April showers bring rejoicing frogs. What it means for the Southern Tier this spring

Unpredictable April seemed cloudy this year. Some folks I know grumbled about it, saying they felt robbed out of spring. They expected consecutive warm sunny days designed to make them feel alive. They hoped for balmy nights with toads trilling, and the mildest of breezes wafting through yellow-green willows.

Not much of that has happened. Not in our grand and glorious Southern Tier and Central New York environs. April days dawned cool (some said cold) much of the time. It rained steadily or misted. Cloud watchers seized ample opportunities to brush up on cumulous, stratus and cirrus IDs.

“Where has April gone?” people asked.

Let’s just say it has sacrificed itself for the greater good. April has flopped so May can prosper. Just look around the neighborhood. May is about to come on like gangbusters. Bradford pears bursting with snowy white flowers; weeping cherry branches laden with pink blossoms cascading down like elegant chandeliers; forsythia sprays boasting yellow so bright you’re reminded not to look at the sun – few springs have approached their mid-points looking better.

April has done that. It has laid down its life for May.

This month stayed chilly so daffodils would still be blooming. That doesn’t always happen. Three hot days in April, and daffodils droop and look forlorn. They thrive only under cool, moist conditions.

As for what the peepers, wood frogs and leopard (meadow) frogs thought of this month’s weather, they’re using “divine” and “marvelous” to describe it.

More: Spring has sprung in the Southern Tier. Enjoy it while it lasts

You would, too, if a slime-covered epidermis swaddled your bones. Let’s talk external structure. Frogs are amphibians. As such, they must live with this reality: Their moist outer skin will dry out during hot, sunny weather. To prevent such fatal parchedness, frog skins come equipped with myriad mucus glands that secrete a colorless liquid.

The purpose of this slithery substance is, in part, to help harassed amphibians slip the grasp of young boys who are trying to squeeze them. Another purpose is to allow the luxury of cross-country travel without fear of drying out.

Frogs travel in April. It’s their favorite month for finding new water sources in which to inflate throat pouches, attract mates and create tadpole swarms for bass to devour.

A hot April they detest. Even their slimy skins are no match for its blazing sun and drying winds. So when a dreary day in cool April comes along, frogs rejoice. Over hill and hummock they bound, their bodies sheathed in mist. Caught in headlights on nocturnal highways, they glisten while hopping from one dangerous side to the other.

Last spring was dry at my place. Frogs reacted by not really thriving. This year, because April was – well – April, they and their tadpole offspring will constitute a much greater proportion of the world’s biomass. Bass will swim happy. Tadpoles escaping predation will wriggle along happy, too.

The moral here is that every cloud has a silver lining. April’s clouds helped that message shine through.

E-mail Rick at [email protected]

This article originally appeared on Binghamton Press & Sun-Bulletin: Don't lament a chilly April. These plants, wildlife depend on it