4-5 inches of wet snow now on the ground

Spring Snow

Spring Snow, March 22, 2011

Hay delivery at Thistledown Croft

Some friends brought a load of hay yesterday and as you can see we still have a couple inches of snow everywhere.

Clipper on its way for the weekend

It is a very chilly night. It's only 16F or -8.89 degrees celsius this morning. Funny thing but it seems like we always have a March storm about St. Patrick's Day give or take 5 days. There have been so many March nights in former years I spent slogging to the barn to check for lambs in near blizzard conditions. I just read that meteorologist, Don Paul from WIVB channel 4 is calling for a possible clipper storm for Sat. That will fall right into the pattern of my memory. Winter here in Western, NY ain’t over ’til its over no matter how tired we are, LOL.

March

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Like some reformer, who with mien austere,
Neglected dress, and loud insistent tones,
More rasping than the wrongs which she bemoans,
Walks through the land and wearies all who hear,
While yet we know the need of such reform;
So comes unlovely March, with wind and storm,
To break the spell of winter, and set free
The poisoned brooks and crocus beds oppressed.
Severe of face, gaunt-armed, and wildly dressed,
She is not fair nor beautiful to see.
But merry April and sweet smiling May
Come not till March has first prepared the way.

Farm Road in New Snow

A March Snow

Let the old snow be covered with the new:
The trampled snow, so soiled, and stained, and sodden.
Let it be hidden wholly from our view
By pure white flakes, all trackless and untrodden.
When Winter dies, low at the sweet Spring's feet
Let him be mantled in a clean, white sheet.

Let the old life be covered by the new:
The old past life so full of sad mistakes,
Let it be wholly hidden from the view
By deeds as white and silent as snow-flakes.

Ere this earth life melts in the eternal Spring
Let the white mantle of repentance fling
Soft drapery about it, fold on fold,
Even as the new snow covers up the old.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox



The snow banks are still here but the actual snow on the ground where it fell in most places is only a few inches deep. The plowed piles are iced and heavy and it will take rain or some serious sun to melt them away. The days are longer now and when you step outside the sound of the birds is amazing. They know spring is on its way. We picked up a little new snow Sat. night and Sunday morning. That at least covered the mud!

Slayer of the Winter

March

Slayer of the winter, art thou here again?
O welcome, thou that's bring'st the summer nigh!
The bitter wind makes not thy victory vain,
Nor will we mock thee for thy faint blue sky.
Welcome, O March! whose kindly days and dry
Make April ready for the throstle's song,
Thou first redresser of the winter's wrong!

Yea, welcome March! and though I die ere June,
Yet for the hope of life I give thee praise,
Striving to swell the burden of the tune
That even now I hear thy brown birds raise,
Unmindful of the past or coming days;
Who sing: 'Oh joy! a new year is begun:
What happiness to look upon the sun!'

Ah, what begetteth all this storm of bliss
But death himself, who crying solemnly,
E'en from the heart of sweet Forgetfulness,
Bids us 'Rejoice, lest pleasureless ye die,
Within a little time must ye go by.
Stretch forth your open hands, and while ye live
Take all the gifts that Death and Life may give.'

William Morris

A Walk in March

This hill
crossed with broken pines and maples
lumpy with the burial mounds of
uprooted hemlocks (hurricane
of ’38) out of their
rotting hearts generations rise
trying once more to become
the forest

just beyond them
tall enough to be called trees
in their youth like aspen a bouquet
of young beech is gathered

they still wear last summer’s leaves
the lightest brown almost translucent
how their stubbornness has decorated
the winter woods


- Grace Paley, A Walk in March

March 2, 2011

"March Snow"

"March Snow"

There is something hopeful about March,
something benevolent about the light,

and yet wherever I look snow
has fallen or is about to fall, and the cold

is so unexpected, so harsh,
that even the spider lily blooming

on the windowsill seems no more
than another promise, soon to be broken.

It is like a lover who speaks
the passionate language of fidelity, but

when you look for him, there he is
in the arms of winter.

-- Linda Pastan