Wednesday, June 01, 2011

The Book on Spring

If you’re blinking, thinking your eyes are playing tricks on you, they’re not. It’s me. The last blog was “The Book on Winter,” and this one, not quite two months later, wraps up spring. If it sounds like I’m a little quick to say good-bye to spring, that’s because spring doesn’t stick around long up here. It’s a pretty good bet that April and the first two months of May will be hideous, and that somewhere around the middle of May, it turns to summer.

Et voila. For the past several days (I write this on the first of June) we’ve been stewing in 80-90 degree heat, with Tampa Bay-style thunderstorms popping up to lash us with torrential downpours and dangerous lightning each evening. Pasty Vermonters (the author included) are emerging like larvae into the jungle heat. We’re stupefied, beady-eyed, and feeble. We stagger around, blinking, groping, gaping, like fish on a hot sidewalk. We need a little time in the over to firm up.

The hideous weather of our so-called spring was remarkable. It chiseled itself into the meteorological record books as the wettest spring ever. The Little River behind our house overflowed its banks for the first time in the 11 years we’ve been here. The day care center next door lost its playground. The Luce Hill Road bridge was washed out. We were wet and cold, and I built a fire in the wood stove as late as the 12th because I was loathe to fire up the heat and burn $4/gallon Saudi No. 2 in May.

And then it turned, the weather becoming hot, sunny, dry--except for the afternoon thunder boomers. We hope it stays that way, not just so that we can stop blinking like newly released prisoners, but so that we can actually enjoy our brief summer. It won’t be long until you’re seeing the blog “The Book on Summer.” Between now and then I need to thin my blood from gear oil to sweet light crude, if only for the exercise.