Is it spring yet in North Dakota? I don't suppose so. Winter comes early; spring late. The pic above is the street in front of 'my' house taken in March, 1970 when I spent a memorable year as an American Field Student from sunny South Africa in Rugby, North Dakota. I attended Rugby High School, had an adopted mom and dad (the bestest), an adopted sister and kid brother. Did I have a jolly good time!
I delighted in my first snow just before Christmas, which swirled like white butterflies through the air. With only experience of hail storms, I expected snow to fall in solid lumps, something like a mini-snowball fight. The snow was magical but by March the magic had worn a little thin. I had a serious case of cabin fever. My daily walks to the local library through knee deep snow and 40F below temperatures were no longer fun. The librarian, a lovely lady called Florence, used to comfort me with her stories of nostalgia for poinsettias and bougainvillea blossoms. She hailed from California. My 'mum' tried to encourage me to cope by fantasizing about my favourite novel and all time favourite movie, 'Dr Zhivago'. At first imagining myself to be Lara-a-la-Julie Christie, wrapped in furs and waiting to meet her destiny in a white wonderland worked. By early May when the big melt down began, I didn't want to hear a word about Dr Zhivago and the Siberian steppes.
Here at Thatchwick it is the beginning of autumn. But more about that in another blog. In the meantime, if there are any North Dakotan bloggers out there: is it spring yet?