As with much of the things I write, i lifted the title for this column from a song. Here's a rendition of it by local musician and friend, Pat Kane.

We’re on our way out of March and with it, leaving behind that time of year sometimes referred to as “Fool’s Spring” with it. It’s safe to say I’m not alone being happy to say “goodbye” to Winter. Still, anyone who lives in this part of the country knows to enjoy the warmer temps, the snow melting away, and the grass getting greener, but that it could all change next week. The only good thing about six inches of snow in late March or early April is you know it won’t last long.

If I’m not mistaken, the winter of 2020-2021 was the longest we’ve had continuous snow cover on the ground in recent history. I certainly can’t remember a time when we had snow arrive before Christmas and never see bare ground again until months later! It was nice to see all that white stuff for the holidays, no doubt, but man, I could have used a January thaw to get some manure shoveled out and make hauling firewood a little easier for a change.

Speaking of manure, I still need to get the chicken coop scraped clean but since they’re all out happily scratching the ground for the first time in months, they haven’t complained. Maybe this weekend it’ll get done. I’m still traumatized by the mess I cleaned out of the goat’s shed. The snow and ice still on the hillside meant I had to handle everything multiple times: pitch it out the door, rake it to the fence, pitch it into the wagon and haul it across the road to dump it. With any luck it’ll be the last time I have to deal with it in this fashion again though, as plans are under way for them to get a new barn which should make life easier.

Meanwhile the goats are shedding more now that the mercury is rising. Their wooly undercoat they’re losing gets on everything they rub against, especially the fence. Later as it will end up in bird nests all throughout the property keeping newly hatched birds warm. Nothing in Nature goes to waste.

If you're not putting on your mud boots and grilling, you aint a real Upstate New Yorker.

One of the best parts about this time of year is how the world around us suddenly comes alive. Last night the peepers started an early rendition of their annual chorus, joined occasionally by the raspy squeaking call of a wood duck nearby. The call of the robin in the pre-dawn hour takes over, followed by the Wren, the Chickadees and occasionally the distinctive call of the Phoebe. The loudest of all comes from our own trio of Narragansett Turkeys, a heritage breed we keep here. They’ve taken more notice of their wild cousins feeding in a nearby field and the hen calls to them seemingly non-stop, interrupted occasionally by the thunderous gobble of the tom.

As I write this, it’s already 61 degrees out, with a high of 75 forecast. It seems a little much so soon, but no one in their right mind, or me, would complain. Combining yesterday’s rain with the warmth of today’s sun, I swear I can look out the window and see the ground turn greener by the minute. It occurs to me it won’t be long until it’ll need to be mowed in addition to all the other jobs I have been writing down for myself to do in the coming months. There’s a lot on the list, and more to come I’m sure. Thankfully a lot of them are minor jobs, and several could be checked off in a day.

But for now there’s not much that can be done except wait for the mud to dry up a little more and simply enjoy the end of what felt like an extraordinarily long Winter.