I, too, ask this question, but unlike Keats who goes on to say, "Think not of them, thou hast thy music too", I have a hard time hearing the song of this season. Or is it really the rustle of treetops bent and twisted by the wind, the hoarse calls of ravens and magpies trying to conduct a conversation while battling the elements? Maybe I simply have to adjust my thinking.
Do I sound disillusioned?
I have to admit it is a little hard to keep up my spirits when one gets stuck about half a mile from home with a four-wheel drive pickup at seven in the morning - four days into spring!
It snowed steadily for the last two days, not those thick flakes that almost cover your eyes when you lift up your face, but very fine stuff, almost bordering on drizzle. It is difficult to take this snow seriously; much of it melts upon contact with the ground, and it doesn’t really make a whole lot of difference if the snow cover is sixty or sixty-two centimetres deep.
This deception lasts only so long as we stay in and around the house, however, sheltered by the bush in the east, thus unaware of the fierce south-east wind. We always know about west or northwest wind which has much easier access to the house and announces its presence with rattling windows and clattering chimney.
There are other ways of finding out about the wind, however. Watching the top of the tallest spruce tree bend low, the one I can see from my bed in the morning, towering above the surrounding poplars, is a good indication, and so is the phone ringing at a few minutes past seven. Nobody phones at that time of day – nobody but Doris, the bus driver, and it almost always means that roads are poor.
Twice in a row this happened this week. Maya is the only student on the bus on our two-mile stretch of road, and two days ago Doris asked Johann if he could take Maya one road over to the west so that she didn’t have to negotiate the blown-in area with the bus. At that point we could still get through with the pickup ...
The snowplough cleared one side of the road later that day, and yesterday morning the bus had no trouble. In the afternoon, however, it was a different story already: Doris had to drive all the way around the block (a detour of 10 km) to come in from the south.
The snowplough cleared one side of the road later that day, and yesterday morning the bus had no trouble. In the afternoon, however, it was a different story already: Doris had to drive all the way around the block (a detour of 10 km) to come in from the south.
Our neighbours to the north, too, resigned themselves to that approach after pulling a stuck van out of a snowbank north of their house last night, not wanting to succumb to the same fate. She phoned to warn us about the poor road conditions, and plans were made for this morning to leave for town together at seven, when Johann was going to take Maya to an early Badminton practice. It would be safer to travel in tandem in case something went wrong. Also, a phone call to the county office hotline had given them reason to hope that the roads would be cleared by morning: two snowploughs were supposedly working in our area.
No such luck: they obviously hadn't got around to our road yet in the morning. Instead, the neighbour had cleared a path through the drifts with his little tractor and the snow blower, as they informed us shortly before seven; it should be fine. Johann and Maya left. Only about ten minutes later, however, I heard the front door: ‘Oh, we’re stuck,’ Maya mentioned, almost casually. The problem came a couple of hundred meters before the neighbour's place already: while the path to the north was clear there was a stretch of road before that which proved non- negotiable even for the pickup. No school for Maya, then.
No such luck: they obviously hadn't got around to our road yet in the morning. Instead, the neighbour had cleared a path through the drifts with his little tractor and the snow blower, as they informed us shortly before seven; it should be fine. Johann and Maya left. Only about ten minutes later, however, I heard the front door: ‘Oh, we’re stuck,’ Maya mentioned, almost casually. The problem came a couple of hundred meters before the neighbour's place already: while the path to the north was clear there was a stretch of road before that which proved non- negotiable even for the pickup. No school for Maya, then.
Familiar procedure: plug in the tractor for an hour (or it doesn’t start), then drive down to where the bush on the east side ends and the open field begins, where the wind suddenly has access to the road, sculpting drifts higher than the wheel wells, hard enough for me to walk on. Access, too, to my face, assaulting it with a fine, hard mist of snow, not at all pleasant at a temperature of -7. Our brave old tractor, aided by the snow chains it has worn since the beginning of December, once again did its job.
Now, at the end of the day, the roads have been cleared. Very little snow has fallen since this morning, and we are hoping to have free passage now for a while.
But wait! Just now the mournful whistle of the train and the distant rumbling of its wheels, much louder than it should be, is interrupting my dream of a road free of snow drifts. Only when the wind is blowing from the east or southeast can we hear this so clearly. Here we go again ...
Where are the songs of spring? Ay, where are they?
But wait! Just now the mournful whistle of the train and the distant rumbling of its wheels, much louder than it should be, is interrupting my dream of a road free of snow drifts. Only when the wind is blowing from the east or southeast can we hear this so clearly. Here we go again ...
Where are the songs of spring? Ay, where are they?
Indeed.
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