With the added warmth this past week perhaps spring has finally arrived? The streets are down to the rubble; grit and small bits of gravel hugging the curbs, a few scattered papers and crushed cans that evaded the recycling bins.
We’ve had glorious sunshine, a true lift to drooping spirits everywhere. It has to be said, though, that we’ve continued to endure winds and not the warm chinook kind. Alberta temperatures may have registered as double digits but that persistent wind tells us otherwise.
Now Saturday afternoon the rain descends. We had a lovely morning; a little sun, sweater weather for a few hours, despite most of the population still reaching for parkas for much of the week. I did put away my winter footwear but I’m regretting that I don’t own rubber boots.
I visited a friend in long-term care this week. Her view is quite pleasant, an overlook of the lower courtyard, large spruce trees and the lawn that reaches out to the street curving around behind the hospital.
Recently the lawns have emerged, the birds have returned, the feeders busy with customers. She is not impressed to see the aggressive crows, although she did enjoy one having an exuberant bath in the large pond left on the lawn. The robins are nesting, hopefully with some success. It isn’t long, generally before they’re edged out by the larger predatory birds.
From my view behind my living room blinds, I see the backyard of the condo re-emerge. The downspouts are already gushing rainwater, likely dust and debris as well from the winter accumulations. The main body of the yard is still deep with snow. Maintenance used the snow blower to clear an area closest to the building. At the time the downspouts were buried and still frozen thanks to the abundant snowfall. This rain may help the snowpack diminish quicker. That is the hope anyway.
This is the time of year when I feel nudged to do a general housecleaning. As a youngster I was conscripted to help my grandmother with her cleaning, whether she lived a half-mile away on the next road, or once she later moved to Didsbury and our family relocated to Olds. In the country I walked or rode the bicycle that three of us shared. Once in town I was able to take the Greyhound bus or catch a ride with mom.
Grandma liked to have the walls washed every spring. She preferred Mr. Clean. That strong lemon scent still says “spring cleaning” to me. We didn’t have the luxury of rubber gloves in our house and I always ended up with a raw, red rash on my fingers. Apparently I’m overly sensitive. I still use Mr. Clean but I resorted to the safety of gloves long ago.
I need to get my tall stepstool out of downstairs storage. My upper cupboards do not reach to the ceiling and I use that area for a few knickknacks that I brought with me from the house. I know it is time to wash the ornaments and wipe down the cupboards. I have three coal-oil lamps on display, two being antiques. Although I’ve never used them, I like the images that these spark in my mind.
One lamp was given to me by Grandma Reist. It has a white porcelain background with a fine, patterned greenery. I was told that it was a wedding gift of her parents, Lucinda and Silas Good. I recall it being in the old farmhouse. We were living there in Grandpa and Grandma’s house. The lamp wasn’t needed and had been set on a shelf in the cellar along with the canning jars. The whole room smelled of earth, vegetables and burlap potato sacks. The dim lighting was provided by a single light bulb suspended from the ceiling.
Another of the lamps belonged to my folks, likely also a wedding present. They were married in 1944 and spent much of their early years working for various farmers. Their first year was in the Westward Ho area, working for Norman Cook. Their little house was originally on another site, regularly flooded by the creek.
Dad liked to tell the story of evenings spent in the cabin, reading by the dim light of that lamp. They were so engrossed in the tale that they leaned closer and closer to the light. It was when they could hardly see the page that they realized the chimney of the lamp was nearly black. They had neglected to turn up the wick and the light went out.
That lamp is clear glass in two sections. The upper would have contained the oil and the wick. It has a raised chevron pattern and with the lamp lit, it would have been beautiful.
While reviewing these thoughts, I gaze outside again. It is still grey and windy but the rain has stopped. What else do I see? My windows are definitely in need of washing: another of the joys of spring-like weather.
- Hoey is a longtime Gazette columnist
