I don't recall a spring in Madison that came this late (actually it hasn't yet arrived if you judge by the signs of new growth). And though in January I may have appreciated a thermometer reading of just above freezing, in April, I think that's terribly unfair. It doesn't help that last year I was filling flower pots outside by the second week of April. This year, I'll think we're lucky if we can do it by May.
And tomorrow, we're going to be pummeled by snow. Followed by a series of frigid days. That's not what we expect from you, April!
True, we wake up to a bright morning. Breakfast in the sun room, to the sound of chirping voices of the girls in the box.
But then comes the back and forth:
Ed, we really should go out for a walk.
And we have to finish planting the tomatoes. 48 containers planted, 48 to go!
You're right. We should. We have to.
Every half hour we recycle this dialogue, as we continue to sit in front of our reading material, immobilized by the prospect of stepping out into that cold brown landscape.
But by noon, the push to get going becomes urgent. I'm back on schedule with Snowdrop care, and we really do have to finish planting the seeds, and we absolutely should take that walk.
But the day should not look like this! Both of us, bundled in warm outerwear, he stuffs cups with dirt...
... I plant the seeds.
Our walk reveals more of the same winter sluggishness. The park pond, without turtles sunnying and just a few ducks swimming...
The lone crane, wondering why he bothered flying north so soon...
Well, at least at Snowdrop's school the littlest snowdrops are popping up.
And Snowdrop herself is like spring in full bloom!
(No no, you're too big to bounce on my knee!)
(Story telling time)
(See how much Pepper has grown?)
(A moment with her Polish magnets...)
Happy child, happy household!
Evening. Snow tonight, cold spell the rest of the week. I mean, you gotta love the cold if you live here. Just not into April. Can we agree on that?
And tomorrow, we're going to be pummeled by snow. Followed by a series of frigid days. That's not what we expect from you, April!
True, we wake up to a bright morning. Breakfast in the sun room, to the sound of chirping voices of the girls in the box.
But then comes the back and forth:
Ed, we really should go out for a walk.
And we have to finish planting the tomatoes. 48 containers planted, 48 to go!
You're right. We should. We have to.
Every half hour we recycle this dialogue, as we continue to sit in front of our reading material, immobilized by the prospect of stepping out into that cold brown landscape.
But by noon, the push to get going becomes urgent. I'm back on schedule with Snowdrop care, and we really do have to finish planting the seeds, and we absolutely should take that walk.
But the day should not look like this! Both of us, bundled in warm outerwear, he stuffs cups with dirt...
... I plant the seeds.
Our walk reveals more of the same winter sluggishness. The park pond, without turtles sunnying and just a few ducks swimming...
The lone crane, wondering why he bothered flying north so soon...
Well, at least at Snowdrop's school the littlest snowdrops are popping up.
And Snowdrop herself is like spring in full bloom!
(No no, you're too big to bounce on my knee!)
(Story telling time)
(See how much Pepper has grown?)
(A moment with her Polish magnets...)
Happy child, happy household!
Evening. Snow tonight, cold spell the rest of the week. I mean, you gotta love the cold if you live here. Just not into April. Can we agree on that?
