April, 1998

Contrary to family suspicions, my Uncle Nino is not responsible for the weather we’re having. True, he’s cranky and unpredictable, and as patriarch of the Siletti family, wields considerable power (at least in Hawthorne, New Jersey). But Weather Maestro? Nah. Just a rumor.
We’ll have to look to another Nino — the one caused by warm upswellings off the Peruvian coast — to explain all this wacky weather. Like a seven-year itch, this "fifth season" bodes no one any good.
Snow, summer-like temperatures, and buckets of rain are confusing the heck out of the wildlife and wildflowers. And, just last week, a tornado watch for Middlesex County scrolled across the bottom of my television screen. Too weird for words.
In my back yard, the heavy rains have carved gullies deep enough for Evel Knievil to contemplate, and in the front yard, the daffodils met an early demise. At first, I thought the local groundhog family had feasted on them. On closer inspection, it was obvious that prolonged heat and sudden cold snaps had shriveled ‘em up.
The crocuses fared a little better. Only some of them succumbed to the fluctuations in temperature. Most did fine. Tulips are up, my raspberry brambles are sprouting lots of new growth, and I’ve seen quite a few azaleas in full flower. Magnificent.
However, our shy violets have only bloomed near the sidewalk. None ventured into the front lawn proper. Cowering out of fear, I’m sure. The lawn desperately needs mowing, but, like the two-year old child who doesn’t want a haircut under any circumstances, our lawn is throwing its own tantrum.
The wild onions have sprouted foot-high appendages (overnight, it seems), and last year’s dandelions have recruited legions of new, yellow-headed troops. Blustery storms have covered the lawn with twiggy clumps. It looks more like an obstacle course than a yard. I might declare it open for boot camp and be done with it.
Since our bird feeder is a year-round magnet for all kinds of species, I have nothing earth-shattering to report from the ledge. Mr. And Mrs. C. (our resident cardinals) are here more often this time of year, a welcome, colorful addition to all the coffee-toned sparrows.
I heard many reports of the first robin of Spring. Like Santa on Christmas Eve, he was seen everywhere at once. Except in my yard. Showed up after Easter, the tardy little so-and-so.
I have a real concern for our oak trees. Some are in full tassle, but some smaller trees are still bare. I’m sure the weather affected these slow growers. They are in an unprotected corner of the yard, and I’m afraid there will be problems later on down the line.
Leaving the home plot and venturing into suburbia, I can report that the icicles so common on roadside embankments are gone, even in the northern counties. Puddles and tricklings across main roads and freeways are all that remain of these frozen sculptures.
Norway Maples are showering chartreuse blossoms on sidewalks everywhere, and crabapples are just waiting for a gusty rain to do the same.
Unfortunately, the pussy willows in my secret cutting places came early and left early, prodded by weather much too warm for them. But the full flowering tulip trees, cherrys, dogwoods and dreamily perfumed lilacs are more than compensating for my loss.
Venturing farther away from home, the woods are very inviting this time of year. Trees and understory are pushing masses of growth, yet there is enough clear space to peer in — tempting me to forgo all responsibility for a while and meander down a well-worn path. Best to go now. In a few short weeks, a mantle of leaves will all but obscure the way.
In Sussex County, I have news of a bumper crop of wooly bears. From Sandy Hook, the ospreys are back. From everywhere, the air smells green again.
But, to borrow from my favorite philosopher, it ain’t Spring until it’s Spring, and the one sure sign for me arrived just last week. Ants have invaded my kitchen. Now it’s Spring!

Copyright © 1998 Karen L. Siletti