Clothesline Weather

It’s mud season here in upstate New York, that time when the snow has melted, leaving behind the water that it used to be. It seeps into the softening ground and makes it mushy, making boots a necessity when we’re out there in the marshy grass, the delicate balance of our ecosystem. But mud season means we can at least go outside now without a balaclava, scarf, mittens, the full wardrobe of winter clothing. Rain boots are definitely a good trade-off.

Mud season generally lasts for a solid two months around these parts, so we get used to wearing those boots, and when it rains that makes it last even longer. I guess other people call it spring, but flowers are few and far between here during mud season. When we find one it’s a small miracle, and days without rain during mud season remind me of why I love Ireland so much. But the rain makes their foliage beautifully green while this mud remains brown, and the grass follows suit, when we can see it anyway.

So these past three days have been like heaven. The sun has been out, and the rain has stayed away, so the ground is relatively springy and there is no mud in sight. It would feel like summer if the weather was just a bit warmer and there were more flowers in sight, but summer is just a couple weeks in July, and this “ain’t no July.” Instead, it’s just a strange time when a light jacket is preferable, but shorts aren’t all too uncommon. The neighbors don’t know what to make of it, so they drive with the top down and smile idiotically to themselves. I call it clothesline weather.

We have a clothesline in the backyard. It’s really a behemoth of precision, one line stretches back and forth between wooden posts to give the illusion of five separate lines. For the past three days I’ve been using it exclusively to dry our clothes, something that usually happens on off days when it’s not raining, so it’s been like a dream. I’ve stood out there with my colored plastic clothespins, staring up at the blue sky, hanging up one garment after another with gusto, and humming to myself some Lady GaGa tunes. I wonder how long this will last.

And I’ve probably just jinxed it. Damn.

Sam