You can’t spend much time in the Adirondack Mountains before some local wag juts his or her chin in the general direction of the sky and says, “If you don’t like the weather, just wait a few minutes.” Or something like that. There are many variations, all of them meant to show that we breed ‘em tough up here. But there’s a measure of truth in the statement. Weather in the mountains is fickle, and if anyone needed convincing, this week would have done it. On Sunday I was riding my bike in shirt sleeves. Monday I hiked along The River in a t-shirt. Wednesday I was shoveling heavy, wet snow so the ground-feeding birds could probe for grubs and worms. Today the only snow left is in shrinking piles alongside the roads and in deep shade in the woods. Temperatures in the 70s are predicted, with thunderstorms later in the day.

I’ve been digging out from under more than snow. So as I burrow through my many tasks, enjoy this photomontage of life here in the northern Adirondacks, beginning with pictures of new growth in the woods down by The River, photographed early in the week. Claytonia grows in profusion in the rich woodlands, but never gets larger than a dime:

Ferns unwrap from the ground and are called fiddleheads at this stage:

Here’s a fiddlehead close up:

Purple violets are another hardy woodland flower, a bit larger than Claytonia, but not by much:

Trout lilies are an early bloom on the forest floor, too. They’re about the size of a quarter:

Lilacs began to bud-out early in the week, and are here highlighted at sunrise when they are touched with frost:

A female yellow-bellied sapsucker showed up at the suet feeder, perhaps knowing a change in weather was in the offing:

Every evening as the very last hints of daylight begin to disappear rapidly into night, a pair of cardinals come to have a meal before roosting:

And then the snow blew in, even though the thermometer showed above freezing temperatures:

The birds made the best of the bad weather, and spent most of the day at the feeders:

The cardinals broke their routine and showed up during the day:

All day the snow blew on a bitter northerly wind, melting when it hit warm sidewalks and road surfaces, but by evening it began to cling. A mourning dove huddled for a time on the sidewalk, soaking up the last warmth he could before gathering his energy to fly away to roost, leaving a bare patch on the concrete and carrying a layer of snow on his back:

Two days later the sun broke through at dawn:

And the woods had lost most of their burden of snow, leaving droopy wildflowers to recover slowly:

A warm breeze allowed the blooms to expand once more to bring encouragement to everyone who lives here:

 
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