The Rural Voice, 2003-04, Page 8Johnson
PUMPS & MOTORS INC.
l�
N nPi Bulbs & Parts
STERILIZERS Sterlight
Sediment - Carbon Filters
- Iron Out - Potassium Permagnamate
376-3305 C
285 8th St. E. Owen Sound
HOURS: MON: FRI.8:00 am - 5:00 pm
SAT. 8:30 am - 12 noon
email:jpm.I nc @ sympatico.ca
GPS Guidance with Steering GuideTM
Either you have it ... or you don't.
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OUTBACK'S is
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• Features steering GuideTM,
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• First truly affordable GPS
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• Ideal for planting, spraying,
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• Installs in less than 15 minutes
Lease
3 years 1.9'•
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Call for a demonstration today
on your tractor, on your farm!
John or Bruce Kidd
519-925-6453
4 THE RURAL VOICE
Carol Riemer
In search of spring
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'II 47140:41j
Carol Riemer
is a freelance
writer who
lives with her
husband and
two
children near
Grand
Valley,
Ontario.
The very thought of spring leaves
me weak in the knees. My pulse
begins to quicken. My spirits start to
soar.
Lost in the magazine aisle of the
supermarket, I'm captivated by an
array of glossy cover photos that
promise the arrival of a new season.
After lingering over a smorgasbord of
tempting recipes, I move on,
marvelling at the latest gardening and
landscaping tips, while wondering if
my husband would really be
interested in building his own
hammock.
Time beckons, so I make a beeline
for the cashier, narrowly pulling into
line ahead of a frantic looking woman
with several distraught kids and an
overflowing cart. Luck, it would
seem, is on my side.
Pushing my cart out into the
parking lot, I notice that a slight
drizzle is starting to come down. I tell
myself to look on the bright side;
spring is on the way. Just then, the
front wheel of the cart locks up, and I
have to drag the disabled beast to our
car, parked halfway across a crowded
lot. To make things worse, as I'm
lifting the last grocery bag into the
trunk, it breaks, sending several tins
of tuna rolling down the road, where
they come to rest under a parked car.
After that, I should have known that
the windshield washer fluid
would run out on the way home. So
much for luck.
Once home, the reality of the
season quickly begins to sink in. It's
raining heavily now. I get the kids to
help me into the house with the
groceries, while high above the bird
feeder, hidden in the gnarled
branches of the old maples, I detect
the steely -eyed glance of our resident
woodpecker. This little guy has no
time for poetry. No interest at all in
the romantic ballads of spring. He
knows from experience that the most
elusive of seasons cannot be rushed.
Nevertheless, all it takes, these
days, is the warmth of a gentle breeze
and I'm ready to cast off my heavy
coat, and retire those salt -stained
boots for another year. Wiping away
stubborn traces of winter from the
windows, 1 see that the fields are
taking on a softer character. With
spring rain comes mud, and with
mud, the annual hunt for rubber
boots.
By late November, the rubber
boots in our house are relegated to
the back of a closet, down a long,
narrow hall. next to the mud room.
The sole inhabitant of this deep, dark
space is a spooky -looking spider that
jumps out at you, when you least
expect it. I only venture in there when
spring comes around, and I need to
retrieve my rumpled yellow raincoat
or the family's collection of rainy day
footwear.
"Have you found them, yet?" my
daughter calls out from a safe
distance.
"No," I reply. "It's too dark in
here."
On my hands and knees, with
leather work gloves for protection, I
search around, terrified of a sudden
encounter with the unknown.
"Can you get me the vacuum
cleaner?" I plead, brushing aside the
cobwebs.
"You should clean out this closet
more often," she admonishes me,
with an air of authority, reserved only
• for daughters without deadlines.
"Thanks. I'll try to keep that in
mind," I mutter quietly, between
tightly clenched teeth.
Finally, I emerge victorious. The
spider has been vanquished, and the
boots have been rescued from the
depths of the hall closet. Once again,
it's safe to step outside, brave the
elements, and follow that familiar
muddy path that leads us in search of
spring.0