I remember a March 8 on which I took the Staten Island Ferry with a very old friend. It was eighty degrees. This morning in Central Park: 13. All in Fahrenheit of course. Still.
The beavers were very active below their dam yesterday, cutting and dragging saplings. I wonder if they are low on stored food. Had a look-see at the hole in the house, it’s large and the air coming out is quite warm. I wondered about babies: no kits yet. They are born May-June, when everyone’s sure the bog is ice free and there’s plenty of food.
This is, we have been assured by our own weather guru here in western Mass, the last throb of Arctic air, and a slow melt commences.From now on I’ll be checking holes, I bet, keeping track of the retreat of the ice. I am ready to melt, myself.