ozma914 | Entries tagged with spring

Is it just me, or has Mother Nature been, this year ... grouchy?

Surly? Cross? Cantankerous?

Yeah, I thought so, too. Maybe we brought it on ourselves, the way everyone has been storming at each other. That makes this a perfect time for a ... song.

Hey, we all need a peaceful moment. It's been a particularly awful weather year; for some more than others, but mostly for everyone. The other day I had to stop picking up wind-blown branches because of frostbite. (I shut off our furnace exactly two days before the--wait for it--polar vortex reached us.)

It's not a great song, but I'm not a great song writer. I heard the music in my head while writing the words (It has a country vibe). But I can't play it for you because I can't write music, and it probably won't work as well as a poem. Maybe it's for the best, though, because I'm also not a great music writer. Or ... any music writer. What the heck, I'll throw in a few photos from the storm outbreak, too. Once it got cold, my hands wouldn't stop shaking enough to get a good picture.

See those little black spots in the sky? Birds. Really dumb vultures, I think, battling a headwind.

I should hold a contest: If I sell fifty books by the end of June, I'll post a video of me singing this. But that might lead to negative sales. "For Heaven's sake, don't sing! I'm sending your books back to you."

I call it: Springing Out of Springdom.

(I'm not a great title writer, either.)

I like to ride in the countryside
just to take in spring.
The flower blossoms, birds at play
and all the greening things.

But this year I've come to realize
something that's made me sad.
We won't get a spring this year
'cause we've all been too bad.

Yeah, we've all been too bad this year,
we just can't get along.
We fight and fuss and disagree
Even as the days get long.

Mother Nature said "Screw you!"
"I'll just evaporate."
So winter just won't end this year;
she left us to our fate.

So now the temp's below average
just like all our moods.
Plants are brown and grass is dead,
let's face it--we're all screwed.

Our tulips won't come up this year,
They're underneath a drift.
The robins are hitchhiking south,
their frozen wings won't lift.

Yes, we've all been too bad this year,
we don't deserve the spring.
Mosquitoes can't come out in this,
it's frostbite that'll sting.

Mother Nature said "Stuff it!"
and left us all to freeze.
so winter just won't end this year,
no flowers, birds, or bees.

So let's all try to get along,
we just don't have to fight.
At this rate our nice summer
will become a year long night.

It's not that we all must be friends,
but hatred hurts our souls.
If we don't make up by Christmas
At least we can heat with coals.

True, we've all been too bad this year,
and spring will never come
if we don't get our butts in gear
and stop being so dumb.

Mother nature said "I'm done!"
and winter's staying strong.
So dig back out your salt and plows ...
or try to get along.

As long as the internet hasn't blown away, we can be found all over:

· Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO

· Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

· Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4898846.Mark_R_Hunter

· Blog: https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/

· Website: http://www.markrhunter.com/

· Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ozma914/

· Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MarkRHunter914

· Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/markrhunter/

· Twitter: https://twitter.com/MarkRHunter

· Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@MarkRHunter

· Substack: https://substack.com/@markrhunter

· Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/ozma914

· Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/ozma914

· Audible: https://www.audible.com/search?searchAuthor=Mark+R.+Hunter&ref_pageloadid=4C1TS2KZGoOjloaJ&pf

Remember: Books can be taken with you into a storm shelter.

Current Mood: cold
Current Location: the basement
Current Music: Twister theme

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I know it may seem like I already posted a version of this a few years ago, but ... maybe it just blew by again.

Cow.

I complain about winter weather a lot, so maybe it's time to complain about something else:

Spring weather.

Yes, spring arrived, kind of, at least temporarily. We had snow over the weekend, grass fires today, and the promise of thunderstorms in Indiana this week. The weather people are talking about a bomb cyclone west of us that could drop the barometric pressure so low it equals a category 2 hurricane. Right now that same area is under a red flag fire warning.

Also, notice the winter storm warnings in California.

In a Hoosier spring we often have a traditional ice storm during basketball playoffs. It's actually possible to have an ice/fire tornado, if the conditions are right. I mean, wrong.

So it comes as no surprise that the Governor was delayed by snow drifts on his way to declare March 9 through 15 Severe Weather Preparedness Week. I’d have done it myself if security hadn’t kicked me out of his office.

Get Prepared: Severe Weather Preparedness

As part of the celebration … er … observation, the State of Indiana educates, conducts alert system tests, and otherwise tries to keep people from getting killed. Honestly, nothing brings down a wonderful spring day like death.

I thought I'd help out despite the Governor's restraining order, so let me explain what watch and warning levels and storm terms are:

A Watch means you can stay at your cookout, gaze at the blue sky and make fun of the weatherman right up until the first wind gust blows away your “kiss the cook” hat.

A Warning means that if you haven’t sought shelter, you will die.

A Funnel Cloud should not be mistaken for a funnel cake, which generally kills only one person at a time. Funnel clouds are just tornadoes that haven’t touched the ground; maybe they will, maybe they won’t. If you want to gamble, go to Vegas. Just to make it more fun, sometimes tornadoes reach the ground and start tearing things up even though the bottom part is still invisible. You could be looking at a “funnel cloud” right up until the moment your mobile home changes zip codes.

A funnel cloud in Dekalb County, Indiana. No, I wasn't going to get any closer.

A Tornado is really, really bad.

Straight Line Winds can cause as much damage as tornadoes, but aren’t associated with rotation. You can often tell the damage path of these winds by the people standing in the debris, insisting it was a tornado.

A Squall Line is what happens when I forget my wedding anniversary.

Thunderstorms are storms that produce thunder. See what I did, there?

Lighting kills more people than tornadoes, but of course tornadoes are more fun … um … attention grabbing. Tornadoes are like people (okay, men) who get drunk and try to jump motorcycles over sheds using homemade ramps: They’re senseless, spectacular, injury rates are high, and nothing good results except to remind people they’re bad.

Just the same, lightning is also no fun, and can strike miles from where you think the storm is. Of people struck by lightning, 70% suffered serious long-term effects, 10% are permanently killed, and 20% don’t admit being hurt, or didn’t hear the question.

