Sooner or later, spring's warmth will arrive in community

So it snowed again today. Fine — if it were February. But the wheel has turned a couple of notches. It’s supposed to be April. Nature throwing off its winter wrap — climbing out of hibernation — opening the drapes — lifting the blinds. Whatever needs doing to let in warmth and light.

Except not this year. One wonders if an interloper has locked up the sun. Stashed all that Vitamin D on the top shelf. Out of reach. I mentioned our Idaho skinny weather Monday in a social media posting and had friends in the Midwest and New England pitching snowballs from their backyards, too. At least I didn’t feel so abandoned.

I’ve been desperately searching along the creek for the first skunk cabbage shoot. Had to crawl through an old wood gate to get up close enough to finally spot a spear of yellow — not much, but there — poking up the other day. It hadn’t had much encouragement when I checked again.

And the tattered little hummingbird nest suspended from a low branch didn’t look too welcoming with a blob of snow adding an a la mode touch. Who’s going to get the message to those south of the border migraters to stay put. At least until the sun lands a get-out-of-jail free card.

I know for a fact such a thing as a blossoming bush isn’t extinct in the state. On a trip past Lewiston a couple of weeks ago I caught a yellow blast of forsythia. And some other pale pink affair captured on camera. No photoshopping.

One piece of good news is we shouldn’t flood out this year. Spring’s fitful stops and starts are keeping that under control. But then I wouldn’t plan a dip in the lake too early, either. My Alaska cold water swim years are proof hypothermia in July is not an oxymoron. Unless you want to claim the latter half of the word.

I did drive past a trio of randy tom turkeys close to home — tail feathers fanned to impress the hens in the field. I guess there are some things even a cowering spring cannot delay. More’s the pity. The last thing we need around our place is more turkeys.

It’ll get here. Spring. When it does it will undoubtedly have been worth the wait. That doesn’t mean I haven’t prepared a statement. A list of injustices. To present in seasonal court. There had better be a solid alibi for its slow arrival.

Who am I fooling? When that flirt shows up for real I’m going to be a blubbering ball of gratitude.