spring into summer

Sweet rain falls.

And suddenly,

before you even get the wheelbarrow out of the shed,

there are flowers.

yosemite sam

A sure sign of spring.

s-s-s-springtime

Here's the first hour's evidence of what eventually became 24 hours of this weird combination of concrete and glue. It weighed a ton and stuck to everything, including the electrical and phone wires. Last night, the landscape looked lunar, breaking tree limbs sounded like cannon fire, and the lights flickered like candles. This morning, a wire somewhere snapped, and we went off the grid.  It was enough to forestall breakfast, forego a warm shower and convince me I'm not a pioneer. But it's springtime, so now it's sunny and warming and over. Except for the mud.     

waiting for spring

Up at the ranch last weekend, I took some pictures, quick, before spring springs. I love the way its winter-bare bones look. Before the cottonwoods and willows leaf out, the view goes further up the river and deeper into the trees. It's always a peaceful place, but for this moment before the trees and the river fill up with birds and critters, it seems suspended in a quiet waiting. When the snow melts and higher water comes to the river, everything living thing follows, and life gets loud.

The ranch is right at the foot of the mountains and is surrounded by protected land. Wildlife enjoys that protection and is abundant. Everybody's there and everybody's welcome. Some are shy, and some have no shame. For example, this very impressive 16-inch pile of plum pits begs the ago-old question, "Does a bear shit in the woods?" 

The answer is, "No, he shits anywhere he wants to, including in our yard." 

Here are some observations: 1) this scat is old and has had all winter to decompose, meaning it was much bigger last fall and its producer is a big bear, and 2) the white tape is the high-voltage electric fence. It's about four feet off the ground and packs enough of a wallop to keep the one-ton cows and their piles away from the house. It didn't seem to impress the bear at all. I mean, did he even notice it?

Now that spring is here, that big ol' bear is waking up. 

He'll be back.  

hot summer evening

It's warmer than cold outside the studio, and the fat-flaked soaking snow that falls in March is here. The mud is thickening out in the alley, bits of grass are greening up, the first leaves of the daylilies are poking through and the periwinkles are bravely blinking little blue-violet flowers. Spring is a determined season.

Meanwhile, here inside the studio I've been stashing wishful thinking, imagining how good this weather would feel in July. I'm determined beyond reason.

what the grass knows

The grass knows it's March, 

and the equinox is right around the bend.

blizzard antidote

It's snowing at a rate of 2 inches an hour and blowing so hard, I can't see the fence 75 feet away. As of yesterday, we hadn't had a drop of anything in over 6 weeks. Nothing but winds over 70 mph and spot wildfires. Ah, yes... Springtime in the Rockies. So Mother Nature is celebrating with her typical attack of whimsy, blessing us with more than a foot of snow. It could be worse; this could be Fargo, where the Red River is flooding at historic proportions and it's blizzarding.

Happily, I don't have to go anywhere today except my studio, which is buried somewhere out there in the whiteout. However, to get out there I have to shovel-grunt-push a path in the snow. Maybe watching me struggle into my down jacket, boots, hat, scarf and mittens will amuse the dog enough to get him out of his bed and into the storm. By then, the snow will be deeper than his legs are long; no doubt he'll need a snorkle and doggles.

To soothe the shivering, chapping and cussing, I've posted this picture of another world where storms are beautiful in a very, very different way. It helps just knowing it's out there somewhere.

march

I just noticed it's March. It's always been a favorite month of mine, when Spring comes around the corner. Hard to tell, though, when it seems like it's been here since sometime last year. On this third day of the month, the temps are strangely in the 70s, rain and/or snow hasn't fallen from the sky in over a month, and Daylight Savings begins this coming Sunday. It's confusing when the gummint keeps changing milestones like Time and the cost of a stamp. However, neither politics nor the screwed-up climate impress the local birds. The flickers are doing drumrolls by banging their heads on the metal chimney cap, and the male house finches are beginning to sing arias. The drumming and the arias are both love songs, full of enchantment and come-hither. Wow. Each to his/her own, I guess.