Captive on the carousel of time*

Our temperatures are consistently running above “normal” while precipitation is sparse to nonexistent. This is likely to present complications for greening up the North Country this spring. The buds on the maple trees in front of the house are beginning to swell but no bud burst yet. Once again local waters are becoming ice free. I’ve lost track whether this is the third or fourth time this year. There’s a better chance this time may last since the Spring Equinox is about a week and a half away and the next few days are forecast to bring high temperatures well into the sixties.

March maple buds beginning to swell

Photo by J. Harrington

We’re watching for signs of maladjustment attributable to our springing ahead an hour early this morning. So far, so good, although the sun’s warmth, when it finally arrives, induces a sleepiness we’re not accustomed to. We expect to adapt over the next few days and look forward to later sunsets bringing longer evenings. I think it’s fair to say that, for most of us, the best two-thirds or three quarters of the year lie ahead.

I’ve actually made some progress getting (some of) my fly fishing gear ready for the season. Two rods have fly lines that have been washed clean and leaders straightened. I discovered that some of my teeny-tiny flies (Tricos) may actually be based on hooks too small to hold a fish. Plus, the eyes are obscured enough that getting the tag end of a tippet through is a) a challenge or b) not doable. Better I should learn these things at home rather than when I’m in the stream and fish are rising.

Please be advised that this coming Thursday, March 14, is reported to be Pi Day. We’re planning on celebrating with French Silk.

[*  The Circle Game]

 

Baked Goods

By Aimee Nezhukumatathil

Flour on the floor makes my sandals 

slip and I tumble into your arms. 

Too hot to bake this morning but

blueberries begged me to fold them

into moist muffins. Sticks of rhubarb 

plotted a whole pie. The windows

are blown open and a thickfruit tang

sneaks through the wire screen

and into the home of the scowly lady

who lives next door. Yesterday, a man 

in the city was rescued from his apartment

which was filled with a thousand rats. 

Something about being angry because

his pet python refused to eat. He let the bloom 

of fur rise, rise over the little gnarly blue rug, 

over the coffee table, the kitchen countertops

and pip through each cabinet, snip

at the stumpy bags of sugar,

the cylinders of salt. Our kitchen is a riot

of pots, wooden spoons, melted butter. 

So be it. Maybe all this baking will quiet

the angry voices next door, if only

for a brief whiff. I want our summers

to always be like this—a kitchen wrecked

with love, a table overflowing with baked goods

warming the already warm air. After all the pots

are stacked, the goodies cooled, and all the counters

wiped clean—let us never be rescued from this mess. 

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