Spring 2009?

In the past few years, my method of determining the TRUE arrival of spring was to observe the melting of Mount Hussey. When it melted, spring was OFFICIALLY here, with no fear of a cold snap or another dumping of snow.

This worked well in 2007 and 2008 (spring arrived on April 20th and April 14th respectively), but the bizarre thaws of the last few weeks have totally blown my predictions for this year: Mount Hussey has already melted but we're still getting wintry weather.

I'm sad about the weather, but I'm also sad that my much-touted, pseudo-scientific approach will not become enshrined in the Farmer's Almanac. We must return to our more logical and empirical methods of predicting spring.

Groundhogs.

Spring 2008!

A few weeks ago, Tanzi announced that spring had arrived based on certain metrics that she personally believes in (robins, Dairy Queen, hotdog vendors). I myself use a more scientific method of deciding when winter is truly over: the long-anticipated melting of famous Mount Hussey.

This occurred on April 20th of last year, and I'm pleased to announce that spring comes earlier this time: April 14th, by my best estimate. You are now allowed to put out your patio furniture without fear of frost or snowfall. I say this without consulting a weather forecast or an almanac; if I'm wrong, I'll eat my crow-feather hat.

I have to admit that there are other more subjective signs of spring besides Mount Hussey. The aforementioned robins can sometimes be counted on, and I had my first taste of street meat on the way home today.

More significantly, though, I notice the change in duck behaviour. They spend all winter huddled up on the edges of their frigid creeks, waiting to be fed by lonely old men from the Waterloo Legion, but when Spring approaches they start to forage afield, waddling nonchalantly across roads and looking for a place to lay their duck-spawn. Every year some dim-witted waterfowl decides to roost inside a planter at my workplace, not realizing that it is too high and too inaccessible for newly-hatched ducklings to escape from. Likewise, every year I end up rooting through the foliage to rescue baby ducks, while mama and papa dive-bomb me in a surprisingly threatening way. It's more fun than work.

You can also tell that Spring is coming when strangers yell things at you on the street, simply to express a feeling of warm and happy social connectedness. The United Church holds its fabulous book sale around this time every year, and the retreating snow reveals all the litter that had been thrown into it during the previous months (though this was the first time I've had the pleasure of finding a bag of petrified dog feces on my lawn). Blind people, old people, and people in wheelchairs become visible once again. The doves venture out from wherever they've been hiding -- perhaps in the laps of blind old paraplegics -- and they stand high up on telephone wires, staring at you, tiny heads a-bob.

Thunderstorms are beautiful.

But the real granddaddy of spring impressions, for me, is the smell of wet earth. All winter I do without any real odour, and then suddenly I'm assaulted by the rich, wormy smell of healthy earth being tilled and aerated. Having spent most of my life living beside both a farm and a river, this is my favourite thing about spring.

Update on Mount Hussey

I said last week that I'd keep "you" posted about Mount Hussey, and I'd tell you as soon as it melted (because as you know Spring arrives as soon as Hussey melts completely).

I took this picture on Tuesday. As you can see, Mount Hussey was entirely melted, leaving behind only a clump of topsoil known as "Dirty Little Hussey." This means that, as of Tuesday, you are allowed to put away your winter wardrobe, lighten your haircolour, and do whatever gardiners do when it's Springtime.

As an aside, people in some countries don't think it's necessary to capitalize the seasons. In the case of Spring I feel that a single capital letter doesn't even do it justice, so from now on I'll be spelling it SPRing.

Forget the Groundhog; Listen to the St. Bernard

Nobody at this latitude is happy about the weather...at least nobody *I* know. We're tired of being cold and bundled up, and we're also tired of gooping our "swoopy curl" with pomade and then looking like a girly fascists at work because the gale-force wind messed up our hair. Correct?

But that's no reason to pretend that spring is "just around the corner." No amount of pretending or praying or collecting pop tabs will hasten the arrival of spring.

I can't do anything about the weather myself, but I CAN tell you when winter is officially over. I don't use the calendar or the almanac, and I don't pay any attention to groundhogs either. I have a foolproof method that works every year: I watch mounds of snow in parking lots.

Traditionally I've watched the mound in the Sun Life Financial parking lot, but this year they've scattered it around so it melted early. Sun Life gets two extra parking spots, but loses an invaluable weather aid. As a surrogate mound I'm using the snow in the parking lot for the Erb & Best Funeral Home. I took a picture of it today so you can see it:


I call it "Mount Hussey," named after Leonard Hussey the polar explorer. This mound of snow is perfect for measuring the end of winter because it gets a fair amount of sunlight every day, and it doesn't look like anybody will soon attack it with a shovel.

When Mount Hussey melts, I'll tell you, and THEN winter will be over.

But don't hold your breath. The mountain is mighty sturdy.