In the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia, the rains have come. The grass is already turning green and the birds are singing before first light. It’s the middle of March, and though it’s been over thirty years since I lived in Canada, I still remember a snow laden landscape under sullen gray skies that lasted far into April. Even May could see late snowfalls and June could produce killing frosts.
Nice one, Robert. The story pulls the reader right in, eager to feed livestock & milk the cows,