SPRING

Spring comes in different ways, depending on where you live.  In Indiana, spring brings crocuses, rain and mud, violets, and, by Memorial Day, big fat peonies to pick and put in mason jars to take to the cemetery.  In one of her lovely poems, Helen May refers to 'that shirt-sleeved dalliance with spring.'  Hoosiers know there are still some cold snaps due, but, like sunflowers, they tip their heads up to welcome and worship the yellow sun.

In Austin, spring comes fast and hot, with bluebonnets, Indian paintbrush, Indian blanket, and the realization that the irrigation system--and possibly the air conditioner, too--need some serious maintenance, right away. The season for planting tomatoes is almost gone before it gets here, and we relish in the glory of open windows and delicious bike rides and lunch outdoors.

Snow melting off the Bow River near Johnston Canyon, Banff, Alberta, Canada

Here in Banff, though, spring doesn't even seem to be on the same weather continuum.  Today Catbird drove to Johnston Canyon to hike to the falls, but found the 3"-4" of ice on the trail too much for her otherwise quite useful hiking boots.  Even the walking stick could find not purchase.

Folks who were able to continue all had crampons on their shoes.  Catbird thought a toboggan or hockey skates might have worked.  But, since she had none of the above,  in another annoying accommodation to good sense and age, Catbird turned back.