Like a Yo-yo

March is a fickle month. Capricious, changeable, unstable – I want to throw every adjective I can at it. It's like a yo-yo flipping back and forth between winter and spring. Teasing us with a few warm days, sometimes just a few warm hours, then snapping back with snow and icy wind. I just hope that, when it's done, it has left us with spring.

I had some strange dreams at the beginning of the week last week. I suppose changing the clocks had something to do with it. It always takes me a while to adjust to that. I've always been a vivid dreamer. Sometimes my dreams are so real, I have to sort out in my mind afterward whether they actually happened. Sometimes Stacey has to shake me awake when I'm having a vivid dream and start yelling. I've heard of people who keep a dream journal where they write down their dreams. Some people write novels derived from their dreams. Frankenstein, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and Twilight were all inspired by their authors' dreams – or maybe their nightmares. Some invent things from things they've dreamed about. The sewing machine, the Periodic Table, and Google are among the inventions that resulted from a dream. Some receive revelation. The scriptures are full of instances where God spoke to someone in a dream – Joseph of Egypt, Daniel, Lehi, Joseph the husband of Mary, Pilate's wife, and Peter, among many others. I wonder sometimes where my dreams come from and what they mean, if they mean anything at all. Back in my early twenties, I tried to read Freud's The Interpretation of Dreams, but didn't make it very far. It was complicated and I didn't agree with the parts I actually understood.

In one of my dreams last week, I was in Florida. The source of that dream is obvious. I was there not long ago. I dreamt I was in a house that I've never actually seen, but whose details were so clear, I can still recall them. With me was my wife, my sister Nancy, and her husband Bob. We were tidying the house because my other siblings and their spouses and some of our children and grandchildren were due to arrive soon. We called it our February House, and we were all going to spend a week or two there together. I was worried in the dream because the weather was not good and we were afraid some of them would not make it because of canceled flights. But we had baskets of fruit ready and stacks of towels. There was a beach nearby. We were talking and laughing as we worked. It was a nice dream, one that I'd like to see come true.

Another dream I had was stranger. I dreamt I was at a party where there were lots of people standing around in groups chatting. I was feeling awkward as I attempted to be social. I'm not a comfortably social person. I was trying to make casual conversation with people I didn't know. I went from group to group and tried to join in their conversations by asking them if they realized that the macadam, asphalt road paving, was actually named after the man who invented it, Johnny Macadam, who was my uncle. No one was impressed and they ignored me. When I woke up, I looked up macadam and found that it was named after John Louden McAdam (1756-1836). Why that obscure fact was tucked away in my brain to get dredged up in a dream I do not know, but he certainly was not my uncle.

John Louden McAdam.

The last dream I had, at least that I can remember, is one I've had in various versions several times recently. It was a scary dream. In it, I was working over in the big garden and the wind was blowing hard. I heard a loud noise and looked toward the house and saw one of the huge maples near the house fall over and smash the side of the house. I ran to see if everyone in the house was okay and as I approached the house, the other tree fell and crushed the front of the house and the cars in the driveway. As I stood there, it began to pour rain and I realized I had no place to shelter now. I woke up feeling sad and also relieved that it was just a dream. Because I have dreamt this several times now, I consider it a portent and a warning and have decided that the two trees by the house need to be removed. By the end of the week, my circadian rhythm had adjusted to the time change and I was back to normal. Up at 5:30, no more strange dreams, at least none that I can remember.

The two trees in question.

