For the site of a biblical plague, things look peaceful enough, but Sam's been through Massachusettes often enough to know he should be starting up at a verdent canopy right now, not open sky. And in the relative quite of the park, if he closes his eyes and listens closely, he can hear the not-so-distant chewing of a hundred thousand caterpillars, like tiny living machines grinding away everything green.
"Disgusting, isn't it?" The ranger (Ralph this time, not Rick) sounds like he'd like spit if not for the presence of Sam's notebook. Instead, he scuffs his books in the fine black grit that's scatter all across the road and the empty lot they're standing beside. "I've had to warn people to put tarps up over their food and anything they want to keep clean."
"Oh--" Sam says, startled and a little grossed out, stooping to get a closer look at what he'd *thought* was some form of gravel or ash. "You mean--?" He glances back up at the nearly non-existent canopy, fighting the urge to shield his eyes this time.
"Yup." The ranger grinds one bootheel a little more, clearly wishing it was the caterpillars themselves that he was turning to powder and not just their leavings.
"When did you realize this was, well, a 'plague', and not just the usual?" By this point it seems pretty unlikely that this is the type of catastrophe he and Dean deal in, but Sam has to ask.
"A month, maybe? Though we were worried it would happen given the warm winter and general lack of snow--we need wet and cold to keep their numbers down." And that pretty much seals the lack of a case, so Sam reaches for a question he's pretty sure will shut down the interview in short order.
"So would you say this is yet another consequence of global warning...?"