Fog blurs the horizon line. Water and sky merge as grays and blues take turns in all directions. Wave caps blown by gusts add flashes of white foam streaks. The roar of the surf becomes a low consistent bellow from the softness of the fog. On shore, green is advertising every shade in its repertoire. And the brilliance of these greens feel new because they are. Because these combinations have never occurred before. And the smell of freshly cut grass smells new because of the duration of time that has passed without it wafting. A moon with a modern-day name hid behind the fog one evening, as many looked out their windows at night for the first time this year.

The narcissus and daffodils are somewhere between full glory and decay, like us. Chives have put out their purple bulbous blossoms and some have even begun to burst. Garlic is mostly minute, tarragon leggy and light, mint stout. It is a perfect time for sorrel, both the lemon variety found in fields and the larger variety in the garden, as neither has gone from delicate to puckering yet. Various birds are indicating a return of bait fish and behind them some small schoolies swim. In Edgartown, the squid are in.

This is the time of year after the watercress has gone to blossom, before the rhubarb has bolted and all the cherry blossoms have fallen, when the days hold heat but the wind’s breath still has some ice to it. A drive down Moshup Trail exposes shadbushes for who they are: outliers of pale blossoms among buds yet to come. Lilacs fill the open air with rich, almost visible aromas as if they were in a contained space. They seem to be everywhere presently, their flowers weighing down roadside branches so significantly in some spots that you could easily dust off the car by tightly hugging the shoulder of the road. What a fragrant car wash that would be.

Twelve piglets were born on North Tabor Farm after a lengthy labor on Friday the 13th. There are now 11. They were born during a foggy stretch, and their first day without it led them to bask in shifts while the sun’s rays beat down with vigor, giving each of the pigs a little more might. Crouton, the mother, had not given birth before but was the recipient of a blue ribbon at last year’s fair. As all things on that farm, she is cared for well and loved. Three farmers were required to assist Crouton during the seven hours that elapsed from the first born until the final one emerged. Crouton’s owner is a vegetarian, increasing the odds that another attempt at motherhood will be in her future.

Three swans slowly made their way across a saltwater pond on a recent afternoon as gulls frantically dove around them, intent on a meal. The gulls were causing quite a scene with their flitting, herky jerky way of hovering above the water, their wingtips throwing spray in all directions including the plumes of the calm swans. The swans continued on their way, gradually reaching the far side of the pond where the fish the gulls were after seemed most concentrated. Each swan lowered its long neck only once to gently pluck a mouthful from the water before turning around. Their deliberate fishing was economical. Their takeoff for flight was not. Heading back in line from exactly where they came, two of the swans flew side by side while the last lingered a bit longer before starting its slow arduous accent.

Perhaps it was hoping for a final quick little snack to eat before following its friends wherever swans head on a spring afternoon.

Chris Fischer lives in Chilmark and New York city.