Every morning last week, while waiting for things to warm a little, I spent an hour immersed in music. I know I write a lot about music. It plays a very important role in my life. Last week, all week, it was the music of Bach. I know I also write a lot about Bach. Specifically Johann Sebastian Bach. There are a lot of Bachs and some of them were also composers. J.S. had twenty children, seven by his first wife and thirteen by his second. Four of them were also famous composers, but none of them compare, in my estimation, to Johann Sebastian. And I'm not alone in that estimation. Albert Einstein, who was a gifted violinist in addition to being a scientific genius, thought Bach was the greatest of all composers. And in 2019 when the BBC's Music Magazine asked 175 leading contemporary composers who was the greatest composer, Bach came out on top. His music has been analyzed, recorded, and performed over and over again. And there is a lot of it. In 1950 a catalog of Bach's works, the Bach-Werke-Verzeichnis (BWV) was published. It contained 1,126 works and more have been discovered and added since then.

Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750).

I was not always so keen on Bach. My earliest classical music obsessions were Classical and Romantic Era composers – Mozart, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Chopin, and Brahms – not Baroque. I think my first encounter with Bach was the Minuet in G from the Anna Magdalena Notebook that was in one of my piano lesson books. I was probably ten or eleven then. It was just one of a number of simplified classical pieces included in those lesson books. I didn't pay much attention to it. I learned it, got a star on the page, and moved on. 

This is the original version of the Minuet, not the simplified version I learned.

My deeper appreciation for Bach came later. While I was on my mission, my family sent me a cassette tape of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir (now the Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square) called The Beloved Choruses. It had three works by Bach on it – "Sheep May Safely Graze" from Cantata No. 208, "Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" from Cantata No. 147, and "In Deepest Grief" from the St. Matthew Passion. I devoured that music. When I got home from my mission, my first musical deep dive was into the music of Bach. I went to Tower Records and began to collect recordings. My first two purchases were the Mass in B Minor (BWV 232) on two vinyl discs, and The Well-Tempered Clavier, Book I (BWV 846-869) on three discs played by the incomparable Sviatoslav Richter. I bought them because they were in the bargain bin in the Classical Music section and I was on a limited budget. Over the years I added to my collection. I currently have thirty-eight vinyl records, forty-two CDs, and almost a thousand MP3 files of Bach's music.

Back in the 80s, I set an ambitious goal of listening to the entire BWV catalog, from BWV 1, the cantata Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern, all the way to BWV 1179, the Chaconne in G minor. I didn't make it very far. First of all, there was no way I could purchase all that music, so if I didn't own it, I had to find some other source, primarily the radio. Plus, some of Bach's works don't get performed or recorded very often. I was happy then in 2009, to find a YouTube channel, "All of Bach" by the Netherlands Bach Society. Their goal is to provide free, high quality recordings of the complete works. I've listened to the almost 500 recordings they've posted so far and I get notified every time they post a new recording. So maybe I will achieve my goal, eventually. And I'll love every second of it.

If you were to ask me why I love Bach so much, I'd be hard pressed to give you a succinct answer. It's complicated. Some people say they love Bach because of the mathematical aspects of his works. Bach was not a mathematician. He had no formal training in mathematics, but analysis reveals the astounding mathematical complexity of many of his works. I'm not at all mathematically inclined, but I sense a sort of perfection in his compositions that resonates with my mind. And in his sacred works and even his secular music, I feel a deep level of spirituality. His music is filled with light and perfection. I have a list of people I want to hang out with in eternity and J.S. Bach is one of them.

So after reveling in Bach for an hour each morning, I set out to accomplish something. The weather at first was wonderful – in the 60s and sunny, perfect for working outdoors. I accomplished a lot. I worked at pruning the orchard. I cleaned out the flowerbeds that were full of winter debris and flat and soggy from being buried under snow. I got some bags of soil and planted the first of my seed trays.

Work at pruning continues.

The first seed trays planted.

On Tuesday Miriam and Hannah came home. Stacey and I drove up to Rochester to pick them up at the airport. Miriam was away for a month and Hannah for ten days. On the drive home they told us all about their adventures in Hawaii and Arizona. They didn't get to see Kilauea erupt. It was quiet while they were there and waited until the day after they got home to put on a spectacular show. That's probably a good thing. It's great to have them home again. I missed them. Miriam brought me a present from Hawaii – three plumeria cuttings. I've potted them up and added them to the jungle in the music room. I hope they grow.