The average forward speed of a tornado is 30 mph, but they can travel up to 70 mph … or remain motionless, which is really unfortunate if you happen to be under one at the time.

The average width of the funnel on the ground is about 100 yards. And, like a flatulent Godzilla, that doesn’t include the wind damage around it. Some can get over a mile wide. (Tornadoes, I mean, not gassy Godzillas.) If you think about it, trying to outrun a 70 mph, mile wide tornado in a car is about as smart as trying to jump a shed from a homemade ramp after your tenth beer.

Tornadoes are most likely from April to June, which means pretty much nothing these days. The last time I took an airplane flight it was delayed by a tornado—in November.

So, when do you need to prepare for severe weather? Anytime. Remember, no matter what the season, it only takes a few beers to start building a ramp.

You can read our storm related books, and the other ones, here:

·        Amazon:  https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
·        Barnes & Noble:  https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"
·        Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4898846.Mark_R_Hunter
·        Blog: https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/
·        Website: http://www.markrhunter.com/
·        Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ozma914/
·        Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MarkRHunter914
·        Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/markrhunter/
·        Twitter: https://twitter.com/MarkRHunter
·        Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@MarkRHunter
·        Substack:  https://substack.com/@markrhunter
·        Tumblr:  https://www.tumblr.com/ozma914
·        Smashwords:  https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/ozma914
·        Audible:  https://www.audible.com/search?searchAuthor=Mark+R.+Hunter&ref_pageloadid=4C1TS2KZGoOjloaJ&pf

Remember, every time you buy a book, Godzilla rolls over and goes back to sleep. Save Tokyo.

Current Mood: anxious
Current Location: Indiana
Current Music: Twister theme

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I don't do resolutions, because failing is a terrible way to start a new year.

If you make a major life change, do it gradually. A New Year's Resolution is like someone who never exercised deciding to run a marathon--tomorrow. Get healthy? Absolutely. Go cold turkey from cigarettes and snack food on January 2nd? That's why violent incidents go up on January 3rd.

Having said that, for some people stopping all at once is the only way to accomplish it, and I'm all for accomplishing something. So if you want to make a serious resolution, more power to you. Just remember, the proper response to nicotine withdrawal is not second degree murder. Not even third degree.

Well, maybe third.

For me, the best time to make life changes is spring. Why? Because in spring, I care about life. In January, I only want to turn the oven on low, wrap myself in a blanket, and climb inside. It's the only place I can get warm. I really don't care what happens elsewhere, and I wouldn't go out at all if I didn't need money to pay the gas bill. If I did make a New Year's Resolution, it would be to fill up the Ford's fuel tank and Escape south until I drive into salt water.

I have the wife, a full tank, and my Bermuda shorts, and I'm ready to head south.

But spring ... I could do spring. Things are looking up. Green stuff starts appearing. There's sun, except during basketball playoffs, when for some reason there's always ice.

What's up with that? Why is Hoosier Hysteria always accompanied by "Midwest ice storm--film at eleven"?

Sometimes there's an April sleet storm, but generally things are looking up. Sometimes the snow pile at the end of the WalMart parking lot even melts away by Independence Day. I'll walk out the door on March 21st and say, "Now I want to lose weight and give up Mountain Dew! I'll start tomorrow."

Now we're talkin'.

I gave up drinking after my 21st birthday party, which they tell me was a blast. I never did smoke: With my addictive personality, if I started they'd have to bury me with both hands clutching packs of ... I don't know, what brands of cigarettes are they still selling these days? I can't imagine walking a mile for a Camel.

Maybe that's the thing about the New Year: I never got addicted to making resolutions. But hey--there's time for me yet.

The only real resolution I have for this year--which I sincerely hope is better than last year--is to keep on writing. My plan for 2025 is to publish two new books (at least--we'll see) and write at least one other new one. That, and continuing the submission process for some already-written manuscripts, should be enough to keep me out of trouble.

Oh--and book promotion. *sigh*

We and our books can be found ... everywhere:

· Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO

· Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

· Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4898846.Mark_R_Hunter

· Blog: https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/

· Website: http://www.markrhunter.com/

· Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ozma914/

· Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MarkRHunter914

· Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/markrhunter/

· Twitter: https://twitter.com/MarkRHunter

· Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@MarkRHunter

· Substack: https://substack.com/@markrhunter

· Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/ozma914

· Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/ozma914

Remember: The easiest resolution is to read more books.

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Just some photos of Summit Lake State Park, from where Emily and I watched the eclipse in April (which I'd imagine most people have already forgotten about). It's more or less in east-central Indiana, about a two hour drive from where we live. The park, not the eclipse.

There is, not surprisingly, a lake. Fishing, kayaking, swimming, the whole enchilada. There's probably someplace close by to get enchiladas, too.

To be honest, after spending all that time roaming across Indiana while we wrote Hoosier Hysterical, we couldn't remember even hearing about Summit Lake S.P. It was, naturally, packed when we are there, but on a non-eclipse day I'll bet it's a great place for a trail hike or a day on the water.

Just don't upset the area with fowl language.

It's hard to tell, but those two big limbs on the water were covered with turtles.

The 60s called, they want their clothes back! Actually, these people were very nice, and their dog and I fell in love with each other. He's a leaner--dog lovers will understand.

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4898846.Mark_R_Hunter
Blog: https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/
Website: http://www.markrhunter.com/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ozma914/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MarkRHunter914
Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/markrhunter/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/MarkRHunter
Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@MarkRHunter
Substack: https://substack.com/@markrhunter
Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/ozma914

Remember: You can read outdoors, too.

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When I complained to my surgeon that I was still having symptoms of sinus problems, he stuck a big metal tube up my nostril and worked it around for half an hour. Then he stuck it up my other nostril.

And now I no longer complain to my sinus surgeon--about anything.

Then he asked me how long it's been since I was allergy tested. It turns out people with allergies should be tested every few years or so, because in some cases allergies come and go, such as when you get older and your body starts to break down. Not that I'm describing me. Nope.

