164 SIGNS AND SEASONS 



of mild and severe winters. During very open win- 

 ters, like that of 1879-80, nature in my latitude, 

 eighty miles north of New York, hardly shuts up 

 house at all. That season I heard a little piping 

 frog on the 7th of December, and on the 18th of 

 January, in a spring run, I saw the common bull- 

 frog out of his hibernaculum, evidently thinking it 

 was spring. A copperhead snake was killed here 

 about the same date; caterpillars did not seem to 

 retire, as they usually do, but came forth every 

 warm day. The note of the bluebird was heard 

 nearly every week all winter, and occasionally that 

 of the robin. Such open winters make one fear 

 that his appetite for spring will be blunted when 

 spring really does come; but he usually finds that 

 the April days have the old relish. April is that 

 part of the season that never cloys upon the palate. 

 It does not surfeit one with good things, but pro- 

 vokes and stimulates the curiosity. One is on the 

 alert, there are hints and suggestions on every hand. 

 Something has just passed, or stirred, or called, or 

 breathed, in the open air or in the ground about, 

 that we would fain know more of. May is sweet, 

 but April is pungent. There is frost enough in it 

 to make it sharp, and heat enough in it to make it 

 quick. 



In my walks in April, I am on the lookout for 

 watercresses. It is a plant that has the pungent 

 April flavor. In many parts of the country the 

 watercress seems to have become completely natural- 

 ized, and is essentially a wild plant. I found it 