Kilauea on Thursday.

After pleasant, spring-like weather during the first part of the week, winter reasserted itself. Rain came on Wednesday and then it got colder and brought us snow on Friday and Saturday. It seems like a mean trick after letting us taste a bit of spring. The Vernal Equinox isn't until this Friday and it seems Old Man Winter resented the intrusion into his territory. Of course he will overextend his nasty hold well into spring. Some years he holds sway over most of it. I hope that won't be the case this year. I checked the extended forecasts to see what the "experts" are predicting. Accuweather says we'll have a tug of war between winter and spring-like weather with winter winning most of the time. NOAA's Seasonal Outlook maps say we have an equal chance of being above or below normal temperatures and precipitation. Those both seem like safe predictions. The Old Farmer's Almanac is a bit bolder. It says we'll have a warm, dry spring. The Farmer's Almanac, on the other hand, says spring will start late and be cool and soggy. I'm rooting for the Old guys.

Two very different predictions.

Our mornings now, even the cold and snowy ones, are filled with birdsong. The red-winged blackbirds begin it at first light, and robins, cardinals, mourning doves, and other birds join in soon after. I love to go out at dawn and listen to them singing. It sounds to me like an anthem to the rising sun, and to the Son, the Creator of the World. I feel the power of creation keenly at this time of year when the world is stirring to life after a winter's sleep. Every day now I see new things pushing up from the ground, shoots of crocus, tulips, daffodils, the first tender leaves of the primroses and columbines. And, of course, the weeds. They seem especially vigorous and anxious to take control of the world again. I've been watching for the first dandelions, nettles, and cleavers to appear. I will try again this spring to eat some as the renowned spring tonics they are purported to be. Every time I've tried that in the past, I've found them so unpalatable I couldn't choke them down. But I'll make another attempt as soon as I find some. Maybe this year it will be different.

Ice on the lily pond on Monday.

Free of ice on Wednesday.

On Wednesday the weather began to change. The sunrise was strange, bathed in amber light with distant thunder rumbling far to the northwest. The air was warm and heavy. I went down to the barn to check my traps. They were empty. I walked back through the big garden and the orchard noting the things I needed to do as I walked. I could tell the weather would not be very cooperative. There was rain coming.

 

My walk early on Wednesday morning.

Storm approaching Wednesday morning.

Wednesday morning.

Stormy sunrise Wednesday morning.

The storm arrived at 8:30 with one flash of lightning, a growl of thunder, and a burst of rain. It didn't last long, just long enough to make everything soggy. I waited until 10:00 and then went out to prune in spite of the wet. I was able to work for an hour and then another thunderstorm rolled in and I had to come in again. That's how the rest of the day went – a little squall of rain, a brief pause, and then another squall. I didn't get much done. And in the evening, the wind came and our warm spring weather blew away. From 67° on Wednesday evening, the temperature dropped overnight. By Thursday morning we were below freezing again.

When I took Maverick out for his morning walk early on Thursday, it was 26° and there were a few snowflakes swirling in the beam of my flashlight. Maverick doesn't like the cold, so it was a very short walk. That was the beginning of a frustrating day. It was cold and windy all day. Every time I stepped out of the house, I had to bundle up against the icy wind and I resented it. Then when I went down to do the afternoon chores, I found death again. Something had gotten into the coop again, and whatever it was, it was strong enough to wrench open the door to the guinea enclosure, breaking the wooden toggle that held it shut, and kill two more guineas. So I only have one left now. Whatever it was, it also ate the bait in the live trap without tripping it and snapped two rat traps I had set up outside the coop door without getting caught in them. I don't know what this creature is, but I want to kill it. I'm thinking maybe it's some sort of chicken chupacabra at this point. I set up a motion activated camera inside the coop to see if I can catch it on film, but too late for all the poor guineas and chickens it has killed so far. 

