Spring weather makes life interesting for the meteorologists. It's thirty-four degrees this morning (perfect for a possible snow day); a couple of days ago I was in shirtsleeves and eighty degrees is predicted for the valley by the weekend. Yesterday's storm was a doozy with torrents of rain and wind that blew branches from the trees. The hummers did not hover at the feeders, but clung with both feet to keep from being blown away. By nightfall, every depression in the chicken pens was a swimming pool and walking through the grasses to the barn had my pant legs sodden to the knee. The girls were clustered in the covered, protected playpen area, each wanting to be first into her room, and then Poppy rolled through like a juggernaut, shouldering goats out of the way. There was no question then as to who would go first.
The weather is a topic in every conversation, always qualified by, "But I'm not complaining. We need the rain." Regardless of what has been happening on the east coast, we in California are still considered to be in drought conditions, especially because the snow pack isn't deep enough this year. If you want to see a really excited meteorologist, let him/her start talking about snow showing up on the Doppler.
Emotion and ambition are as erratic as the thermometer in spring. On grey, cold, blustery days, I want only to snuggle with the furries in the chair in front of the fire. Being stuck in the house should inspire spring cleaning; it does not. On warm days when the sky is blue and the sun is shining, housework needs doing and I want to play outside. I can tell that others are succumbing to cabin fever and need to get out; guests for lunch three times this week. We can talk about the weather.