– SEASONS IN THE MOUNTAINS – Where Was Dogwood Winter? From my Nature Journal,


April 25: Early. The April morn- ing glows florescent with the soft emerald light of new, u nf u r l i n g leaves. I put on hot water


BY Robert Towe


for tea and walk outdoors. Dark misty woods


emerge


from night shadows, dappled with bone-white Dogwood blos- soms still dripping silver drops of night rain. Every puddle’s edge is traced with the golden lace of countless pollen grains, blown from thousands of flow- ering trees upwind, near and far. The morning air is washed bright, sparkling. Far in the Spring night, a pre-dawn thun- derstorm came flickering sky- fire, electric violet mumbling across the mountains, fresh rain-scented air filling the room, briefly waking our warm and nestled dreams. Now a wild orchestra of


nesting birds throngs the still, dripping, windless morning. It sounds like every bird in every tree is singing. From primordi- al depths of unfolding mystery, each bird pours unique refrains into the great cacophony of Spring’s urgent passion of lay- ered harmonies. Coal-black crows and blood-


scarlet cardinals; rose and lem- on-yellow finches, winter-brown wrens; all the drab sparrows: field, song, chipping and white- throat; tiny black and white chickadees; perky titmice and chattering nuthatches; quiet gray doves and noisy iridescent purple grackles; rust-bellied robins, sky-blue bluebirds, and


several varieties of woodpecker hammering


hollow trees---all


are wanton at once, to bring forth a secret clutch of colorful eggs to carry on her kind. Each nest holds a few precious


tiny ovular globes of mostly cal- cium shell, less than a hundredth of an inch thick, painted April- sky and meadow-green, speckled pink and brown, the yet-hatched sister and brother birds cradled


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against April’s cold and wet in a spun gray thatch of winter sticks and straws. These minuscule fragile shells enclose and break open the enduring beauty of Spring---the wonder of ancient newness, the music, the colors and fragrances in the pageantry of flowers, each blooming in its time, the ever-unfolding desire and yearning of life to re-create, to give away itself each Spring, rebirthing its kind into the long stream of Earth’s natural his- tory. Through thick fog, a slow


train far upriver blows a long horn echoing down the morn- ing valley. My father worked hard, forty years with mountain trains. Sometimes when I hear an engine screeching wheels, rolling down the long steel rails; or the blues-song of a coal-train wailing through long blue starry nights, I remember him… In the lower garden, apple


trees are filled with clouds of rain-wet, pink-white blossoms. What delicate perfumes float on molecules of moist April air! From a flowery apple bough a Towhee keeps lifting his sweet tune: “Drink your tea!” His trill reminds me to go back inside and fill my cup. Almost every Spring we enjoy


several late cold snaps, some of them severe, as the white she-


wolf of Winter turns around and bares her frozen teeth for one last bite at the tender flesh of the flowery, greening land. Long ago, one of these annual cold spells was named “Dog- wood Winter” by weather-savvy settlers of the southern Appa- lachians. This predictable brief chill occurs each year when Dogwoods are in bloom. Tem- peratures drop into the thirties, or lower, often bringing the last frost until Fall. Some years the blossoms and new leaves are coated a few hours with showers of wet snow. But not this year. Dogwoods full bloom now, and


are past


temperatures are not predicted to drop back into the forties. Many of the pure white, cross- shaped, blood-tinged blossoms have already curled, dried and blown, fallen back to the dark earth. All down the long Sum-


mer, Dogwood berries will ripen and swell, becoming crimson come September--nourishing food for a variety of animals fat- tening for winter. Erratic and unpredictable as


mountain weathers and climate are, I would not be overly sur- prised this year by a frost in May, as we have occasionally seen in recent decades. The sharp pos- sibility of late Spring (and early Autumn) frosts “comes with the territory” of living in the blue shadows of these old mountains. Robert Towe is a mountain


naturalist, a fifth-generation na- tive of the area, and owner of Mountain Acreage, Inc., featur- ing quality farms, forest land and retreat properties. You can view some of his land inventory at mountain-acreage.com. Contact him directly at 828.253.7055 or mountainacreage@frontier.com. See his ad on page 12.


Warrants issued cont... Continued from page 1


District Attorney’s Office and the North Carolina Auction- eer’s Licensing Board. On April 3rd Detective Alan


Wyatt met with the District At- torney’s Office and presented


all the information surround- ing the investigation of Paul Blake Terry. The Weaverville Police Department will be pre- senting its case to the Grand Jury for indictment in the com- ing weeks.


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