What do you do when your normal rituals of spring have changed?
Spending most of my years in Northern climates, spring was usually signaled by tulips, crocuses and daffodils poking their determined heads out of crusts of old snow. Just the sight of a bit of red, purple or yellow meant the dull chill of winter was about to disappear.
Sure we would have to suffer through the mud season. The mud season, you ask? That was when snow was melting, but the skies were gray and the wind cold. So instead of drying the watery residue, the ground would turn into a squelching, oozing river of mud. Rapidly it would flow up pant legs, over shoe tops and somehow settle into every crevice of your car's bottom interior.
But those days are gone since I live in Florida. March and April means my lawn is brown and crunchy. The palm trees' fronds curl and expensive landscaping is less lush and more skeletal.
Welcome to the dry season!
Where the smell of burning wood does not mean you settle deeper in your chair all warm and cozy. Instead you run outside, pirouetting 360 degrees while trying to determine nothing in your neighborhood is on fire. The sight of distant black smoke, while driving, makes you pray your house has been sparred and for the safety of others.
On the good side geckos emerge from their winter hiatus and scurry among the plants on the lanai. Yes, I now actually call it the lanai, instead of the patio. I avoided using the word for over two years - thinking I sounded like one of the old "Golden Girls".
While the geckos are filled with the fervor of spring - so are the alligators. I have seen them cruising my canal getting closer and closer to my shoreline.
Last year I called the state to inquire what could be done, as my fear factor was rising. At the officer's pronounced sentence of death, I retreated. After all Ali and Baba (my names for them) had been in the neighborhood first. So I stood by the shoreline (okay 10 feet in) and yelled at their nearby den. Luckily, I have few neighbors so my "talking with the animals" moment was a private conversation.
At top voice I advised them their lives had been sparred, and gratitude was expected. In the form that they never come on my property or eat any of the visiting herons, wood storks or one misguided duck who insisted on swimming among the reeds. I also told them I was off the plat du jour too.
So far so good - but if you do not see my articles for a few weeks - it will be a safe bet the gators reneged this season.
