G’day, mates. I’m trying to keep a stiff upper bumper but this is getting ridiculous. Last time I talked to you here, I was sitting in the aftermath of winter storm Saturn, wondering how much longer winter would last and which letter we’d get to before we saw the last one. Well, it’s the end of March, and here I sit expecting a dusting of snow on my poor thin roof, and another few cold days and nights using up my ever-dwindling supply of propane to keep the cat warm. And yes, according to the weather channel, we are now about to experience Winter Storm Virgil, in capital letters, no less. So in just a short 2 or 3 weeks, we’ve had 4 blasts of wintery wet stuff, and the evidence is still on the ground.
I CAN RELATE TO THIS GUY BELOW – LOOKS LIKE ME, EXCEPT I’M A BIT DIRTY
The really tough thing about all of this is that last March was the exact opposite in every way. I remember sitting at the RV park in Cerro Gordo one beautiful spring arvo, and our friend Bill had me up on jacks fixing my burnt-up and broken front brakes. Jim and Robin and Leslie, Bill’s wife, were all enjoying a 70 degree day and soaking up sunshine in their lawn chairs while Bill worked. They were drinking cold beverages and remarking on how great the early spring was, and I was convinced that Illinois was not such a bad place. If spring was like this every year, I thought, and the winter was equally mild, then maybe the old midwest would be tolerable.
Of course, that was then, and this now, and in between we had a miserably hot summer. Fall wasn’t so bad, and in fact we were OK in December and January in Champaign, getting by with just a few really cold days and a lot of wind. But after arriving here in the suburbs in February, it has been one blast of Old Man Winter’s fury after another. And while the end is near and over-50 degree temps are forecast for a week from now, forgive me if I seem a bit doubtful. It’s London to a brick that Winter Storm Willard (or whatever w-name they have chosen) will rain down on my head before this season is finally over. And if it doesn’t happen, then I’ll say April Fool on me, and enjoy the springtime. She’ll be apples, all the way.
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