I’ve lived in New England my entire life, yet I still despise our weather.
This winter wasn’t a winter at all. We had some snow, but not enough to make the $200+ J and I would have to spend to ski (to drive to a ski area near our families in NH, for babysitting, then buy exorbitantly overpriced lift tickets) worthwhile. I also didn’t have the opportunity to use my Christmas/Chanukah present, a brand new pair of snowshoes. As a result, I’ve spent the last 10 weeks impatiently waiting for spring.
That’s why, when I noticed today that the bulbs we planted in the fall were finally poking their little green heads out of the earth, I felt overjoyed. We hadn’t had a chance to do a solid spring cleaning of the front yard, but there they were, tenaciously pushing up up up through soil and leaves toward the sunlight.
I had actually thought that maybe they wouldn’t come up at all; perhaps the voracious neighborhood squirrels had eaten them, or we had buried them too deep or not deep enough. But no, little harbingers of spring, my daffodils, tulips, and hyacinth are on their way to join their already established brother and sister crocuses!
Let’s just hope they survive the snow slated to hit Boston on Monday. Mother Nature has a helluva sense of humor…