View from the North 40: It is easy being green, right now

I love living where we have four seasons, even if only two of the four are really likable — and with all due respect to fall, spring is my favorite time of year.

If I continue with the ranking system, summer is third, admittedly a distant third, but not just an also-ran. It’s, like, “Thank you for participating in our event. You gave it your all and were a true inspiration to everyone here. Wear this white ribbon with pride.”

Summer has some good days, but mostly it’s just about dealing with heat, bugs and weeds. Mornings and evenings are often nice-ish, sure, and the vitamin D properties of sunlight are appreciated. But pretty much from 11 a.m. or noon until mid to late evening is some level of hell that’s all about sticky sweat and bug bites.

Eventually, every living plant dries up and becomes one more element for consideration in a wildland fire-risk assessment.

Winter is notable for its death risk management.

OK, I admit there are a few nice things. At the start there’s relief from the heat, fire and bugs. There’s hot cocoa, your favorite warm, comfort clothes, beautiful starry nights, and the anticipation of holidays and picture postcard snow scenes. Aside from that it’s work.

Everything is work.

Even getting dressed in a dozen layers that make doing anything outside a wrestling match with your clothes. And there’s keeping your vehicles going, shoveling and plowing snow, breaking ice, keeping up with the house extra because of all the clothes and snow. Pack extra clothes if you go anywhere, give yourself extra time to get there.

Even the death risk part is work.

The power goes out or you slide off the road, get trapped or lost after after dark, get wet, misjudge the temps and your preparation for them, there’s icy conditions, a faulty furnace — it’s all trying to kill you while you work to stay alive.

It’s like that Jeff Goldblum line in the second “Jurassic Park”: “Oh, yeah. Oooh, ahhh — that’s how it always starts. Then later there’s running and screaming.”

So thanks for coming, winter, without you we couldn’t maintain our four-seasons rating. Here’s your participation ribbon. Buh-bye.

Fall, when it’s working properly, has all the best parts of summer and winter, and it’s all dressed up in beautiful colors, so it should be totally amazing — but it’s the end, right. Leaves and plants are dying off. The rest of nature is planning for dormancy or bitter hardship.

Thus, you’re a great season, fall, but winter’s death threat is casting its gloomy pall on any happy vibes you’re laying down. ’Fraid that makes you the first loser. Here’s your red ribbon.

Spring, though, is the symbol of hope and rebirth — and I feel that power.

Mostly, though, I feel relief. Spring isn’t actively trying to kill me or my animals.

Yes, there’s mud which can mean more work, and delays. But mud isn’t trying to kill me.

Flooding, yes, that can kill and destroy, but for the most part around here we just have to think ahead. Is there flood water ahead, might there be on my return through, or is there damage from past flooding that hasn’t been repaired? Then go around.

But, in general, being wet isn’t likely to kill us. Nor is being muddy. We might have to clean our floors and clothes more often, but thanks to winter we’re used to that. I might need some protective layers, but I don’t need 15 minutes of suiting up to battle the elements like in winter.

Birds are returning, mammals are frolicking, wild flowers are popping up, and we have the color green.

Everywhere.

In early-ish spring we get flashes of green, but last week the plants just exploded. In all of spring, the past week to 10 days is my favorite, and this year has been quite a show. It’s the pasture that gets me right in the feels. Not just because it’s feed for my horses and means hay will be plentiful this year. It’s more than that.

It’s the pasture.

With the moisture we’ve gotten, the vegetation just exploded, and the pasture land looks like a vast lawn, an even, lush and glorious expanse of green. More than that, though, you can’t tell the difference between good forage and weeds, you can’t tell that some of the spots are pretty bare. Nothing needs to be mowed or sprayed or reseeded. It’s like a miracle.

Forget envy, forget illness, green is the color of relief — post-winter, pre-summer freedom from labor.

Next week green is the color of work and some disappointment as the weeds separate themselves from the pack, but this week, don’t harsh my mellow.

In my mind I’m like Julie Andrews with my arms spread wide as I spin in my hills alive with the sound of forage growing. The song in my head, though, is all Bette Midler singing in parody: “From a distance, the world looks blue ribbon green/And no evil weeds in sight/From a distance, it’s like lawn to me/and the mower sits in silence.”

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Thank you, thank you. Hold your applause. I’ll be performing all week — and then I’ll be too busy mowing and spraying at http://www.facebook.com/viewfromthenorth40 .