At this time of the year in northern Michigan, all eyes are focused on this beautiful season we call spring, when birds are singing, orchards are blooming and the air carries that earthy scent of newness.
It must be spring. I know because I heard my first loon last night. Far out on the harbor, that strange wild, half-crazy laugh came out of the evening mist. Back from the warm places where they spend their winters, back to join us in the uncertain Northern springtime. I love those big birds.