I know, I know, we live in Minnesota and the grand ol’ “Farmer’s Almanac” is the second most popular read besides the Weather Guide, but when both state it’s officially spring, shouldn‘t it be official?

For the third time now I’ve packed away and then unpacked my winter Carhartts, and I’m getting a tish worried about my sanity.

Last week I left for town with all the windows in the house open and a nice green lawn. Late afternoon, I drove by the Dairy Queen and people were lined up in their late-winter/early-spring coats and boots for some nice, cool ice cream. By the time I hit our gravel road on the way home, I couldn’t see the gravel, much less the road, on account of the blowing snow.

Two ducks were huddled up against the bottom of a power pole, looking very cold and bleak, and that’s all I could think of after sweeping a foot of snow out the kitchen door. I couldn’t just leave those ducks there to freeze, so I drove back to check on them. What I thought I was going to accomplish I don’t know, but when I got close, offering a blanket and a bowl of warm water, they sure let me know they were okay. After wrapping my bloody fingers up with my stocking cap, I told those two danged ducks they could just sit there and freeze!

Waiting for spring to arrive for the third time this year, Ed was being very secretive in the shop, making sure my list of “things to do” kept me away from the building. Knowing full well what he was up to, I was very much going to enjoy my new horse feeder when it was unveiled.

Curious George that I am, I just had to peek in the shop window to make sure the width and height of the feeder weren’t going to spoil the big surprise. Everything looked hunky-dory, but as I turned to leave, my stomach kind of sank as I noticed that the tracks from my boots in the snow led right up to the window. Dang, if Ed saw my tracks I would be exposed and my horse feeder would be welded right into some kind of funky lawn ornament! Very, very carefully I walked backwards in my tracks while swishing the snow back in place with my gloves.

A big old, fat robin that probably was at his wits’ end in the supposed spring climate must have needed a human to vent at as he hopped around in the snow for awhile and then flew straight at my head! Walking back-wards was never one of my strong suits, and down I went, flat out in the snow. I made a huge thud, the evergreen next to me let loose all its snow, and I was buried right out of sight. Hearing the door to the shop open, I had two choices: sit up out of the snow and stare at an ugly welded lawn ornament all summer long or stay buried and receive a nice shiny new horse feeder as a surprise. Calling on all the little snow angels I could muster, I held out until I heard the shop door close again.

Dreaming of the black fields weeks ago, I had Ed’s water jug, lunch cooler, and coffee thermos all shined up and lined up on the kitchen counter, waiting for the morning when he would say, “See ya tonight.” In farm language that means midnight and a very long and happy “Ed free” day for Emily. I don’t mind lending a helping hand with livestock chores in quiet bliss, but I find it really hard to answer the phone on those days in case it may be one of those “honey, I need a pull” calls.

Bringing a late lunch out to the field is no problem either, except when the tractor is on the other end and, at five miles per hour from the half-section line, it takes thirty minutes before the nice farmer can be served up his chicken wings.

Speaking of wings, Ed was in a hurry to beat the rain one time and stopped the tractor for his lunch on the other side of a huge, deep ditch filled with water. He yelled for me to toss his lunch across the ditch, and I did just that—only, my fast-pitch softball years were well behind me and the brown bag disappeared in the middle of the water. Kicking myself for putting in an extra Little Debbie fudge brownie, I realized that, without that, the bag probably would have floated over to the other side. So much for trying to be thoughtful.

I felt kind of bad until Ed accused me of trying to starve him and all but tore his hat in half. Sure, I threw the bag, but he told me to. I stood my ground in the argument back and forth across the ditch, feeling very safe as Ed can’t swim. Taking a quick mental note of my car’s snack inventory, I tossed one potato chip at a time to the angry side of the ditch. Half a Hershey bar was well aimed to the very muddy edge and twenty Tic Tacs made a pretty cool trail up the bank.

It didn’t matter that the tractor was already half a mile away…