Or so I sincerely hope.
As much as I’ve been grousing about the weather, there are some things I really like about living up here. Seasons are one of them, even if it seems like winter lasts six months. However, you can tell that spring is on its way up here…because it’s “mud season.” The first time I heard the term it was from my sister-in-law, Nancy, who was born and raised in Vermont, and I laughed hysterically at the idea. Mud season? MUD season??
Yes, mud season. It comes from the heavy, early spring rains that melt the accumulated snowdrifts of winter, transforming what was, in October, a beautiful expanse of green lawn into a treacherous, shoe-sucking quagmire eerily reminiscent of the La Brea Tar Pits. It’s not pretty, folks, but it is necessary I suppose.
Another thing I like about living up here is being so close to Amish country and the absolutely knock-your-eye-out beautiful countryside there. Tim and I travel down there at least once a season (and I mean each season) just to drive around and look at what winter, spring, summer and autumn is at its best. We are such party animals.
One of the highlights of our quarterly throwing-caution-to-the-wind excess is a trip to Lehman’s Hardware Store. You can buy all sorts of interesting things there, including wood burning stoves, claw foot bathtubs, entire books devoted to composting human waste (no, I am NOT joking) and scythes that would make any self-respecting, deranged serial killer completely misty-eyed with longing. We’ve spent absolutely ridiculous amounts of money at the place – bypassing the books on composting as well as the scythes – and as a result I’m on their mailing list, both snail and electronic.
Today, I got an email with a link to an article by someone who doesn’t herald spring with the same enthusiasm as I do. Nevertheless, he has some valid points. Read it, and be glad you don’t own a gelding and that you know where your best stockpot is.