Finally, finally March is over. What a terrible horrible no-good very bad month that was. I had problems with my taxes, car trouble, chaos at work...March basically came in like a lion and didn't turn into a lamb until the 31st.
So! I am not taking the month of April for granted. Doesn't the word April even sound better than "March"? March. Feh.
In the spirit of loving April, I walked out of my apartment on Wednesday and took a deeeeeep breath of the new month's air - and almost choked on the wretched stink of fertilizer. Oh my lord, I think Arlington County must have a serious, non-negotiable contract with Consolidated Manure or whomever it is that is putting fresh, stinky dirt all over the city. I was hit with the same stench when I left the gym the other night as well. It's a tough odor to block out, and it's everywhere.
The only thing worse than the smell of fertilizer is the olfactory assault of a Ginkgo tree's "fruit." While fertilizer can be justified as recycling! or step 1 to beautiful flowers!, the Ginkgo tree has no redeeming qualities. It just grows these round, green balls that drop to the ground when they're ripe. And MAN, are they ripe. If you step in one, the stench follows you around for awhile.
(EW! I interrupt this post for this incredibly unexpected and revolting news brief: while searching for an image of the ginkgo tree's stink bombs, I found that people COOK WITH THEM. Good heavens, people - just because you are physically able to do something does NOT mean you should!)
Anyway, I am something of a Ginkgo expert, except I don't think many experts hate the thing they specialize in. What can I say, I'm ground-breaking. I've known their stink since the tender age of 4, when I walked to elementary school and had to dance around the mines littering the ground near the Ginkgo tree in front of the old Victorian house on the corner. This continued every spring and fall until 6th grade, when I took the bus to middle school. But, alas! I walked to high school and passed the very same tree. And now, there is a Ginkgo tree right in front of my apartment building. Just to spite me, I'm sure.
Even though I am considerably older and more mature (at least, I sure hope I am), I still dance around the ginkgo stinkbombs pretty much exactly the same way I did when I was four. I gotta hand it to that tree, it really keeps me on my toes. Literally. And sure my neighbors might stare a little, but at least my sneakers don't smell...on the bottom anyway. Besides, we should all dance in public more than we currently do, even if it is to avoid droppings on the sidewalk. Maybe the ginkgo tree is helping me express my love for this new month and new season by putting me in a dancing mood.
Or maybe it just smells.