It is officially spring both in date and in weather. It doesn’t always happen this way. Often the date will say spring, but looking outside, it still seems like winter. How do we know that it is spring in Mazama? Daffodils and cherry blossoms? That’s funny.
Instead, we know that it is spring when the snow rots and roofs continually drip melting ice dams. We know that it is spring when we walk a wide perimeter around our homes because a fatal chunk of ice could come sliding off the roof at any time. We know that it is spring when those nasty clumps of blackened ice finally fall off our cars. We know that it is spring when frozen water pipes begin to flow again and we can get back to bathing on a more normal schedule. We know that it is spring when we realize that we better get haircuts because it is now too warm to just pull on a beanie over that shaggy mess.
We know that it is spring when the line at the Mazama Store is non-existent and breakfast sandwiches can be purchased at half-price because they didn’t sell out. We know that it is spring when bicyclists begin reappearing on Lost River Road. We know that it is spring when getting out of upper Lost River, or any shady spot, is something akin to driving for your life. We know that it is spring when it is impossible to be any paler without becoming a ghost. We know that it is spring when we feel ridiculous for pulling on our snow boots, but we have yet to pull out our “regular” shoes.
We know that it is spring when we are initially excited for mud. We know that it is spring when we then come to despise mud. We know that it is spring when we begin entertaining ideas of finally washing our cars and packing away those winter clothes. We know that it is spring when all the dog poop that has been buried for months is now dotting the landscape; and it is disgusting. We know that it is spring when we wonder if today is the last time wood will need to be brought in.
We know that it is spring when the cat finally catches a mouse. We know that it is spring when the river reappears and the sound startles us. We know that it is spring when there is a mass exodus out of the valley to avoid mud season. We know that it is spring when it is weirdly exciting to see a fly or moth. We know that it is spring when we must again start watching for deer up-valley past the Smith’s sheep farm. We know that it is spring when columns like this appear because things have quieted down while we wait for the pass to open and there isn’t much to write about other than the sound of melting.
