Finally, we had a warm day. There’s a different climate in the western Catskills. I guess it could be described as alpine.
When it’s warm, it is gorgeous, lush, and breezy. But those days are few and we know enough to treasure them when they come. It’s been blustery, cold, and gray for months. There have been one or two springlike days, but they’ve been followed by everything Mother Nature could throw our way.
One day last week we had forty mile an hour winds, rain, hail, thunder, and then snow.
This morning, the thermometer read forty degrees at eight o’clock. And by noon, we were nearly at sixty in the sunshine. I threw on my gardening shoes, let the dog loose, and rakes leaves for hours.
The dog was delighted. She has taken to life on the farm like she was born to it. She sniffs, she explores, and when she’s satisfied, she stretches out on the grass and watches me work.
I moved some raspberry bushes that I’ve been wanting to move since last year. I raked the leaves away from the lilies of the valley, which are just poking their heads above ground. I transplanted a maple sapling that I transplanted last year. I promised it I wouldn’t move it again, and I hope it grows.
I pulled and I hauled and I wore myself out, which was just what I wanted.
My neighbor’s son walked by and waved.
“It’s going to snow tomorrow,” he said cheerfully. “And Monday, too.”