It is, allegedly, spring. The calendar says so. In my world that means “swamp season”. Glorious mud to roll in, deep footprints to create in the earth – ah, heaven.
The river is open and, with last night’s rain combined with the previous two warm and sunny days, it’s running high and hard. The beginning of the annual spring flood is mere millimeters away.
The ducks are back, flying around quacking looking for some place to land and maybe build a nest. There’s other wildlife frequenting our little corner of paradise too – an errant moose who apparently doesn’t realize he’s on the doorstep of civilization, and a hungry bear raiding the nearby butcher (shudder – THAT’s another story) shop’s offal bin. Luckily neither has ventured through the electric tape fencing protecting me from the marauders.
Grey skies and rain – a good day to hang out in the barn and watch the world float by.