Lovely

Someone told me yesterday that the snow in march is only to be expected. She said that March to her was like a sulky adolescent. The days vary from cold damp to moments of blissful warm in the shelter of the south facing terrace pocketed between the porch's el and the two overly large arbor vitae. The is still a considerable amount of snow on the ground, added to yesterday by another few inches. It was a lovely storm. Thick blanket of fine tiny flakes that obscured the mountain entirely.
I had an appointment out Guilford way. Along the Weatherhead Hollow I could see little. A few geese were skating low over the pond and the road was covered with snow. So I had to slow down. Take a look at this and that- the funny farm house that rests so to the road- angled so that its front a left side are inches from the curving bend. A mail box is nailed to the side, rusted and looking unused. The clapboards are grey, and the roof slates peaking through the snow are dark and glossy. I love that house.

There is the Fairground, looking silent and tidy. Every Labor Day weekend, for three days, the fairground comes to life. There are tractor pulls, draft horses, cows, poultry and sheep. There's dog agility competitions, and all kinds of fair food- thin hamburgers with cheep ketchups from a packet, spun sugar on paper cones, funnel cakes...the smell of cooking grease and animals is so strong and seems unique to this place. A small time carny operation provides a few rides. the kids love it and the parents do to. My favorite thing at the fair is the exhibition building. Inside are the crafts- knitting, quilting, canning and growing. Categories for cakes and cookies, jams and jellies. There are adult and children sub-categories. Everyone gets into the fun of it. Some of the entries are sheer magic- intricate quilt patterns and gorgeous knits. Then there are the flowers. Dahlias as large as frisbees and roses of every size shape and scent. I love it all. But the best...the very best...are the collections. Kids bring their baseball cards or seashells, postcards, all kinds of things they find interesting. The adults collections are quirkier, harder to mine the heart of the owner who collects  buttons, or the one who's pride is a tray full of rocks.

All this was going through my head as I navigated the greasy slush on the snowy road. It was lovely to think of the heat of late summer, even as I turned up the heat in the car. The thing is, it's March and the season is changing to spring as I write this. Walking the dog at dawn today, I heard the a cardinal singing his "come hither" tune. Looking up at the dark sky, I could see that the clouds were parting and that today might be bright. And most important of all, the snow had not turned into the dreaded sheet of ice that often accompanies late winter storms. It was soft and melting-lovely.

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