Are we sure it's spring?

I would say this morning was a shocker, but I find that being from New Hampshire means early May is always hit or miss. While in the Washington DC area and other southern parts of the USA, it's usually in the 60s or 70s with flowers in full bloom and people smiling about, in northern New England we are flipping a coin trying to figure out if it's still winter or our one day of spring has arrived.

The nice thing about snowy, cold, and windy Saturday mornings is that many are quick to stay in bed. This meant a quiet running wonderland if you will for me. There was no hum of fishing boats on the lakes or cyclists doing their best Tour de France imitations. Even those early morning dog walkers were leery to leave the safety of home. For me this was all a good thing. 

I debated on visiting my deer friend, wondering if she was game for another conversation. No, that encounter will have to wait for another day. I'm too consumed right now figuring out the best way to deal with a feisty oriole. This bloated bird has decided that words are unnecessary and defecating on my car daily is the way to go after I took away the bird feed and cut down part of the rhododendron his family was residing in for countless generations. Yeah, I know this sounds like an intervention for Jerry or Maury. 

While I am sure I have more adventures and random tales to share, I have to take a look at google maps for a 90 minute drive north. For some reason I decided a 1992 World Book Encyclopedia edition with 17 books  is the next mission before I can sit down and write a substantial story again. Till next week . . .
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That's the snow leaving. Don't be fooled it's 35 degrees and a windchill in the low 20s. Hello May!

I have seen this sign now for 40 years. Either they have the oldest dog in history or some bad luck with dogs.