March 27, 2019

The springtime birds are singing, and the sun is shining. On two separate days in the last week, I stepped out onto my porch, inhaled deeply, and smelled the fresh air I associate with spring.

According to Ashbury family lore, however, winter commences on October 1st and ends on March 31st. Yes, six months, because this is Canada, eh, and we take winter seriously here north of the 49th. Such has always been my experience.

There do appear to be several signs of impending spring. One might even include, just yesterday, the honking sound of geese flying north. Although that in fact can no longer be considered a sign of spring because the birds don’t always migrate anymore. Regardless of the signs, the temperatures remain quite chilly. Winter coat, scarf around the neck and gloves on aching hands chilly.

The temperature did reach its forecasted high, yesterday, of 41 and I do hope for 46 today, but I am not counting on it. Fifty on Friday they say, but I am beginning to think “they” really don’t know what the heck they’re talking about.

I’ve been feeling just a little antsy over the last week or so, and that has been a sign of spring for the last handful of years, too. My beloved has begun taking himself off to the front porch each morning, recently. He makes a cup of coffee upon his return from walking the dog, and takes that coffee—and the dog, of course—out to one of the lawn chairs to sit and sip and watch our street. For a good half hour, he enjoys that coffee and soaks up sun each day. Yes, it’s cold and he bundles up, but having worked outside for forty years, and in all kinds of weather, he misses being out-of-doors. I know he’s looking forward to the warmer weather so he can take his laptop out, either onto the front porch, or into the back yard gazebo. There he plans to write away, with no solid walls around him.

I’ve never been as wedded to being outside as he. The last few years especially, I have to be careful to keep a light blanket close, even on the warmer spring days. If the thermometer says it’s seventy-five, and there’s any breeze at all, my arthritic legs think it’s a cool breeze, and I pay the price in pain for my folly that evening.

Some days I don’t mind that so much. Some days, it’s worth it. But this time of year? Not happening. It’s not just chilly, it’s still damp. We went through a period just after he retired, my beloved and I, when he tried to get me outside with him, convinced that I needed the fresh air. I finally had to give in a few times so he could see that what was wonderful for him wasn’t necessarily a good idea for me. He really did just want me to partake of something he believes is good and healthy. I really wish I could with no consequences.

But as in everything, each of us in this life only knows what we know.

The ground is still frozen, and as the frost slowly leaves it, more moisture is put into the soil. Our yard is in need of a good raking, but it can’t be done yet. The ground has to dry a little more, the leaves and cedar seeds have to dry a little more, because David’s preferred method of raking is the leaf blower, a convenience he won a few years back at a company golf tournament.

I won’t wish the crocuses, hyacinths, or narcissi to appear too soon. I’m content to wait for the earth to prepare itself and the weather to settle down some. They’ll come in due course, my beloved flowers.

I’ve lived in this area all my life, and I’ve seen snowfall in May. We have a way to go yet before those buds should appear. I do believe I’ll appreciate the beauty of them more for the anticipation of their appearance. As I said, it’s still early days yet.

Why, counting today, by my reckoning, we still have five more days of winter to get through! And as we all know, almost anything can happen in winter.

Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury