The other day, an osprey carrying a branch flew over our back deck. It was a day or so after we spotted a pigeon carrying a long string.

The daffodils soon poked their heads out of the dirt and opened their yellow blooms. And a hiker at the Land Trust’s Penny Lake Preserve said she found a different kind of bloomer hanging on a tree limb.

Although I hate to write the words, just in case it might jinx it: Spring is here.

It is about time. Did you have fun this winter? No, let me phrase it in a different way. Did you have fun on the Maine coast this winter?

You see, those of us who wintered on the rockbound coast of Maine spent much of our time watching the TV weatherman tell us how many hours we had to make it to the store to stock up on the essentials of life: eggs, milk, bread, and toilet paper.

Gas for the snow blower was another must, as were loud cheers for the plow guys who kept us from being snowbound.

Our municipal and state road crews deserve a pat on the back for keeping the snow and ice at bay.  But, despite their best efforts, they couldn’t keep black ice from gathering on the asphalt while rock hard drifts covered my pal, Ms. Pigette.

This winter was time for sane drivers to stay home, throw a log on the fire, grab a good book, and sit down with an adult beverage.

One day, towards the middle of April, as the Weather Channel predicted we would soon host the fourth bitter storm in four weeks, this one featuring ice or hail or maybe just plain old snow coming in from the Midwest, my bride said it was time to hunt for spring. So we got in the car.

As the sun came up, frozen rain pelted the windshield and piled up under the wipers. The speed limit on the Maine Turnpike was limited to 45 miles per hour.

Driving at that rate seemed a bit chancy, as we were quickly overtaken by a series of large trucks and fancy SUVs, many driven by persons chatting on cell phones.

South of Portland, the temperature crept over 34 degrees. By the time we rounded Boston, it was nearly 40 and the traffic resumed normal speed — about 10 plus miles-per-hour over the posted limit.

Although we kept a close eye on drivers trying out for NASCAR, or those late for work, we soon settled into our normal Interstate highway routine and stopped for the night in Pennsylvania.

The next day a bitter wind still whipped through my sweater as I filled the car with gas. Once back on the freeway, we began to see bits of green in the median. Once in a while. a flash of yellow signaled that a forsythia was peeking through the scrub pines.

Meandering south into the thick mountain fog, (hoping a sleepy driver could not run up our tailpipe) we saw occasional flashes of pink.

When the morning sun burned through the mist, the pink flashes turned into flowering trees. They were redbuds, delicate stands of my favorite flowering trees that Mother Nature plants just to remind us she has not forgotten her promise to banish Old Man Winter and deliver the colorful bounty that is spring.

It was late afternoon as we made it to Charlottesville, just in time for the main event, a sensory display of bright colors. It was Mother Nature’s version of the World Series and the Super Bowl accompanied by a lyrical Chopin prelude.

Streets winding through the University of Virginia campus were flanked with dazzling white and pink dogwoods, flowering fruit trees, our friends the redbuds, and gardens peppered with newly born tulips.

We spent a few days with good friends, who couldn’t wait to get back to spend the summer in their elderly Edgecomb cottage. Together, we marveled at the beauty of the University’s architecture and smiled at the laughing students who were outside enjoying the warm sunshine and pleasant breezes.

Then it was time to drive home, and, truth be told, we both couldn’t wait to sleep in our own bed.

But we knew the best news was yet to come.

After arriving home, we knew it would not be long until the red-winged blackbirds arrived. With them would be our second chance to enjoy the bounty of spring.

Enjoy.