Imbolc Woodpecker Moon
The rain fell gently here last night; the air smelled of earth and composted leaves; the woodpecker moon backlit the clouds. What could be a better spring evening? In, say, Kentucky, at this time of year. Imagine this. That big tourney storm? Yeah, lightning, tornadoes and torrential rains. 15 inches of snow is way better. Way.
Conflicted. Yes, I’m conflicted. On the one hand, the weather is what the weather is. My wishes and expectations have no affect on it, only on my mood. Mature me says, get out there and enjoy the crocus and the snowdrops as they emerge a month early.
Immature me says, but I don’t want to. I want the cold and the snow and the driving winds and slate gray clouds. If I wanted a longer growing season, I’d live further south. I don’t want the south coming to visit me, I want to go visit the south. If I want to.
Over time the mature me will win out and I’ll adjust my planting schedules, my bee management for a different set of weather conditions; but, right now the guy who moved north to live among pine trees and snow drifts is feeling a bit shafted.
