Good morning. I sincerely hope life is treating you well. We have yet to fins spring although the birds and the plants are doing their damndest to be on schedule. My eyes are getting better every day, and I can walk farther and a little faster, but not unless Mother Nature comes to her senses and stops with all the rain.
If you’re anything like me, you enjoy the changing seasons, but I’ve come to the conclusion that there are a few missing in the calendar. I propose we consider adding two more to begin with, but I’m open to other options. I’ll leave the four seasons we have as they are, but here are the two I suggest.
My first addition would be Springer, in honor of the talk show host who seemed intent on the shock value of misery, not his. Springer would be that time when Mother Nature has a hot flash and opens the door to the freezer to cool down. I’m sure my menopausal ladies know what that’s like. In her case, Mother Nature is just moving along, counting down the days off the calendar until her next big event, seeing the propsect of spring and her new flowery wardrobe, and feeling relaxed, allows a few days of sun and warmth, lets shoots come out of the earth, tiny leaves burst from buds, and then … Bam! The hot flash hits her, and she reacts by unleashing every kind of cold, godawful weather you can imagine–rain, sleet, ice pellets, freezing rain, snow, and cold, bone-chilling damp. vicious cold that has us hidng under the heavy blankets and cranking up the heat once more. Once she cools down, the warmth returns, only to begin again.
Some people refer to this as false spring. I prefer Springer. We had about eight weeks of Springer this year, starting mid-March and running into now. For the record, frost warnings in May are just wrong.
I took this picture of a baby mourning dove this morning. Ugly little sucker. I had to look it up to find out what kind of bird it was. He’s big, maybe 10-15 cm tall and will be quite pretty when he loses his baby fluff nad proper feathers grow in. What he was doing atop my shed is a mystery. I’ve heard their cries often, but it’s the first time I’ve seen a baby. Poor little guy. He had himself so puffed up against the cold, you could hardly see his head. And that’s wrong, too.
But, God and Mother Nature willing, that’s going to change this weekend, Victoria Day Weekend, what most consider the start of summer even though it’s tecnically a month away. And just like that, it will be Sprummer, the other new season I propose, the one where someone kicks spring to the curb and offers summer a lawn chair and a case of beer, even if it is still a child. Those nice warm spring days we’ve been waiting for to clean up the yard and get the flower beds ready, you know the ones around 20-22C, vanish within what seems like a matter of hours and are replaced by the 28 to 30 C temps. So now, you’re trying to get those flower beds and gardens ready in the kind of weather that has sweat running down your back. It’s hot and humid with the potential for thunderstorms. Your body is in shock, not programmed to deal with a sudden heat wave after the -1C of the previous week.
You race to the closet, desperately searching for something suitable for the heat, praying some of it will fit, because let’s face it, you were still wearing your winter coat last week. If you’re one of the smart ones, you kept your legs and armpits shaved, if not, you could be mistaken for the missing link, but out you go, with arms and legs that haven’t seen the sun in at least nine months, limbs so white that they glow with an unearthly brilliance.
You slap on a thin coat of sunscreen wishing it was the instant tan lotion of your youth, but knowing they don’t sell that anymore now that they know tanning is bad for you, but few of us are content to be fish-belly white in summer.
So, instead of a nice golden tan, you looked more like a broiled lobster, only you aren’t done all over, just one side, the side the sun saw while you were bending over in the garden, and it hurts like hell. But, Hey sprummer is here. By the end of the week, it’ll be cool again.
Have a wonderful sprummer!
Living the Dream 