Water, In Several of Its Forms

The waterfall in Vergennes, in spring flood

Sugaring is over.  The total for both us and the Hustons is about 2-plus gallons.  Not bad for a first try. Each mason jar is differently colored, from dark amber to light amber (official color descriptions, by the way).  That done, it’s time for garden planning.  Thoughts of which are overwhelming at the moment.  I’ll think I'll put that off until next week.

On Monday morning I was listening to NP.  It was raining, and there was some distant thunder.  Suddenly, “Blaaark!  Blaaark!” the emergency radio network came on.   “Heavy thunderstorms accompanied by hail,” it said, “in East Middlebury, Salisbury, and Leicester.  If you are in these areas, get under cover!  Blaark!  Blaark!”  None of that “This is only a test!” stuff.  I had never heard anything–ever–broadcast on the emergency network. Lesley told me later that she’d never heard emergency network messages until they moved here ten years ago.  Since then, not so unusual.  And what happened here?  It lightened, it thundered, and our lights went out, but that was it.  No hail, and not much reported from East Middlebury, Salisbury or Leicester either, as it turned out.  Thanks to all that Monday rain, the ground is soggy again in places.  It’s raining again today. 

Hepatica, in the woods at Kingsland Bay

When it wasn’t raining, it was warm, very warm, and sunny.  Frogs in our pond have begun singing their croaky songs, especially down at the marshy end.  I love hearing them at night. Frog are not alone in deeming the water inviting.  A pair of ducks that hung around the pond last year (we saw them sometimes as we drove by) may, or may not, have returned.  On several mornings in a row the pair flew in, stayed for about an hour, and left.  Harry has been getting into the habit of drinking from the pond, but he has tended to skirt the edges on his way to sniffing around in the meadow which is much preferred.  But the other day, either because he fell in, or because he thought to reach the other side by the most direct route, he swam across.  Ben and Audrey (7 and 9, respectively) also either fell in or didn’t quite make the leap at the narrow end, or–and this is the most likely– a combination of both, emerging after dousing number ten or so, wet and muddy from head to bare foot.

A wet and muddy Audrey and Ben.  Behind them, right,
a photo of their mother and aunt Leah in a mud puddle circa 1978. 

Having seen the ice disappear a while ago from our pond we expected the ice would be long gone in Lake Champlain.  Not so.  We hiked around a peninsula at Kingsland Bay where there is a favorite swimming and picnicking spot in the summertime.  Lake Champlain has a lot in common with, say, Lake Erie.  The beat of the waves on shore on a windy day lets you know there is a very big body of water behind.  Rocky cliffs along the shore bring to mind the ocean-swept rocks of Maine.  There are sea gulls and osprey.  I half-expect to think in terms of tides.  

On still-icy Lake Champlain, Harry and Ken.  Our diving dock is under water.