Tulips, daffodils and crocus...where are you? I want to smell sweet breezes drifting over the lake and across a freshly mown lawn; I NEED sunshine and warmth. I’ve had it with winter’s cold temps and icy, potholed streets! I’ve been dreaming of Florida’s sandy beaches, and how I long to eat fresh fish on an outdoor patio.
As I write my weekly column, I’m listening to a classical music station. It just interrupted my thoughts with more alarming news: twenty degree temps are forecasted for tomorrow! ENOUGH! It’s almost time for Easter dresses and straw bonnets. LIttle girls will freeze in their finery if this obnoxious weather continues...
What’s a girl to do?
Walking Buddy, my Beagle, around the neighborhood yesterday, a neighbor stopped to chat. Max noted, “Have you noticed our recent alpine landscape? Have we been time-traveled on a magic carpet to Austria’s snowcapped mountains?”
The snowbanks must look like mountains to Buddy too. Bravely, he climbs the treacherous inclines, often sinking into the melting pile, then struggles to regain his ascent to see what’s over the top, on the other side of the mountain. He’s oblivious to the fact that he could sink deeper and have to push and shove snowbanks to get through the piled snow. He doesn’t seem to mind slippery, icy spots nor the swarming mud on the street from all the trucks hauling lumber into our neighborhood. Obstacles are a challenge to my dog. He mounts the biggest, dirtiest, plowed chunks on the roadside to see what’s on the other side.
The snowbanks must look like mountains to Buddy too. Bravely, he climbs the treacherous inclines, often sinking into the melting pile, then struggles to regain his ascent to see what’s over the top, on the other side of the mountain. He’s oblivious to the fact that he could sink deeper and have to push and shove snowbanks to get through the piled snow. He doesn’t seem to mind slippery, icy spots nor the swarming mud on the street from all the trucks hauling lumber into our neighborhood. Obstacles are a challenge to my dog. He mounts the biggest, dirtiest, plowed chunks on the roadside to see what’s on the other side.
Gardening catalogues are arriving in the mail, plastered with blooming iris, clematis, peonies and ferns. I’m not a gardener; instead, I’m thinking about plowing down any remaining plants and returning the ground to grass. Summer’s heat and humidity ruins any gardening wishes I harbor in the spring. And weeding...who enjoys that? Some invasive plant has taken over one garden; the other garden doesn’t get enough sunshine.
April arrives this week. I can almost sniff SPRING in the air...some days. It’s an intoxicating time for Buddy. He gets literally drunk on spring scents, tossed Dairy Queen cones and fast food wrappings abandoned by the crews building new homes on the Point. Anything with a scent of food gets his immediate attention.
It’s time to clean the garage. I’m eager to unveil my tiny MIata, with the red racing stripe, which has been sleeping all winter in the garage. It might need to have a jolt from Dave’s battery charger. I’ll have to wade through the stacked wood chunks, croquet balls and mallets, swim rafts and old tennis racquests that line the walls and rafters of our garage to get to the Miata. Our garage is a menagerie of coffee cans with nails and screws, rusty staples and assorted boxes of scrapbooks and old toys the kids have outgrown. They need to come and get their teenage letter jackets, graduation and sports uniforms still stored in their closets. Andy’s snowboard, his baseball cards and electronic games might be worth something on Craigs’ list. Kate will want her treasured books and numerous framed photographs of friends lining the bookcases in her room.
In the rafters are wooden cross country skiis, the old ones that needed waxing, as well as Andy’s baby crib, the red wagon Grandma Esther gave the kids, discarded rugs, probably stained with various dog markings. Bikes are hanging on the walls of the garage along with assorted pieces of lumber, which Dave says he’s certain to use some year in the distant future.
It’s spring break time at the schools. No kids are playing in the park or riding bikes around the neighborhood. Everyone has abandoned the neighborhood to fly to warmer temperatures in the South. I’m still waiting for sidewalk puddles, a sure sign of spring. Soon I have to find my tall water boots to walk Buddy on his daily constitutional. Pot holes dug by thundering snowplows and construction trucks have plowed dirty banks and smashed ice chunks, destroying the surface of our roads around Casco Point. Spring brings new construction and potholes every year.
By this time, I expect to hear the sound of trickling water. I can’t wait for spring to wash away our gray skies and frozen lakes. Like broken eggshells, ice chunks will soon push up and over each other onto the shore. Slowly, the ice will crack and settle among dirty deposits of stringy sod, random stones, grass clippings, tree branches, dead bugs and frozen rodent carcass. AHhhh, spring’s a rejuvenating, but messy time of year...I can’t wait! Warmer weather would do a lot for my physical as well as mental health. Perhaps the flower show downtown at Macy’s will inspire me and lift my spirits. 798 words
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