Yep, in my town.
It wasn’t due to the dormant resident toad croaking loudly to attract this year’s mate.
It wasn’t due to the robins thrusting their bright red chests searching for worms.
The official herald for spring bursting and remaining is the sacrifice of neighbours collectively engaging in a solemn traditional rite of West coast living.
Vroom, vroom , vroom.
Grass blades quivering in the barely warming breath of spring endured the cold sacrifice of having their tips chop off.
As the piercing sound of machines powering up covers the trilling of chickadees and the odious smell of gasoline mixes with the sweet smell of flowers, I must send this message to those of you still enduring winter’s fierce and blasting cold.
There is a tipping point of revving lawnmowers bursting forth to cut the yet to grow withered shivering grass that runs blustery winter right out-of-town.
This is surely the reason people everywhere in my town cut their lawns last weekend, dressed with both jackets and mittens, shivering in the breezy yet sunny March day.
This ritual must be done at the mere whiff of spring air.
As I sit clothed in my warm jacket, relishing the delicate beginnings of spring, I honour the diligence of my neighbours.
And I send along my wise town’s tried and true method of getting spring Sprung.
And mow, mow, mow!