Greetings from muddy Vermont! Mom is not feeling well, so I am sending thoughts from a different perspective here in the Green Mountains.

In Vermont, skiers had a wonderful time of it and kids have been able to go sledding all winter, too. But now we’re dealing with mud and swollen rivers as spring relieves the tedium of a very long, cold winter. The buckets hanging from maple trees signal maple syrup-making season is underway.

If you live in Vermont, the smoke and steam coming from sugar houses, and the dwindling woodpiles, are the best and most tangible signs that we have “turned the corner” toward spring, and winter is on its last legs. Of course, the incredible number and severity of frost heaves in our roads is another tangible reminder that we are in the “between period” from winter to spring.

This reminds me of a story one of my college students told a couple of weeks ago. He’s from the South and has been in Vermont for a year. Since last winter was hardly a winter at all, this season is his first time to experience frost heaves. So he was talking to someone about a spot several miles away, and our Southern transplant clarified the location by saying, “It’s in the next town.” His Vermont acquaintance said, “What town is that?” To which our man from Dixie explained, “You know, the one called ‘Frost Heave!’” It took a good sport to relate that understandable mistake to our entire college class.

Another difference to our season is the publicity around our state about last week’s annual Farmers’ Night concert by the Vermont Symphony Orchestra (VSO) in the Statehouse Legislative Chambers in Montpelier. A time-honored tradition, the Farmers’ Night free concert began long ago as a way to entertain legislators –– many of them farmers –– who were somewhat snowbound in Montpelier during the long Vermont winters. It is a tradition that continues each year, and the popular VSO has performed in the Farmers’ Night concert for 20 years.

I have my own little traditions to hasten the next season along. I’ve taken down the Christmas swag that decorated my front door, and replaced it with a brave basket of artificial spring flowers. I have also gone down to the meadow on the end of my property and cleaned nests out of my two bluebird houses. And I have resumed hanging out the laundry. I can hear the snow geese going north while I hang out the clothes.

For some unknown reason, I have seen an unusual number of robins that wintered over as well as several bluebirds, often by the side of the road where they get grit from the exposed roadside sand and dirt. I was happy to have a barred owl spend time staring at the ground near my driveway for a wayward field mouse, and several weeks ago I spotted a big flock of snow buntings flying in their circular formation around a field in Cornwall. A flock of turkeys patrolled the frozen Otter Creek on the way into Brandon; I suppose it is where they had the easiest footing. Now, the Otter Creek is right up to the edge of Route 73 coming out of Brandon and everyone in this area hopes it does not flood and close the road.

Mom’s quote in her last column was “The Flag Goes By,” by Henry Holcomb Bennett. I’ll add an anonymous quotation that I think all speech-givers should bear in mind:

“A sure-fire formula for making a speech: Have a good beginning and a good ending and keep them as close together as possible.”

(Editor’s note: Laurie Loveland is the daughter of Jean Loveland, and a former correspondent for The Bee. She resides in Sudbury, VT.)