Spring has sprung, the grass has riz
I wonder where the boidies is
The boidies are high in the sky
Dropping whitewash in my eye
I’m a good boy, I don’t cry
I’m just glad the cows don’t fly

I say this poem with great skepticism since I live in Minnesota and you never know what the weather is going to do. Last week we were in the 40s and this week we’re jumping up to the 80s. It’s enough to get us all revved up for gardening, cleaning up our yards, engaging in spring cleaning (skip that one) and new life popping up all around. When I see the crocuses beginning to push out of the ground, I know that spring is right around the corner, but who knows. We could be in the middle of another blizzard next week. The joys of living in the frozen Tundra.

All the cries about climate change mean nothing to those of us who endure 40 below zero temperatures for at least six months. Flannel is the choice of the day, with lots of sweaters, socks, crazy hats and gloves. Not to mention puffy coats and mukluks. (Google it if you don’t already know.) What we will see around here, as the temperature rises, is folks dressed in shorts and flip flops with down vests just in case.

I really can’t tell you why we live in this climate zone. I guess I just keep hoping the warming trend doesn’t take a hundred more years to get here. I’ll be dead by then and it won’t matter. In the meantime, I’ll sit back – breathe in the mold and pollen – wait to hear the sounds of road construction in my backyard – watch the feral cats, squirrels and birds – and ignore the dust collecting on my furniture.