Spring by Decree, time to think of Martha’s Vineyard!
I have declared that spring has begun. Never mind that the calendar says March 11. Every other indication that I care about tells me that winter is over in New England and spring has completed its long, weary trek to my front door.
How can I declare that spring has arrived in the face of all scientific data to the contrary? Hard evidence makes the change clear. First and foremost, I grilled outside. If that isn’t spring, I don’t know what is. Granted I had to maneuver around snowbanks, shovel my way to the grill, and set the bottle of BBQ sauce in a drift while I tried to dig the bottom of the grill cover out of the snow, but those are minor details. Vini, vidi, chicky. I came, I saw, I grilled chicken.
Second, as I was engaged in the aforesaid vernal activity, the children in the next yard were swinging on their playground apparatus. Are you going to tell them that it isn’t spring? Break their hopeful hearts? I think not! It mattered little to them that their tiny little boots were scraping through the snow with each pendular movement. Though clouds filled the sky, the sun shone in their eyes.
Finally, my crocuses have bloomed. ‘Nuff said.
How does this affect anything other than my state of mind, which was already open to controversy anyway? Well, I’ve put away my winter coat for one thing. I’m done with it until next December at least. Gloves, wool hats, boots? No, thanks. I won’t be needing winter protection for a while.
The grill is open for business for good. Set up my hammock on the porch. Hot cocoa? Nope. Kick back and have a tall glass of lemonade. Slap one of those Beach Boys CD’s on. Surf’s up! Put the furnace in mothballs. I’m done contributing to global warming except to drive to Martha’s Vineyard.
There you have it. I refuse to wait until March 20, 21, 22, or whatever date has been ordained by the whims of capricious meteorological types. I’ve had enough snow, ice, and cold for a lifetime, never mind the year. I won’t be bullied or intimidated by the tyranny of calendars, facts, or bothersome reality. I’m living in spring as of now.
Feel free to join me. You’ll find me at South Beach. It should be summer in a few days.
What tells YOU that spring has sprung?