Spring in Ottawa is a fleeting experience. Too soon, the cold of winter melts into the heat and humidity of summer, leaving a few short weeks of warming days and cooler nights.
The Springs of my Nova Scotian childhood were longer, damper, and a gently unfolding discovery of emerging bulbs, new leaves, violets and a hidden world slowly coming back to life.
Spring, in my mind, has a scent — wet mud with a tinge of cut grass wafting on a warm, salted breeze.
The aroma of Spring holds a high note of violets and lilac blossoms, and a bottom note of farmer’s fields.
Spring in Ottawa smells like this, too, for about a week.
It’s sandwiched between the “melting stage” (dog poo, vehicle exhaust, and skating rink) and the “cook an egg on the sidewalk” stage (chip truck, hot parking lot, splash pad chlorine).
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