Here at the northern end of southern nowhere, that detested four week square month, with its hated attributes, has been ripped from the calendar with relish, if with lack of ceremony. The Colonel likes March a whole lot better, except for one characteristic it shares with February here in the South--the weather roller coaster. When it comes to climactic mood swings, March is February on steroids.
Two days ago a balmy breeze out of the South pushed the temperature up and over the eighty degree mark and the Colonel spent two glorious days outside working on the tractor shed addition to the Eegeebeegee Man Toy Storage and Sawdust Production Facility. The men who took this southern boy, with blood further thinned by nearly five years in Panama, and dragged him kicking and screaming through hypothermic practical application of arctic warfare training, taught me to layer my clothing and regulate activity to prevent soaking myself in my otherwise prodigious perspiration. But, with t-shirt temps on hand, I let the sweat pumps kick into high gear and flushed the winter sludge out of my pores as I dug three foot post holes through the Confederate Concrete that passes for soil here aboard the grounds of the capital of the Tallahatchie Free State. Yesterday morning, I sauntered outside dressed for summer and quickly executed a retrograde operation houseward for clothing retrofit.
In the time it takes this big blue marble to complete less than one rotation 'round its axis, the temperature had dropped nearly fifty degrees! There's a welcome rain falling with the unwelcome fall of the temperature, so the Colonel won't complain. The shoreline of Lake Brenda could stand significant expansion prior to the summer dry.
Just doesn't need to be expanded via freezing!
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