What a difference one year makes, especially if you change locations as we did when we moved from western Ontario to eastern Ontario last September. A year ago on this day, I posted a photo of daffodils just breaking through the ground. That occurred despite the fact that it seemed to be colder than usual last winter. However, that was western Ontario (next door to Michigan), and we are now in the eastern part of the province (with New York State about an hour or two) to the south.
According to Environment Canada, this was the warmest winter ever in southern Ontario and Quebec — or at least the warmest since proper records began to be kept in 1948, the year after I was born.
The winter in Southern Ontario and Southern Quebec was the warmest since national records began in 1948. The average temperature was 4.8 °C above normal, an amazing departure from average conditions.
Despite these record temperature, our lawns remain snow-covered (see photo), and the daffodil bulbs must surely be at least a week or two away from shooting through. How far behind would we be if this had been a cold winter rather than the warmest winter on record?
From last year's post, Through the Detritus:
We all go through winters of the soul: sometimes short, sometimes long. If we have planted daffodils in our hearts, they will emerge when we need their smiles most. They will loom when we least expect them because they simply know that it is their time to reward us for planting them. They will emerge, even though we have not yet been able to tidy away all of the decaying debris of our soul's winter, and, by so springing forth, they inspire us to clean up our old messes — to rake up and dispose of the old detritus.
It is a good thing to plant seeds whenever warm summer breezes caress our lives: good seeds that can sprout when our winter-shrivelled soul's need is greatest. Plant a full garden for all seasons: daffodils for spring, daisies for summer, and asters for the autumn, but first and foremost, plant daffodils. They will suddenly illumine your soul when it seems that the dark has come to stay. And perhaps you will find that when your garden blooms, it somehow also touches and lifts spirits other than your own. And that is a good thing.