It’s that time of year again.
There’s a certain freshness to the air. The temperature hovers just below zero, Canadian.
Time to dig out the garden shed. And I did. I grabbed a shovel to move the snow and an ice chisel to chip at the chains that imprisoned the shed door.
I wrenched the door open and started pulling out the lawn mowers. Three of them — more than enough to maintain our postage stamps of grass.
It’s that time of year when we have no grass. That is the case most times of year.
So I ‘fess up. I wasn’t after the mowers. No no no. I was after my summer tires. I had stacked them last fall at the back of the garden shed, when I switched to winter studded tires.
The government, though — the all-wise guardian of our highways — decrees that I must discard the studded tires by the end of April, which is two days hence.
It doesn’t matter that I can play ice hockey on my driveway. I must switch to summer tires — smooth, slick, no-grip summer tires.
I follow most government decrees, except when I don’t.
I pulled out the summer tires and stacked them on the back seat of the Kia. I will take them to the garage in town this morning.
Then I wrestled the lawn mowers back into the garden shed . . . where they’ll sit for a month or two.
At that point I heard a honk.
I checked the road. No traffic.
Honk. Honk. And more honks.
I checked the sky.
I leapt for joy.
Waves of Canada geese swept northward, honk-honking.
No matter that the lakes are frozen.
No matter that ninety percent of the creeks and rivers are locked fast in ice.
Nature has decreed.
Maybe I’ll dig out the lawns.