March is a mess, a meltdown, a mudbath, a mushsplash, a muckslosh, a muddle, a mishmash, a muckerflusher, a slushfest. Has me humming that Jobim song an MP3 of which I've searched unsuccessfully for online to play for you here. That's one thing I miss about my students. They knew the backroads FTP servers and could find anything. It still snows, but it's insincere snow, faux snow. March is all about melting and dripping and water seeking channels and the in between feelings of no definite season. Melissa and I both enjoy playing Corps of Engineers. The water comes down off the hill at the lake and we have to convince it to make a sharp left or it will come right through the basement. I think of that corner of the house as Vicksburg. Byther Brook is that usually quiet stream at the end of the camp road by Bill & Susan's house. This time of year, it's roaring. Later this spring that area will be wall-to-wall fiddleheads. Fiddleheads are ostrich fern sprouts. Very yummy, if you like greens; the taste is somewhere between asparagus and collards. About non-public events, let me just say this: gofish, and VIA, and b2bexplorer, and imany, and first interviews by cell phone in empty classrooms. See, I told you I'd keep you posted.

It is time to turn our thoughts to speculation on serious neighborhood matters: guessing the day the ice will go out. Last year the ice went out of the lake on April 5, Easter Sunday. That was considered early. Anyone may guess; I'll record all the guesses and report them weekly until we have a winner. If the winner is a resident of Faubourg Unity, you'll get wine/beer/diet-coke, as fits your habits. If the winner is, god forbid, an outah statah, you'll get a surge of email. Give it your best shot.

The ice out pool

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