It had been ten years, so the next week they used up their entire supply of needles on me. If something swelled up and turned red, it wasn't a rebellious pimple: It was Mother Nature thumbing her nose.

Mother Nature has a big nose.

My entire arm, upper and lower, looked like a Braille dictionary. I was allergic to everything on Earth, half of everything on the Moon, and dust from Mars.

Okay, so that wasn't really true. For instance, I'm not allergic to Timothy Grass, who I'm fairly sure is the lead singer for Three Dog Night. Much to my shock, I'm not allergic to ragweed. Also, although I once had an allergic reaction after fighting a fire in a pine woods, I'm not allergic to pine. There must have been some cottonwood, birch, ash, red cedar, walnut, oak or hickory among those burning pines.

My cat allergy was confirmed, but--surprise!--I'm no longer allergic to dogs. We still aren't getting another one, though: We had the perfect dog for a decade, and he's not so easily replaceable.

Beowulf was very cuddly, and it turns out he never got his dander up.

Otherwise it was all the usual: molds, grasses, dust, politicians, and those dirty, nasty bed mites, which are much like politicians but with higher morals. Plants? Russian Thistle, English Plantain, Bermuda Grass--none a problem as long as I stay here in the good old USA.

Now, all but two of these tested at a "moderate" level. Only two read as severe and one of those was, naturally, Aspergillus, which can cause infections all over the place--including the sinuses.

It's a mold, which is a type of fungus, and (I learned) it can be really, really nasty. Being allergic to Aspergillus is like being especially susceptible to the Black Death.

Then came the real shock, and the second allergy testing at the "severe" level:

Horses.

If you know my wife, you get why hearing that was like being ... well, kicked by a horse.

An entire horse-sized battlefield, loaded with Mark-seeking guided dander.

Emily is what's known as a "horse person".

Wait--she's wearing my hat!

And what are we going to do about this? Well ... nothing. I mean, sure, Emily will clean up as soon as she gets home, but it's not like I'm going to demand she gives up horses. It would be like telling me to give up chocolate, something I'm NOT allergic to. You gotta do what you love.

As for me, I have to choose between allergy shots and trying to get rid of mold like Penicillium, Eicoccum, and that wonderful Asperigillus, all of which can be found on ...

Books.

Guess I'll take the shots.

Hey ... are those books on my dusty carpet?

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4898846.Mark_R_Hunter
Blog: https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/
Website: http://www.markrhunter.com/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ozma914/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MarkRHunter914
Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/markrhunter/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/MarkRHunter
Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@MarkRHunter
Substack: https://substack.com/@markrhunter
Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/ozma914

Remember: Every time you don’t buy a book, I start sneezing. Save my sinuses.

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This coming week is Severe Weather Preparedness Week. Here are some useful safety tips from actual experts: https://www.in.gov/dhs/get-prepared/nature-safety/severe-weather-preparedness/

Some say the best advice you can give when it comes to tornadoes is to keep your insurance paid up and update your will.

I prefer preparation: At the beginning of March, dig a big hole in your back yard, then get into it while wearing a helmet and one of those "Red man" protective suits that a police dog can't penetrate. Then have the hole lined in concrete, and covered with an armored steel plate. The order is very important: Get in the hole before it's sealed off. You might want to bring in water, snacks, a portable toilet, a book to read, and, of course, a bottle of oxygen.

(I would suggest you take along my novel Storm Chaser. 'Cause--theme. Or at least The Wizard of Oz.)

"Say ... has anyone told that lady there's a tornado behind her?"

Then, wait until, say, November. Then winter is approaching but hurricane season is past, so you could move to the Gulf Coast. But, because tornado season down there is pretty much year round, you'll have to dig another hole and buy more concrete and steel. Vicious cycle, there.

So, a quick review of weather terms. A severe thunderstorm watch means you might get severe thunderstorms. A severe thunderstorm warning means the light show has started. I don't get what's hard about that, but it still confuses people.

Similarly, a tornado watch means conditions are right for a tornado to form, and you should, you know, watch. In the novel The Wizard of Oz that's literal: Uncle Henry goes outside, watches, and announces, "There's a cyclone coming, Em ... I'll go look after the stock".

How exactly he plans to protect the stock remains unclear, but if there's one thing the movie Twister taught us, it's to to watch for low flying cows. Meanwhile, in the time it takes for Toto to hide under the bed and thus endanger Dorothy (man's best friend--hah), the cyclone is upon them and the next thing you know ... witch pancake.


Before you think you're safe from tornadoes, remember what one did to this chick.

If Henry only had a radio, TV, alert scanner, or nearby siren, he might have had enough warning to look after the stock and see Em and Dorothy safely to the cellar. The witch would still get smooshed, so--happy ending for all. Except for the Scarecrow on his pole, and the rusted Tin Woodman, and the Winkies being terrorized by the other witch ... okay, bad example.

But hey, it was 1900. The point is, you don't have to literally watch anymore. You don't want to be under that cow when it drops in. Or a house.

Now, a tornado warning means that if you go outside, you will die.

Actually, a tornado or funnel cloud has been spotted in your area, so you may die. Over the years I've managed to take a few pictures of funnel clouds, which puts me firmly in the camp of people who are too dumb to metaphorically (and sometimes literally) come in out of the rain. There are now millions of photos and videos of tornadoes; is it worth having one of your own?

It is not.

Remember this easy rhyme: Red Sky In the Morning: You're Screwed.

What should you do if a tornado warning is declared? Go to a windowless interior room on the lowest level of your house. If you're in a building with no basement--what were you thinking? But lower is always better, anyway.

Windows are bad. Tornadoes, hurricanes, meteor strikes--people get cut up by glass during natural disasters. (I'm not kidding about the meteor strikes: just ask the people in Chelyabinsk, Russia.)

Old timers will tell you to crack a window to equalize pressure, or go to a specific corner of a room, but that's proven to be unhelpful. Besides, the tornado will take care of cracking all the windows. You're better off under a piece of sturdy furniture--Toto had the right idea--that you can hold onto. A small center room, such as a closet, or under a stairwell is good, and a bathtub might offer some protection.

