March came in like a lion in this part of the world--a soaking wet, angry, windblown lion at that. But then what cat likes a bath?
We are grateful that the temperatures are above normal for this time of year because if all of the rain we've had lately had been snow, we'd have to stick a flag on the chimney to locate the house. Often we already have some garden planted by now, and that is something else I am grateful for--we haven't planted yet, except for lettuce in a cold frame. If gardens had been planted, the seeds would end up sprouting somewhere along the banks of the Ohio. The lettuce is undeterred by the wildness of the weather as it sprouts its tiny greenness beneath glass. Thank goodness for glass!
Even here on top of the hill water is running off in streams, some cutting new channels and gurgling and making mini-whitecaps as they go. There will be some work to do straightening up the mess when things dry up a bit. It reminds of the days when my sons were young and a big storm would strike. As soon as the storm was over they would run over the hill to our little run, build dams, float sticks to see how fast they'd go downstream and all sorts of other boy activities. It would keep them entertained for hours. I didn't have to worry because our run is never dangerously full; it's a very small stream and often is completely dry. Which, I was once told, is why it's called a run--"Sometimes it runs and sometimes it don't."
So now here we are in March. The month of spring's arrival, of daffodils and forsythia and early garden planting. And yet it feels so odd, as if we somehow skipped winter. I remember a winter when the temperature dropped to 30 below zero here, and stayed below zero for weeks. When wells froze 42 inches down, when city water pipes froze and burst two feet below ground. When our road was piled so deep in drifts that it was March before the state came with big endloaders and dug us out and the boys missed a month of school because we couldn't get out except by walking and the bus was stopping four miles away. So perhaps this is the other extreme; instead of memories of the worst winter ever, we will have memories of the mildest winter ever. I sincerely hope that this is just that, a record warm winter, and not what will be the new normal. Because I like winter; I like the quiet, the snow, the complete change, the forced opportunity to just gather in.
The electricity has been up and down, surging and dimming. Lights flicker, the computer goes off, the surge protector protects, and my writing is interrupted over and over again as one storm after another roars passed this morning. So perhaps I had better close while I can, and leave you all with a wish for the best of days in this coming month, and may winter not rear its head again now that the flowers are in early bloom and the fruit trees are budding. Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit, yall!
Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.