The ice on the sides of the roads, the sidewalks and the steps, the melt-off from the grass, the thick and thin crusts of winter, have reached the stage of maximum crunch.
I absolutely love this time of year. Winter hasn’t entirely given up, but Spring is edging forward.
I am giddy with excitement, as are all right-thinking Minnesotans; and at this rate, by the time I see a bud on a tree I’ll be positively centrifugal with happiness.
Every day we get a little closer to losing boots and gaining sandals...
When I was a child, I dedicated whole weekends to stomping on the ice, emphatically, for blocks in all directions, clearing it out, kicking it into the middle of the street where it would melt faster. It was my belief that I was influencing things, made me feel I was doing my bit to bring the green back.
I still feel that way, so if you’re looking for me this weekend, I will be that grinning, messy woman goose-stepping down the street, trying to hurry Spring.
It worked as a child, after all.
Ah, March in Minnesota: the brighter sky, the way the days get a little warmer every day, the ability to break off large floes of glacier-like impediments that may or may not have been there since November (I’m thinking of an especially large and potentially lethal ski jump created by a collapsed gutter at the back of the house), it all speaks of one thing.
Time to barbecue.
There are two priced-to-sell (AKA aged) steaks in my fridge waiting for late Saturday afternoon, whereupon they will be introduced to the charcoal grill for four minutes a side. There will be mushrooms, salads, and perhaps a tasty beverage – I cannot say.
Summer is coming, my friends; and tonight? We dance!
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