The calendar claims spring has sprung. I'm beginning to wonder.
Yes, the grass is lush and green. Birds are singing. Fish are biting. And here along the river, throughout the corridor woods, the trees' verdant canopy of supple new leaves is already well on its way to filling out.
But yesterday morning we woke up to a heavy frost. One of those scrape-your-windshield deals that lasted until well after sunrise. And many of the perky garden flowers, so bright and colorful the day before, were now dispirited, sadly wilted, with more than a few fatally smitten by the night's unseasonably low temperature.
It was a plain chilly 34˚F when I got up at 5:30 a.m. And while we received only frost, folks in the northern part of Ohio had an unwelcome dose of snow!
Egads! Thank God there's still plenty of firewood remaining. At this rate we may be burning the stove until July.