Then, before we know it, they're all here: Robins, goldfinches,

And EXUBERANT orioles, whose songs always remind me of firecrackers; don't ask me why. An occasional kingfisher flashes blue, ack-acking its way down the backwater. Hummingbirds.

Oh, yes. Long before the first leaf starts to unfurl, I suddenly notice more music in the air. No longer just chickadees and juncos that stick around through the winter, but all the other little birds that arrive in spring -- house finches, sparrows, kinglets -- are heard twittering and trilling in the branches. A little later, the liquid, melancholy piping of redwing blackbirds bursts forth across the water. Then, from one day to the next, the purple martins return to reoccupy their hanging-gourd homes. Soon, I awake at first light to hear all around me the electric chirping of swallows. Plop -- a fish jumps, right outside our bedroom window. Rain falls. Buttercups make their own sunshine.

Houseboat dwellers know a lot about container gardening. You know it's spring when you look out and notice neighbors returning from the nursery carrying flats of seedlings and color spots. Or maybe it's when you start seeing all those DUCKLINGS!

And

Spring is when we really get to know our local waterfowl. We give them names and keep track of their offspring. Feeding the geese is no longer a case of noblesse oblige; with the arrival of spring, it is a matter of joyful communion.

Unlike a mallard drake, the gander is a "family man," who, when complimented on his gorgeous goslings, ruffles his feathers with fierce pride.

April eases them outside, where they play hopscotch or draw mysterious patterns on the walkway with colored chalk,

leaving the rainbow-colored runes for us to wonder at, until the rain rinses them away.

In late spring the cats stop being annoyed with us for allowing all that RAIN!

Start looking less dubious and acting almost... friendly.