Poof! It Is Spring. In Most Years, I Measure the [Derived Headline]

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Poof! It is spring. In most years, I measure the arrival of spring by the first red-winged blackbird call I hear across a swamp somewhere. It is tentative. It is unmistakable, but untraceable.

Somewhere out there, a lone male red-wing has landed after its long migration from Florida, flashing its red epaulet and calling a strident "O-gurgle-eee!" The bird is setting up its nesting territory. This first call comes mid-February, when I am aching for the tiniest sign of real spring. It is enough to sustain me through the snowstorms and frostings to come.

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Poof! It Is Spring. In Most Years, I Measure the [Derived Headline]

That's a normal year.

This week, my spring red-wing landed, not with a faint, distant call, but with a "ker-whumph" in my backyard. A hundred of so male red-winged blackbirds landed as ...

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