I cursed those who lived there. The message below was to my aunt.
For some odd reason, my hometown in Wisconsin will have beautiful March days every few years. I remember my mom telling me that when I was an infant, it was warm enough in March to lay out on the grass on a blanket. Then, when I was about 9, my sister and our neighbor, Jenny, were off school, probably for spring break, and we went to the boat landing at the river about a half mile from our house. I just realized that my mother has probably never heard this story and will either have a heart attack or will comment on this post screaming (or both). Anyway, it was one of those unseasonably warm March days, and the three of us girls walked out on the ice. There was a small hole in the ice, and I remember, very clearly, saying, "This ice is only an inch thick!"
My sister fell through the ice.
Mom, calm down. She's still alive. (And a TV star!)
Actually, only one leg fell through the ice, up to the hip. We got her out, and as she was drying out with us on a park bench, a police officer showed up. Somebody had seen three little girls playing out on this ice. Of course, we denied it, although Dana's soaking wet leg probably told him otherwise. He scared the crap out of us by telling us how we could all fall through the ice and drown, or freeze to death or something. And then he left. I don't remember ever talking about that again. Sorry, Mom.
So, about my sunburn. It was about 65'F today. In Texas or South Carolina, where we last lived, that is cause for jeans and a fleece jacket. But here in Montana, now that we're hardened mountain people, it's my gardening jeans and a tank top. I weeded one of my garden beds, planted arugula and mesclun, and got a violent sunburn. I've learned my lesson.
It only gets better from here:
Come on up and visit. I'll put you to work in the garden.