Last week toward the end of the nightly TV newscast, spliced in with reports of wildfires, the Mueller investigation and President George H.W. Bush’s funeral, there was a story of great optimism and progress. Easily overlooked in the chatter of the day, we heard a new sound. We heard the wind on Mars.
One dark afternoon you notice a few lazy flakes in the air. They melt before they hit the ground. “It’s snowing,” you shout. Everyone looks out the window. “Well, look at that,” they say. But mostly just the small children are enthusiastic about this “first snow.” They ask if they might be able to build a snowman.
The dew this morning is glistening on the spider webs in the grass. The sun outlines the delicate webs with dewdrop jewels and makes what, as children, we called “fairy tablecloths.”
Most of the former fields and pastures of our old farm here in French Woods, NY, haven’t been cut for about 20 years. The fields are overgrown and wild. Willow, and aspen and pine trees have sprung up. Hedges of hard hack and berry and rose bushes prevail.
What is there to do in Sullivan County, NY? Well, for myself and my husband, John, there is a lot. As locals, living just over the Sullivan County line, above Long Eddy, we had never visited a number of the biggest tourist attractions that Sullivan County has to offer.
One of the lesser valued pursuits of spring is the annual cleaning out of the freezer.
This job clears the way for ice pops and ice cream during the summer months. And it is how it has come to be that I am roasting a turkey on this fine, mild spring day.
Spring is a magician. A sort of “now you see it, now you don’t” kind of swindler. My case in point: the diminutive snowdrop flowers that appeared in my lawn in fearless, full bloom on March 1 that then disappeared under the drifts of all that March snow we endured.
I know I am pressing my luck dallying away these day-lit hours as I postpone writing this column.
But I am content to do nothing today but bask in the warmth of my house, with the luxuries of running water and Wi-Fi, as we wait out the second of two March nor’easters.
Lately I have been considering what it must be like to hibernate like a little furry animal in a knothole or like a bear, cradled in the warmth and black oblivion of its own fur.