Matthew Dickerson, Addison Independent, March 18, 1999 (reprinted by permission)
As many of you are aware, the Independent ran a limerick contest last week with a Green Peppers pizza offered as prize to the winners. As there was no clause in the contest rules prohibiting entries from the writer of the bi-weekly outdoor column (e.g. me) I thought I'd give it a try. But before I could even get the limerick portion of my brain working, my wife Deborah beat me to the punch. With a smug expression on her face, she spouted:
I was shamed. Not only had she come up with the first limerick, but she had even composed one on an outdoor theme appropriate to my own column. "It won't win," I warned her as I took a bite of sour grapes. "The last line is too gruesome."
Seeking inspiration, I then turned to our eight-year old son Thomas. "Why don't you enter a limerick," I suggested. "They have age categories for kids. And the prize is a pizza."
"Dad, I don't even like pizza," he replied. "Besides, limericks are child's play. In our classroom we're already writing haiku. I bet you can't write a haiku."
"I sure can," I replied, unwilling to be out-sophisticated by an eight-year old. "Um. What is haiku again?"
I thought briefly of turning to my five-year old son Mark, but I feared he would ask me for a sonnet. Anyway, the last line of the haiku had already started my brain spinning into Spring mode (or, for you anglers, springing into Spinning mode). As I'm sure you are all aware, it is less than a month to opening day of trout season. In my February 18 column I whined about the lack of snow. (February '99 saw only about 1/3 the average snowfall for that month.) Remembering last year's late-season blizzards, I looked hopefully toward March to provide what we had been missing.
Well March came and delivered (snow). And while some of you indoor-types groaned, having looked forward to bare ground and the end of winter, the skiers and snowshoers out there were quite happy. On Saturday, I went cross-country skiing up north in the best conditions of the season. And more snow has since fallen. With mid-week temperatures rising up to the sugaring range, there should be at least a couple days of fantastic conditions.
So what's the dilemma? Only this. April 10 is fast approaching. Now I'm not one to complain about winter. I'm usually happy to have the ground white right through the end of March. But some time around April 1 a strange phenomenon takes place. My eyes stop looking longingly over snow-covered fields and begin to gaze down upon the streams. By April 5 I'm no longer eyeing my ski-rack; I'm eyeing the rack that holds my fishing rods. My wife begins to wonder why I sit at the dinner table with a glazed eyes and my casting hand nervous twitching back and forth. By April 7 I'm thinking winter has been a bit long, and wondering when the snow run-off will peak and if the streams will be clear for opening day. Not that I've caught a single trout on opening day since moving to Vermont 10 years ago. But it's a tradition just as important as that first snowfall. So if any of you are out skiing through the woods and see a fellow skier stopped one of the bridges and staring into the water, or holding his ski pole over his head waving it back and forth, just ignore him and ski on. You'll know who it is.