Perhaps I’ve been too harsh in my criticism of March.
After further contemplation – and a couple pints of beer – I’ve concluded that March and I have more in common than I realized. We both seem to muddle about aimlessly, full of promise one minute and backsliding into a dank existence the next.
Looking back over old photographs and stories I’ve written, March has been a mixed bag. Some speak of sunshine and trees budding, others of flora entombed beneath the ice and snow.
In its favor, March is the month my daughter was born. But even that event — joyous as it was — bore witness to March’s wicked sense of humor. She was supposed to be an April Fools baby, due on the first of the month. Instead, she was born four days early — on a day that was alternately cold and snowy then warm and sunny.
The circumstances of her birth brought to mind the lyrics of one of my favorite songs, “Angeline.”
Yesterday’s newspapers forecast no rain for today
But yesterday’s news is old news, the skies are all gray
Winter’s in labor, soon to give birth to the spring
That will sprinkle the meadow with flowers for my Angeline
The song was written by Mickey Newbury. His discography, like the month of March, runs the gamut of genres and moods. Many of his songs have a southern flair, such as the country classic “She Even Woke Me Up to Say Goodbye.” But he also wrote an anthem to psychedelia, “Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Was In).”
Come to think of it, that song also speaks to the disjointed mindset that is March.
Just a little food for thought as I sit here waiting for the snow to stop so I can plow the driveway. Perhaps, while I’m waiting, I’ll pack for my next canoe trip.