Sherm and I went for a stroll yesterday to enjoy the lovely things spring has been doing around here. Dog walks have improved immeasurably since the snow melted and the ice disappeared. Dog walks then took a notable dive when the mosquitos started hatching.
I love the trees in bloom in older neighbourhoods. Those new, cookie-cutter engineered neighbourhoods hold zero appeal to me. My house is over 60 years old. It’s made mostly of douglas fir and is not going to warp or fall down –not ever. The thing is so tough that it is nearly impossible to screw something into a stud without the aid of powertools. I think durability is key in a major investment, and the dollhouse certainly qualifies as a major investment.
My neighbourhood is awesome because it’s had time to grow up around itself. In spite of our short growing season up here Alberta, those trees have done everything they could with our gorgeous summers. The brutal Canadian winters seem a buzillion miles behind me when I walk around and look at the fresh new life that’s rocking out all over the place.
I admit that half these trees are a mystery to me. I don’t know what the heck they are. What I do know is that I heartily approve of them.
I think Sherman’s favourite thing about spring is that he gets longer, more frequent walks. That do-dad around his snout is called a Halti. It works just like a halter for a horse, meaning that I can steer a very powerful animal humanely by gently directing his head rather than by yanking on his speckled neck. Using a Halti to walk my dog means that there is zero pulling at the leash, and everyone has an enjoyable excursion out in the springtime. My hands don’t work properly these days, so the snout-steering truly makes life better for all involved.
The blooming season is very short for trees here. I have a couple of weeks of pink, purple, and white trees to enjoy before the blossoms fall off, and I intend to soak up as much of that time outside as possible. My neighbours’ apple tree looks like it’s covered in fluffy popcorn right now, and I’m madly in love with it. I’ll feel significantly less affection for the thing in a few months when it’s dropping half-rotted apples over my fence, but for now it’s the stuff of dreams.
It was four degrees celsius and pouring this morning. I had to turn the furnace back on, and a corner of my heart ached. Let’s not talk about that part.
Spring, if you tease me, I’ll stop making you famous on the internet. Get your warm and flower-scented butt back here. This is not a request.
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