After a full week starting in New York City and ending at home this Friday afternoon, I have just enough energy to sit at the dining room table with a cup of hot tea. The day is dreary, the upcoming April weekend promising no more than low forties temperatures, and now, snow flurrying energetically like interference on an old television screen.
Three trees lie in wait on the lawn, one falling in each of our January, February, and March storms. The tree guy says the ground is too soft to bring in heavy equipment. “Take two aspirin and call me in June or July when the ground is dry.”
I take a few moments to look out the window at the active winter scene. Is the ground really so fragile that a truck will destroy it? Hardly seems plausible. I recall my husband heading out the door with his chain saw minutes after a tree hit the ground. I’d hear the buzz all weekend, from morning to dusk, then the intermittent slamming of the log-splitter, the once mighty oak reduced to neat stacks of firewood.
Today, winter and spring hang in the balance, with a heavy limb on the ground tipping the scale back to winter. This is April in New England, the month that manages to pirouette madly between March and May before it leaps over the bright line to the new season we wait for, impatiently.
This spring—when it really starts—I’ll clean out the basement and organize a yard sale, resume morning hikes at Breakheart Reservation, open the windows wide to let in the refreshing air, leave for an overnight in Newport with a couple of good friends and stop for breakfast on the road, climb onto the back of the bike on Sunday and race off with David to New Hampshire. All worth the wait.
The light snow falls steadily into the late afternoon. I don’t need a weather channel to fill in any more details than I already see out my window. The grass has lightened to a snowy pastel green but that’s surely not newsworthy.
Other than re-heating my tea, I’ll do nothing more, leaving the wetlands, the ground, the wooded acres of the natural world outside my door on their own today. No tree guys or snow blowers to disturb their necessary season of peaceful transition—or mine.
Winter in April is the same in the Philly area. Come on Spring.
But I’d rather have the four distinct seasons as I suspect you will agree.
Finally the warm sun came out just now so I bundled up and took a walk.
Robb and Reuben and I did exactly the same thing for the whole 30 minutes or so the sun was out in Black Rock. I love the idea that we are all catching a few moments of warmth, here and there, at the same time.
Well! Blimey!, as they would say in England, when is it going to stop!!
Although it seems they’ve had their fair share over there this year, which is unusual.
England 🇬🇧 and 🇺🇸 New England, we do share a lot — despite the Revolution!
April has arrived like the Cowardly Lion – springtime in New England. Based upon personal experience, I suggest you have the tree-removal process scheduled later rather than sooner. Tire ruts in soft earth are very slow to disappear.
Yes, sage advice.
Neil and I can totally relate to your tree experience. After the first March nor’easter, we had a forty foot spruce tree fall across our front lawn and miss our mailbox by only a few inches. I caught our neighbors taking photos, probably to put on Facebook. An enterprising young man just starting a landscaping business knocked on our door. Unfortunately for our wallets, he removed the tree that week, plus another one that was ready to fall over. It’s been an expensive winter! Good luck with your trees!
Thanks for your followup 🌲🌲🌲 about your own winter experience!
Neila was buried 52 Sundays tbis week. That was a much bleaker April weekend, even if the weather last year was perfect.
I remember driving through a brush fire on I84 in northern Connecticut on the way down, burning leftover brush from the previous fall. There were a few firefighters and state transportation workers keeping an eye on it but they seemed surprisingly nonchalant, as if this was a routine annual occurence.
Tim, I am moved by your comment about Neila, our friend. Lisa J. and I lit Yahrzeit memorial candles for her and will do so every anniversary of her passing. Lisa had told me you went to her burial. I remain in disbelief of her loss. I have many wonderful friends and family but no one can replace Neila. She understood me so well and said things to me that were exactly what I needed to hear. Feeling unmoored at times in her absence. I know you appreciated her too.
Nice images and some lovely writing. I really liked the phrase “snow flurrying energetically like interference on an old television screen,” which reminded me of the seminal SF novel Neuromancer’s opening line: “The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.”
I will have to stop by to see the trees! And get my bike ready for that NH trip.
The fallen trees will be available for viewing through July! And, I appreciate your supportive comments about my writing — comparison to Neuromancer a bonus.
Were having a New England spring in Washington this year too. Cherry blossoms and snow flurries competing for view.
But it’s going to get warmer soon, I hope.
Haha, not warmer here on Monday morning. But spring will triumph!
I’m glad you left the natural world outside your window undisturbed. As unsightly as the fallen tree may be, it will provide shelter and food for a lot of woodland creatures. It will help them with this season’s transition. I love how the light cover of snow on the trees and grass adds texture to a winter/ spring scene. Your photo shows this very well with the grass and bark of the tree. I especially like your reference to the weatheman’s repetition of the forecast of snow. Sometimes is nice to be surprised. I really enjoyed reading your piece ” A Winter’s Day In April”. Thanks for sharing.
New England has a special place in the heart of Mother Nature, don’t you think?
Yes.New England has such a variety of natural beauty.
Your post was very evocative. I don’t know why every year I forget how cold April is in this part of the world. It’s really a winter month, or the first half of it is–and I guess my psyche just blocks this out.
Thank you Sue. I’m starting to feel hopeful….