Well, that can't be good.

So, let's review: Your safest location is in a bathtub that's in a closet under a stairwell in your basement. My bathroom is the size of a closet, so that's a start.

Actually, your safest location would be in the states of Alaska, Rhode Island, or Vermont, which each average less than one tornado a year. But we're in the Midwest, under the tourism-attracting nickname of "Tornado Alley". Indiana ranks #14 in states for the number of tornadoes. I suspect, if adjusted for square miles, our rank would be higher.

Okay, I just checked. When it comes to tornadoes per 10,000 square miles, Indiana ranks three. When it comes to killer tornadoes we're eight, and when it comes to the total length of a tornado path we're also eight. So there you go. Be afraid. It's only smart. And train your dog to go straight to the storm cellar.

Now, since tornado safety is really a serious subject, here are a couple of links to websites that treat things way more seriously than I do:

http://www.tornadoproject.com/safety/safety.htm

http://www.redcross.org/get-help/how-to-prepare-for-emergencies/types-of-emergencies/tornado#Before

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4898846.Mark_R_Hunter
Blog: https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/
Website: http://www.markrhunter.com/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ozma914/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MarkRHunter914
Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/markrhunter/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/MarkRHunter
Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@MarkRHunter
Substack: https://substack.com/@markrhunter
Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/ozma914

Remember: As long as you have a flashlight, reading is weather resistant.

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The Groundhog came out, saw the Iowa Caucus, and is predicting ten more months of misery.

"Drive us off a cliff before Super Tuesday."

Actually, the little rodent in Pennsylvania is predicting an early spring this year. I appreciate the thought, and certainly I'll vote for him, but I beg to differ. Here in Indiana, with the exception of one polar vortex that vortexed its way across most of the country, our winter has been pretty mild.

You don't get that here without paying for it.

So my official prediction is cold and snow starting toward the end of February, and lasting through March into April. During March Madness basketball season, some of the snow might be replaced by ice. Otherwise, I stand by my apocalyptic vision.

I'm just the messenger.

I've only shoveled once this year--I don't get that lucky.

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4898846.Mark_R_Hunter
Blog: https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/
Website: http://www.markrhunter.com/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ozma914/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MarkRHunter914
Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/markrhunter/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/MarkRHunter
Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@MarkRHunter
Substack: https://substack.com/@markrhunter
Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/ozma914

Remember: Calling in sick and reading for three months straight it totally worth it, right up until the moment your utilities get shut off.

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Seasonal changes can get confusing. Of course, every place in the world has the same expression: If you don't like the weather, wait five minutes: It'll change. (There are possible exceptions, such as, say, the middle of the Sahara.)

The reason it's a universal concept is because it's true. But I'll add something: I have the ability to effect the weather.

How do I do this? By not wanting to.

Some things thrive no matter what the weather. I am not one of those things.

I've known for years that what we used to call Indian Summer would not arrive in Indiana until I've completely winterized the house. September, November--doesn't matter. Winterizing my house, which was built before anyone had ever heard of winterizing, is serious business. A square mile of clear plastic is involved. Six miles of various kinds of tape. I swaddle the air conditioner with a special cover designed just for it ... to which I add numerous yards of duct tape, after once finding the cover wrapped around the bank sign next door.

This must all be done before the last warm weather of summer arrives.

I found this growing in the back yard this spring. Not sure when it was planted, but it doesn't seem to need much water.

One year, as an experiment, I didn't prepare for winter at all. We had no autumn that time around: It went straight from summer into winter. Honestly, I don't think the frozen pipes and hypothermia were worth proving the point.

This spring I thought I had it beat (again). I watched the long range forecast very carefully, and instead of opening up the house for spring, I waited until I saw the inevitable spring snowstorm approach. It did, then the temperatures got into the 70s. That Friday I happily turned off the furnace and took down the storm windows.

That Saturday I brought out the space heaters and extra blankets. For meals that weekend we baked every bit of frozen food we had, and slept by the stove. We made the dog sleep with us, which annoyed him greatly--he already has a fur coat.

"Sunshine makes me smile. And pant."

So there you have it: I can control the weather. Kneel before me.

Or at least, bring me some firewood.

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

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I experienced something very odd the other day: I tried to get the lawn mower started, and I did. First time. It took all of twenty minutes to fill the gas and oil, check the filter, connect the spark plug, and fire it up. And by fire it up, I do NOT mean it caught on fire.

This has never happened to me before.

I had the whole day blocked off to work on the mower, go get parts, call for help, and throw things. What the heck was I supposed to do with the rest of the day? And then I realized, oh, yeah: I could mow the lawn.

The latest bout of upper respiratory ick and my lack of exercise over the winter kicked my butt, and it took me two days to pick up a winter's worth of sticks and dog poop and finish mowing. But that's okay, because it meant I was outside without a winter coat and gloves (although I did wear a hoodie and jeans). Granted that this particular April has been awful, but spring still sprung, and that beats winter all over.

The lilacs, despite my best efforts for the last thirty years, survive. I love the scent of the blossoms, right up there with the smell of fresh-mowed grass. Sadly, I have to smell the mowing of others: When I mow my own, my allergies kick in and I stop smelling after a short time.

But how long the lilacs will last I don't know, because I couldn't bring myself to cut down the trees that have grown up within the lilacs. This one, I think, is a cherry tree. I think.

This one, among the other stand of lilacs, is a type of apple tree. I think. I'll keep you updated, unless they come alive and kill us in our sleep. Who knows?

There are also these little purple guys, who live in the grass alongside wild strawberries, dandelions, and other various "weeds". If it gives the bees something to keep them alive, I'm okay with that. I'm not fond of bees, but I am fond of what they produce.

If you look carefully, you can see some dandelions here, in the front yard. Oh, and the dog. He came out to watch me mow, but I really don't think he was impressed.
This is all well and good, but judging from the way this spring has sprung I should probably go make sure the snowblower still works.

