Spring Anxiety

It’s that time of year again.

Some people dread Christmas.  Or birthdays with zeros in them.  For me?  It’s spring.

Sure.  Go on about crocuses in bloom and fresh calves.  I will not be drawn in.  That fresh smell in the yard?  It’s newly-thawed manure.

When the snow melts, the grass left behind is puke-brown, not storybook green.  And the snow never all melts.  Those last few flakes hang on in the ditches for weeks, holding up ugly splotches of dust and dirt until at least the bitter end of April.  And don’t get me started on the mud.  But none of this is the worst.  The worst is a toss-up.

On the one hand, there’s the clothing predicament.  It’s completely impossible to dress yourself on the prairies between March and June.  Every morning you look in the closets and wonder:  will it be minus twenty?  Or plus twenty?  You might have to shovel snow to get your car out in the morning, and then get a sunburn at lunchtime.  And don’t e-mail me to advise dressing in layers unless you can explain in detail exactly how to layer Sorrels over strappy leather sandals and a toe ring.

And then there’s the other hand.  If, like me, you accidentally married a Saskatchewan farmer, you’ll already know where I’m going.  Until at least the end of April, it’s too early for farmers to start seeding, but too warm for them to stop pacing around the kitchen, checking the internet weather forecast every eleven minutes, and making up excuses to phone and neighbours to find out who’s already started putting their crop in and how much progress they’re making. 

Today, it’s snowing for the third day in a row.  When I asked The Husband what he had planned, I didn’t understand most of his answer.  But it seems that he’s going to design and weld some sort of homemade forklift attachment.  I ran into another local farmer at the post office.  He had a trailer attached to his truck and was heading to town for pipe so he could weld up something he’d thought of himself.  Look out, patent office.  I’m sure a slew of long-spring-farmer-submissions are on their way.

Bring on summer.  Please.

Comments

[Maureen]

I hear you!

I can't stand mud. Or sand.

If there's any solace, my dh doesn't even farm anymore but is still passionately obsessive about farming season. Since the advent of the weather radar, he no longer needs to run outside to peer and determine whether the farm is getting rain. Instead, he spends hours monitoring the weather.

In some ways, I look forward to winter.