The Spring Of My Discontent
Yesterday morning, already past mid-April, a neighbor remarked on the inch of frozen-granular snow I was scraping from my windshield. “What happened to spring?” she asked. Had she been paying attention, she’d have realized this is spring. A review of New England’s seasons:
- Summer: the most truncated of the seasons, begins around mid-July and is over before September. Many days of this “season” are actually quite spring-like, which is to say cold and damp.
- Fall: when your unripe tomatoes die on the vine. Such effort for so little gain! Dammit, why didn’t you focus on growing hops? Next year!
- Winter: wherein you discover that eyeballs actually can freeze shut. Even on short bike rides to the hops rhizome emporium, of which there are not nearly enough.
- Spring: starts in the last 3rd of March, with snow still on the ground, and proceeds to dump cold rain until, roughly, July. Oh, sure, the sun comes out now and again, but just briefly, heading back behind the rain clouds again for several weeks. With this kind of weather give me winter. If it’s cold, at least I can ride my bike without getting soaked. Also, my radiators provide just the right amount of heat to keep a Belgian Tripel fermenting.
And you thought you were dark and brooding.