March at the country house

Rotten eggs, no milk—it must be March at the country house. Yogurt will do for breakfast—it expired in February, but what can a few weeks do to yogurt?

Snow yields to mud, revealing the undone tasks of autumn. A wheelbarrow leans against a tree. It would still look new if it had spent the winter in the shed. An absurdly pink pool toy peeks through its snowy frock, shaming me.

Meanwhile, the river rises and March rain falls. City friends send alarming emails predicting fouled reservoirs from upstate gas drilling. I pour drinking water from a carton marked “Fox Ledge” because the local stuff smells bad. I consider importing tap water from Manhattan in small batches to offer at summer pot-lucks, while it’s still good.

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Where are you, Economic Justice Person?

As I write, the highly anticipated epic movie “Watchmen” is about to open at a theatre near you. In this sure-to-be-a-blockbuster film, based on a groundbreaking graphic novel from the late 1980s, a group of costumed vigilantes confront the questions posed by their own histories and their roles in the world (along with other more nefarious things like a string of murders and a possible nuclear holocaust).

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