April 10, 2013
It’s August today in Central Virginia. Last week it was January. I’m not sure how the trees and the peas feel about it, but my guess is they’re as unpleasantly confused as I am. Snow one week. Ninety-two degrees two weeks later.
We didn’t move to Virginia for the four seasons – as some give as a reason to retire here instead of say Florida, but it was one of the delightful discoveries I found my first two years here.
Oh that’s what spring is, I said – bloom after bloom of bushes, flowers and trees beginning in the last week of February and seemingly continuing to early June. Mute greens and pinks, light roses and yellows soften the landscape. It was as if I’d heard the word but didn’t know what it meant after so many years of living in Maine. In Maine, where Gordon jokes they have two seasons – Tough sledding and the Fourth of July. In Maine where cold Aprils bring mud season that lasts until mid May when there’s Black Fly Season followed by summer. The daffodils bloom early, lilacs and apple blossoms finally get around to it by late May – and then it’s summer – glorious Maine summers I admit (despite what Gordon says), but summer after all.
So despite the fact that I am enjoying short sleeves and shorts, I am somewhat worried about the peas I (finally) planted last week and the tender lettuce leaves I’m afraid are already wilting in this heat. I am a little disappointed that we turned on the air conditioning yesterday – even though I know we will return to more appropriate weather soon.
What scares me most is a story I read sometime, somewhere on the internet that predicted the demise of spring – that an effect of global warming would be more jagged leaps between winter and summer. Kinda like what I left in Maine.
If spring mutes, can fall be far behind?