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Ironically, I got busy with the weather and didn't get a new blog written--but this one's from nine years ago, and in internet terms it might as well be brand new.

I complain about winter weather a lot, so maybe it's time to complain about something else:

Spring weather.

Yes, spring arrived, kind of, like the proverbial lion. The last day of March brought us a tornado watch and thunderstorm warning. However, considering the blizzard warning in Minnesota and South Dakota--at the same time tornadoes raged through much of the nation--I won't complain.

Oh, who am I kidding?

In a Hoosier spring we can have a snowstorm one day, a flood the next, grass fires the day after that, and the traditional ice storm during basketball playoffs. It's actually possible to have an ice/fire tornado, if the conditions are right. I mean, wrong.

So it comes as no surprise that the Governor was delayed by snow drifts on his way to declare March 12 through 18 Severe Weather Preparedness Week. I’d have done it myself if security hadn’t kicked me out of his office.

I waited to put this out until after that week, so if something horrible happened it wouldn’t seem like I was going for ironic.

I thought I'd help out despite the Governor's restraining order, so let me explain what watch and warning levels and storm terms are:

A Watch means you should stay at your cookout, gaze at the blue sky and make fun of the weatherman right up until the first wind gust blows away your “kiss the cook” hat.

A Warning means that if you haven’t sought shelter, you will die.

A funnel cloud. And no, I wasn't going to get any closer.

A Tornado is really, really bad.

Straight Line Winds can cause as much damage as tornadoes, but aren’t associated with rotation. You can often tell the damage path of these winds by finding people who are standing in the debris, insisting it was a tornado.

A Squall Line is what happens when I forget my wedding anniversary.

Thunderstorms are storms that produce thunder. See what I did, there?

Lighting kills more people than tornadoes, but of course tornadoes are more fun … um … attention grabbing. Tornadoes are like people who get drunk and try to jump motorcycles over sheds using homemade ramps: They’re senseless, spectacular, injury rates are high, and in the end nothing good comes from them except to remind people they’re bad.

Just the same, lightning is also no fun, and can strike miles away from where you think the storm is. Of people struck by lightning, 70% suffered serious long term effects, 10% are permanently killed, and 20% don’t admit being hurt, or didn’t hear the question.

The average forward speed of a tornado is 30 mph, but they can travel up to 70 mph … or remain motionless, which is really unfortunate if you happen to be under one at the time.

The average width of the funnel on the ground is about 100 yards. Think about that. And, like a flatulent Godzilla, that doesn’t include the wind damage around it. Some can get over a mile wide. (Tornadoes, I mean, not gassy Godzillas. Wow.) If you think about it, trying to outrun a 70 mph, mile wide tornado in a car is about as smart as trying to jump a shed from a homemade ramp after your tenth beer.

Tornadoes are most likely from April to June, which means pretty much nothing these days. The last time I took an airplane flight it was delayed by a tornado—in November.

So, when do you need to prepare for severe weather? Anytime. Remember, no matter what the season, it only takes a few beers to start building a ramp.

Remember, every time you buy a book, Godzilla rolls over and goes back to sleep. Save Tokyo.

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This will come as no shock to anyone who knows me, but I love spring. To paraphrase some action movie or other: Winter is the disease, and spring is the cure. Summer is that wild celebration you throw when you realize the disease is going to strike again, so you might as well party.

This being Indiana, there could be a foot of snow on the ground by the time you read this, but at the moment it’s been pretty nice in between the thunderstorms. Wait, let me check …

Huh. Heat wave. Better than winter, when snow is some kind of permanent nightmarish superglue. Nobody ever froze to death in a thunderstorm, unless they hid in a chest freezer. That would freeze your chest.

The only bad things about warm weather are pollen and bugs, and pollen can be medicated. I like to think of allergies as a luxury tax for being able to walk outside wearing less than eight layers of clothing.

One of the first signs of spring – other than any part of my skin being seen outdoors – is the appearance of budding plants and flowers. That burst of color, a visual shock after months of white and various shades of dirty gray, does more to cheer me than all the chocolate in Hershey.

This is nothing to sneeze at. Actually, it is.

Maybe you could say my love of spring is like a red, red rose. I came up with that all by myself, honest. Well, I stole it all by myself.

I need to see that color outside, because inside I’m the kiss of death for a plant. There’s a graveyard of flower pots in my garage, sad rows full of bare earth and dead, dry stalks. In the plant community I’m known as the Mark Horseman of the Apocalypse. The last time I walked through a botanical garden, twelve species went extinct.

I’m the Darth Vader of plants; I just choke them out.

And yet, just outside the house, plants thrive. Like the spiders who invade my home every year, they live for the thrill of being near danger. Mind you, I had no idea what those plants were, until I found a phone app to identify them.

According to the internet, the various plants around my house include:

Lilacs, which produce one of the most wonderful scents since fresh baked chocolate chip cookies. I bought lilac scented laundry detergent over winter, but it just wasn’t the same.

"I wish Mark would get out of the way so I get a picture of the lilacs."

Narcissus, a variety of daffodil. Narcissus sounds so much more exotic and interesting, though. Narcissus is also a character from Greek myth who fell in love with his own reflection, and thus is a hero to many in Hollywood. Things ended badly for Narcissus; but then, the Greeks wrote tragedies, not comedies.

Tulips, a flower that first came from Holland, Michigan. Some people from the Netherlands visited Michigan, and so fell in love with the flower that they made it their own and also nicknamed their country Holland, which seems like some kind of intellectual theft, to me. But revenge is sweet: For a time tulips became so valuable in the Netherlands that they replaced the national currency. Their entire economy crashed when some kid took his thumb out of the dike, looked around, and said:

“Dude. They’re flowers.”

At the moment my tulips are in hiding, waiting to see if I go crazy with the lawn mower or weed spray. However, a line of eye-poppingly colorful flowers eye-popped up against the neighbor’s house, where presumably they’re safe from me. Silly flowers.

