rarely do May thunderstorms bring snow
Photo by J. Harrington
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Other years when we've had mid- to late-May frost advisories, they've mostly occurred when we had clear, calm nights. With rain and / or snow in the forecast for the afternoon and evening, the bed sheets we've used in the past for frost protection are likely to get soaked through and, come morning, possibly turned into sheets of ice. We have some tarps sitting around the garage we could try, but they're likely to be too heavy to lay on the new plantlings and may crush them. Plus, they might not stay put if wind gusts do indeed reach 30 mph tonight. Local trillium have just come into bloom. What will they look like tomorrow?
are trillium frost proof?
Photo by J. Harrington
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Frosted or crushed is sort of a plant's equivalent of "which eye do you want the sharp stick in?," also know as a Hobson's choice. An alternative would be to ignore the advisory, cross our fingers and hope that Mother Nature shows some pity. Then again, since we're now watching snow flakes, maybe the smartphone(?) should be listened to. Spring in the North Country isn't just a challenge. It's a mixed bag of challenges that makes life interesting, unless you're a plant or an orphan fledgling. The goslings we saw earlier today will no doubt be hunkered under mom to stay warm and dry tonight. In case you're interested, the "normal" high and low for today are 70℉ and 50℉. Tomorrow's normal low is the same and the normal high is 71℉. If you'll pardon a short posting today, I think I'll go dust off the snow shovel, just in case. All in all, we'd prefer a seasonal thunderstorm rather than a late season snow and frost attack.
Misreading Housman
By Linda Pastan
On this first day of spring, snowcovers the fruit trees, mingling improbablywith the new blossoms like identical twinsbrought up in different hemispheres.It is not what Housman meantwhen he wrote of the cherryhung with snow, though he also knewhow death can mistake the seasons,and if he made it all sound pretty,that was our misreadingin those high school classroomswhere, drunk on boredom, we had to recitehis poems. Now the weather is always loomingin the background, trying to become morethan merely scenery, and though todayit is telling us somethingwe don't want to hear, it is allso unpredictable, so out of controlthat we might as well be children again,hearing the voices of thunderlike baritone uncles shoutingin the next room as we try to sleep,or hearing the silence of snow fallingsoft as a coverlet, even in springtimewhispering: relax, there is nothingyou can possibly do about any of this.
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