It was end of the afternoon on Friday when we arrived in Stone Ridge, nearly 80º, with spectacular fast moving clouds, the Hudson Valley sky that Frederick Church and Thomas Cole painted. The forsythia, viburnum and aristocrat (yes, I saw the movie) pear tree were seriously budding. We celebrated the seasonally inappropriate warmth with P&P (a favorite vacation indulgence in Truro, in July), a glass of rosé and Cape Cod sweet & spicy jalapeño potato chips.
Sunday morning we woke to wet snow, just a coating and already melting, big water drops falling from the roof and freezing between the bluestones, beautiful bubbles encasing new blades of grass.
By dawn Monday the type of storm that had eluded us in February when we wanted to snowshoe, had already dumped three or four inches. It’s time for baseballs not snowballs. In the Bronx the dismal penetrating rain forced the postponement of opening day for the boys of summer.