My poor guineas. Only one left now.

Friday morning was even colder, a frosty 15°. We had a pretty sunrise, but unfortunately, it was pretty because we had bad weather coming. It was the old adage "Red in the morning, sailor take warning" proving itself accurate again. I looked at the forecast. They said we had snow and high winds heading our way. As I put on my thermals, I did not let out a weary sigh. I'm long past the sighing stage. I kvetched. It was internal so no one heard me. At 8:00, I wrapped up and went down to the barn. I've locked the chickens in again until I can figure out what is killing them. When I went in to check on them, there was a lot of kvetching there too. They were gathered at the door and wanted out, but I didn't let them. Chickens are accomplished kvetchers. I threw them some extra scratch to compensate for their incarceration, but they were not grateful.

Sunrise Friday.

It started to snow at 11:35 a.m. I know the precise moment because I was out filling the bird feeders when the first flakes fell. By noon, things were starting to look white, just a light dusting. By chore time, the sun was out and the snow was gone. I was happy that it hadn't amounted to anything, but my happiness was premature. Just at sundown it started to snow again – hard this time. By the time I went to bed, there was two inches on the ground and more coming down. I heard the snowplow go by down on the highway as I was falling asleep.

I woke up Saturday morning to the sound of the snowplow down on the highway again. That was after a night of being awakened over and over again by the wind howling, the trees moaning, the house groaning, its old bones popping. It was pretty intense at times. I didn't know what to expect when I looked out in the morning, but it wasn't bad, just a few branches down and two or three inches of snow. The wind continued through most of the day, sometimes reaching 50 mph. The Thayns reported that the wind brought down two trees in their yard. By chore time yesterday the snow had almost completely melted again.

Saturday morning.

Saturday afternoon.

The Fosters returned from their Florida trip in the wee hours of Saturday morning. With the weather that greeted them here, I'm sure they regretted coming home. They came by at 1:00 p.m. to pick up Maverick. He was overjoyed to see them.

Miriam and Hannah, barely back from their trip to Hawaii, left on Friday afternoon to spend the weekend at the Thayn's. They were suffering from niece and nephew withdrawal. Plus, it was the Thayn's Stake Conference today and June, who is eleven, gave a talk and they wanted to be there for that. They will be home later this evening.

Our meetings today were good. We had speakers from the stake and they gave good talks. Our Gospel discussion during Sunday School was good. Visiting with the members was good. It was good in every way. Now we are home, just me and Stacey. Lunch will be ready in a while.

Today is the Ides of March. Two thousand and seventy years ago, on March 15th 44 B.C., Julius Caesar, ignoring the warning of the soothsayer Spirinna to beware the day, walked into the Theater of Pompey to meet with the Roman Senate, and was stabbed to death by a group of senatorial conspirators. The aftermath of that assassination resulted in a world changed immediately and forever as Rome's political power adjusted, Caesar Augustus rose to power, Rome became an empire that expanded and set the course for all the Caesars, Tsars, and Kaisers that followed for the next two millennia. We still live in a world profoundly shaped by that day. Funny how history works that way. To commemorate the day, I'm going to watch Shakespeare's Julius Caesar (1953) this afternoon. It has an excellent all star cast: Louis Calhern as Caesar, Marlon Brando as Marc Anthony, John Gielgud as Cassius, James Mason as Brutus, and Deborah Kerr as Portia. Brando is impressive as Brutus. And, being Shakespeare, the dialog is sublime. "Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war!"

The Death of Julius Caesar by Vincenzo Camuccini.

So here we are at the beginning of a new week. It looks like March will continue doing its aggravating back and forth. Regardless of the weather, I have things to do that cannot wait any longer. I must finish pruning. I have beds in the vegetable garden that I need to prepare for planting early vegetables – lettuce, spinach, and beets. I have seed trays I need to plant. And no matter what Old Man Winter throws at me, I know his days are numbered. Good Sabbath.