I guess we’re at that point here in Vermont where we no longer have to fear being buried by a foot-and-a-half of snow. I mean, hey, it’s past Memorial Day.

We spend much of the spring very weary of the gray and sparse nature of things. One of the things that strikes me every year, especially in late-spring and early-summer, is how quickly things green-up and grow here. It’s as if all this plant life seems to know just how little time it has, so it grows very, very consciously, purposefully, and with an astonishing vengeance. The landscape that I implore in April to “grow, already” I am cursing in June as I drag out the brush cutter and weed trimmer for the umpteenth time.

Anyway, I put the snow shovel in the basement this weekend, mailed my final check to the snowplow guy, and crossed my fingers.

AuthorJoseph Fusco