Am I still a blow-in?

Writer and storyteller Willem Lange, born in Albany, New York, has compared himself to the man in the old Yankee story who claims New Englander status, only to be told “If your cat had kittens in the oven, would you call them biscuits?”

Yes, it was April 15, tax day, 33 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.”

We were residing 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 emerged from hibernation. I have since learned that it is the mating call of the barred owl. Some say it calls, “Who cooks for yooou?”

Spring does not arrive everywhere in New York state at the same time, and even within the Adirondacks there are many microclimates. Sometimes Molly and I would drive 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. 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.

Meanwhile, I am keeping my strength up by strict adherence to the Easter basket diet: hard-boiled eggs and chocolate. The Japanese understand cuteness, while the Chinese just can’t get the hang of it. Here’s a little bunny toy, made in China. Toy animals made in China look frightened, as if they know they’re bound for the stew pot.

Before the Easter basket, I was on some other diet. My chocolate hoard is soon going to run out.

It makes no difference anyway, because no matter what I eat I remain pretty near the same weight, whether the regimen is cheesy egg and sausage casserole or lettuce leaves and filtered spring water. This has been going on for a really long time, so long, in fact, that i am beginning to suspect that some cruel jokester has painted these numbers on my scale and is now lurking in the background, waiting to see how long it will take me to figure it out. Do you think that sounds paranoid?

Because of El Nino, I believe — we’ll blame it on El Nino — most of the past 12 months have been cloudy and rainy, and the forecast for the next 10 days promises more of the same. Much as I hate to encourage bad habits, I offer here a comfort food recipe for mud season: Lisa’s Hungarian cheese biscuits.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Warm 2/3 cup milk and stir in 1 teaspoon sugar and 2 tablespoons yeast.

Cut together 4 cups flour, 2 teaspoons salt and 8 ounces butter as if for pie crust. Mix in 2 egg yolks, 1 whole egg, 2/3 cup sour cream and 1/2 pound grated cheese.

Add the proofed yeast and knead well. Leave dough to double in size.

Roll out dough and fold into a rectangle. Let rise for 30 minutes; repeat.

Roll dough to 3/4 inch thick. Cut rounds with a biscuit cutter and let rise 15 minutes. Bake until well browned. Makes about 50 biscuits.

Eat them with butter, and have a good week.

(Martha Allen, of Keene Valley, has been writing for the Lake Placid News for more than 20 years.)