According to meteorologists, astrologists, and people with joints that ache when it rains, spring is further away than it seems. The calendar says spring starts in a few days (March 20th), but our prognosticators think we can expect chilly and rainy days for another month or so.
To that, I say achoo! That’s right, I have my own system of determining whether warmer weather (try saying that three times quickly) is right around the corner and from my sneezing and feeling as if someone set a woodpecker loose in my sinuses, I’d say we northwesterners will be out squishing around in our yards with the slugs sooner rather than later.
Don’t just take my word for it. My dog Justin is allergic to spring. That’s right, the entire season. As soon as he starts scratching, that’s a surer sign of warmer days than the robins which hurl their bodies incessantly at our front window attempting to mate with themselves (which, by the way, is also already happening).
I’m ready too. I may have to wrap my head in a scarf filled with ice cubes to quell my achy temples, but at heart I am a dirty girl. If I have to go more than three months without soil of some sort under my nails and bark-o-mulch in my unmentionables (no, I can’t explain how it always seems to migrate there), I get antsy. And not in a good way.
Speaking of which, the ants have returned to my bathroom, which they only do when spring is well on its way.
I have three bags of bulbs on kitchen table and a newly drawn map of my yard to help me decide where to put them. Assuming the squirrels haven’t plant peanuts and filbert trees in all the remaining empty spots, I’m ready to head outside and … achoo… play in the mud. All I need is for the rain to stop, the temperature to move above 55 degrees, and that woodpecker to take a break for lunch.