Hope you’re wearing your fuzzy slippers and sipping on a nice, steaming mug of hot cocoa as you read this: Yesterday morning it was 4, yes 4 degrees outside, which made it the coldest March temperature ever recorded in Baltimore. I’ll repeat that, in case your snow-addled brain missed it the first time: Yesterday was the coldest March day in Baltimore, ever.
There are so many great things about this video from WBAL. The inane ice cream blather! The rambling about the goggles! And, of course, best of all, the random man in a horse costume wandering around in the background, as if every blizzard comes complete with its very own horse-human hybrid.
We’ll just chalk this one up to snow madness on everyone’s part, and move on.
I case you’re wondering what you’re looking at, let me tell you. Those are thousands of fish that were frozen in an instant as a cold wind met the surface of the water. That’s a rare occurrence, even in the Norwegian bay where this photo was taken. So I’m willing to bet it could never happen here.
Ravens wide receiver Torrey Smith has noticed something funny lately. “The sky looks weird in Baltimore,” he tweeted last evening. He was referring to yesterday’s weird sunset, which had some people half-convinced that an alien mothership was about to land on the city. But he could’ve just as easily been referring to any number of recent dramatic sunsets–which led me to wonder, just why have Baltimore’s autumnal evenings been so colorful recently?
Everyone knows you can’t trust a meteorologist for an accurate weather prediction. Do you know what you can trust? Baltimore Bill, the official weather-predicting crab.
For the past couple of years, Baltimore Bill has predicted the coming season by scuttling off his specially built crab platform and jumping into the Chesapeake Bay. Last year, Bill predicted an early winter, and sure enough, Baltimore saw its first snow in mid-November. The year before, he got it right as well. A 100% accuracy rate is better than any other weatherman, weatherwoman, or weathercrab we’ve ever heard of; it also handily beats out Punxsatawney Phil, who gets it right only about 39% of the time.
When I raised the shade this morning, snow had covered the ancient boxwoods over night. A limb of the hemlock that towers above the house drooped in front of my second story window. Out another window the lane, as alleys are called in Roland Park, looked wintrier than it had all winter. Daffodils on the bank across the street drooped their buttery heads over splayed foliage.
Before breakfast I went out back to brush snow from the early-blooming, Okame cherry tree. One limb was so weighted down that it looked as if it might snap.
The pairs of new boxwoods by the garden paths stood sentry in puffy white caps. The birdbath looked like a dish of marshmallow ice cream. Purple crocuses and primroses radiant last week were buried this morning. Only some blue flowers on the vinca showed and the backs of a few hellebores, most of which were buried.
Red berries on the aucuba bushes looked more like Christmas than Maryland Day. Such is March in a Baltimore garden.