In the 25+ years since I moved to the mountains from the Mid-Atlantic, I’ve seen my share of May snowfalls, the latest recorded–May 18th–which would have been the year we lived on Ames Hill in the one bedroom fishbowl apartment, with the floor to cathedral ceiling windows, which was just after my youngest was born. (That place had a great kitchen, small but so functional.) He’s 18 now.
This May, however, is the most I’ve seen consecutive snow, flurries mostly, until today, when we’ve risen to a world in white, which was already true earlier this week over on Hogback, with just a little more elevation than us.
I finally got my seeds in this week, a whole lot of work. I stopped when the rain picked up. My fingers were raw. I wonder what the seeds will make of this covering. Or if they won’t.
My son has an Ultimate game this afternoon. Home game. His tournament last weekend upstate was canceled as was the one the weekend before that. Fields flooded. (Those were the last oof his high school tournaments.)
Imagine if this snow was on a Saturday when a bride was planning her spring wedding. We’re heading to one soon. Across country. Forecast calls for high 80s. Flood warnings there through yesterday.
I thought I’d cleanse this month, but instead, I’ve taken to alternating between kitchari and spring greens–and baked goods, chocolate & caffeine. I don’t know what my body will make of this. But I’m learning to rock more and resist less. To let myself be rocked. To surrender the ride.
Potato chips for breakfast.