- Deck Space.
I live with my husband and a cat in roughly 700 square feet of space. So when spring rolls around and I can dust off the Adirondack chairs and roll out the BBQ it’s like I’ve gained an extra room. Now what to do with all the stuff we’ve been storing out there…can/should the oven double as a cupboard?
This time of year marks a literal emergence from the depths and darkness of winter. And though I’m not ecstatic when the sun shines in my eyes at 7am on a Saturday morning, I just can’t bring myself to buy blackout drapes. Vitamin D, in this northern region we call Canada, is a precious commodity so I’ll take it when I can get it, 7am or otherwise.
- Winter Layers.
I’ve bundled myself in grey and black sweaters, coats and boots all winter. And, as a result of sitting on my butt for several months straight, I’ve also got this layer around my hips and thighs that makes my pants fit a little tighter. Spring requires action to remove the layers: I put my sweaters in a Rubbermaid bin and took to the great outdoors in a fit of activity: soccer, tennis, and a bike ride.
The imposters masquerading as fruits and vegetables over the winter are exposed as illegal aliens, replaced by berries, and carrots, and broccoli that actually smell like real food. Soon those BC fruit trucks will be parked along the road side offering the season’s best and freshest at prices that don’t scream “we were shipped from Argentina!”. Also, time to fire up the BBQ for burgers, grilled salmon, and roasted asparagus. Mouth = watering.
There’s something to be said about living in a country with four distinct seasons, each with their own distinct sights and smells. I used to crinkle my nose when the snow melted and the smell of brown leaves and soggy grass would settle in my nostrils. Now, I’m more likely to take a big breath and exhale with a sigh of satisfaction: the smell of rotting foliage, often laced with the scent of year-old soggy dog poo, is truly the smell of spring.