Meteorlogical Spring was Saturday, March 1st ! It didn't feel or look
like spring. Snow so deep. What do you mean Spring came!? But . . .
here comes another chance -
My trusty calendar has an entry "Spring Begins Thursday, March 20th.
As they say in central, northwestern Minnesota: When all else fails . . . write a haiku.
Here's a little (5-7-5 syllable) poem:
LATE SPRING
A furnace in March
almost as good as a campfire
dream on, dream on, dream
Saturday, March 15, 2014
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
spring will come when . . .
Yesterday it melted outside big time! Water running in the streets. Elizabeth and I measure each day's height of snow along our driveway. And yes, I chop a little ice in the gutter by the catch basin to hasten the flow of water. (I did that back when I was a kid . . . and convinced myself that it "helped Spring come sooner.")
Here is a poem.
spring will come when . . .
the heavy, sweet scent
of clove currant wakes
the neighborhood
fiddlehead ferns slowly rush
through leaf-covered dirt
toward light
I touch fuzzy,
ground-loving, purple,
wild ginger flower
I hear the
coo of a dove.
Here is a poem.
spring will come when . . .
the heavy, sweet scent
of clove currant wakes
the neighborhood
fiddlehead ferns slowly rush
through leaf-covered dirt
toward light
I touch fuzzy,
ground-loving, purple,
wild ginger flower
I hear the
coo of a dove.
Friday, March 7, 2014
The Sport of Snirt-kicking
Folks who live in the Upper Midwest have a variety of winter sports, to which they turn, in order to survive long winters. There is skiing - both downhill and cross-country. Others snowshoe. Some people roar through the woods and across frozen lakes in snowmobiles. There is curling, hockey, and ice-skating.
Ice-fishing is another popular sport, though it is questionable how sitting in one place for hours staring at a hole in the ice can be called a sport. Drinking beer may be an alternative agenda for some of the guys. (Some of the fancier fish houses are equipped with TV's). The more hardy might take the polar plunge, jumping into frigid water through a hole cut in a lake's ice. (They don't stay in the water long). All of this after shoveling our walks and driveways.
As winter ages from February into March, snirt-kicking goes into high gear. For the uninitiated, who live in places like Los Angeles, snirt is the accumulation of dirty snow, road salt, and gravel that collects in the wheel-wells behind car tires. If left unattended, snirt is likely to drop off in your garage or even inhibit turning the front wheels of your car.
Thus, snirt-kicking has become a much loved winter sport. When you get out of your car, in a parking lot of course, since snirt belongs to everyone and you wouldn't want to hoard it, you walk around your car. With a deft kick, you take aim at the accumulated snirt. If done correctly, it will fall off beneath your car. Then you have the pleasure of backing over it, increasing the packed snow and ice that covers most parking spaces.
You do what you have to do to survive winter.
Ice-fishing is another popular sport, though it is questionable how sitting in one place for hours staring at a hole in the ice can be called a sport. Drinking beer may be an alternative agenda for some of the guys. (Some of the fancier fish houses are equipped with TV's). The more hardy might take the polar plunge, jumping into frigid water through a hole cut in a lake's ice. (They don't stay in the water long). All of this after shoveling our walks and driveways.
As winter ages from February into March, snirt-kicking goes into high gear. For the uninitiated, who live in places like Los Angeles, snirt is the accumulation of dirty snow, road salt, and gravel that collects in the wheel-wells behind car tires. If left unattended, snirt is likely to drop off in your garage or even inhibit turning the front wheels of your car.
Thus, snirt-kicking has become a much loved winter sport. When you get out of your car, in a parking lot of course, since snirt belongs to everyone and you wouldn't want to hoard it, you walk around your car. With a deft kick, you take aim at the accumulated snirt. If done correctly, it will fall off beneath your car. Then you have the pleasure of backing over it, increasing the packed snow and ice that covers most parking spaces.
You do what you have to do to survive winter.
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
OUR MARDI GRAS PARADE . . .
No kidding . . . Elizabeth and I were actually in an official Mardi Gras Parade in Mobile, Alabama! We had gone on a road trip to "find spring" somewhere south. (It sure was not spring here in Minnesota.) We loaded up all our stuff into our blue Honda Odyssey van and took off and headed to southern Texas. We arrived and found a motel. The next morning the weather report alert announced that a tornado was developing near by. So we beat it out of there. By the time the tornado had petered out we were traveling along the Gulf Coast and eventually found ourself in Mobile, Alabama.
Ah . . . it was spring! There was some kind of a parade starting to form along Mobile's main drag. Always curious, we started to drive closer to the action and, somehow got caught within the barriers set up for a parade route. All the side streets had been blocked off and there were people everywhere sitting in lawn chairs and on blankets. And . . . the plethora of elaborate floats. (I just wanted to use that "plethora" word.)
There was no way we could leave the parade route! We were in the parade and couldn't leave (even if we wanted to) and so we went with the flow along the whole way in our blue Honda Odyssey with all our stuff. We waved and waved to the crowds who probably wondered what celebrities we were.
We thought Mardi Gras was something celebrated in New Orleans - not across the south, silly northerners we are.
Ah . . . it was spring! There was some kind of a parade starting to form along Mobile's main drag. Always curious, we started to drive closer to the action and, somehow got caught within the barriers set up for a parade route. All the side streets had been blocked off and there were people everywhere sitting in lawn chairs and on blankets. And . . . the plethora of elaborate floats. (I just wanted to use that "plethora" word.)
There was no way we could leave the parade route! We were in the parade and couldn't leave (even if we wanted to) and so we went with the flow along the whole way in our blue Honda Odyssey with all our stuff. We waved and waved to the crowds who probably wondered what celebrities we were.
We thought Mardi Gras was something celebrated in New Orleans - not across the south, silly northerners we are.
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