Spring break has just passed us by. On Wednesday, I was on the phone with my friend Ann watching a squall dump sleet on our doorstoop and making plans to meet up somewhere indoors when Ann said, through a sigh, "This is such a misnomer. It is neither Spring nor a break." All week long, we dodged intermittent snow storms and drizzle on our outdoor forays. And Seth spent the later half of the week dodging in and out of a fever and sniffles.

This weekend however, made up for it in spades with a glorious, long awaited, riot of sun. The whole town seemed to be trying to restock on vitamin D in one compact weekend as people with winter-pale legs donned shorts and hit the trails, nodding to each other with wide, giddy grins. We took a picnic to the park, broke out a yardful of sports equipment (soccer balls: 4, wiffle bats: 3, wiffle balls: 7, batting tee: 1, bikes: 4, frisbee: 1 bright orange cones: 6) and generally moved between sunny patches.

While the boys played tackle frisbee in the yard, I made good use of Saturday afternoon's sun by running up Waterworks, along the ridgeline, and down the other side to drop in on Kara for tea. Along the way, I saw mountain bluebirds flitting bright against the straw-colored roll of the land, and stopped to watch a red tail draft upward. Later, Kara and I walked up the side of the hill behind her house, and watched the evening creep across the valley. Somewhere near us, a western meadowlark trilled its lilting song, leaving me foolishly, dreamily, happy. More sun is forecasted for the week, as is school for the children. Two facts which tickle me with their promise of an embrightened return to routine.

Indoor Camping

Watching a Bald Eagle

Gray Day at the Creek


Seth bidding adieu to snowman remains