Recently, on one of those absolutely perfect early spring days, I realized the sky has not been so blue and clear since the days following 9/11.
I am eternally grateful to live on Martha’s Vineyard at a time like this.
A while ago I talked about my maternal grandmother, Nonnie. She was a letter writer.
I’m a broken record — I hate the wind. The weather, however, does not respond to criticism.
I’m going to stop mentioning the lack of winter and turn my attention to spring.
I grew up (or as I like to say grew taller) in the snow belt of western Pennsylvania. We experienced the lake effect snow which came off Lake Erie.
I’m not positive but I think I have my earliest crocus ever.
It was too rainy and chilly at the beginning of the week to begin the major yard cleanup.
My mother died seven years ago at the beginning of February.
On a particularly beautiful morning last week I was driving past Polly Hill Arboretum.
I admit I’ve been lulled into denial about January weather.
Last week’s record warmth, although wonderful, felt wrong somehow.