"Just stay closed until he goes away."

Then there’s forsythia, a bush that sprouted some bright yellow blossoms. Someone told me I shouldn’t trim the forsythia, but it grows so fast that one of its branches once stabbed me in the leg as I innocently walked by with the garden sheers. One year I didn’t trim it at all, and a film crew came by and paid me a hundred bucks to use it in their low-budget monster movie, “Attack of the Sixty Foot Sythia”. I don’t know what they left out the “for” for, except maybe that “S” sound is scarier: Stormtrooper; Scythe; Senator …

I also have some roses, but as of this writing they haven’t bloomed. Maybe they’re standing by with the tulips. Waiting. Plotting.

Oh, and dandelions – how could I forget dandelions? Weeds, you say? Nonsense! They’re harmless and colorful, they make necklaces and wine, and what the heck is wrong with that? Those are flowers, believe it; the narcissus lovers are just jealous.

In any case, any bloom that doesn’t immediately kill you is better than a snowdrift.

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“With love for mankind and hatred of sins.” – St. Augustine.

In other words, love the sinner, hate the sin.

It seems black and white, but it covers an area vast and gray as a Midwest winter. Love? Do we love Putin? Michael Vick? The Kardashians? All the Kardashians?

And how do you define a sin, anyway? Some people think it’s a sin to start a sentence with a conjunction. Hopefully they hate my sentences, not me. I think it’s a sin to make a turn without signaling, but I don’t want to blow up those drivers—just their cars.

If it's a sin to use a religious holiday to promote your products, I've got a lot of company.

There are bad people in the world. Call them sinners, or whatever you want. But here’s the thing: Most of the people you and I disagree with are not bad people. We just have different opinions. You may think there’s nothing wrong with making a turn without signaling. I think your car engine should explode and leave you stranded by a dead skunk carcass. Neither of us is bad, even if one of us in wrong. (It’s the stinky guy. He's wrong.)

So, while the issues may be complicated, and the differences may (or may not) be insurmountable, that doesn’t mean we can’t get along. There are more important things than whether that uncaring bum uses his turn signal. At the end of the day, maybe he realized the world’s problems were too big for him to worry about why that guy behind him honked and waved with one finger.

Groot finally took out that SUV that never signaled its turn!

The Bible has some pretty strict definitions of sin, and punishment for sinners. Then Jesus came along and said, “Hey, lighten up—good people do bad things. We should still care for them.” (I’m paraphrasing.) I’d be a poor Christian if I didn’t try to live up to that. Besides, we’re all sinners. You think it’s not a sin that I want to blow up perfectly good cars?

On Easter and every day, let’s try to keep that in mind. Debate, but don’t hate. Hey, I like that … I wonder if it’s been copyrighted? I don’t want to give it up to that guy who can't find the turn signal switch. (Dude, it's on the steering column. Up is right, down is left.)

There's something to be said for rebirth.

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I've been mostly offline due to being deathly ill for the last several days. (It was only a nasty head cold: Emily and I just felt like we were on the edge of death.) Luckily I'd scheduled our monthly newsletter just before that, and you can find it here:

https://mailchi.mp/a7d0d4972714/spring-has-sprung?e=2b1e842057

Of course, you can just subscribe to it, no questions asked. Once a month or so you get a cute picture of the dog, some writing stuff, and news or lack thereof about my attempts to get published again. Most people show up for the dog photo, I think.

But this particular newsletter has something different: a little song I wrote. Very little. Join us, and you probably won't be sorry! (Just so you know, we did not have a computer virus.)

You've seen this photo before, but in the newsletter it's usually a new one.

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See, here's the thing: Life goes on. Morning always comes. The Dude abides, stuff like that.

I'm no philosopher. What I am is a student of history, and I can tell you this right now: Not only is the coronavirus outbreak not the end of the world, but the human race has been through much, much worse. Plagues, wars, dictatorships, natural disasters, holocausts, reality TV, we've seen it all. Tell me the Kardashians aren't deadly, at least to your brain cells.

Yes, do what you can to stop the spread. Yes, have calm, reasoned debates about how to tread that fine line between protection, rights, and economic needs. No, don't break down in a screaming hissy fit every time everything doesn't go your way--see previous sentence.

This is a time, as with any crisis, when people need to come together. Let me rephrase: This is a time when we need to get along--to, in the immortal words of the guy the Romans executed (no, the other guy, from the movie), "Always look on the bright side of life". Yes, it's a frightening, frustrating time. But ask yourself this:

Did I make things any better by yelling and hating everyone?

No. The answer is no, you didn't. Sheesh.

For all the virus and discontent floating around in the air, it's here: Spring arrived, anyway. Why not try a spring-like attitude? Laugh. Love. Leave the room a little brighter than when you entered it.

There are all sorts of places where you can get some fresh air without being breathed on. This one is Chain O' Lakes State Park, and see? Getting green!

And don't go around breathing on people.

Oh, and hurry up, tornado season is here.

The world is so good, it even feeds us.

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Happy Easter!

I know what you're thinking: "But Mark, isn't that just cheap, underhanded self-promotion?"

Yes. Yes, it is. But I can't go to the store to buy chocolate bunnies, and I got a free book wallpaper, so by gosh I'm going to have some fun with it.

But seriously: Have a great holiday weekend, even if you do have to stay home. Color some eggs, if you can find eggs. If not, use highlighters on all those rolls of toilet paper you've been hoarding, and when the all clear is sounded, have a toilet paper hunt. You can tape candy inside the cardboard roll.

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Hey, I wrote a song!

It's not a great song ... but then, I'm not a great song writer. There are two problems: First, I meant it to be humorous, but it comes off as kind of depressing; chalk that up to the weather and my sinus infection, I suppose. Second, it's a song, and I was hearing the music in my head while writing the words (It has a country vibe). But I can't play it for you because I can't write music ... so it probably won't work as well as a poem. Maybe it's for the best, though, because I'm also not a great music writer. Or ... any music writer.

