Saturday, April 1, 2023

Welcome, April!?

The bad news is that I spent much of the morning clearing six inches of heavy, wet, snow from the driveway. The good news is that Mother Nature promises to make July and August excessively hot to compensate for the cold, snowy spring she’s been delivering. How’s that for a deal?

The East end of the driveway gets lots of morning sun and this morning, despite temperatures below freezing, turned to mud as I was scraping snow with the tractor. The West end is more shaded and was still ice covered under the heavy, wet, snow. The combination made for some interesting attempts to clear snow with either the tractor or the snow blower. I think we can get the vehicles out of the garage and onto the road so what’s left on the drive gets to stay there until it melts.

mid-April, 2014: 15 inches of snow
mid-April, 2014: 15 inches of snow
Photo by J. Harrington

What really made me wonder about why we’re still living here is the picture above, from April 2014. That snow is fifteen inches deep. Maybe it didn’t seem as bad as this morning because it fell on bare ground? Maybe it was so bad that I’ve deeply repressed the memories of that cleanup? In any event, it’s photographic proof that last night’s storm was far from unique.

Turning to a more pleasant topic, today is the first day of National Poetry Month in the United States.

As a special offering this April, U.S. Poet Laureate Ada Limón has selected twenty new poems by contemporary poets to be featured in the Academy of American Poets’ Poem-a-Day series as part of a collaboration with the Library of Congress. Thanks in part to our National Poetry Month partners and sponsors, each April the Academy is able to offer activities, initiatives, and resources so that anyone can join the celebration:

national poetry month

May to April

 - 1752-1832


Without your showers, I breed no flowers,
    Each field a barren waste appears;
If you don't weep, my blossoms sleep,
    They take such pleasures in your tears.

As your decay made room for May,
    So I must part with all that’s mine:
My balmy breeze, my blooming trees
    To torrid suns their sweets resign!

O’er April dead, my shades I spread:
    To her I owe my dress so gay—
Of daughters three, it falls on me
    To close our triumphs on one day:

Thus, to repose, all Nature goes;
    Month after month must find its doom:
Time on the wing, May ends the Spring,
    And Summer dances on her tomb!



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