I was bouncing a tennis ball off the roof and the dachshund was trying to catch it -- really sort of feigning enthusiasm, because at best it seemed to bounce exactly where he wasn't , unless it hit him in the head. I was having fun, and discovered when my right arm got tired that I really can't throw left-handed. It was sort of like that alien hand syndrome, and I swear the thing was wired to somebody else body -- probably the dachshund. And as I tossed the ball, I gazed over the roof at the tops of the redbud maples flowering on the other side of the house. "This is weird", I thought. "Astronomical Spring has no bearing whatsoever on the onset of real Spring weather. Stop it." Oddly enough, this time the weather failed to heed my command. The buds are swelling, the chickens are savaging the garlic, and I've been raking the lawn and doing all that middle-aged male puttering that usually can only happen seriously in late April. Uncanny, but nice.
Anyhow, it's supposed to snow in a day or so. We'll bury all this hyper-ambitious vegetation under an appropriate layer of white, refreeze the muddy roads and prepare to do it all over again in a few weeks. I'm even managing to contract a bit of a cold in order to properly humble myself before the return of the Frost Giants. Not something I like doing, mind, just as the season traditionally dictates.
Here's something that Spring brings, too, the weather notwithstanding. We have our first goat kids. Dear old Rose manged somehow to produce quadruplets who thus far are all surviving. The effort took a lot out of her, and she has very little milk, which looks fairly grim for the dairy portion of the agenda, but hopefully that will come on with time. It means lots of bottle-feeding, either way. The economics are entirely unsound and the hours are tedious. That's what Spring is all about, Charlie Brown.
Okay, now I'm thinking about Creme Eggs and jelly beans. Must be time for chores.
