April Snow
Sunday night—“on the road.” It was raining hard in West Winfield and Bridgewater, as well as Brookfield. The ground was bare. A half mile west out of town a thin whiteness began showing up in our truck’s headlights. A mile further, and now starting to climb higher into the hills, the ground was covered with an inch or two of wet snow. In sheltered spots slippery slush glistened on the road’s surface.
A thin coating on the back steps welcomed us home.
A few sparks remained alive in the cook stove, and in a few minutes a brightly dancing fire was beginning to warm our small living area. Outside snow was falling off the towering Red Pines that closely hover high above our dwelling.
Winter doesn’t give up easily in Central New York. In the second week of the month large snow patches still mark the bleak landscape.
Sometimes we Brookfielders feel like Alaskans who talk about their four seasons: “winter, early winter, late winter, and next winter.”
But the thin green flower stems poking up through the (temporary) whiteness are pleasant reminders that this interruption in Spring’s progression is just an unpleasant “blip” in Mother Nature’s preordained cyclical course. Of course in the past these blips have been considerably “larger.”
April, 1857 was one such time. Two feet of snow fell on April 14. Less than a week later (4/20) another 24 inches fell. Four feet of snow measured after the second snowfall! Tonight’s “dusting” seems hardly worth mention by comparison. As “old timers” used to say after such Spring time snows: “poor man’s nitrogen—great for the soil.” Farmers are born optimists.
I throw a few more pieces of wood on the fire, pet the kitty, and head off to bed. Tomorrow morning this snow may have all been a dream.
Next morning: it wasn’t.
Editor’s note: Hobie Morris is a Brookfield resident and simple country man.