Very little writing (okay, zero) over the weekend, so the goal is 1-3K words today. Accordingly, this will be a lazy, photo-heavy post so I can quickly get to work.
Snowed most of last Friday and Saturday, leaving about 6″-8″ of very wet, heavy snow on our neighborhood. I’ve lived in Colorado nearly all my life so I know the drill: any warm weather before Mother’s Day is a tease. At least one big, heavy, flower-crushing, branch-breaking snowstorm is still ahead. Always. It should be a crime for retailers to sell flowers before May 15th.
Don’t know if it’s a sign of maturation or surrender, but in years past these storms made me cranky/angry/sad thinking about all the damage being done to my plants. Not this time. Yes, I need to cull a few cracked and broken branches, and yes, all the new-budded leaves on the mountain ash have shriveled up and fallen off, setting back its growing season by a month or so. This year, though, I’m rolling with the punches. Maybe I’ve seen enough storms over the years I’m finally realizing that whatever’s meant to survive, will.
Probably a symptom of our short lives: we tend to concern ourselves with things only as far as we’ll live to benefit from them. Me and my trees. The CEO and her quarterly profits. The politician who votes only with his next election in mind. I don’t imagine future generations will appreciate or approve of all our short-sighted “fixes.”
It’s hard to think beyond our own lifetimes. Hell, beyond next year. Next week. But Nature certainly operates on a timetable far outside my purview. The trees in my yard will do what they do (or not–over the years a few have up and died, sometimes without evident cause) whether I consider them misshapen or not. Doesn’t matter. Time to stop pretending it does.
Sunday afternoon, my son had a ball building variously-sized snowmen. That should be reason enough to stop fretting.
I’ll never stop hating hail, though. Hailstorms are bullshit.