This is an essay I had published in the local newspaper yesterday. As usual, I was well paid for my efforts and plan to use the money to give the gardener at my 4-bedroom apartment just off Central Park a nice bonus.                                                                            Word Count: 967

May is the

Cruelest Month

I’ve got sort of a love-hate relationship with the springtime weather here in our little valley. I love those days when it’s crystal clear, cobalt-blue skies, vibrant sunshine, with only a slight breeze, and the prospect of a glorious impending summer season in the air.

On the other hand, I’m not totally bummed by a combination of snow/rain either. Often windier than being trapped in a wind tunnel set at maximum intensity, with the sky refusing to acknowledge that supposedly we’re moving into a warm time of the year.

I’m reminded of a comment this local kid used to tell tourists many years ago, “If it snows before July 4^th, that counts as the last storm of the previous season. If it snows after July 4^th; then it’s the first snowstorm of the next season.

Additionally, my uncle used to tell people whenever they commented that it looked like the storm was about to break and the sky get clear. “Clearing up alright, clear up to your ### is more like it.”

My standard modus operandi when I wake up and look out the window of my Benson Apartment only to discover nasty weather occurring outside-goes something like this; curse the skies, the weather gods, and various other inanimate entities, quickly jump out of bed and put on an extra layer of clothing and a wool cap, jump back into bed, pull the covers up over my head at a pace comparable to that of light speed, listen to the news on the radio, and finally hang out in bed until the Catholic guilt kicks in and I realize I can’t keep lying there for the rest of the morning.

This course of action is pretty much set in stone unless I need to attend to other matters on that particular day. Including whatever I’m writing on the computer, work duties in order to pay the bills, attending to matters related to that same work thing, or finally following up on my occasional threats to move to a grass hut on some warm, isolated, island in the South Pacific.

Unless you’re totally into the backcountry skiing, or snowboarding thing and want to earn your turns by climbing to the top of a ridge, for all intents the winter season should be over, right? In a word, “wrong.” Now if you indulge in the backcountry thing, more often than not you should probably force yourself to get up before the butt crack of dawn to start climbing as the sun is rising. That way you avoid loose snow pack, which is comparable to skiing through a soft stick of butter if you’re ripping through it too late in the day. As well as crossing fingers that your karma is good, since getting caught in a slab avalanche isn’t something you look forward to experiencing.

Believe it or not, there are some distinct advantages with all this late spring moisture. That’s exactly what it is too: “moisture”, and all those trees and lilac bushes I’ve planted in the last 5-6 years benefit from it immeasurably. When the sun reappears (and it will I assure you), all that late season snow melts and the root systems of these plants have that much more moisture to draw upon.

This goes doubly for all those flowers out there too. When late July wildflower season kicks in, all of us in the mountains enjoy the beauty of their displays. All that water we’re getting right now, as well as during the monsoons, makes for displays of color that much more vibrant and alive.

I guess I’m contradicting myself here, but let’s face it; all these early summer snowstorms just don’t seem to have very many benefits. In an odd sort of way I blame the sunny weather days for this. Sounds bizarre, and I’m sure a few folks are definitely convinced the drugs Swanson’s been ingesting have finally started to have an affect. He’s lying when he says he doesn’t drink, smoke, or take drugs. Here me out on this one folks.

When we have sunny days early in spring, you can’t help but go out into them to enjoy riding your bike, digging in the dirt of your garden, and just sitting back to take in the warmth of that big yellow ball of hydrogen in the sky. Then two days later a low-pressure system has moved in and it’s back to January weather for those of us here in the San Juans. It’d be better if we had an entire series of totally cloudy, windy days in April and May. Followed by actual summer.

This is the reverse phenomenon of the weather situation in the fall. We usually get a huge early season snowstorm, and all us skiers get excited about the prospect of a sensationally snowy winter. Unfortunately, that’s followed by six weeks of bone-dry conditions and all that September snow disappears like a bag of potato chips at a comic-book convention.

If we don’t have nice sunny days in early spring you aren’t tricked into a false sense of security when the grey skies do return. The advent of summer will happen, but I’m not placing any bets on it.

Although this is the first essay he’s written for The Silverton Standard in over eight months, Mr. Swanson has been a busy little beaver with his writing during that time. Like clockwork, he’s been posting new material (essays or short stories) to his writing website (www.humorouswriter.com) every two weeks. Additionally, the site also contains the 2-pg. synopsis of his most recent novel offering, and a short excerpt from said story. You’ll be happy to know that all this writing seems to be doing the trick. Keeping Mr. Swanson out of mischief.