Maybe it was the warm sunshine on my coatless shoulders and the robins hunting worms in the lawn next to me, but a voice inside me gave me permission to go straight in and speak my mind.
Yesterday was the first full day of spring. It was 50 degrees at noon here in rarely sunny upstate New York and, if you know anything about this area, you just have to smile. We all act a little like distracted children on days like this. Even at my age I tend to linger outside the coffee shop a few extra minutes talking nonsense to friends I haven't said 10 words to all winter. We take mud season a little more seriously around here than winter because we're due for at least two more nor'easters and a few quick dusters before the earth finally dries out and we trade the tall boots for the short ones. But with a chorus of Canadian geese charging home overhead, I tossed my down jacket back into the truck and crossed Main Street to talk to a general contractor about an upcoming job.
He's working with state grant money to diligently restore a few of the old railroad-style, turn-of-the-century storefronts along Main Street. There are some historical society strings attached to his contract and, as you can imagine, the rules of construction, usually so logical, became a little warped as they passed through back rooms in the state capital. It's okay for the property owner to use vinyl building products on the sides, rear and roof of this building's exterior, but everything parallel to Main Street must be built of the same style, species and finishes as the original. For instance, the large, plate glass display windows of what used to be the old drugstore must now be custom-built, single-glazed, tempered units with true-divided mutton bars at 15 grand apiece.