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“Bird on the horizon, sitting on a fence, he’s singing his song for me at his own expense,” – Bob Dylan

Rolling along the highway with the window down, fence posts blur and the warm wind comes whipping inside the car, it swirls around me and goes out the open window on the passenger side. Tree swallows overhead twist back and forth as they fly. A bluebird sits on a fence rail, just a couple of feet away from a wooden birdhouse the bright male bird has claimed as his summer residence. I see a highway sign and slow down to make my right turn off the blacktop onto a graveled road. My heart immediately jumps up a beat or two higher at the prospect of adventure and interaction with nature and its plant and animal inhabitants.

I was born for two-track dirt roads, cross tie walking, blue jeans, cowboy boots and flannel shirts. You could also add campfires, scenic views and cold, wild rivers. The sky is cloudless, and the sun is so bright that I squint even with my sunglasses on. It’s an incredible day. Everywhere I look, everything is green and growing. I feel connected, happy and alive. I am reflecting the attributes of this beautiful day, not consciously, it’s just an automatic, intrinsic response.

In retrospect, I have often thought about how interesting it is that human disposition, moods and presentation can be affected by the surrounding atmosphere or environmental conditions. For me, those sunny and warm days, especially in springtime, make me realize how long the winter now feels like it has been. It doesn’t really dawn on me until the sun hits me dead on how much I’ve missed the warmth of these brighter days.

On the other hand, the gray spring days, when nothing has turned green yet, can be debilitating and make me want to stay at home, or at least wear extra clothing, even though it might be warm outside. All the dead leaves, gray, black and browned, cast a dim presence over everything, especially when coupled with cloudy skies. Rain or snow enhances the effect by significant measure.

It doesn’t take long for my black dog to curl up under my feet, bringing me down – that bastard! Go on, go outside. On those days, my soul sinks and my thoughts run out of room to roam. If I were a tiny field mouse, it would be like having a football field to run my thoughts around on compared to being stuck inside a matchbox.

Things feel closed off, blocked and shrunken. My thoughts spin around like a record, playing those same old depressing and dismal dirges that are enough to put anybody in a box – match or pine. Clear nighttime skies invite the stars and planets to come out to be looked at, while cloudy skies cover everything in gray, white baggy clothing that slumps over everything like a deflated hot-air balloon.

While rain on these gray spring days can be a bummer, summer and autumn rains work in an opposite fashion for me. I love thunderstorms and summer showers. In the autumn, rain falling gently in a fiery northern hardwoods forest brings a low white noise calming effect. With all the red, orange and yellow leaves on the trees, it feels like the warm glow of a fire is inside of me, even though it might be chilly as I walk.

I am very surprised that I was able to pull myself away to head back home on some of those incredible days. In addition to the weather and sky conditions affecting moods, water can have similar effects. Dirty, brown water in a roiling creek or river can bring on unpleasant feelings, while beautiful dark blue waters, curling into white waves can buoy my spirits and beckon me to spend hours just sitting, watching those big-lake waves.

There’s just something pleasing and soothing about seeing the myriad shades of blues and greens of skies and waters and sweeping landscapes. I wonder if animals are affected similarly by weather, the color and look of skies and waters. It’s one of those things that seems like it would be strange if they were and strange if they weren’t. Most likely, it’s one of those anthropomorphic tendencies – to transfer human attributes onto animals and other things.

Timing of weather events can also affect my outlook or mood on a given day. A big dump of lake-effect snow, low temperatures and blustery winds, might be just wonderful a week before Christmastime, but in early May, it’s a bit much.

Over recent days, there has been a wide variety of weather conditions, and my moods have ebbed and flowed in kind. It began with drizzling rain that fell over the snow still covering the ground in most places. Then it began raining softly and then harder. Thunder pounded loud and lightning crackled in its blue-orange zigzagging patterns across the sky. It began to rain even harder. It was an odd occurrence with about 2 feet of snow still on the ground. Within a couple hours, the temperature dropped, and the rain froze.

I stepped outside and heard the wind nudging tree branches into each other. The branches were coated in ice and the motion produced a scratchy, clanking sound that reminded me of soft bells or ice sloshing against the side of a glass tumbler.I was taking a jaunt outside every couple of hours. When I opened the door the next time, the wind blew toward me as I stepped outside, like a wolf snapping its jaws in my direction. Wet snow was beginning to fall and soon picked up its pace.

By the time I went to bed, there were several inches of fresh snow on the back steps. With continued dropping of the temperature, the snow became powdery and light. The next morning, it was quite cold outside and the fresh snow that had fallen overnight was almost 2 feet deep. It had been blown and drifted around the bottom of the tree trunks and the corners of the house and garage. Some of the drifts were up to my thigh deep.

The heave and ho, push and shove of March was on my mind when I walked outside into the cold, but under bright sunshiny blue skies. The snow was still piled high. In some places, impressive drifts – remnants from the powerful storm – remained standing tall in their swirled formations or sloped down off fences and roof edges. I watched a deer hop slowly through the deep snow between the hardwoods.

I was a little startled to see that this doe was not traveling with her yearling. She had previously had two and then I only started seeing one. Now, just her. Maybe the yearling was bedded down somewhere. The snow was deep enough it might be too tough for the yearling to get through.

I opened the garage door and got into my Jeep after throwing my stuff for work in the back seat. I backed slowly out of the garage and let the door down. I turned to head out the driveway. I stopped when I heard a muffled sound through the driver’s side window. It sounded melodic and I presumed it was a bird of some kind, singing. The lengthening daylight has triggered birds to be increasingly louder and in more regular voice on these spring mornings, with songs to establish territory and find mates.

I rolled my window down with the branches of the cedar trees and maples behind still flocked and weighted down with heavy dollops of vanilla ice-cream-like snow. I sat still listening to see if the bird would sing again. I waited in silence, except for a couple of chickadees chick-dee-a-deeing, which was not what I had heard singing. Then, the call came echoing loud and clear from a tree in the neighbor’s backyard. It was my first robin of spring.

He was sitting up proudly, singing straight into the rising sun. My heart soared immediately. That familiar song was so beautiful and welcome to hear. It reminded me immediately of the miracle of how this bird had flown hundreds of miles, maybe even thousands, to be here on this crisp morning. I saluted the robin and thanked him for making my day. Thank you, my brother.

I am humbled and grateful.

Outdoors North is a weekly column produced by the Michigan Department of Natural Resources on a wide range of topics important to those who enjoy and appreciate Michigan’s world-class natural resources of the Upper Peninsula.