Giving Old Winter A "Bronx Cheer"
Well I think it is time to fight back against gloom. We need to say straight out that winter really goofed this time. Did we pay for all that mild weather in January? Most assuredly we did not. We got off scot free. Did February make up for that two-week January thaw? It did not! Did we “pay for” all that nice weather when March finally rolled around? I ask you. A winter that can’t do any better than a lot of grey days, even in March, is a positive laughing-stock among winters. And what did it have to justify all those gloom-and-doomers, those peevish pessimists with their We’ll-pay-for-it’s? Can they honestly expect any sensible person to burst into tears of frustrated hopes because of one day of January weather at the beginning of April? How pathetic. How feeble. How satisfying!
Just look at the opportunities winter missed around here. Any winter worth its salt I can count on having several episodes of a miniature Mississippi of snow melt pouring into the barn and filling up the gutter behind the cows and threatening general destruction until, with pick-axe and words calculated to blister asbestos, a channel can be chopped to redirect the flow away from the barn door. We did have water in the barn once this past winter, but it was the work of only a few moments to put down the uprising.
And then there was the matter of the water-tap in the barn. Usually it freezes about the time the snow begins to fly and thaws just before the cows can go out to get their own water in the spring. This year it froze in late January and was working again by mid-March.
So, let’s hear some gloating out there. Winter’s had the biscuit. We’re only a couple of weeks from spring peepers. Down with gloom! Ha!As I look out the window past the newly-pruned apple tree and down the dull brown fields under a grey sky, I note snowflakes. A good many of them too. Oh well, after all it’s only the middle of April. I think a lot of folks are keeping a rather wary eye on the goings-on overhead ever since that little bit of January was so nastily inserted into the first Wednesday of the month.
“It won’t last,” I shouted over the howling gale which beat against the house with the vehemence of the big, bad wolf in the story of the three little pigs. Of course, I was right. It didn’t last.
Myself, I figured it was just another of the government’s cost-cutting strategies. Something along the lines of turning down the thermostat to save on the heating bill. Maybe they figured that if they turned down the thermostat far enough, we could suck some of the heat out of the neighbouring provinces and warm ourselves for nothing. It didn’t work, though.
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We moved to our farm in Sussex, New Brunswick from Toronto in 1977, only moving away in 2014.