It was April 15, tax day, 31 years ago, when my daughter Molly and I hit town. We had just come from Boca Grande, Florida, and it seemed strange to be scratching mosquito bites while wearing woolen mittens.

That first season in the Adirondacks reminded me of David Lynch’s eerie television series, “Twin Peaks,” which was popular at the time.

We were staying on a mountainside, and at twilight we would hear mysterious hooting sounds in the distance, soon answered from a neighboring slope. This would go on for some time.

People told me — and I believed them — that this was the hoot of the black bear as it came out of hibernation. I have since learned that it is the mating call of the barred owl. Hoo-hoo hoo hooo! Some say it calls “Who cooks for yooou?”

Sometimes we would drive out of town, to Essex or Albany, where we would see butterflies and tulips and blue skies. On one side of the “Welcome to the Adirondack Park” sign it would be about 70 degrees and sunny, and on the other side of the sign the pine trees would be all weighed down with snow and the wind would be howling. Or was it wolves?

Then spring came. The grass turned green and there were carpets here and there of little bluet flowers. Frogs were loud and so were the rivers and brooks. Everywhere birds were on the wing, robins shooting horizontally through the air at low altitude, the way they do during mating season. Also blackflies. I was shocked that such a tiny insect could cause rivulets of blood to run down the nape of my daughter’s neck. At least by this time we were scratching our bug bites without mittens.

Every year after that, spring has returned, eventually. Still, after an Adirondack winter, it’s hard to believe that spring will ever arrive, the robin and the crocus notwithstanding.

Molly and her husband, Jim, now live in faraway Ventura, California,with their two children, Emma and Jack. Before the COVID pandemic, I would fly out to visit them at Eastertime. For the past three years I have resorted to sending my grandchildren Easter gifts through the mail, which is fun, but not as much fun as seeing them. Here’s a little bunny toy, made in China. I pick it up and make it go over to a tiny chick. Hop hop hop! It’s easy to tell whether a toy animal is Chinese or Japanese. The Japanese understand cuteness. There is a whole culture of cuteness in Japan called Kawaii — look at Hello Kitty and Pikachu and anime cartoons — while the Chinese still can’t seem to get the hang of it. Toy animals made in China look frightened, as if they know they’re bound for the stew pot.

I miss dyeing eggs, although I suppose I could dye a few by myself and then use them to make deviled eggs. I like the Easter basket diet: chocolate and hard-boiled eggs.

If you plan to start seeds indoors in the optimistic belief that you will get a head start by planting them out in your garden in June, now is the time. Most seed packets advise starting the seeds six to eight weeks before the so-called last frost.

At this moment, I am on pins and needles, waiting for tonight’s Zoom meeting of the Keene Town Board, when Bulky Days will be on the agenda. Due to the COVID pandemic, Bulky Days has not been observed for two years. A beloved part of spring and autumn cleaning, Bulky Days has long been a time when Keene residents can discard everything from outmoded electronic devices to broken furniture and old carpeting at the town’s transfer station. Will Bulky Days return this spring? I’ll let you know.

My feng shui book warns that a new broom will “sweep your good luck right out the door.” Another way I sabotage my luck is by keeping a cactus plant in a south-facing window, in the family section (gua) of the house. Very bad. As bad as leaving the “Three Stooges” compact disc on the windowsill in the wisdom and learning gua.

But who cares? I’m tired of winter, health concerns, housework and their restrictions. I’m busting out.

I’ll probably regret it.

Have a good week.

(Martha Allen lives in Keene Valley. She has been writing for the News for more than 20 years.)