This is my “Second Day of Spring” photo, and I'm sticking to it.
As I plowed into an advanced course of destructive snow removal, the above composition revealed itself along our pond's edge.
The cattails proved perfectly receptive to the freshly falling snow — big, soft, wet flakes settling calmly. I hopped off the tractor and took a break from wrecking the road.
The darned blade on the back of our tractor has a tilt to it (easily corrected, I'm sure) and when Madame Kubota slips over uneven ground, of which there is much, a corner of the blade peels off a perfectly filleted slab. During our recent all but snowless winter, the back road resembled lasting memories of my uncle's manure spreader on steroids. I guess it helps to look back over the shoulder now and then!
Anyway, back to my second day of spring.
I think it's fair to say that we have come to take the concept of spring with a grain of salt. Anyone in their right mind, who has lived in Maine for a while, knows that March is not a good month for spring. We often have snows, sometimes serious and measurable, in March. It's not uncommon.
We sense the struggle of Mother Nature to accommodate season's change. Swelling Maple buds with some of the early flowers peeking up a bit ahead of schedule, can be encouraging. And gloriously lovely, sunshiny “unseasonably” warm days tempt us and make us think that early spring is, in fact, near, only to be dashed on the rocks of wishful thinking.
I've taken the back blade off the tractor — my official sign of spring!
Prepare for mud.