Shelling peas, and plenty of them. Tucked them into the ground the day before we are forecast for a pistol-whipping of a spring storm here in upper New England. Florida and the Carolinas have had their lashings and are gladly sending this monster up the coast.
The news stations have all trotted out their oh-so-exciting repetitive “Storm! Team!” intro music and the cancellations banners are endlessly scrolling all the called off school days, dance studio classes, scout meetings and bean suppers. I imagine the grocery stores are hellish mad houses this evening with everybody stocking up on milk, bread, toilet paper and beer even while they rock to the ubiquitous piped-in music of the mid-70s.
I’m weary of wearing my fleece headband. Inside the house. Tired of shoveling snow and sipping hot tea and flaky, chapped hands. It’s been a long winter. I’m ready to trade all that for insect repellant, sunscreen and a cold beer in a cozy.