THE GRASSES lie crisp and brown in the fields here in northern Florida. The trees seem eternally stuck in barenaked. It has been a cold, wet winter, but its stingy grip on the area is slipsliding away.

Vermont’s state bird, the Hermit Thrush, is currently hopping around St. Marks, Florida. Soon its ethereal flute-like song will accompany your walk in the northern woodlands. The Hermit Thrush is in the company of the first Rubythroated Hummingbirds seen here this year. It is early yet, and there’s not much in bloom: the hummer was seen poking a decaying prickly pear pod left over from last year. The Swallow tailed Kite which graces the summer skies above the refuge is fresh in from South America. When its migration is complete, this splendid kite will reach only the southeastern part of the country, and only the coastal areas, at that. Bird expert Peter Dunn calls it “the wind given form”, such is its beauty in flight.

An Armadillo searches for food on the edge of the field. Photo by Christine Barnes, The Northfield News An immature Peregrine Falcon sits on a dead tree right next to the observation deck where a group of birders are standing. The Peregrine is a deadly hunter and it strikes terror in the hearts of most birds. It can create chaos in the wink of an eye as it drops from the sky and skims the surface of a pond in search of a duck dinner. Vermont’s Peregrine recovery efforts have brought many nesting pairs back to the state after DDT nearly wiped out the bird. Perhaps this youngster is coming soon to a cliff near you.

Red-winged Blackbirds announce their territory from high snags and grasses in the wetlands. These are the resident birds: the others are headed home. So are the Robins that made driving a challenge for a couple of weeks. They flocked along the roadsides, but now only an occasional pair can be seen here and there. Refuge visitors are disappointed that most of the ducks have left, headed to their breeding grounds in the north.

Apologetic wildflowers are popping up here and there, mostly in modest yellow garb for their early arrival. They are barely visible. Tiny blossoms sit close to the ground, seeking solace from the warmth of the Earth, and safety from the heavy spring rains. They offer precious little refreshment to the emerging bees and butterflies. Redbuds bloom shyly on the edge of the woods. Soon the azaleas will join them and the spring’s color riot will begin.

Alligators on the refuge are more and more visible now. In the warmth of the afternoon sun, they lounge together on the islands in refuge pools, or on the levees, and sometimes even by the roadside, much to visitors’ delight. In their curious armored suits, here and there, Armadillos snuffle along in winter’s discarded leaves and pine snags, seeking grubs and bugs. They are so hungry that they hardly ever show their appealing little face and ears. They seem unaware of any danger: one day last week, two hind legs and a tail were all that remained outside the locked jaws of a hungry ‘gator. It’s easy to imagine that the alligator merely lay still and quiet at the edge of the water, cavernous jagged-toothed mouth wide open, and the ‘dillo just hiked on in. Wrong place, wrong time. At least for the Armadillo.

Fed by heavy spring rains, ephemeral pools in the flatwoods ring with the urgent calls of mating tree frogs. Critical life stages must be completed before the pools dry up in the coming warmth. In Vermont, the first welcome chirping spring peepers in the cool night air always marks a joyful turning of the seasons. The winter has been unusually cold and wet here this year. School children attending a refuge program on insects a day ago went on a scavenger hunt for the six-legged critters, but were searching for fake ones hidden by the volunteers. The real ones are still playing it safe in their winter homes.

Up north, soon the Shadblow will lead the parade of blossoms as the fields turn luscious lime green and the land awakens. Home is where the heart is.