IN THE TURNING LANE

It’s that time of year again.  It’s not spring by a long shot, but somewhere in the middle of one of these mild, just-barely-freezing nights we have turned a corner.

Well, maybe not turned a complete 90 degree corner, but we are wandering off in a slightly different direction.

This thought struck me as I emptied my washing machine this morning and had a sudden longing to go hang it all out on the line.  I glanced out across the backyard and managed to squelch the urge.  It would mean trudging through snowbanks higher than my boots and only having two feet of hanging space between the line and the snow, so not worth the effort.  I carried on with putting everything in the dryer, but now that the longing for the scent of clothes dried outside has been established it will only a matter of time until I’m out there tramping down snow to make it possible.

And, while I’m out there I will haul my shelving unit in and set it up in front of my big south-facing window in the living room and plant seeds and clippings.  I’m not ready for that round of mess and clutter yet, but we’re close.  We’re very close.

I’m not the only one feeling that the seasons are shifting.  The cat has decided that he would rather be out than in overnight.  I have no idea where he goes but it isn’t doing him any harm – he’s always back on the deck in the morning, looking for his breakfast.

It’s also the time of year when the resident farmer starts to critique Mother Nature’s distribution of snow for the winter.  Apparently for 2023 he thinks she should top it up a bit more before seeding. 

“But not too much.”

“And it should be a slow, steady melt so the moisture all seeps in.”

“And a warm, dry May.”

“And then timely rains in June to establish a good crop.”

Ending with “They should just put me in charge.”

I hear this every year, as predictable as dandelions.

There are other voices talking to me too.  My deep freeze keeps showing me how the garden’s crop failure last summer is affecting meal planning, and my bank account cries out in pain when I go to buy fresh vegetables.  I, too, hope Mother Nature is a bit more cooperative this summer.

The real clincher this afternoon, though, is that sunshine warming up my deck.  If I close my eyes and breathe in deeply I can smell the sweet peas or the fresh-mowed grass.  I can hear the bumble bees and hummingbirds. 

Best of all, I remember all those summer afternoons of friendly conversations over whatever beverage suits the day.  It’s a gorgeous Sunday afternoon and all the men will be watching football on TV.  What a shame to waste this moment just because it’s technically still February!

Okay.  Okay.  Maybe I have made a 90 degree turn after all.