John Carter's Diary, Summer of 1965 -- the first three days.

About a month ago, on one of those -32c mornings that are exhilarating to those who love The Valley and perhaps too effing cold for those who don’t, I asked my 6 year old grandson Max if he thought that Spring would ever arrive. His response was terribly cogent in today’s crisis and uttered in a sweetly derisive tone of voice that small children reserve for their obviously daft grandparents. “Of course, Spring always comes after Winter.” The words “you idiot” were clearly implied but left unspoken. And, of course, as Max predicted Spring is following winter and has arrived. The snow in The Valley is running away surely. The 10 feet piles of snow along the roadsides have melted away and the flocks of redwing blackbirds and grackles have returned to Dead Horse Pond across the street. The ice-huts have been pulled in off the lake – more than a week early. Spring is springing – although we’re a long way from seeing any tulips at least the snow is off my two newly planted...