It was only about 10 days ago. The warm glow of the sun, the Red Sox assignment of future stars to minor league camp, the bursting forth of herbs from their long (too long) winter naps. Spring was here.
I grabbed my shovel and seeds and I headed out to the garden to plant. "It's too early," I was told. "Just wait until they're sitting under three inches of snow."
"Ha!" I scoffed, sipping my beer after a long day of digging in the dirt, just as the pangs of muscles I hadn't heard from in months let me know that they, too, were back in action.
And the warmth stayed. From Saturday to Sunday and on through the week. In fact, Thursday my onion sets arrived, and I scurried to get them into the ground. After all spring had arrived, and if my onions were to get a full season of the sun's rays and earth's nutrients, I'd better get 'em planted at once. Not to mention, after their long trek from Maine, my little guys deserved some fresh air.
I should acknowledge that I had seen Tom Skilling's seven day forecast. I was aware of the blustery threat that weekend rains might just change over to snow. But I discarded them. We'd already passed the threshold of meteorological spring. We'd already blasted into astronomical spring. The days were too long for snow. We'd suffered enough of the white stuff. It was nearly April.
Then came Sunday morning. My herbs were buried. The few sprigs of lettuce that had decided to germinate early were covered as well. My glorious daffodils were doubled over by the twin-fisted assault of cold and snow, and my onions, all 107 of them, lined up like toothpick soldiers, had been enveloped by winter's return.
"It's poor man's fertilizer," my mother assured me. "This time of year, it doesn't last."
She was right. By evening most of the snow had gone, and my onions perked up again. But those lettuce sprouts had receded. My daffodils remained limp. And my cockiness had been tempered.
Sunday will be April 4. That night the first game of the Major League Baseball season will pit the World Champion Phillies against the Atlanta Braves. The boys of summer will be back on the field. And here, in Chicagoland, the forecast is rain, possibly changing over to snow.
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