The Spring Meter

The Spring Meter

With all the snow we've gotten this winter and the fact that it's still coming down intermittently, James decided that we needed a better indicator of when spring was coming than the calendar.

Just a wrecked straw broom, repurposed

So here we go.  When the snow gets to the bottom of the broom handle, we'll know it's spring, since obviously we can't trust the calendar.  Although, here in Saskatchewan, can you really ever trust it?

As I dream about sitting on my deck, drinking beer, with the clothes swaying in the breeze on the clothesline, watching my garden grow, the reality of how we actually get to spring comes screaming back.  Our streets are awful.  Rowan's new favorite phrase: "That's a bumpy road Mom!"  Why yes, yes it is.  And it's not going to get better for a while.

They plowed our street a while ago and this is what we got:

I had to explain to a few people that yes, that little pink thing is my daughter and yes, I'm standing on the street, that's why you can't see it.  It took us the better part of 3&1/2 hours to clean out room for our two cars and help our neighbors.  These pictures went to the city and hopefully the people across the street who were also taking pictures sent them to the city.  All that filthy, gravel filled snow is now on our lawn, waiting for a spring that seems like it will never come, only to cover the grass and kill the front lawn we can't get to grow anyway.

Of course, once spring finally does come, we have to contend with the potholes that are aching to swallow your car whole.  I love living in Saskatoon, but wow!  Did they use shoddy asphalt on purpose or what?!  I just don't get it.  But having lived here for a while now, I should know and expect that this is the way it is.  That doesn't mean I have to like it.

I'm also having a clumsy week and so bailed on the ice between our cars on the street.  I won't post pictures of the giant bruise on my butt.

I was actually worried that I'd need stitches when I couldn't get it to stop bleeding.