Last weekend’s warm, sunny weather finally convinced me it was spring, although the birds had begun to proclaim it far in advance.

It was the initial waves of red-winged blackbirds, common grackles, and a few turkey vultures that hinted at the change in season while snow still covered the ground. As the snow melted, robins began appearing on the sodden patches of earth, each day becoming more conspicuous.

The number of purple finches visiting our feeders increased, and the goldfinches began living up to their name. That was one of the most delightful changes for me – looking out my window and suddenly noticing they were, in fact, becoming gloriously gold and shedding their dull winter-olive plumage. Even if the day was cloudy, they seemed to carry their own little patch of sunlight wherever they went.

The melody of the first song sparrow of the season enlivened one cold morning. During my commute into work, I was thrilled to catch sight of a great blue heron as it flapped its ponderous way toward the river.

Chilly evenings began to be softened by the insistent “peenting” of woodcocks, and the “cheerily, cheeriup,” of the robins. The season’s first winter wren song was a windfall of delight. Adding to the evening’s charm, early spring peepers and wood frogs joined their voices to the avian concert.

A pileated woodpecker began vocalizing loudly in our patch of the woods. Not to be outdone, a yellow-bellied sapsucker pounded out his territorial advertisement on the board that holds our electricity meter. This makes a wonderful, resounding noise, which I’m sure thrills its maker – but not me as much, as he often does this at the crack of dawn. Still, it beats the traditional alarm clock.

A walk along the Sewall Road in the University Forest gave me my first warbler of the season. A pine warbler’s soft, lazy trill floated out of towering white pines; the scent of pine pitch was heavy on the air as the sun warmed it. Wood frogs called and displayed with increased vigor in vernal pools alongside the road.

And then, one soft, humid night just before the rain, I found a spotted salamander on a rock in my driveway. I wondered if it was heading toward the vernal pools out by the shed, so I stayed outside to watch it. During my vigil, I heard the calling of a saw-whet owl in the distance, and the winnowing of a common snipe’s wings.

Ah, spring.

NEWS bird columnist Chris Corio can be reached at bdnsports@bangordailynews.net