Right now it is above 90 degrees Fahrenheit. Time seems to have slowed to the point where I can actually feel the seconds pass one by one. My energy level is so low that all I can do is lie on the couch and wait for the backyard to be in shade so that I can go outside. Too hot, too hot.

 

Ta-dah, ta-dah! The patio is officially snow free, a full ten days before we wanted it to be that way.

This is how the patio looked yesterday morning, with just the smallest patch of snow on one edge.

Here is a closer look at that stubborn little patch.

Stubborn or not, that patch’s days were numbered, and by late afternoon, the snow was gone, baby, gone. Note the hay on the walk rimmed with snow. No, our yard is not totally snow free, but it sure is good to see the patio once again.

Snow-out from the patio put in me in such a good mood that I decided to sweep the driveway. Hundreds and hundreds of little cones had fallen, the most I’ve ever seen in our driveway in spring. What a nice feeling of accomplishment to have the driveway free of those little cones.

And maybe, just maybe, Clif and I will take down the Christmas lights next week. It is time, that’s for sure.

On Wednesday, Clif and I went back to Cushnoc Brewing Co. for an early supper.  For our anniversary, Shannon and Mike gave us a gift certificate to Cushnoc, and when it comes to having fun, Clif and I never shirk our duties. Our friend, Alice Bolstridge, met us, and before I post pictures of our meals, I am going to indulge in a bit of fancy.

As I wrote in a previous post,  Augusta was established in 1629 by English settlers from the Plymouth colony. Cushnoc, a Native American word meaning “head of tide,” was Augusta’s original name. So far, so factual. Now comes the fancy. I am a fool for Shakespeare, and I started thinking about the dates—how his death in 1616 was just thirteen years before Augusta (or Cushnoc) was established. I began to wonder, had any of the English settlers heard of Shakespeare? Perhaps even gone to one of his plays? Or better still, did any of them ever meet the great man? If the settlers were Puritans—and most probably they were—then it’s highly unlikely they  went to one of Shakespeare’s plays. Still, it’s fun to speculate.

Now back to pizza. When Clif and I go to Cushnoc, we want to sit by a window that overlooks the Kennebec, and for some reason, I really like the juxtaposition of the fire escape with the river.

As an appetizer, Cushnoc offers some fire-roasted sweet and spicy nuts, and we can’t resist them. I’ve decided I want to learn how to make my own so that I can give them as presents for holidays and other events.

And what goes along with spicy nuts? Why drinks, of course—a beer for Clif and a cocktail for me. Clif had a Belgian-style IPA, Eternal Golden Eagle. Quite a name! Clif thought it was good but tends to like the American-style IPAs better. I had a drink called a Belizean   Sunset, a combination of vodka, orange juice, grenadine, and triple sec. My oh my, it was delicious, a creamsicle for adults.

Then came the pizzas. For Clif and me, the Sand Hill Classic, topped with Genoa salami, peperoncini, fresh basil, and red sauce. So good, so good. In fact, Cushnoc’s pizzas are the best I have ever had in Maine. Period. (Portland Pie Company is coming to Waterville, and it will be interesting to see how their pizzas compare with Cushnoc’s. All in the spirit of research, you understand.)

Alice was more adventurous and had the Mill Park Pie, topped with roasted butternut squash sauce, bacon, shaved Brussels sprouts, and balsamic drizzle. Unusual but very tasty. (Alice let us have some of hers.)

You might have noticed that the cooked pizzas are set on cans of tomatoes. A great idea. Just like buildings in a city, going up saves space down below, and at most pizza places, the table is too crowded with the pizza pans, the plates, the cutlery, and the drinks.

So there you have it. Another terrific meal in, of all places, Augusta, Maine. My only complaint with Cusnoc’s is the noise level when there are a lot of people, and on Wednesday, the place was pretty darned crowded. Unfortunately, our aging ears can no longer tolerate a lot of background noise. The restaurant is cavernous, and I don’t think there is anything that can be done about the noise.

But I do have a solution. In the future, we will go for an early lunch, before the place gets crowded. That way, we will be able to have really good pizza and still be able to hear what the other person is saying.

As I’ve mentioned before, it has been one heck of a March, with three bad storms—all nor’easters—right in a row. A fourth blew up the coast last week, but it decided not to come this far north. While we were sorry for the folks in New York that got hammered, we were grateful to be spared.

Even as recently as two days ago, when I took the dog for a walk, it felt like winter, and the air smelled cold. Truth be told, I like that smell—one of the joys of winter.

But today—wonder of wonders—it felt as though spring was at least thinking of coming to Maine. The day was warm, soft even, and I decided to go out and about around town to see if I could find any signs of spring.

Up the road, I found a few pussy willows that were just beginning to show their pretty faces.

In town, at Norcross point, a little park by Maranacook Lake, there was a sure sign of spring in Maine. Mud, glorious mud, and this is just the start. But we have to get through the mud before true spring arrives, which was why it was irritating to have so many snow storms. They just delayed the coming of mud.

But still, there was plenty to admire at Norcross Point—the trees by the lake, the blue water, the receding line of ice. Around here, there is always great speculation about when there will be ice out at the various lakes and ponds. Another month, I think, and I’ll be watching.

And just to remind readers that winter is not quite done, here is a picture of the snowy park and the empty benches.

Leaving Norcross Point, in true Maine fashion, I got stuck in the snow and the muck. Years of experience have taught me to proceed with a very light foot in such situations, and I was able to work my way out by backing up until I came to more solid ground.

So it begins. Come mud, come spring!

At the beginning of the week, because of a nasty winter rain, the driveway and the walks at our house were treacherous. As I’ve noted many times, in Maine, we loathe rain in the winter. Back in the day, it wasn’t a worry. Now, however, rain in winter is becoming more and more common.

Looking at the icy paths, Clif said, “Time for wood ash.”

“I hate how messy it is,” I replied. “But we don’t want to risk falling.”

So out came the wood ash, making the walks and the driveway safe but ugly and dirty.

Lucky for us, we have a beautiful dog of the north to brighten our day.

Then, just as we were wondering if we were going to have two months of hideous March weather, along came a welcome snowstorm on Wednesday that gave us eight inches of light snow, no rain, no wind, and, best of all, no worries about power outages.

During the storm, here’s a photo I took from my “bathroom blind,” of a junco on top of the bird feeder. I really like the contrast of the dark gray against the white snow. I also like the way you can see the blur of the snowstorm in this photo.

Yesterday morning, with the sun rising and the sky clear, I saw that the storm had wiped away all traces of ugliness. However, this meant work for Clif and Little Green.  Note the wall o’snow at the end of our buried driveway.

The front yard is once again a sea of clean snow.

Exactly right for Maine in February.

Yesterday, for most of the morning, it was spitting snow, as we Mainers like to say. It fell softly on the trees and  the yard.

It frosted our shovel, which we keep handy by the front door.

It frosted the fallen down tip of a branch

and a crow’s beak.

It frosted a beech leaf

and the top of our bird feeder, where this chickadee can stay dry while eating.

Winter can be soft and hard at the same time.