Spring arrives slowly at our house in Massachusetts, strolling in like a lazy cat. It never pays close attention to the calendar, which insists the season begin with the vernal equinox, when the day and night balance against each other perfectly as they did on March 20th, but it matches up better than it did for us in California. Out there, we never really understood the idea of Puxatawny Phil. Our first flowers bloomed right around the time that the sleepy groundhog popped out of his little house. Now that we live here, we understand the 'six more weeks of winter' forecast.
While an unusually dry winter left us without much snow, spring brought a little more, surrounding the early blooming crocuses, covering the sprouting daffodils as they poked up through the hard soil, and dusting the waking grass with a thin white blanket. It melted quickly in the following warm days, but just when I thought I could change to a lighter coat, the temperatures dropped back down into the forties and fifties again.
The bright blue sky lures you outside, but it deceives. A chilly wind blows through everything. When we drove by the library on Saturday, the people who held signs advertising the town elections looked more prepared for winter with their heavy jackets and gloves.
Still, we know Spring has finally arrived. In spite of the intermittently cool days, the plants aren't fooled. A few days of sixty degree weather promised more to come. The forsythia blossoms are showing signs of opening, and the first daffodil unfurled this morning. After the purples and oranges of the crocuses, everything will burst out in cheerful yellows. If you slept through winter and missed the first signs of spring, you won't be able to miss these bright announcements.
We might even get some warm weather tomorrow. Of course, with the warmer temperatures comes the rain! You'll never confuse the seasons here.
by Christy Devonport