Spring in the Adirondacks

There seems to be a madness in the cities, a frenzy in the struggling crowds. I am thankful for the peacefulness and comparative isolation of country life. This is a happiness which we ought to realize and enjoy. Laura Ingalls Wilder, 1919
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I can feel a kinship with Laura when it comes to city versus country living. Don and I are not crowd oriented. We like being with people in small groups but wouldnt do at all well in the crush of city life. When we take trips or mini vacations, we usually schedule them during the off season so we can enjoy the richness of nature unhampered by milling sightseers.

We drove through the Adirondacks on a sunny spring afternoon between the snowmobile and skiing enthusiasts and the summer sun seekers. I carried a notebook with me and jotted in it some of the sights and sounds along the way to share with you.

The temperature was around seventy, so the windows were rolled downan open invitation to the black flies. Fortunately, they werent interested in feedingjust exploring. Along the open highway they hit the windshield like rain showers, except they left it dirty instead of clean.

At the busy corner in Old Forge a trio sat on a bench by the sidewalk practicing music together. A fiddler sat on one end of the bench and a guitarist on the other, their instrument cases on the grass by their feet. Between them, a young woman with an autoharp and a high, clear voice was singing words I couldnt catch as we passed by. How delightful! And how different from the curb-to-curb relaxation seekers wholl be there in six weeks or so, trying to shift gears from the rush of their busy schedules to the serenity of mountain air and scenery.

The day was perfect with a light blue cloudless sky. Carefree bird songs filled the air. Laughter floated from open windows. Newly painted highway lines added their cheery gold to the color patterns of the mountains, trees and flowers.

From hamlet to hamlet we played leapfrog with delivery trucksa white van sporting a potato chip companys logo, a bright yellow bread truck and a low-slung fire-engine-red tractor trailer loaded with soft drinks.

Between towns were the mirror-like lakes where white birch tripods seemed to stand. And here was a beaver meadow, acres of forest transformed to gray trees, decomposing in the encroaching marshland. And there was a hillside covered with small lacy-green tamarack trees stretching up. And along the road stood ancient gnarled pines wearing a winter coat of moss.

Village shops were hung with potted fuchsias, and on the sidewalks, flats of blooming pansies and garden-ready tomato plants invited us to take them home.

Here a store was advertising Adirondack chairs with plywood frames. And there a motel called itself Alpine and featured pseudo-European decor. Unperturbed by all these fashions, the gray rock faces of the patient mountains looked back to a time before these trends and forward beyond them.

The half-grown leaves of popple and birch trees fluttered like chartreuse suncatchers in the breeze, a contrast to the stately dark green spruce and balsam trees nearby.

And here the store front planters at the Summer Store were still waiting to be planted with flowers and the weathered plank benches by the sidewalk were still waiting to comfort tired tourists.

And there a small boat floated at dockside with four pairs of knees hanging over the side, baking in the sun. Villagers in shorts and tank tops went leisurely about their errands. A top-down convertible, rolled by with bearded, shirtless driver enjoying this early touch of summer.

Heels echoed on board stepsa sound that will be lost later amid the clomp and jostle of in-season crowds.

And timeless, here and there along the highway, were the huddled gray stick mounds of beaver lodges, and the simple white elegance of woodland trilliums, and water seeping out of rock ledges, and wayside streams splashing merrily over the stones.

I tell you all this because I know many of you cannot take the time just now to go and savor these things for yourself, and I wanted to share some of these country blessings with you.

Priceless

We own such lovely treasures
a warming springtime sun,
a roadside view of woodlands
where saucy squirrels run,
a chance to smell the blossoms
and hear the robins call,
but most of all, a thankful heart
to share it with you all.