The lady has doffed her snowy mantle, exchanging it for her verdant cloak of life. As each day goes by, more and more bright-green leaves unfold from the safety of their buds, to take a chance on a new season, and while spring seems to happen in ultra-slow-motion, its process is as inexorable as an incredibly massive, hemisphere-wide green glacier — a veritable slow-motion tsunami of new life, oh-so-gradually flooding the earth, working its way up the hollows and valleys, rising up the side of the mountains, re-infusing the land with the very life-force that has been dormant these long months. In other words, spring has sprung — to the great relief of all. As we speak (or write), the bright green line of new hardwood growth is gradually working its way up the flanks of Overlook, the mountain changing from wintry brown to verdant spring green.
In the woods
I love the bright light-green light that suffuses our world at this time. Everything in our forest is growing, jumping up, leaves unfolding, delicate flower-petals opening. Our early spring ephemerals are doing their thing as we speak and some of them — Dutchmen’s breeches, purple trillium (also called wake robin), wild anemones and trout-lilies — are done already. Interestingly, the trillium-population is patchy, found in some places in Woodstock and not in others (very few at Comeau, but many in Bearsville, as an example). I’m assuming it is due to variations in soils. The Canada mayflowers (wild-lily-of-the-valley) will be f lowering soon. Many square miles of Woodstock’s forest floor are carpeted with these tiny little white fireworks-flowers. Commingling with them are hay-scented fern (when bruised it does smell like fresh-mown hay), New York fern, unlike most ferns that taper on only one end, is tapered on both ends (like New Yorkers, they don’t know if they’re coming or going) and the lycopodiums: club moss, ground cedar and tree wort. The brown — and Green Jack-in-the pulpits are up now and the partridgeberries have their pretty red fruit on show. Also present are the eponymous star-flowers. As soon as the forest-canopy completely leafs out, the last of these delicate little beauties will disappear (hence — “ephemeral”), their seeds safely sown to await next spring. These are a major reason we should always stay on the trails — our heavy feet can damage these sensitive plants even out of season.
In field and meadow
Once the woods quietly succumbs to its newfound cool darkness the flower-action shifts to our more open spaces of field and meadow. The open spaces are already getting pretty with bluets (four petals), buttercups, coltsfoot, dandelions, forget-me-nots (how could we?) (five petals), violets — both white and, well …violet, etc. Already flitting about these early flower arrivals are the also-early mourning cloak and comptons tortoiseshell butterflies, as well as whites, some sulphurs and gypsy moths. Some honey bees and ground bees are present (not as many bees as I would like) and numerous paper wasps already. On the pesky side of the insect-spectrum are the non-biting (but very annoying) midges (“non-biting” because they are males. The fun starts shortly when the females hatch and they want their blood meal). As the beebalm, goldenrod, ragweed, milkweed and all the other flowering plants of the open, sunny areas come up and out, more and more butterflies will hatch from their chrysalises to nectar on them. Most notable, of course, will be the symbiotic relationship between the milkweed and our reigning butterfly kings and queens — the stately monarchs. Coincidentally (not!) they are on the way here from the mountains of Michoacan, Mexico, as I write and are due to arrive here almost exactly when the milkweed matures, to grace us with their sublime beauty (see: www.journeynorth.org and www.spiritofbutterflies.com).
Please have a happy and safe spring. “Ranger” Dave Holden / 845-594-4863 / woodstocktrails@gmail.com / Dave Holden on Facebook / rangerdaveholden on Instagram and to read this whole article and others please visit www.woodstocknytrails.com.
Remember, if you find a newborn fawn in the grass, it is best to leave it be. Its mother is most likely feeding nearby and being born virtually without scent the fawn is safe unless you touch it and imbue it with your scent. In contrast, if you find a bird’s egg or hatchling outside their nest, it is fine to pick it up and return it to the nest. Birds have no sense of smell and I’m sure its parents will appreciate it.
Join the family! 
