In upper middle west central New York a portly but shrinking figure pauses while feeding the livestock. A shiver passes up and down his spine while the hairs on neck and arm rise to attention. Mud season hasn't quite hit, but a premonition of spring strikes him as the animals crowd around, more then a little peeved that he has paused in distributing their feed.

What caused this? Doesn't smell like spring, no sounds of spring peepers, not a crocus in sight. The geese haven't started flying north yet, though a couple of flocks have been spending time cruising east and west between lakes.

Then it hit him. The feeling bore the unmistakeable impression. BIG RED was on the move!