April is more than half over, and while I haven’t kept an actual log, it’s probably safe to say that we have had gray skies, cold rain, howling wind, and snow flurries most days this month.
Tradition has it that the last snow of the season is the signal to plant the onion sets. For roughly four weeks now, I have been looking out the window and dutifully reporting, “Ah, it’s the onion snow,”only to be the victim of déjà vu all over again, as the joke goes. Two 80-degree days last week provided momentary exhilaration but left us all with achy joints and sinus headaches when the temperature plummeted more to the low 40s overnight.
My daughter says that we should all stop complaining about the weather—that our whining has created bad juju, only making things worse. January and February are supposed to be cold, but it’s not supposed to be snowing and below freezing here in the Mid-Atlantic, in the third week of April, when the daffodils and cherry trees are in full bloom, the willows are yellow-green, and the maple trees are about to leaf out.
Earlier today, driving through a snow shower, Hubby said, “This feels like December.”
Hallmark Christmas movie, anyone?