We expected a mostly-rain storm but ended up with a mostly-snow storm. Now everything is coated in a layer of wet white cement. It will melt today, but for the moment the garden looks grim. Not that the snow will hurt the peas and greens I planted on Saturday: they love this kind of weather . . . cool, dank, mucky. But this isn't the most charming moment to get a truckload of new soil dumped onto my driveway, and that's what's on the schedule.
Spring in Maine, even here in the temperate south, is jam-packed with teenage highs and lows. Ice! Hyacinths! Frostbite! Daffodils! Still, in Harmony, school was canceled yesterday; they got a real snowstorm, not our gloppy sleety skimcoat. I am aware of the luxury of my complaints.
So today: a morning of editing neatly at my desk; an afternoon of wheelbarrowing loads of soil through mud and slush.
"luxury of my complaints." may we all recognize that, for most of us, our troubles would be some other people's joys.
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