Notes from my Knapsack 3-17-22

Notes from my Knapsack 3-17-22
Jeff Gill

A month of whipsaw weather
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March means spring in central Ohio.

That doesn't mean it also can sneak up on us with a wicked fall of snow, or worse yet the black ice of early morning, especially on north-facing slopes where the higher sun angle isn't putting heat into the pavement all day to keep it clear overnight.

Melt and rain dancing on either side of freezing, which is still a feature of every March here, means you can expect dawns with a dollop of danger on bridges and overpasses. Our frost-free day in this neighborhood is around May 15, so the tomatoes can wait (unless you're starting seeds up on top of the refrigerator).

But daffodils, our heritage and inheritance in the Granville area, are popping up and right behind come other bulb-rooted flowers, hyacinths and tulips and more perennials on the way. Baseball players may not be at spring training, but our local lads are selling mulch and delivering it just as the weeds are rustling up out of sleep.

March means spring in central Ohio, and the trees start budding and bursting and casting more debris down on lawns and parked cars. Maples are especially good at this. Lawnmowers need checked, and I hope you didn't leave the gas in it all winter; the more conscientious among us sharpen with files the edge of spades and shovels or whet the shears and trimmers. The last of the ornamental grasses need to be cut back before the new green shoots poke up among the midst of them, and there are loads of brush and downed limbs to tend to.

Keep the scraper in the car, and the spare coat and extra blanket in the back, but soon it will be June and you'll realize you can stow them away for next November. Not yet, though. Frost in the morning, chills yet to come.

As a young Scout, I still remember our troop's biggest setback, but most lasting lesson. This is back when scout troops could still own and operate their own secondhand school buses, and ours was painted purple, with the back third converted to a quartermaster's store of shelves and stowage. We were an every month camping troop, and our leaders were steelworkers along Lake Michigan who knew the outdoors and taught us well.

But it was a March campout that caught us. It had been warm and sunny for weeks, the grass was already growing strongly by mid-month, and this was a few hundred miles north of here. The forecast was mild, and the weekend dawned balmy, the Friday night gathering and trip to our campsite mostly in t-shirts and shorts. In mid-March.

Saturday, after a mellow morning, a shift in the wind, a drop in the temperatures. People dug in backpacks for coats and found windbreakers; more than a few of us as we set out on an afternoon hike realized digging into our pockets that there were no gloves. We'd thrown them weeks before onto the hall closet upper shelf.

Back at camp, the snow started. Heavy, wet, steady. Fires were lit for supper, but they offered too little warmth; the adults made a circuit of the three patrol sites, and assessed our (gulp) preparedness for a winter night. And for perhaps the only time in Troop 7 history, we went home early.

March means spring, but it can still bite. Be prepared!

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he learned about what "Be Prepared" really means that weekend. Tell him about your outdoor education at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.