I just took a quick peek around the internet; imagine my surprise to find the world whining about weather. “It’s raining!” “It’s cold.” “It’s sprinter.”
Is my coffee ready yet?
The “gooverment” (as O’Pa used to call it) has collected weather data since 1870, or for the last 140 years. Please, people, get a hold of yourselves and realize that it’s not a personal attack if the weather isn’t exactly the way you’d like it to be. Is 140 years long enough to establish a pattern? Is it possible that predicting the weather is as elusive a craft as capturing the Loch Ness monster?
Filled with my usual world-weariness, I took a walk around town to confirm my suspicions that spring had sprung. The tulips and daffodils in my Surprise garden are about six to ten inches high and some of them have blooms peeking through the greens. The ferns are unfurling and my Cranesbill geranium is spreading over its little corner.
Even though it doesn’t get as much sun, the tulips in the Redemption Garden were shooting through the dirt too and I threw in some Calendula seeds on my way by. According to my own blog records, they’re “cold weather” flowers. If I plant them now they should arrive in time for The Moxie Festival.
Things at Uncle Bob’s were looking good. The rhubarb leaves are unfolding in the crazy, crinkly zig-zag way they always do, my garlic plants are about six inches tall, and the radishes I planted last week are breaking ground. Uncle Bob knows it’s spring and although he’ll discuss the vagaries of the weather, he goes about his daily business, preparing things around the house and garden.
Living here at home, I’m able to observe many more things than I did when I was a weekend visitor. I’ve never seen this battery charger before. Maybe Uncle Bob was tinkering around with his tractor or one of his roto-tillers. I could be completely wrong, but I think it’s a sure sign of spring.
After all, Uncle Bob knows.