Bring It On!

Rain, Rain, go Away.
It has been a wet weekend here in Vermont. The rain coming off of a warm coastal storm drenched southern New England. Then it drifted north and hit us too, though less severely. It did, however manage to melt most all of the snow left in the backyard. With  the snow gone, I made a few discoveries.

I discovered about a dozen lost dog toys. Tennis balls, and squeaky toys lost throughout the winter. It was like Christmas morning for my lab. There were lots of "other things" left behind by the dog over the course of the winter as well. (I'm not looking forward to collecting those presents from under the tree, though.)

I also discovered all of the little gardening projects that I didn't finish last fall. No magical gnomes came to finish them over the winter, though I keep hoping. The flower gardens that I abandoned at the first snowfall still need work. The dead tree branches blown down by winter storms are still there. The blanket of white erased them for a while, but they never really left. We have the normal mole activity beneath the snowpack that I will need to rake out, but we also have a few areas that the frost decided to push and pull on.

Ground frost is a powerful thing. You won't find it everywhere. There are lots of areas in the northeast that are free from ground frost. Perhaps they have better drainage. Perhaps they clear more of the snow. Whatever causes it, ground frost is a formidable force her in Vermont. We even named our basketball team after it.

Ice is strong enough to expand in the dirt and send sections of earth skyward. Under the pavement of your favorite by-way, frost heaves can make a Sunday drive seem like a motorcross event. One particular spot makes my Chevy jump and change lanes if I drive more than 25 mph across it. Don't ask what it does to my Jeep. That thing is meant for low gear only.

This year, the frost found a few spots in my back yard. It sent a patch of dirt under my grill up about four inches, then it turned an adjacent piece into a shallow pond. I stepped on the paving stones next to the wallow trying to circumnavigate the new landscaping feature, and they shot into the muck like a slip-and-slide. I managed to keep my pants clean that time, but I am steering clear just in case. I was really looking forward to grilling as soon as the rain stopped, but I don't want to pull on the muck boots to do it. I guess those Omaha Steaks will stay frozen a while longer.

Besides the dog's excitement, there has been some good to come of the melt this weekend's rain has brought. In a few choice spots where southern exposure or the warm wind graces it, I can see little green points emerging from the dirt. Our day lilies are alive. Amidst all of the chores, the mud, trash, and dog toys that were found beneath the snow, a glimmer of hope was found too. Those few shoots have really given me hope that spring will one day come. Hope that my son will be able to walk off of the deck without needing a change of clothes. Hope that the dirt will actually drain. Hope that warmer weather will actually let us use our lawn again.

My wife and I have been talking about what marks the first day of spring with my four-year-old. I said the first robin. They are waiting for the first spring flower. We have already found the first bug of the year, and whatever comes next: bird, bud, or black fly; I am glad to see it.

Mud Season / The Trouble with Mud

Flatlanders, that is people who don't live in Vermont... uh, or people who moved to Vermont at some point in their lifetime, might not know much about the many seasons of the Green mountain State.

We have the four regular ones, and then we have a series of less publicized, yet highly important sub-seasons that mark life here.

For instance, between fall's colors (full of white license plates on the highways), and winter's white blanket, (we will take a look at the seasons of winter at some other point) we have stick season (when all of the hardwood trees in the state look like sticks).

Right now, due to a series of unseasonably warm days, The Green mountain State is quickly advancing towards Mud Season. Well, at least in the unpaved reaches, we are. Burlington never really sees Mud Season. The Frost is leaving the ground, and as it melts, all of the ice crystals turn to soup. Cars and trucks steer for themselves across the soggy, rutted byways. Chidrens' shoes are converted from insulated to waterproof, and they are kept strictly by the door if possible.

"Never mind that hat, Jimmy," mom might call out, "it'll be warm today." (42 degrees is warm after winter here)

A warm southerly wind really adds to the trouble with mud when it melts the rain soaked snowpack even faster than the sun's bright rays. That breeze can send a torrent of melt water down the hills. It will face challenges of still-frozen culverts, and ditches full of ice, then escape from the lowlands across your lawn. Formerly firm grass turns to a sponge waiting for the first toddler's knee, or dog foot to soak. If that runoff meets soil, barren of greenery, it waits for the slightest traffic to escape gravity's constraints and move indoors  attached to even the smallest heel, or dragging pant hem (damn my short legs).

Indoors, the soil smears into the cracks between the dry floorboards, across linoleum, or stains carpets. (This is one of many times that I am happy we do not have North Carolina's red clay). Every time the lab comes back inside from barking at the neighbors, my house (and poor sofa) looks like wreck again.A friend of mine just takes up the area rugs and refuses to wash the floor more than once a week. There is wisdom in that.

It is Mud Season, after all.

The rest of the state is muddy, perhaps I can embrace it in my home as well.