It’s April 1 and for the first time this year, the turkeys are beginning their spring dance. In the ‘space in between’ the end of snow/ice/sludge and the emergence of the first welcome tufts of brown ground, I witnessed the pirouetting king with his blood red wattle, followed by anxious, attentive hens.

I was on my way to visit nearby lowlands to check on the wild viburnums, gray willow, beaked hazel, alders, and a multitude of other bushes, some of which are hard to identify without their leaves.

Ten days ago, I picked pussy willows from lightly burnished branches in the same area that rose out of swampy hummocks and reeds. These first fuzzy pollinators are just now peering out of their beaked coffee – colored hoods. Once they open, these catkins attract mining bees and many other insects and early migratory birds, depending on them for food. Sprays of pale alder catkins will feed the newcomers next.

Out of all the bushes I inspected, only the first pale gray-green tightly wound leaf spikes of viburnum lantana were emerging from winter sleep. The leaves were visible but remained tightly closed. However, the contrast between the silver swords reaching to deep blue sky was spectacular, if almost impossible to photograph.

I make it a habit to visit these lowlands to find the first signs of spring, but especially the wild Viburnum lantana, also called the ‘Wayfarer tree,’ whose multi–stemmed vase-like clusters are the first to visibly reach for the sun. I love each stage of Viburnum lantana’s becoming.

After emergence, pale sage leaves turn dark green, next creamy white flowers are followed by clumps of bright green berries that turn crimson and black. The birds pluck the last of Nature’s repast by mid-fall. Pollinators (especially wild bees) love the umbrella-like flower clusters, and each diminutive four or five-petaled lacy floret is a feast for discerning eyes.

The ripening red berries catch the most casual observer by surprise. As if this were not enough, the leaves also turn scarlet, purple, and sometimes bittersweet gold in late summer or autumn, depending on rainfall and other conditions. In this wetland, I have not only seen but regularly heard (even during midday) so many warblers. Swamp and song sparrows hide in the thick stems of all the bushes in this riparian area. Alders bow to the stream.

Overall, I have heard more birds singing while traveling the paths that wind in and out of the variety of bushes, swamp maples, a wild apple or two, and a few young pines than in most other places, except in my field at home. The few white pines are situated on higher ground. Bird nests are also abundant, but oh so hard to get to. Add to this abundant wildlife. Every spring, I stop to stare at the giant domed Allegany ant nest, a craftily grass-covered mound that I can never find again once seasonal growth gets underway.

Wild viburnums are native to Europe, Asia, and Africa, and the invasive plant species ‘police’ consider some of these plants a threat to ‘natives’ in some states, while advocating the use of the most popular herbicide in the country, the lethal carcinogenic Round Up (glyphosate) as a means of control.

Invasive.org calls Viburnum lantana ‘weed of the week’. Thankfully, the Wayfarer is not yet classified as an invasive species in Maine, but since man is always manipulating nature’s landscapes, it probably won’t be long before it will be. Unfortunately, the one gray willow clump in this area is already on their list.

Does anyone recall that the distant ancestors of every tree and plant that grows around here once arose or migrated from somewhere else when Pangea was one continent? Pangea, in case anyone doesn’t know, was formed about 300 million years ago, which means that all continents were once part of one land mass. In the big picture, there is no such thing as an invasive.

‘Invasive’ translates into plants that find a niche that suits them where they proliferate with abandon. Plants, like people, like to live in community, and they also like to travel.

After spending most of my life in the woods, I note that the healthiest plants, trees, understories, groundcovers, wildflowers, etc., thrive in certain places and not in others. With a few exceptions, most prefer one biome over another unless man has interfered.

Returning home, I am treated to another turkey dance, this one in an open area at the end of my driveway. The turkeys chortled before scooting away as I stepped over sandy ground, marveling over the circular pattern of turkey wings left behind on the road after the dance.