Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: WEDNESDAY, March 31, 1993                   TAG: 9303300221
SECTION: EXTRA                    PAGE: 1   EDITION: METRO 
SOURCE: BEN BEAGLE
DATELINE:                                 LENGTH: Medium

THERE'LL BE NO POEMS OF SPRING FROM THIS OLD COOT

As we have seen here before, I hate spring.

I was never happier than during the recent blizzard.

I shoveled a path to the woodpile and was one with the wind and snow. I shoveled out the trusted Cherokee, only to find that its solenoid was bad, which meant, of course, that I couldn't drive through the storm helping people.

Luckily, I had a tape of this movie in which Kim Basinger does some pretty wild things before falling off this lighthouse during a zinger of a storm.

But enough talk of the good times and Kim. This is about the brutal, hard facts of spring.

One thing I like about blizzards is that they tend to cover up this huge hole in the side yard, which developed soon after they put the sewer line in.

It's big enough now to accommodate a fairly large audience for a concert under the stars. When it's covered with snow, I don't have to worry about how I'm going to fill it up.

That's the kind of thing you do in the spring. You either worry about digging holes or filling them up.

You also worry about mulch and the big blister in the paint on the front of the house that doesn't seem to show at all during the winter.

As a matter of fact, it disappeared last year on the day after Thanksgiving. Last Thursday, it was back.

Jonquils and snowdrops are blooming out there but don't expect any poetry from me. I've got all this wood to stack for next year.

Snow is very good for woodpiles, too. It makes them into interesting shapes and you can't tell whether they're leaning or not.

And if you think stacking wood wakes up a man's poetic inclinations, forget it. Stacking wood wakes up these severe pains in your back.

Pretty soon, it'll be time to mow what grass the moss hasn't ruined and this brings up a question that has more or less haunted me in my Golden Years:

Why do people warn older people that shoveling snow can be hazardous and never say a word about the danger to old coots mowing grass - not to mention stacking wood?

Listen, my mower and I once fell simultaneously off the bank in front of the house, and the four people who witnessed this waved and smiled. I think they cheered for the lawn mower, which almost mutilated me.

You go ahead and celebrate spring and do stupid stuff like dancing on the green.

Don't worry about me. I'll be busy thinking December.