I should hold some contest, like: If I sell thirty books by the end of April, I'll post a video of me singing this. But that might lead to negative sales. "For Heaven's sake, don't sing! I'm sending your books back to you."

I call it: Springing Out of Springdom.

(I'm not a great title writer, either.)

I like to ride in the countryside

just to take in spring.

The flower blossoms, birds at play

and all the greening things.

But this year I've come to realize

something that's made me sad.

We won't get a spring this year

'cause we've all been too bad.

Yeah, we've all been too bad this year,

we just can't get along.

We fight and fuss and disagree

Even as the days get long.

Mother Nature said "Screw you!"

"I'll just evaporate."

So winter just won't end this year;

she left us to our fate.

So now the temp's below average

just like all our moods.

Plants are brown and grass is dead,

let's face it--we're all screwed.

Our tulips won't come up this year,

They're underneath a drift.

The robins are hitchhiking south,

their frozen wings won't lift.

Yes, we've all been too bad this year,

we don't deserve the spring.

Mosquitoes can't come out in this,

it's frostbite that'll sting.

Mother Nature said "Stuff it!"

and left us all to freeze.

so winter just won't end this year,

no flowers, birds, or bees.

So let's all try to get along,

we just don't have to fight.

At this rate our nice summer

will become a year long night.

It's not that we all must be friends,

but hatred hurts our souls.

If we don't make up by Christmas

At least we can heat with coals.

True, we've all been too bad this year,

and spring will never come

if we don't get our butts in gear

and stop being so dumb.

Mother nature said "I'm done!"

and winter's staying strong.

So dig back out your salt and plows ...

or try to get along.

I think I can, I think I can ...

It's so quiet, you can hear a tree drop.

Hey, it's spring, let's take a walk ... never mind.

This would be more like it.

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Sunday was a great day for a grass fire.

No, not that kind of grass, although wildland fires can make your day go to pot.

It's that time of year. People get cabin fever, and at the drop of a match they're using any excuse to get outside, and fire is cool. (It's not really cool, it's hot. Just wanted to clarify.) Fence rows, weedy hills, brush piles, trash, unruly lawns, meth labs, unwanted relatives, whatever. And they inevitably say, if only to themselves, one of three things:

1. "What could possibly go wrong?"

(A phrase that has become such a cliche that anyone who thinks it should automatically be horsewhipped. Do they still make horsewhips? Maybe in Amish country.)

2. "I'll be right back--this will only take a minute."

(See above comment.)

3. "I've got it under control."

We once pulled up to a field fire that was burning around three sides of a house. When we knocked on the door to alert the occupants, this guy opened up and told us it was a controlled burn, and the fire department wasn't needed. He was wearing a towel.

Yes, he'd been in the bathtub.

This is not the definition of a controlled burn.

In northern Indiana, things don't get nearly as bad as out west--just bad enough. Wildland fire season (it's usually ground fires: fields or woods) lasts for a couple of months, from the time the snow melts until all the foliage greens up enough so it won't burn. We sometimes have another fire season in the fall, and if a drought strikes all bets are off. But the problem in the spring is that the ground is often still saturated from snow melt, so much so that even four wheel drive fire trucks can't go off road, which is fine if there's nothing off road that can be damaged or is, say, in the path of the fire. At the same time, people think "Hey--if the ground's so wet, the fire won't spread. I've got it under control!"

Meanwhile, one inch above that wet ground, anything that's been dead since last fall dries out after about an hour of sun and breeze. I've seen six foot flames burning over standing water in swamps. That's me on the other side, waiting on the shore for it to get to me ... I've seen all those SyFy movies with mutated alligators.

I'll be over here.

So I looked at the weather forecast last week and realized the next day would be perfect for what we call grass fires. (At least until they get to other stuff; then we call them house fires, barn fires, car fires, unwanted relative fires, whatever.) It would be a Sunday, sunny, with a temperature in the low fifties. There would be just enough of a breeze to spread fire, but not enough to make people worry about it. We're a small town volunteer fire department, and we still once made 17 calls in one day under those conditions.

Grass fires spreading to cars are pretty common. Boats, not so much ... but as you can see, it happens.

So, instead of the pajama pants I usually wear around the house (days off equal writing time on the couch), I put on jeans--and socks, and since it was only in the low fifties, a sweatshirt. I put my shoes right in front of the couch. The keys were on the ledge by the front door, the car backed in to allow for a quick entrance, my pager on my belt. As busy as my life's been lately, it's probably the most prepared I've been for a call in ten years.

Then I listened, as surrounding departments started getting called out. Kendallville FD, grass fire; Cromwell FD, grass fire; Noble Township FD, grass fire; Avilla FD, grass fire; Ligonier FD, car-pedestrian accident.

Ah, the unexpected.

Also unexpected: The Albion Fire Department, with is 96 square mile, mostly rural response area, didn't get called out at all that day.

I'm thinking of renting myself out as a fire prevention tool. You pay me ahead of time, and I'll show up at your firehouse fully dressed, with my fire gear beside me, ready to accompany you to a fire at an instant's notice. Then, there will be no fire. I'll get money, your community will remain safe, and if nothing else I'll get some quality reading time. (I'm reading American Gods at the moment.)

What could possibly go wrong?

Just a grass fire? When crops like wheat catch on fire it does honest to goodness financial harm.

The aftermath. It was totally under control, then came the running and the panic and the 911 calls.

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Deer are so common in Indiana that sometimes we forget they were once wiped out in the state. Now they're back, wiping out cars instead, so you really don't have to try to hard to see some. Still, seeing them up close doesn't happen too often, unless it's in that instant when you stand on your brake and yell, "Oh, crap".

Earlier this year I was hiking on trail 9 at Pokagon State Park. Trail 9 is the one marked "rugged" ... which is a relative thing, as I've been on more rugged trails in other parks, but it's still a bit of a challenge. I was on a ridge, wishing for an excuse to stop and catch my breath, when I saw two deer standing on the next ridge over.

