It is spring. The calendar is unequivocal.
Spring has officially been here for nearly three weeks. Sure enough, if you look carefully, you can see the signs. Crocuses in the garden. Fat buds on trees and vines.
Our back garden is full of day lily shoots. They have a lot of growing to do before they bloom — a month or more — but they’re coming up thick and fast. It’s going to be a bonanza year for day lilies. I hope their enthusiasm is contagious.
This past weekend, the temperatures soared. The sun came out and stayed out.
And we emerged. Winter-pale, wearing crumpled shorts and tee shirts pulled from the bottom of drawers in which they have lain since last October. Squinting in the strong sunlight. Winter is finally over. We won!
Hauling cameras and fishing poles, kayaks and canoes. Picnic baskets. Umbrellas and lawn blankets. With small frisky dogs in tow.
It was the first sunny Sunday after the worst-ever winter.
No leaves yet on the trees. Nor were any flowers — wild or cultivated — to be seen. There is a world of hope for more sunny days and weeks stretching ahead. It’s the beginning. Never have we deserved it more.
What makes these oddball? These lovely pictures that look like Christmas?
They were taken on March 28th and March 29th. Not Christmas. Not even close. I sincerely hope that I don’t have the opportunity to take any more of these kinds of pictures until NEXT winter!!
March 20, 2015. It was the first day of spring. Cold, raw, with leaden skies and a promise of snow. Supposedly not a lot of snow. The forecast called for less than an inch. Not noteworthy. After the past 7 weeks, “noteworthy” has a new meaning.
So I said “Let’s go shooting,” and Garry agreed.
Garry goes out everyday. I am sometimes inside for a week or more. Usually, it doesn’t bother me. This winter, though, I haven’t been able to get out at all, not even to the backyard or deck.
Finally, I got restless. I had a sudden, urgent need for a change of scenery. An airing. It was, after all, spring. The vernal equinox.
We went down to the river and took pictures.
I’ve lived in the northeast my entire life, minus 9 years. Garry too. We’ve both been in New England through many winters. I don’t remember this much snow still on the ground so late in the season. Not in my 28 winters. Garry’s been here or in Boston for 45 years and he doesn’t remember one like this, either.
I don’t necessarily expect it to be warm and flowery at the end of March, but I expect the snow to be mostly melted. Maybe see a crocus or two. Robins returning to build nests.
Not this year. No crocus, no robins. And the thing is, it’s cold. Still dropping into the low twenties at night and barely going above freezing by day.
March 21, 2015. It was the second day of spring. Surprise! It’s snowing. It had been snowing since the previous afternoon and there wasn’t much accumulation. But it wasn’t nothing, either. All the ground which had appeared was white again.
I took pictures out the front of the house, out the back window and over the deck. I still can’t get to the deck, but I can push the door open about halfway. We call this progress.
We cancelled our planned excursion for the beginning of April. Even if the weather turns suddenly seasonably warm, it will take more than two weeks for the mess to clear up. For the mud to dry up. For the huge piles of dirty ice to disappear. Maybe we’ll go in the autumn.
Maybe we’ll just stay home.
The rules are simple. Every month, each of us posts pictures of the same area where we live that shows the seasons as they change. This month should look more springlike. There is less snow than there was in February. Probably several feet less, but it snowed the day before yesterday, laying down a few new inches of powder.
It seemed so unfair, it being the first day of spring and all. I hope by the next month, I will have pictures of flowers. These were taken over a period of a week.
Perhaps the grass will be green again and the robins will be nesting.
It was nearly sundown in the middle of March. At this time of year, I ought, by rights, to be counting crocus. I am instead taking pictures of piles of frozen slush.
It was after five in the evening and the shadows were long. Bonnie had obviously discovered the snowdrifts were no longer soft, but climbable. Most inconvenient. That one is way too smart for her own good!
Today it’s raining and hopefully, that will reduce the height of the frozen piles of old snow. Maybe even peel away enough layers that we can get to the yellow car we haven’t seen since January.
Maybe, underneath this mess, the flowers are struggling to come out of the earth. Maybe they have already popped up … and are there, waiting, underneath the ice and snow.
Dreamlike images remind me of Middle Earth. We are in Maine.
These are the mountains along the Canadian border.
Just look out the cabin door or drive a short way down the mountain. A breathtaking world of color, mist, mountains and clouds. Colors so unreal they feel like magic, as if trees are glowing from within.
And down in along Route 201 toward Skowhegan …
We’re heading back in the middle of May. This time, spring. I will always feel at home where the mountains rise to kiss the sky.
Places – The Daily Prompt