Like many of you, I suppose, this winter keeps surprising me. A couple of weeks ago, it was so nice and balmy I had visions of getting my peas and potatoes in the ground. Then came the big snowstorm. I kept telling my bride, who hates snow, “it’s not going to amount to anything.”
After making two trips to the fire house to plow them out, I had to change my tune, if only for a day. But, all in all, we did get some good moisture in the ground and the rivers are full and that is a good thing.
I had to come in twice while I was plowing because, while it looked like snow, when it hit you, it was more like rain. I got soaked twice, and had to hang my coveralls by the wood stove. But, you have to admit, it was pretty, if only for a little while.
Then this latest snow was another surprise. I stopped at Settle’s to get a Sunday paper, and Bill Dietel was gassing up his car. He asked if I thought the snow was going to amount to anything. “No,” I said. “Nothing to it.”
I had watched the weather maps and it looked like the storm was breaking up across the Midwest. Then I get up Monday morning to put wood on the stove and feed the pestering cat, and the ground was white. It still didn’t look like it was going to amount to anything, but I am beginning to get nervous about cutting my seed potatoes and tilling the garden.
I hope this past winter hasn’t inconvenienced you too much. I have never seen so many trees on the ground from the wind and heavy snow. Firewood is everywhere, so sharpen your chainsaw, and if you are close to my age, lay in a big supply of ibuprofen and Bengay for your old rickety back. The economy of burning wood for heat comes at a price – paying that price gets a little tougher every year.
Here’s hoping there is light at the end of this meteorological tunnel. If the past is prologue, there always has been. But, I prefer to look at it the way my mother did, and I know I have used this line before, but, at times like this, it bears repeating. My mother would say, when the kids were longing to run around the yard in their bare feet and go play in the creek, the weather will get better after Easter. And so it shall, my friend. So it shall.