SPRING: Tilda's nature notes

It's almost the end of this peculiar spring.
Everything seems late to me, although orchard-owner Lewis Barnard told me that his fruit trees flowered right on schedule. I don't even have my pumpkins or potatoes planted yet (there are some potato volunteers coming up in the garden, despite my best efforts to harvest all of the purple spuds).
My deck is covered with little fuzzies from the white pines, and tiny maple saplings seem to be sprouting at random all over the garden.
The pollen was rampant this year, coating the dashboard of my car even when the windows were rolled up (I keep a Swiffer cloth in the glove box). The yellow stuff represented yet another novelty of country life for our Manhattan friend who recently moved to Chadds Ford: "There's pollen on my Mercedes!" he spluttered in mock-outrage. I mean, how dare it?! 
Six brown wren eggs are waiting to hatch in a nest inside my bird feeder, and I see the mama wren frequently hopping in and out. I'm eager to check on their progress, but don't want to disturb her. The goslings at the Stone Barn pond are starting to lose their adorable fuzziness, though they are still dutiful about following their elders in single file as they cross Upland Road.
In the pasture behind my house, big purple thistles are outgrowing the rest of the grasses, and on the road banks the orange daylilies are about to bloom.
On the way home the other night we spotted lightning bugs hovering over a pasture. I've gotten my first mosquito bites, and I'm sure my first poison ivy blisters are on their way soon.