Sadly I didn't have my camera with me, but I did have my cell phone in case I needed to call in an ambulance to haul me out of there. It turns out those things have cameras on them. Who knew? So I stood there as still as I could, zoomed all the way in, and tried to get a decent photo of them before they ran off, which one soon did.

Then a strange thing happened.

The second one decided if I was checking her out, it was only fair that she check me out. So she got closer ...

And closer ....

And we ended up in a staring contest, only about 25-30 feet from each other.

Hoping to seem less threatening, I tried to crouch down. It was probably all the creaking bones and cracking joints that scared her off, and last time I saw her, she was standing with the other one on the same ridge where they started.

You can see deer close up at various places, but there's something about standing in the open and going nose to nose with an animal just as curious about me as I was about it. It was, in other words, very cool.

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I posted this photo on Instagram the other day, but didn't get a chance to put it up elsewhere until now:

That's the Albion Fire Department off in the distance, and the Sheriff's Department communications tower to the left. I'd just gotten off work and was really lucky to snap this--the orange dimmed out just minutes later.

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SLIGHTLY OFF THE MARK

(Note: This was originally written on February 7^th and then misplaced, which isn’t the first time. It was the beginning of what was overall a nice February—for Indiana. You all know how things changed in March.)

Ah, spring.

Or, possibly, &$@# spring!

That’s the way it is, with springtime in Indiana. It’s feast or famine, a saying that goes well for farmers wondering if they’ll be able to get into their fields early, or ever.

I was reminded of spring just a few days after that stupid groundhog predicted six more weeks of winter, a prediction that’s essentially meaningless in Indiana. There are always six more weeks of winter—we just don’t know when. It could start next week. It could start next month. (Note: It did.) If you’re having a mild winter, like we had this year, a backlash is almost guaranteed. I’m worried about whether spring is going to be full of terms like “polar vortex”, “late winter snowstorm”, and “Is that groundhog still alive? Get my gun”.

On this particular day my wife and I got out of the car while shopping and simultaneously cocked our heads, which come to think of it probably looked pretty funny.

“Is that a bird?” I asked.

“That is a bird.”

“But that’s not a bird we usually hear in February.”

“No, it’s a spring bird.”

It was indeed a spring bird, one that was soon to be very, very unpleasantly surprised. On that particular day, the outdoor temperature hit the mid-forties. Two nights before it dipped into the teens. Two days later it hit sixty and we had thunderstorms, followed a few days after that by snow.

A typical March in Indiana, the only strange thing being that we heard the bird in early February. As you read this is should now be March, which means (if you live in the Midwest) you’re dressing in layers to combat both frostbite and heat stroke, possibly on the same day. But for February, that weather was actually pretty good.

February is usually easy to forecast. You have two choices: It’s cold and it’s going to snow, or it’s not going to snow but even colder. (Note: I said usually.) But spring—spring is different. Here’s a typical Midwest meteorologist in, say, mid-March:

“Looks like a blizzard headed our way, folks—oh, wait. The radar just updated, and the blizzard has been sucked up by a tornado! I think we’re going to see some serious snow drifts.”

We have something called March Madness, which most people think is about basketball playoffs. But in Indiana, March Madness translates to ice season: that time of the year when sleet and freezing rain fall as often as snow.

“Aren’t those icicles on the electric lines pretty—oh, the power’s out again.”

Occasionally we’ll have a dry spring, and instead of frozen precipitation you can see columns of smoke in every direction, often accompanied by sirens. This is called grass fire season, and generally comes just after March Madness. People realize they can finally walk outside without fifty pounds of outer clothing, and their first thought turns to the mess their lawns have become over winter.

“What shall we do with all these branches, leaves, weeds, and trash? Oh, I know—we’ll burn them! The ground is still wet; what could possibly go wrong?”

Pro tip: All that dead plant life around your fire is plenty dry, fella. The ground being wet simply means fire trucks can’t go off road to extinguish that wildland fire you just started. And then firefighters end up out there, ironically, trying to beat the heat with their own fifty pounds of outer clothing.

But it’s spring, so who knows? I’ve helped fight a few grass fires that I had to walk around snow drifts to reach. I’ve gone out on tornado watches in March. (Terrible idea, by the way—the basement’s way calmer.) I’ve shoveled snow in May. And all the while those poor, confused birds are flying around up there, trying to figure out whether they should be heading north or south.

They’d better decide fast, because if they head west they’ll run into a blizzard, and if they fly for the East Coast they’ll run into an even bigger blizzard.

So yeah, I’m worried about that bird. What is he living on, anyway? If he pecks the frozen ground for worms he’ll break his beak. The first bugs don’t come out until … well, about now, if you include mosquitoes.

In fact, it’s not uncommon in Indiana for the big piles of plowed snow to still be melting off in July. Sometimes, on the first really warm days, you can see kids skiing down snow mountains at Wal-Mart, then surfing on across the parking lot.

It’s why I often call Indiana the greatest place in the world, except during winter. Luckily, surviving winter is like surviving pain: Once it’s over, you tend to forget how bad it is. By the end of May you can put your snow shovel away (you might want to keep the gloves and wool hat out, just in case), and enjoy the outdoors, until it gets hot.

Maybe the hot is why we’re not all living in Florida.

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Slightly Off the Mark

Mother Nature Has Been Grumpy

Severe Weather Week, or: Gassy Godzillas

Resolved: To Make No Resolutions

A Day at Summit Lake State Park

Being Allergic To Allergies

Tornado Terrors: Twisted Twisters, or Breaking Winds

Groundhog For President

I'm the Real Weather Wizard

Spring Has Sprung For Now, and I Have Photos To Prove It

It Was a Dark and Seriously Stormy Night

Flowers Are Better Than Snowdrifts

Happy Easter, Use Your Signal

Sing Along With This Month's Newsletter

It's a wonderful world. It is, TOO.

Happy Easter!

Happy Easter!

Singing Up a Spring

A Great Day For a Grass Fire

The Fearless Deer of Pokagon

Sunrise Over Albion

Indiana Winters, or: Why Aren't We Living in Florida?

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