as “loud as artillery.” Spring rains arrive, but frost driven as deep as four feet underground takes its time to thaw.

When the soil is so saturated that it cannot absorb any more rainwater, molten mud marks the days. Dirt-road residents loathe mud season, but Thoreau was “cheered by the music of a thousand tinkling rills and rivulets whose veins are filled with the blood of winter.” Still, he was realistic. “True, it is somewhat excrementitious in its character, and there is no end to the heaps of liver, lights and bowels, as if the globe were turned wrong side outward.” But, he concludes, “This is the frost coming out of the ground, this is spring. It precedes the green and flowery spring, as mythology precedes regular poetry.”

Bog walks are now a blessing, as spring hikers scan the woods for barred owls sitting on their eggs. Bluebirds and Eastern phoebes return, while fox sparrows pass through on their way to their more northern residences. Also, in March, wet areas like the Great Meadow witness male red-winged blackbirds, attired like scouts with bright red epaulettes, looking for nesting territories in advance of the females.

“The first sparrow of spring! The year beginning with younger hope than ever! The faint silvery warblings heard over the partially bare and moist fields from the blue-bird, the song-sparrow, and the red- wing, as if the last flakes of winter tinkled as they fell!” Thoreau exclaimed.

Birds that have wintered in Acadia attract new attention as they don their courtship plumages. The male American goldfinch becomes bright yellow. The black guillemot changes from a pigeon- like grey and white to a more dramatic black with white wing patches—all the better to show off his bright red feet. Though male hairy and downy woodpeckers maintain the same appearance in spring, they drum on trees and telephone poles to announce their territories.

“This is the frost coming out of the ground, this is spring. It precedes the green and flowery spring, as mythology precedes regular poetry.” -Henry David Thoreau

Canada geese rest on a foggy Northeast Creek before their long journey south for the winter. (Photo by Will Greene/Friends of Acadia)

The air is still nippy and spring witnesses “the honking of geese flying low over the woods, like weary travelers getting in late from southern lakes, and indulging at last in unrestrained complaint and mutual consolation,” as Thoreau said. Two subspecies of Canada geese fly over northern New England annually, but there is also a relatively small resident population.

Another migration begins in late March and continues during April. When temperatures climb into the 40s and spring rains fill natural depressions in the land, amphibians return to these so-called vernal pools where they were born. Although temporary, vernal pools provide essential breeding grounds for frogs and salamanders.

Significant vernal pool habitat is protected by Maine law. The amphibians often move at night, risking traffic deaths as they venture across roads like Route 3 here on Mount Desert Island. When thousands are migrating in Maine, citizen scientists volunteer as crossing guards. They even have their own Facebook page for the “Big Night.” Many are particularly eager to see the spotted salamander, with its shiny black skin generously covered with bright yellow spots.

In April, the cabernet-colored sheath of the Eastern skunk cabbage pushes out of the mud in swamps and near streams. Because it generates its own heat, it can literally melt its way through frozen ground.

In nearby forests, mosses and lichens enjoy their finest hours, flourishing in the wet weather. Hikers bow down to catch the scent of the Canada mayflower along trails meandering among pine trees. Back out on dirt roads, they spy a bird in flight ahead of them with a white patch notable at the base of his tail; a flicker has been eating ants.

May marks an important moment: the opportunity to see returning warblers before the leaves hide them. Bird watchers spot palm warblers near bogs and yellow-rumped warblers high in spruce trees. The ruby-throated hummingbird is also back from Central America, taking in sustenance from newly flowered wild strawberries, cinquefoils, and white violets.

“Every incident connected with the breaking up of the rivers and ponds and the settling of the weather is particularly interesting… loud as artillery.” – Henry David Thoreau

A Common Yellowthroat rests on a branch off the Jesup Path. (Photo by Ashley L. Conti/Friends of Acadia)

Meows emanate from catbirds deep in shrubs, while American kestrels, Maine’s smallest falcons, drop to catch prey near open fields. The National Park Service has already closed hiking trails near the Precipice, Jordan Cliffs, and Valley Cove, where peregrine falcons are nesting. Visitors, however, stop by the viewing platform at Precipice trailhead, lingering to chat with park rangers about the status of the nesting.

As the calendar turns to June, bird watchers head to Sieur de Monts Spring hoping to glimpse an American redstart, black-and-white warbler, rose-breasted grosbeak, or perhaps even a pileated woodpecker. After long days in the field, they open their windows at night to hear the spring peeper symphony and inhale the fresh air. Thoreau’s words are like a prayer: “I am reminded of spring by the quality of the air… It is a natural resurrection, an experience of immortality.”

LYNN FANTOM is a former New York advertising executive who has embraced her second career as a freelance writer in Maine.