What a Difference a Day Makes!

I started this week thinking that winter in Saratoga County would never end. Other friends had been finding Skunk Cabbage -- our first flower of spring -- blooming already not too far away.   But when I went to Orra Phelps Nature Preserve in Wilton on Monday, expecting to find Skunk Cabbage in its usual seepy swale, the snow still lay way too deep for even that self-heating, snow-melting plant to come up for air.

So I headed next to Bog Meadow Brook Nature Trail in Saratoga Springs.  There's a little stream there, where Skunk Cabbage pops up early, right out of the shallow water.  Well, it had popped up, all right, protruding right through the ice that still covered the stream.  And its bulging bright-red spathes had broken free from the greenish bracts that protected the plant all winter. But all the spathes were still tightly closed, still hiding the pollen-producing spadices within.  Close, but not yet truly in flower, still held tight in winter's grip. A bitter wind wormed inside the scarf protecting my ears. Discouraged and shivering from the cold, I just went home.

But what a surprise, the following day! When I opened my door on Tuesday to collect the morning papers, a blast of bright sun startled my eyes and a wave of balmy air surrounded me with warmth. Spring had arrived, overnight! Time to get out and enjoy it.  So up to Moreau Lake State Park I went, to walk around the lake, under that radiant blue sky. Of course, the lake was still covered with many inches of ice, but the very top of the surface had melted in the day's warmth, producing pools of standing water.

The ice was still plenty thick enough near shore to support my weight, and the surface had softened to a point where it was not even slippery.  Even without wearing spikes on my rubber boots, I could walk on the watery ice a few feet from shore, where the going was easier than crunching through the crusted snow that still covered much of the beach. Evidence of previous hard-packed ski and snow-shoe tracks was preserved in the softening slush.

Several days ago, high winds had blown much dusty dirt across the surface of the lake. Today, that dirt had collected in rippling waves of fine dark threads that floated on the watery surface. I had never observed this particular phenomenon before. It was rather pretty, like sheer silk edged with black lace.

I was struck by other images as well, such has this oak leaf, released from where it once had been frozen onto the ice, now floating free above the shape the leaf had previously impressed in the ice. What looked like a shadow beneath the leaf was actually a pit several inches deep, created by the leaf's dark color magnifying the heat of the sun.

Here was a beech leaf in similar circumstances, floating free above its own deep impression in the ice.

When I reached the south-facing end of the lake,  I was struck by the presence of two long ridges of sand, about 8 feet apart, that ran parallel to the shore.  I have often seen such ridges on sandy beaches, created by wind-driven ice pushing sand up onto the shore. But the presence of the TWO parallel ridges indicates that the lake's water level must have dropped significantly between the creation of the higher and lower ridges.  The pronounced change in water levels at Moreau Lake has been a situation of significant concern over the past few years, and scientists are still investigating the causes.

This sunlit shore tempted me to park myself on a log and just bask in this warmth a while, feeling the chill of winter begin to seep out of my old bones.  I was also delighted to observe this man and his dog enjoying the day. The dog spied a stick a few yards out from shore, partly embedded in the softening ice, and she scampered out to dislodge the stick, came romping back to encourage her master to fling it (which he did), and so the game began.

Is there any image more joyful than that of a dog playing fetch with a stick?  Again and again, she tore out after the stick her master had hurled, skidding past the stick on the slippery ice but promptly skittering back to reclaim her prize and deliver it once more to the man she obviously adored. Her happiness was as infectious as it was obvious.  I laughed out loud.  I loved her. It felt good to be alive.

It also felt wonderful to squish my boots in that soft sun-warmed sand.  I could feel the warmth right through the soles of my boots and my super-thick socks.  Just the day before I had felt the cold of that still-shin-deep snow at Orra Phelps Preserve.  This felt so much better!