"Not bad for March, is it?"

A fellow said this to me as I was walking down Ash Point the other day. (There's no way I can successfully transliterate the way he said "March" - the drawn-out, nasal "a" almost obscuring, but not quite, the "r", resulting in the wonderful Maine accent - so I didn't try.) In the usual local deprecating way he was right, assuming he was discussing the temperature, which was pushing well into the 50s. Of course he also could have commented on the markets (remember March of a year ago?), or the relief of having escaped February's storms, or the sheer joy of being in Maine and not, say, in Florida, where just 10 days ago, the temperature in Key West had trouble beating that of this beautiful day in Maatch. (See?)

I for one was happy to be back, even to see the damage to trees and roof and a bit of leakage in the attic and bedroom from the big southeaster of February 25. We were away in Florida, but as our neighbor told me, "It didn't make it any easier being here." Cold strong westerlies in Florida, warm vicious southeasters on the north Atlantic coast: I'm afraid this is just the beginning of what should be called climate upset, not climate change.

People talk funny down in Florida also, especially those riding motorcycles from various parts of the South, and "quaint" is usually a matter of what you're not used to yet, but give me these stunning clear skies, and vigorous blue waters, and the occasional baby hurricane, and hardy people who like Maine's winters, especially when they're done.