A few of my friends up here think my level of excitement about the snow is a sure-fire sign that I didn't grow up in snow country or have to deal with small children in snow suits, muddy boots and slippery commutes. Perhaps. But, after four years (exactly, as of last Monday), it still seems special and uniquely beautiful to me--a fact my camera tells me is not quite accurate, given the dozens of very, very similar "new" photographs I've gleefully snapped from year to year. We did experience three years of Colorado weather in the seventies (loved it), hence we're not brand new to seasonal changes (we'd had extensive experience with an ice scraper, for example), but snow is still novel and fun for me.
Owing to my gimpy ankle (which is gradually returning to a more acceptable color, thank you), I've been driving over to get the paper in the mornings and have had to scrape ice nearly every day, including today. But yesterday, we watched as it snowed big, winter-y flakes all morning--a bit of clingy winter refusing to let go. Not exactly history-making, but it created a buzz--and I discovered that I really am ready for spring, I think.
The daffodils have been buried by snow several times, now, and many are a little worse for wear. The red tulips I planted a couple of years ago (and had forgotten about) popped up a couple of weeks ago. They aren't as sturdy as the daffs or muscari, as it happens, and their eye-popping display has been shortened, somewhat. I find that I'm so happy to see the gorgeous color of the bulbs in the yard and, indeed, all over the county as well as the blossoming trees and shrubs (except the forsythia--don't know why; too much of a good thing? I could lose the forsythia), that I cringe just a little when they appear to be straining under the weight of a snow blanket.
Spring fever is going around.
Tom has discovered in the last couple of years, that he doesn't really Love the snow like I do. Much of that feeling is closely connected to the fact that we lose our power (and water and internet and satellite) nearly every time we get significant footage. A hassle, for sure--and we'll remedy some of that with a new generator this year, suspect. He's very glad about the turn toward warmer weather.
But it's just possible that my proportional appreciation of each season is beginning to equalize a bit. As usual, I've planted my little peat pellets with dozens of sorts of veggie seeds and am looking forward to the appearance of tiny green shoots to tell me that some of last years' seeds (leftovers--OK, I'm a seed-cheapskate) are still viable and anxious to wow us with the results of their unreasonable productivity. For me, the best part of summer is the garden.
And who doesn't love autumn?
So, I think the snow is probably over for this winter and I will pack the tire chains back into the convenient little bag and put them in the garage along with the comically-oversized shovel without regret. I'm ready.
But the scraper, I'll keep nearby for a little while longer.
[photos are--top: daffs and tulips last weekend, next: purple muscari (I have white elsewhere), third: potted daffs, fourth: yesterday's snow in patio, fifth: view from back deck yesterday.]
