The big reveal
Mud season. Photo: Rick Payette, Creative Commons, some rights reserved
Mud season usually comes in April, but we seem to be shaving time off both ends of winter this year, just as we will be shaving an hour off my sack-time tonight when the clock “springs” forward. What a contrast. The sky is a gorgeous blue, unbroken from horizon to horizon by any wisp of cloud, but the ground looks like the aftermath of trench warfare.
The deep sucking ruts on my side of the driveway could have been made by a tank, and I need to wear gumboots to make it dry-footed to the car. The yard is littered with fallen limbs and the debris of home improvements, which I had expected to remain decently interned in snow for at least a few more weekends.
The only white spots now remaining are the low spots where ice accumulated, the crusted plow pile at the end of the drive and little bits here and there in deep shadow. There are also a few very blond spots where fresh sawdust preserves the underlying snow, demonstrating in an accidental way the method by which icehouses of old kept the mixed drinks of Manhattanites cold all summer long.
The warm weather has also given the road crews a chance to get out and fill some of the many craters that pose a hazard to navigation. About time, too; but does it seem odd to you that in the 21st century road repair should still consist of a guy with a shovel spooning hot tar and gravel off the back of a flatbed into holes in the middle of the street? Where’s the innovation economy? Aren’t they on to this in Silicon Valley?
But I digress. I was talking about what winter conceals and what its ending reveals. I’m mostly seeing the damage at my house. What are you seeing as you walk about in the sunshine today? Let us know in a comment below.
Tags: listeningpost
Robbins, strutting, fanned tail Red Wings, Crows and Red tails. Turkey vultures over by tributaries to the River. Oh, mature bald eagle in hamlet of Rossie. Spring has sprung, almost. Daffodils are just breaking garden surface. We all seem to be coming back to life.
D
Your road repair methods sound very advanced. Here in Orange County I’m convinced they consist primarily of teams of men chewing big wads of gum and then spitting them into the potholes. It’s the only explanation I can think of for why it takes so long to accomplish, and why it doesn’t last long.
Living as I do in the tropics of Fonda, golden crocus are blooming so bees are buzzing, snowdrops are appearing from leaf matter all over the yard, daffs and tulips are pushing up, gold fish are hungrily coming to the surface of a very very small water feature, bird vocalizations are being heard again, the quince is pushing out tiny leaves, and my little black dog is soaking up the sun’s rays at every opportunity. It sure seems like spring. May it be so.