This is why there are snowbirds. When the weather is at its best in the Northeast, Black Rock in particular, Meridanos are sloshing through puddles and dodging raindrops.
We’ve been paying particular attention to our gardens this year. The back deck smells like lilacs and basil. Hostas and lilies are about to bloom, and we have asked the deer to let us enjoy them for a few weeks before they eat them. We’re even back to semi-caring about the lawn, at least the part of the lawn closest to the house. On the deck, we’re growing herbs and lettuces sold to us by the local garden club. There’s a field out back that’s mainly clover. In the distance, we can hear bathers at Fairfield Beach, and the occasional motor boat speeding out of the marina.
Last night, while Paul was watering the irises, he said that before we sell the house, we should take another look at the numbers and see if we could keep the house a little longer than planned.
Of course, we’re both under the spell of our late-spring bliss, contrasted with daily reports of from suddenly soggy Mérida. This is the one time of year where the weather is better up here. By July, the gardens will have peaked (I will have started declaring, as we endure those eventual hazy, dog days of the season, that “summer is over”) and the spell will be broken.
Yes, it will be goodbye to all this one day soon. Maybe that’s why I’m taking more photos. The green field will be traded for a courtyard, smaller but more private and in a place walkable to friends and restaurants. And it will be green all the time.