|Morning sun on burgeoning fox grape leaves.|
Sunny and warm after a weekend of relighting the woodstove, nighttime lows dipping to the "frost warning" mark, and chilly daytime temps that belied their pleasant mid-May appearance—requiring long pants and a jacket to comfortably sit out on the deck for any length of time.
So, is spring really, truly, finally here? Maybe. Though I fear the likely scenario is we'll now swing the other way—directly into the 80-plus degree heat of summer. That seems to be the new normal for Ohio in recent years: spring as a minimalist season, a mere blip on the radar; a deep-freeze dose of harsh winter to usher in the vernal equinox, a few mild days in which a handful of early ephemerals rush to appear, then more cold and rainy weeks, another soupçon of nice weather to allow the grass time to grow rampantly, followed by additional cold and rain before a few springlike days arrive—after which we dash headlong into full-blown, sweat-inducing, break-out-the-hammock-and-swelter summer.
Spring? Why that was merely an old-fashioned notion, an outdated rumor. Who has time for spring?
Me! I love spring. I adore spring. Way more than summer which is too insufferably hot for us boreal-programed creatures. We need our temperate fix before the shake-and-bake purgatory of July and August.
I don't want to do summer until I've had spring!
Yeah, I'm maybe a little pessimistic and more than a little grumpy. Because I'm tired of my favorite season being sullied with, messed up, interrupted, ignored, abbreviated, shortchanged, aborted! I feel abandoned, robbed! A victim of fickle new weather patterns. Enough is enough!
Consider this the lodging of an official complaint.