That’s it, no more winter weather
Once I get an idea in my head, it’s hard to dislodge it.
I’m not sure whether it’s a sign of stubbornness or whether I’m just obstinate but once my mind has been made up I really am not very receptive to changing it. And right now my mind tells me it should be spring and all that comes with it – emerging flowers, green grass and robins.
While I don’t expect it to be very warm yet, neither do I think it natural to receive as much snow as we have these past seven days. For me, April normally is a series of weather markers.
Once the Detroit Tigers open Comerica Park to the public the beginning of every April I expect to have witnessed the last measurable snowfall of the season. Come the middle of the month and tax filing time, I expect to have witnessed most of the frost from the ground and crocuses, tulips and daffodils to pretty much either be at their peak, or starting the downward trend past that peak.
And, come the opener of trout season the last Saturday of the month, I pray that most of the snowmelt is behind us, the streams aren’t too muddy and the weather will be not yet hot enough for mosquitos, but not too cold enough to warrant gloves all day.
With that in mind I, for one, haven’t appreciated the weather this week. The snow is messing with my April weather markers. Any time a school superintendent has to cancel school half of the week because of snow in April, you know you’re in trouble.
I woke up Thursday actually depressed to the point where I had to drag myself out of bed. The overnight snow should have been plowed, shoveled or removed in some fashion but all I could do once outside was sigh, shrug my shoulders and hop in the car. I was beyond caring for this season. Enough all ready.
This weekend I’m holding my own personal protest rally. I’m running the gas out of the snowblower. I’m taking the snow shovels to the basement and filing the snow bibs away in the back of the closet. In their place I’m pulling the lawnmower out of storage and into the garage, moving my shorts to the front of the drawers and oiling my grass clippers, hedge trimmers and weed wacker.
I’m drawing my line in the sand – or snow in this case – and declaring that doggone it, spring should be here.
One of two things will happen.
Either my protest will work, and my neighbors will actually think I knew what I was doing.
Or, I’ll fail in my one-man stand, and I’ll look pretty silly outside in short sleeves and shorts trying to throw snow through a lawnmower chute.