Spring arrived at 6:02 a.m. today. Those of us who were up, however, were too busy bundling up in multiple layers to face below zero wind chills to properly greet her.
That greeting that most likely would have taken the form of a rude salute in the direction of the groundhog, who predicted a quick end to winter. I guess, like most meteorologists, the groundhog is allowed to keep his job in spite of being wrong most of the time.
While I have no daffodils to fall over in defeat in the face of the not-spring weather, I do have Clementine the clematis that, according to the books, needs to be pruned in March. I'm willing to brave the cold to do it, provided I can see the vine underneath the snow cover. My fear is that if I don't do it now, I will miss the five minute window between "snow covered and dormant" and "already sending out new shoots that are fragile and not to be touched".
Our weather does change that quickly, and the flowers sprout as soon as the snow is thin enough to poke through.
A year ago, we were living through an unseasonably, almost unbearably hot spring. We had almost ten days of seventy degree days, including a couple that topped out around eighty-six degrees. The news is full of the fact that our daily temps recently are fifty to sixty degrees colder than a year ago this date. Gah.
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