Weatherwise, April was a whipsaw month of dramatic changes. Temperature records were set all over the state for LOWS around April 7 and for HIGHS just two weeks later. Anchorage smashed a record set way back in 1917. Here, we bottomed out at 6 degrees F, BEFORE wind chill, which was substantial, and topped out at 64. By mid-month, we relied only on a modest morning fire to warm the house above 59 degrees. No fire = spring cleaning, so we washed every curtain and rug free of 6 months of soot and ash accumulation.
Snow:
As you may imagine, the snow started melting FAST. We shed 5.5 feet in about 10 days. Even with the dissipation of that volume, our yard is still 90% white. Brown doughnuts of open ground have appeared around trees and dark buildings, expandìng and blending. Hardscape is starting to appear, such as the rocks around our firepit and log benches. We discover that the snow weight shredded a 4x4 post tethered to several electric and barbed wires encircling the beeyard. (We should have loosened the wires). On the other hand, one of the 2 x 4 cross beams of the raspberry trellis broke, too, and we DID loosen those wires. Frost heave and snow. What ya gonna do?
Chickens:
My delightful hens have endured another winter. They don't like cold, wind, or snow, but they do like sun (so I wish we had positioned their coop better). In mid-April, they started venturing rather tentatively out across the snow to our cabin. I don't like it when they poop on my back porch, but I LOVE seeing and hearing them, and I am sure they love the snowless expanse under and around the edges of our cabin. In a happy trade, the 8 ladies gave us 7 eggs one day. I hope that these fluffy carnivores are eradicating fly larvae, because those creatures are annoying the barbeques we have started to enjoy again in the sun of the front porch.
This was the first winter that we kept so many birds through the winter (we actually started with 10, but a marten killed two of them. As a result, we underestimated the amount of hay we would need. In the initial warm months of winter, I turned the dirty bedding every day. But the muck freezes in deep cold, so later I use a deep litter method, which is to simply add a flake of new material every few days. Well, by the beginning of April, we had depleted the bale, the coop smelled of ammonia which is unhealthy for the birds, and it was too cold for them to go outside. So Bryan mucked out the stinky mess and I hauled 14 small sled loads uphill to dump into our big snowmachine sled. It was interesting to see the methane rich material steaming from its internal heat in below freezing temperatures. When the coop was cleared out, we transported the noisome pile to the vicinity of the biggest raised bed gardens in the back of the property. Then, I layered thick cardboard over the chickens' floor and tossed in woody debris from our wood corral and cold ash. This was not ideal, but it sufficed for the short interim until they could spend most of their days outdoors.
Plants:
I love what I consider to be scavenger hunts throughout the year. In April, I cross the snow to the open ground and seek the earliest leaves and buds, some of which appear directly through the snow, too. By the end of the month, I am wearing a short sleeved T shirt, but with tall boots and gloves as I cross through rotting snow, sometimes postholing up to my knees.
Wild currant and elderberrry buds are full and fleshy. The initially magenta leaves of dwarf dogwood appear along the lake shore. Among domesticated plants, I favor perennials, and have planted lots of tulips in groups of 5-7 in front of a memorial bench with stone cairns for loved ones and dear friends. Not only are the tulip leaves rising directly through the thinning snow, but, to my surprise, several of the cairns remain intact, rather than tumbled, despite all the winter snow.
During this transitional time of year, we scurry about, trading out winter supplies for summer ones. The marine cooler that stored food on the porch all winter is cleaned out. The freezers in the food shed and the on-demand water heater are turned back on. Boots and skis and parkas and snowmachines go into the bunny hutch/garage building, trading places with summer wear, mosquito netting, and sunscreen.
As of the end of April, we see no open water on the lake yet, but it is no longer safe to walk on the thinning surface. As the snow melts there, the lake takes on a variety of hues – some black/brown from suspension of dead leaves and branches, some lovely shades of ice blue, sea green, and sand. We have pulled the blue tandem kayak out from beneath the cabin and dusted it off, ready for the first day we can paddle among the ice floes, perhaps with a visiting river otter.
