Ephemeral snow

in mid-April? It does happen but it's not expected. We have to prepare for frost as late as the first week in May although that doesn't happen every year. A sharp frost so late in Spring can shatter the blossom trees and shrivel the salad, so we don't plant lettuce outside [of the polytunnel] until St Pancras Day (12th May). Person or persons unknown set fire to the mountain on Sat12Apr - possible because of the super-dry Mar-Apr this year. Eco Horizon Solar finished up their groundworks on Mon14Apr - phew! in a nick of time to keep the mud under control. But on Wed16Apr, the drizzly rain turned to a slobby snow which a) covered the polytunnel an inch deep, then b) slid off and crushed the rhubarb - which had been doing so well up until then. MetÉireann made no mention of snow, so it must have been one of those rare local mountainy meteorfreaks.

That evening I was informed that my treasured Kiwi cousin had been returned home to die, so I promised that I would yomp up the hill to say goodbye in the morning. What a difference a night makes. I set off at 07:05hrs in bright oblique sunshine. You can do that if you don't have to go to work! The snow was largely gone from our yard but I knew it would hang around for longer on higher ground and I wasn't sure how far I could progress. Multi-tasking me took the branch loppers to cut back the gorse from the roadway, so I didn't arrive at the mountain gate looking back South until 07:30hrs:

Two things: a) that yellow gorse bush [R] is the last one unburned on the hill b) the fire-brigade failed to close the gate  - tsk! - when they finished fire-watching on Saturday and it was now stuck open in a snowdrift. I was very happy to see, looking up along the Narrow Road to the Deep North that our Stephen's Day sceagh hawthorn Crataegus monogyna was untouched by the fire:

"our" sceagh because for a few consecutive years in the 00s, we snuck up the hill at Christmas and festooned that tree with Cadbury Celebrations . . . knowing that at least one neighboring family with small children would walk up the hill on Stephen's Day if the weather was the least bit permissive. It's harder to walk in snow than upon dry ground but I plodded on until the road got to be dangerously icy. Then I turned diagonally up the hill heading for St Fursey's Altar. Despite the snow it was A lot warmer than it was in January upon St Fursey's Day. In fact, it was just plain delightful . . . to be up on the top of our world listening to the larks; and watching the crows pacing along with the wind.

The skylarks were doubtless pissed off that their nests had been swept over by heather burning at the end of the previous week, but I couldn't tell that from their song. My shortie boots didn't quite over-top in the snow banks - there's a lot to be said for dry socks in achieving a quiet contentment. When I headed downhill for breakfast, the snow banks were sparkling like a Disney princess and the water was just starting to thaw - burbling and lupping under the ice. Good to be alive.